RP:Imperium/Content/Part Two

Part One of Imperium can be found here

Chapter 3: Two Fronts

84: Return

1707 Hours, August 29th, 2558 Hangar One, UNSC Caspian, Montak Orbit

The moment her boots hit the deck, Erika Ruskin teetered on the verge of collapse. It was the first time in five hours that she had stepped out of the cockpit, and the battle had finally taken its toll. Since the battle had begun over Montak, she had returned to the Caspian thrice to re-arm and receive emergency repairs, denying any requests from the ground crew that she swap out for one of their reserve pilots. It wasn't the best of decisions, as she placed one hand on her Broadsword's wing to steady herself, but leaving the action would give her far too much time to dwell on the situation. On Rodney.

"Captain!" a voice called as a tall, dark-haired man in a pilot's uniform raced across the deck, weaving past approaching technicians.

Erika straightened up, and made a tired gesture that was half-wave, half-salute. "Aizawa, you're alive."

The young Lieutenant smiled, looking every bit as exhausted as she was. "Seems that way."

"Who else is left?"

His expression darkened, telling Erika everything she needed to know. The 83rd Tactical Fighter Wing, for all its prowess, had primarily been used for defensive measures and had been loaned to the 6th Fleet due to a shortage of Navy pilots to supplement this campaign's forces. For many, this had been their first proper offensive.

"You're the last one back as far as I can tell, ma'am. Higgins and Marchal are all right, and Lintz managed to limp back with what was left of his ship. Most of the other Air Force squadrons fared better though; ours has been hit the hardest."

"Yeah," Erika's voice hardened. "That's because we fought the hardest, damnnit."

Aizawa sighed. "About Shaw, I didn't see-"

"I saw it," she cut him off. "Seraph got him with a plasma charge. Vaporised him. I shot the bastard down, though."

Erika's dogged pursuit of that enemy fighter into the UNSC's main area of operations might have gotten her in major trouble if the fleet wasn't so busy trying to survive. She had barely managed to avoid the hail of anti-aircraft fire from that enemy mining complex, and returned to orbit not long before the Imperium set up their energy dome over the battlefield. From there it had been one dogfight after another as she fought her way back towards their initial deployment zone around the UNSC Maya, utilising every weapon and trick at her disposal just to survive the seemingly endless wave of enemy fighter formations before returning to replenish her ammunition.

After that, the 83rd and their fellows had been the first line of defence for the steadily-advancing Sixth Fleet, swatting away the Imperium's smaller craft in preparation for a massed assault of some kind. It was not until an enemy carrier managed to teleport its way into the middle of the allied Sangheili fleet that Erika and the other pilots were finally ordered ahead of the protective fire that their primary battle line provided, and the casualties truly began to rack up. Though she considered ignoring the order to save the Swords of Sanghelios' flagship and blaming it on enemy jamming - which did become a problem later - the sight of several Navy squadrons racing ahead of her own group made her realise that she'd never hear the end of it if the Air Force sat out such a fight.

"You should get some rest, ma'am."

Erika blinked, and realised that she had spaced out for a moment. Straightening herself up, she lurched forward before stumbling into a more even-footed walk, carrying her helmet in one hand. Aizawa walked alongside her, looking back only once as technicians swarmed the plasma-pocked Broadsword. The energy in the hangar bay had changed dramatically since the 83rd had first set out, all the buzzing excitement replaced by solemn discussion and the low murmur of professionals hard at work fixing the returning craft. Erika did not speak again until they reached an elevator, allowing her to slump against the back wall as the doors slid shut.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant."

"Ma'am?"

"I said I'm sorry." She rubbed her eyes. "Our coordination was a mess in that fight and I ran off to save Shaw. Half of us were fighting unsupported by the time we went out to hit that carrier, and it's mostly luck that any of us made it back alive."

The tall pilot grimaced for a moment and opened his mouth, but quickly closed it and remained silent. The last thing they needed in the wake of such a costly engagement was guilt-slinging and arguing. Morale was important, especially among squadrons like this. Replacements would be drawn in from the reserves that had remained aboard the Caspian, and all they could really do was resolve to do better next time. Changing the topic as the elevator approached the crew quarters, Aizawa let out a second long sigh.

"I don't think any of us expected things to get that intense, Captain. Shooting down pirates and the like are one thing, but we've not had anything on this scale in years. Maybe not since the war. Some of us are pretty green when it comes to proper fighting, as much as the sims prepare us for it."

The elevator came to a halt, and Erika exited before her subordinate, walking as if on autopilot towards her squadron's quarters. Aizawa's words did not even seem to register until she was halfway down the corner, and she turned to face him.

"You want to know what my first engagement was?"

It was a story she'd told many times, but Aizawa was a relative newcomer to the 83rd in spite of his experience. He nodded.

"Reach. I'd been in a real Longsword maybe three times outside of the simulations, and suddenly the Covenant show up to kill us all. I was more 'green' than most of the pilots you're talking about, but they threw me in the deep end. You know why?"

"Probably didn't have a choice," Aizawa shrugged.

"True, but it's because they knew I'd learn, or die. Even so, my old Captain - a real old-school hardass, by the way - made sure that when our squadron moved in, we watched each other's backs. I had Rodney as my co-pilot, and the two of us made it through that mess alive. We still lost a lot of good pilots, it being the shitfest that was Reach, but we'd keep together. See what I'm getting at?"

They had reached the door to Erika's quarters. Thankfully, none of the other squadron leaders seemed to be making a racket. Aizawa, who had been listening to her intently the whole way, came to a conclusion.

"I think you're blaming yourself for our losses, ma'am," he said calmly. "And for Lieutenant Shaw's death. Considering how we knew nothing of the Imperium or its tactics, most of the 83rd is still alive after this first battle, and when we return to the field, we'll be ready. Now I must insist that you get some rest before we're attacked again."

Erika considered rebuking the man for trying to order around a superior officer, but was in no mood to argue. She stepped across the threshold, gave a slightly straighter salute this time, and let him walk off before shutting the door and shuffling off towards her bunk. To Erika's surprise, the room was empty; none of the others had returned yet. Time would tell if they had all died out there as well, which would give the her the unenviable task of having to coordinate the Caspian's entire Air Force contingent alone.

"Next time," she mumbled to herself as she changed out of her pilot's fatigues. "Next time why don't they just nuke first and ask questions later, making us fight over some dirtball nobody gives two shits about."

Erika was asleep within seconds of hitting the hard mattress. Even if the Imperium had launched some surprise counter-attack at that moment, no ship alarm would have woken her. Though the first battle of the Imperial War had exacted a heavy toll on Captain Ruskin, as it had with so many others in such a brief span of time, these thoughts did not plague her dreams. When the time came to fly again against their foe, she would do so with the kind of vigour that only a desire for revenge could bring.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

85: Interlude: Private Audience

1847 Hours, August 29th, 2558 Imperial Palace, Iradu, Voden System

Unlike the rest of the sprawling Imperial Palace, well-maintained and heavily guarded, the lowest floor of his personal tower was a quiet, near-untouched domain. A layer of dust had settled over the sparse antechamber, broken only by a narrow path that indicated infrequent traffic by a few select individuals. Though the prevailing architecture above was not dissimilar to that of a starship's interior, the main chamber had been hewn from stone, running deep into the mountain that the Imperial Palace had been built alongside. It was here, far away from prying eyes, that Toru 'Makhan conducted his private research.

"And you are certain of your find?"

"Of course! Accessing it may be another matter, but with time, your new home will be secured."

Bereft of his usual white and gold armour, Toru resembled any other Sangheili in his simple peasant's robe. On the tables around him lay hundreds of partially-dissected devices; Forerunner gadgets bought, pillaged or discovered over the past decade on Toru's orders. Some had been rendered useless by careless tinkering, though many others, through careful persuasion, had surrendered their secrets to Toru and his Imperium. Not so long ago, the mere sight of this workshop might have sent devoted San'Shyuum and Sangheili fits of zealous rage, but Toru had cast off the shackles of superstition that held the Covenant back. Where they coveted the Forerunner's work for religious worship and meticulous - sometimes centuries long - study, the Imperial Admiral sought to separate the wheat from the chaff and make good use of these 'gifts' their predecessors had left behind.

Most, as expected, had proven to be mundane and useless or beyond the Imperium's capacity to operate. However, it was the dark, red-eyed sphere, held aloft by an anti-gravity buffer field, that had been their greatest find. If the rest of the galaxy knew that Toru 'Makhan had a working Forerunner Ancilla among his treasures, then war might have come to the Imperium much sooner.

"Dilligent Keeper," Toru addressed the Monitor - its preferred title to the archaic 'Oracle' - by its chosen name. "There may be difficult times ahead for my people. Had you not informed me of this development sooner, then we may not have continued our expansion towards human territory."

A glowing point on Keeper's single red eye darkened for a moment, and the machine let out what could only be interpreted as an exasperated sigh before replying in a bored, tinny voice.

"And you should have informed me about this meeting you had with the humans! Did you not consider the possibility of them coming here to trick you?"

Shortly before Toru's capture of Montak, a pair of traders from an independent human group known as the 'Guild of Free Traders' had travelled to Iradu, seeking an audience. Though they often attempted to put up a united front, Toru was well aware of the deep divisions within their race, and was willing to hear out what had amounted to a business proposition. The men had prepared their sales pitch well, speaking of interstellar trade routes and mining rights that could be established with the occupation of Montak, a sparsely-populated colony with rich mineral deposits hidden just beneath the planet's surface. He had heard them out, and allowed them to remain within the palace for a day while he conferred with his Chief Councillor.

With his Imperium's rapid expansion, resources were slowly but surely being drained from their sphere of worlds and their limited trade with independent groups could not sustain things forever. Though he would not admit it, Toru had been beguiled by the thought of stepping forth and seizing the human world; years of bringing former Covenant frontier planets into the fold had been rather uneventful for the military leader, even with the constant threat of Jiralhanae warbands and Kig-Yar pirates to keep his commanders busy. Montak had been easy to capture, of course, but it was the response from his new enemies that would truly test the Imperium.

Had an emergency message from Diligent Keeper not recalled him to Iradu mere hours after his departure from the planet, he might have committed his entire fleet to defend the system. Instead, he formulated a plan to lure in what his spies reported as a joint UNSC-Swords of Sanghelios fleet, using Montak as a testing ground for their forces before drawing them deeper into his domain where they could easily be dealt with. Now, with Keeper's latest find, Toru began to feel that his haste in declaring war might have been a grievous error.

"It is possible," he admitted with a shrug. "They seemed like honest merchants, but most humans hide their true selves. If this was part of some grander scheme, then my spies could find no evidence of it."

Keeper bobbed up and down emphatically. "If you had not sent half of your fleet out to fight, they could already be en-route to 0201!"

Toru's mandibles twitched angrily, but he knew better than to threaten the Monitor. For all its irascibility and disrespect, it had displayed some loyalty to Toru after he had re-activated it. The construct had lain dormant within a long-buried Forerunner facility on some nameless moon; a refuelling station or armoury of some kind for a war ages past. While his personal guard took the cache of powerful infantry weapons for their own, Toru had been able to provide Diligent Keeper - then merely an artificial consciousness inhabiting the base's systems - with a body, information on current galactic affairs, and most importantly, a purpose.

"I cannot reverse my actions," he muttered. "My warriors are already fighting to protect our new territory, and I can spare precious few ships for this expedition in case disaster strikes."

The Monitor hummed, drifting slowly in a circle around the nearest table. On it lay a palm-sized Forerunner holo-projector, currently displaying what Toru had first mistaken for a planet. Instead, it was a glittering silver sphere, its surface mottled with the reflection of a thousand nearby stars and marked only with a single entrance portal. This marvel of astroengineering was something the Forerunners called a 'Shield World', and Toru 'Makhan wanted it.

"If you insist on repelling these invaders, then please do so," Keeper let out another mechanical sigh, "But should the situation turn dire, fleeing there may always be an option."

The Imperial Admiral nodded, too tired to debate this any further. Since his rather embarrassing return to Iradu so soon after the massed fleets of the Imperium had departed, he had done little but converse with the Monitor, learning the specifics of what these constructs were from Keeper's surprisingly limited stores of knowledge. While it could identify what a Shield World was and their general purpose, he had been purposely kept in the dark when it came to the specifics and could only guess at how to access one. Still, the prospect of a fortified location capable of sustaining millions, if not billions of inhabitants within a seemingly impenetrable shell was too great to pass up. If the Imperium could access it, then he would relocate his people there. Not all would go, of course, but many more would follow their beloved Imperial Admiral to this new home.

But first, we need to win this war.

"I will prepare a cursory expedition, though it will not embark until I have returned from the front."

"You will need me to accompany you, of course," Keeper hovered closer to Toru, his near-flippant tone vanishing at once. "I believe that my creators designed 0201 as a military installation that my own outpost was meant to watch over. Once there, it may recognise my design and allow us to bypass any potential defences."

Toru waved him off. "Of course, Keeper. It will be your home as much as ours, and we may no longer need to hide you."

"I cannot wait!"

The Sangheili turned away and strode out of the chamber, leaving Keeper to its mostly solitary work. Every few days, a trusted team of Yonhet scientists were allowed access to the workshop, using their technical skills to assist the Monitor in its task of repurposing Forerunner devices. Aside from Toru and a few of his close advisers, they were the only ones who knew of Keeper's existence. As he neared the elevator that would return him to his quarters, Toru's mind drifted back to thoughts of his current military campaign, and how to attain victory as quickly as possible.

***

Less than an hour later, Toru 'Makhan had bathed, eaten, and now looked the part of an Imperial Admiral. As he finished affixing the white cape of his station to the back of his harness, the door to his quarters slid open, revealing a portly Yonhet in expensive robes. His presence had been requested, along with several others, though Toru felt that his unannounced arrival may have crossed a line. He would ignore this transgression for now.

"Chief Councillor," Toru inclined his head slightly while the Yonhet sank into a deep bow. "I appreciate your haste."

When they first met many years ago, Rak Ultin had been slim and muscular; a renowned independent Shipmaster with a loyal crew whose knack for recovering Forerunner artefacts had gotten the then-Fleet Master 'Makhan's attention shortly after his posting to the Covenant Empire's fringe territories. Over the years he had proven himself as an invaluable asset to Toru, who in turn had made him one of the wealthiest men in his newly-founded Imperium. Though wealth and prosperity had clearly taken its toll on his physique, Rak's impressive political acumen had not diminished over the years and despite some resentment from the Sangheili he held the highest civilian office within their little empire.

"Your excellency," Rak addressed Toru in slightly accented Sangheili. "When I told you of the report, I did not expect you to receive it in person."

"We have things to discuss that are best left away from a communications channel, Rak. You also needed the exercise."

The Yonhet grimaced, trying not to look too out of breath after the trip from his own offices on the other side of the palace. "Would you like to speak now, or after my report?"

"The report first, and only the important details. I shall read over the rest myself."

Rak slid a datapad out of his robes and tapped it several times. In addition to being the Imperium of Clarity's Chief Councillor, he also managed a spy network that stretched from here to Sanghelios and often supplemented official military reports with those from his own men across the fleets. Having spent so long among Toru's inner circle, Rak had lost many of his kind's characteristic mannerisms, no longer referring to himself in the third person; a real rarity among Yonhet. After arriving at the correct report, he cleared his throat and spoke aloud.

"Field Marshal 'Hendai reports that as per your instructions, the planet Montak was abandoned after the enemy fought through our defences on the ground. Fleet Master 'Larom's life was endangered during the fighting, but he escaped thanks to the assistance of one of our allied factions - the Kru'desh Legion. Our own fleets sustained moderate losses, especially among our heavy cruisers, and a portion of our ground troops were slain in the fighting on the ground. Most of our mercenary forces also perished there, and some have fled or surrendered. Fleet Master 'Larom's strategy of entrapment via shield spires also failed."

Rak stopped for a moment, both to catch his breath and let Toru process this information. Losing Montak was no great surprise; it was not a particularly defensible planet, and were it not for the civilian populace their enemy may not have even launched a ground invasion in the first place. Still, his orders had been to retreat if their primary headquarters on the ground was breached; a direct attack on a member of the Imperium's High Command had not been expected.

"What of the human civilians?"

"According to this report, they staged some kind of riot in the middle of the battle and escaped. The Swords of Sanghelios may have sent infiltrators to accomplish this. Shall I continue?"

"Of course."

"In addition, Field Marshal 'Hendai's ship broke rank with our main battle lines via translocation in an attempt to board and disable the Swords of Sanghelios' flagship, an action that both Fleet Masters Nor and Zetal 'Hudon protested. 'Hendai states that he was able to defeat the enemy Fleet Master in single combat, but was unable to confirm his death. The flagship was able to escape and 'Hendai's own vessel, Blissful Solitude, sustained heavy damage while retreating."

Toru sighed. "That old fool could have cost us the battle. He can lead the retreat, but once I arrive I'll have Zetal 'Hudon as my second in command instead. Continue."

The Chief Councillor scratched one of his gills as he thumbed down, ignoring a section of text before delivering more news. "As planned, Fleet Master 'Larom's ships have retreated towards the Bineb System to unite with Shipmaster Koti's forces while the rest are returning to Frendhal, where they intend to recuperate and reinforce the system in preparation for our foe's pursuit. Koti has already reported that his fleet is awaiting contact."

"The enemy is unlikely to pursue 'Larom," Toru's eyes narrowed as he considered the situation. "Or at least, not with their entire fleet. If they do, then they will be marching into a blatant trap. The rest of our fleet will make for a larger target, but with the reinforcements awaiting them over Frendhal it will turn into a battle of attrition very quickly. Either way, my arrival will herald our foe's imminent defeat."

"Of course, your excellency. I have received a brief message from Fleet Master Lora 'Deris as well."

"And?"

"It states 'The Keifra is running'."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, your excellency."

Toru snorted, making a mental note to reward Lora 'Deris handsomely after this campaign; for all his talk of wanting to finally make his mark in battle, the Fleet Master had accepted the unenviable task of moving behind enemy lines, attacking a near-undefended target and engaging in dishonourable subterfuge to throw the enemy off-guard before moving into slaughter them in case of a retreat. Thankfully, he was young and open-minded enough to accept such pragmatism as another part of warfare and would play his role well.

"It seems that all is going as planned, Rak. Now, while I am gone, I will need you to prepare your best team of salvagers for an expedition into our fringe territory. Diligent Keeper has made a remarkable discovery, and- ah!"

The Imperial Admiral cut himself off mid-sentence as the door to his quarters chimed open yet again. This time, three of his closest bodyguards stood there, surrounding a human male in a tattered military uniform.

"Your excellency!" the Commander of Toru's Imperial Guard, Maas 'Hengo, rapped a fist against his silver chestplate, "We have brought the prisoner, as ordered."

"Maas, Muri, Hui," Toru addressed the trio by their first names, spreading his arms to welcome them. "You have arrived just in time. Chief Councillor Ultin was just departing."

If the Yonhet was surprised, it did not show. He simply bowed to Toru, straightened up his robes and swiftly departed without a second look at the heavily-armoured Sangheili standing at the entrance. The moment the door slid shut behind him, the prisoner was allowed to fall to the ground. The man caught himself before he hit the floor, and a thin, unshaven face glared up at his captor.

"Hello, Captain Donnelly," Toru switched to English. "How are you?"

Donelly spat at his feet. Were it not for a quick gesture from Toru, Muri 'Jarit would have beheaded him on the spot. In the five days since their initial skirmish over Montak, the Imperium had taken Donnelly and his entire crew into captivity, placing them in a newly-constructed POW camp close to Iradu's capital city. At Toru's request, they had not been tortured for information, and were simply stripped of any electronics and weaponry before being confined to the facility. Food fit for human consumption had been brought to them, along with reassurances that they would only remain as prisoners until the war against the UNSC ended. Though he had been busy planning his campaign since then, Toru had spied a mention in one of his daily reports that the Captain had become particularly withdrawn, barely eating or drinking while most of his crew complied with orders.

"Show some respect," Muri growled. Though she was slightly smaller than her companions, her eyes shone with unsurpassed malice.

"Donnelly, Reynald," the human finally spoke in a hoarse voice. "Captain. Service number 27729-39417-RD."

"These are the only words he has spoken since he left the camp," said Commander 'Hengo.

Toru knelt before Donnelly, who continued to mutter under his breath. Killing him for his insolence would be easy, but he had not ordered his highest-ranking prisoner of war here for an execution. Just like the Forerunner tools down below, the Imperial Admiral would put this one to good use.

"You are leaving Iradu, Captain Donnelly," Toru spoke in a low voice. "The UNSC has launched an attack on my territory, and I would like you to bear witness to what happens to trespassers in the Imperium of Clarity."

The muttering stopped. That caught his attention.

"My crew," Donnelly rasped. "What about them?"

"They will remain here as our prisoners. We are not the Covenant, Captain, but few of us have forgotten its brutality, so do not mistake my leniency for weakness. You will accompany me as a guest, and if necessary, as a negotiator."

The Captain's eyes widened, and Toru finally realised what had broken this man. While he had initially mistaken his behaviour for the defiance of a prisoner too proud to accept his fate, the Sangheili soon realised that it was not defiance, but shame that had reduced Donnelly to this state in just a few days. During the Human-Covenant War, prisoners were rarely taken, and those who were rarely lasted beyond a quick and violent interrogation session. Donnelly, on the other hand, had been given time to ponder his situation. Were a traditional Sangheili warrior so quickly defeated and captured, he would kill himself rather than live with the shame of his actions. Perhaps Donnelly was attempting to do the same, unwilling to face life as a man whose imprisonment began a war.

Perhaps we aren't so different after all.

Donnelly sighed. "As long as you promise not to harm my crew."

"I have been given no cause to do so. Muri, Hui, transport Captain Donnelly to the Watchful Custodian. Commander, assemble the Imperial Guard and join me at my personal transport. I will end this war myself."

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

86

1901 Hours, August 29th, 2558 Cell Block ђ, Brig of CCS-class Battlecruiser Purveyor of the Righteous, in Slipspace

When he became conscious of the pounding in his forehead, Abzu 'Samakr was thankful to be dreaming, for it meant he would escape it upon waking. Recognizing he was asleep, however, brought him to wakefulness—and no expected reprieve came. Eyes still shut, he tried twisting to find a position the pain would not so loudly object to and felt his one good foot drag over an unfamiliar surface.

Rousing himself at last, Abzu blinked his eyes open and removed his mandibles from the hard, purple floor, trying to clear them of its taste. He was in a cubic alcove large enough to leave him sprawled length-ways, five of its lavender faces devoid of viewports or other features. The sixth was spanned by a rippling blue energy barrier, transparent enough for Abzu to make out other prisoners in similar cells along the brig's other wall.

He was on a ship. The Purveyor of the Righteous, if the same Jiralhanae who'd taken him prisoner still held him, which looked to be true given the pair of shaggy, snarling guards loping around the brig. Their gear was mismatched, Spikers missing bayonets and even dented human acquisitions hanging from bandoliers—the tools of pirates, scavenged from their victims after the last gave out. The ship itself was in much the same shape, if its brig was anything to judge by. Old bloodstains had been left to paint the deck with many-hued swirls. At more than one cell they passed, the jailers casually glared at their captives through simple bars welded in place when they hadn't cared to fix the barrier emitters.

Still, this band of pirates must have made better mercenaries than mechanics. Peering around the brig, it seemed near every cell was occupied, either by Sangheili stripped of their armor or humans clothed in military green—all, no doubt, collected on Montak. Surely, then, they were effective enough Toru 'Makhan would retain their service a while yet. He would have time to come up with his next move.

Something dragged across the floor, with him in the cell. The urge to fight superseding pain, Abzu rolled off his belly, neck twisting, and found he had a cellmate. Another Sangheili, combat harness stripped of its armor to leave only the form-fitting warrior's weave. He was small, and looked smaller drawing his legs close to his chest. His yellow eyes fixed unblinkingly on Abzu, but the warrior did not move to help.

Nerves smoothed, Abzu slowly righted himself to sit cross-legged, taking special care with the metal prosthetic below the stump of his right ankle. Tetradactyl hands brushing Montak's dust from his disheveled robe, he asked without looking up from his kaidonly pose, "Do you know where this vessel is bound?"

"What does it matter?" the warrior squeaked.

If the reply was meant to undo Abzu's composure, it succeeded. He cast a second glance at the warrior, and realized their size was no illusion of scale in a large, empty cell. His cellmate was no more than a juvenile, barely out of his childling years—solar cycles too young to be a prisoner of war. Abzu had known the Swords were in dire need of warriors after so many fell during the Great Schism, which had prompted so many with greying scales to take up the blade again—but to be this desperate? He had to know what Keep dared send its nephews to 'Vadam's service.

Avoiding the juvenile's eye contact by returning to a centered pose, Abzu adopted a tone more chiding than scolding. "The proper response when a kaidon asks is not rhetoric, nor self-pity."

As he'd hoped, the boy's spine went rigid, lifting his head from his knees. He'd been taught respect, even if he wasn't old enough for discipline to stick yet. "The Bineb system. The guards groused they would find no diversion there off-duty."

"Bineb." Abzu repeated, working his jaws as if they searched for the taste of a memory. None came forth, though he could be reasonably certain it meant the Imperium controlled the system. They had expanded into territory largely ignored by stellar cartographs of the old Covenant. "They retreat into their own space, no ground gained and resources put toward it lost. What did 'Makhan think to accomplish?"

"He is a fool, like all enemies of Sanghelios." The juvenile answered as though reciting scripture for his mother. "His allies speak of ransoming us back to our Keeps, but none will degrade themselves pleading to barter like thieving Yonhet. Not for warriors who do themselves the highest dishonor failing to even die right."

No wonder the boy moped. He was just old enough to have entered warrior training in the last years of the Covenant, and been taught that capture in battle meant cowardice, signalling fear of the death which would unite him with their gods. Thel 'Vadam sought to let that tradition die with the Covenant, and Abzu had heard the Imperium of Clarity likewise found virtue in mercy—or at least a means of swelling its own population while sparing itself the vengeance of its neighbors—but having only changed a half-decade ago, he was unsurprised thousands of years of the mentality hadn't ended overnight. It was probably best they both had drawn Jiralhanae foes in the lots of battle.

Abzu tilted his head thoughtfully. "Sangheili call many things the highest dishonor. I have learned not to mind them so much, or I would not be able to pass wind for the shame it would bring my descendants."

He let his one eye drift from its focus ahead. The juvenile's mandibles had curled at the jest suitable for his age, doubly so when he caught Abzu's sly glance.

"Still," he continued, "this is a lesson I believe Toru 'Makhan has learned as well. He has not employed his forces to raid like the other remnant warlords, until now. It kept him from notice by the wider galaxy. Breaking with that strategy for what little Montak had, especially now that he's built up other resources for himself, makes no sense unless it gained him something. There is more than cowardice learned of being a lesser power in his retreat."

"You know him so well?" the juvenile asked.

"Know of him, at least. The pattern woven of an enemy's deeds are as telling as a night of banquet and conversation. Or as the way they sharpen a blade, or stack stones. Every clan phrases the proverb differently. Of course the Samakr would put it in the context of eating."

"Samakr?" The juvenile's forehead creased in recognition, arching his brows toward Abzu. "You are the Kaidon of the Cellars?"

The boy blanched as soon as the last word left his jaws, and probably would have clapped a hand over them if he hadn't frozen so solidly. Abzu had seen the look on so many young nephews in the Summerkeep after dropping staves or the like during warrior training, as if they'd fallen at the feet of the Hierarchs themselves, the laugh he'd readied to make light of his nickname turned genuine.

"Peace, peace! I know what they call me when my back is turned." Abzu assured him. "And those who branded me with it all went off to glorious deaths to join their gods years ago. All it does now is remind me they're no longer here to speak it."

The boy's head drooped in contrition. "Would that I could have gone with them."

His bitterness put a halt to Abzu's merriment. He craned his neck to meet the boy's eye, without success. "Why ever would you wish of yourself such a thing as that?"

His cellmate seemed to shrink in on himself yet more, sorry for his comment and hoping silence now would make it as though he'd never given it voice. But the kaidon waited on him. The least a junior warrior could do to repay his patience was reply.

"My uncles all found their place on the Path, fighting for the Covenant." The boy began, tone woeful but words clear. He'd evidently given thought to this before. "I do not wail for my deprivation of them, I know they died gloriously. My mother's keep was gifted much in consolation. Even when my eldest cousin had to take his own life for not rising above Minor Domo, the other keeps agreed what he'd done honored his ancestors. But when I came of age..."

Abzu cleared his throat. The boy looked up and caught his meaning.

"When I entered service, the purpose my ancestors served was gone. When my lance stopped allies who profaned the relics we tended for generations, I was told I'd done wrong. When I finally had a war to go to, my enemy would not give me a good death, or even..." he glanced around their barren cell in frustration, "leave something for a shiv to take my own life! My whole line were given lifetimes of distinction, and my cousins and I received an age of naught but shame. There's no justice in it."

Abzu allowed a moment to digest his litany. The dejected ball the boy slumped into was unbecoming of a Sangheili warrior, but typical of one in his intervening years. He recalled spending more than one night feeling similarly when banished from his keep to tend his clan's irukan crops, learning the toils of those he'd presume to rule over. Such sessions, he believed, were healthy after a fashion, though none would admit it. Voicing the feelings made them easier to purge, leaving a warrior prepared to accept his lot, whatever it was.

"Tell me," Abzu requested after a time, "did your uncles recite to you the tales of the 'Granak Cycle?"

The boy made a disgusted noise, but the complaint was an improvement on dejection. "What is it about old males and boring stories?"

"They're easier than fitting into a combat harness you've grown four grades out of." Abzu chuckled, patting his stomach. "And when we're old, we've thought enough about the tales. You must've at least paid attention to the seven stanzas covering the wrath of the first Warrior-King upon the enemies who'd shamed him? To live to see that day, I often reflect, he must not have slain himself in the duration of the single line which tells us of his imprisonment. No one discusses the shame he did himself not falling on his sword then."

A moment passed before the boy responded. "You believe we'll have the chance to escape and avenge our names?"

"I believe we'll never have the chance if we throw our lives away now." Abzu said, settling back and glancing up through the energy barrier as the shadow of a passing Jiralhanae guard passed over him. It snorted through a fanged muzzle at him, but otherwise paid them no heed.

"I am Frovi 'Jardam." The boy announced, rolling with hands set on the floor to push himself up onto one knee. The motion was awkward, but once in place with his head bowed, the juvenile looked less held back by his age. "And I am at your command, excellency."

Abzu humored him with a smile. It wasn't often one bowed to the Kaidon of the Cellars with genuine respect. "And I will strive to be worthy of that service, and lead you to honorable deeds. First, however, we need one which brings this vessel's shipmaster down here."

That Damn Sniper 03:31, March 21, 2019 (UTC)

87: No Turning Back

1915 Hours, August 29th, 2558 UNSC Caspian, Montak system

It had taken some time to re-organise after evacuating their forces from Montak, but the Sixth Fleet was finally ready to begin its pursuit. Poised on the edge of the Montak System, both battlegroups stood at the ready by their Sangheili allies as preparations were made and slipspace routes were charted. Admiral Zhi stood over her tactical table and watched as one of their rearguard vessels, a Poseidon-class light carrier, moved into position alongside Rear Admiral Hawkins' battlegroup.

"Running final checks now," Captain Jonathan Ngirandi called to Zhi from his station. "Shall we signal the Sangheili, ma'am?"

Zhi nodded, barely taking her eyes off the table. They were about to follow an enemy fleet into barely-charted territory with no idea of what could be waiting for them on the other side, so the Sixth Fleet had to be prepared for anything. Placing Felo 'Ranak's ships in front of their own again seemed like a cowardly move, but she had worked to coordinate jump patterns with the Fleet Master to compensate for the more sluggish slipspace travel time of her own warships. It would be close, and the Swords of Sanghelios needed to advance the moment they emerged to avoid any potential accidents, but the ship's AI had reassured her that there would be no issues. The bridge door behind Zhi slid open, and she did not have to turn around to guess who had entered the room.

"Vice Admiral," Zhi acknowledged her Chief of Staff's approach. "Nice of you to rejoin us."

"Sorry for the delay, ma'am," Ryan Samson saluted, "I've been busy trying to organise asset retrieval from Montak while coordinating my prowlers and taking care of the civilians we've moved to Anchor Fifteen. We've taken on as many useful civilians as we can to support the fleet, but the station's staying here in case we need to pull back."

"All while you've been sitting pretty on the bridge maneuvering ships," is what he'd like to say. Zhi's eyes narrowed as she finally tore herself away from the tactical table to face Samson. Though he had done his job fairly well so far - a damn sight better than if the likes of Andre Fosse had wormed his way onto her bridge - there was something about Samson that irked the Admiral. His casual admittance that he was largely part of this campaign at ONI's behest was one thing, as Zhi was more than used to their ulterior motives and happier than most to work with them for some greater cause, but he had vanished from the bridge more than once to issue orders to his own troops, and if there was one thing Lin Zhi could not stand, it was not having control of all the pieces on her side of the board.

"Anything I should be updated on?" she asked.

"Aside from rounding up a few strays, nothing major, though I'd like to ask to speak freely, ma'am."

"Go ahead."

Samson spoke the moment the words left her mouth. "I feel that we're being a little hasty with this pursuit. Even with our losses on Montak and the Sangheili's desire to hunt down the Imperium's forces, we are moving into dangerous territory with almost no reconnaissance or orders from HIGHCOM. Now that we've retaken the colony and assessed the enemy's fighting strength, we should contact Earth and call for reinforcements in case this is a fight we can't win."

The Admiral listened politely to Samson's objections, occasionally nodding in agreement. As he spoke, she could see the cogs of bureaucracy turning behind his eyes, and possibly something else: fear.

"Vice Admiral," Zhi said icily, "When was the last time you captained a vessel, or took part in a naval battle of any capacity?"

This was clearly not the response he was expecting, but Samson regained his composure very quickly. "During the Battle of Earth, ma'am. I was placed in charge of a frigate: the Benihime. It was my first command."

He was likely a Commander then, considering the class. "And not even six years later, here you are among the Admiralty, managing our entire Prowler fleet. I'll take your opinions into consideration, Vice Admiral Samson, but I've been leading fleets into battle before you ever sat in a command chair. I know what happens if we don't press our advantage, and what it's like when necessary risks aren't taken. HIGHCOM tasked me with leading a campaign against this 'Imperium', and that's exactly what I plan on doing until either we're dead or they are. Do you understand?"

Though she had kept her voice low, Zhi was well aware that everyone on the bridge was listening in on their conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Captain Ngirandi's face and wondered if her First officer was about to speak up in Samson's favour. An unsupportive bridge crew would be a major problem if this advance continued. The Vice Admiral took Zhi's barbs rather well, exhaling slowly before clasping both hands behind his back.

"I do understand, Admiral. For what it's worth though, I'm not some OCS grad who lucked out into a desk job managing ONI's dirty secrets. Before I got my own ship, I was stationed aboard the UNSC Trafalgar at Reach."

That was a name every officer knew. Back in 2552, the Trafalgar had been the flagship of the Epsilon Eridani Defence Fleet; a rare and powerful Punic-class supercarrier that unlike most ships during the war could actually take on most Covenant vessels and win. Its loss during the Fall of Reach had been a critical one for the UNSC and a heavy blow to morale across the Navy. Though she wondered if Samson had deliberately withheld that little titbit of information, Zhi couldn't help but feel that she might have gone a little far with her chastisement.

"If I may ask," her voice softened, "How did you escape?"

For the first time, Samson's steely facade cracked and the corners of his mouth twitched. "Dumb luck, mostly. The Covenant got a lucky hit in on the bridge just as I'd left the room to deliver some orders, since our COM systems were acting up. When I got back, everyone who wasn't dead was in no position to move, so I triggered the release of just about everything the Trafalgar had left and ran for the command shuttle. We managed to get to a friendly ship not long after and got the hell out of there while the Covenant were busy burning up what was left of the fleet."

The rest, Zhi knew. Though her ships had been off buying time for some colonies unlucky enough for the Covenant to stumble upon as they moved closer and closer to Earth, and did not arrive back at humanity's homeworld until the war had all but ended months later, tales of survivors of the Fall of Reach limping back to the Sol System had quickly spread. Though she still thought Samson was a 'Baby Admiral' through and through, at least he wasn't the overly-cautious spook she'd feared he was behind that tough exterior.

"Well, Vice Admiral, I'm not often one to do this, but I apologise for my hastiness in judging your character. However, I'm not the vengeance-driven blowhard you might think I am either. If we don't capitalise on the Imperium's retreat here and now, utilising everything at our disposal, we may very well be facing another Reach. Hell, if we don't stop them here, who knows how many colonies they'll ravage before HIGHCOM puts together a fleet large enough to take them on? I won't be responsible for standing by and letting that happen. We advance."

Though Samson didn't seem wholly convinced, he snapped a firm salute. "Yes ma'am!"

Feeling a dozen eyes turn away as she moved back to her tactical table, where Weatherby had materialised, Zhi straightened the collar of her grey tunic and prepared to give the orders that would either lead them to victory or kill them all. The AI looked up at her and gave an encouraging thumbs-up.

"For what it's worth," Weatherby said dryly, "I think we'll probably win this-"

He froze mid-sentence as an alarm klaxon sounded nearby and a red dot flashed up on the local system map.

"Slipspace rupture!" called a junior officer. "Single craft, light tonnage!"

Several monitors around the command deck lit up as the Caspian's external cameras attempted to identify the new ship from sight alone. Several frigates making up the Sixth Fleet's rearguard had already begun to turn, and a request had already come in from a nearby assault carrier for an immediate fighter launch.

"It's a human ship," Weatherby scratched his holographic moustache. "Military shuttle, barely slipspace-capable."

Zhi looked towards Samson, who shook his head at once. It wasn't one of his, and if HIGHCOM wanted to contact them they would have sent a frigate at the very least. The tiny craft sped across the system towards the Sixth Fleet, swiftly nearing the debris field of broken vessels in Montak's orbit.

"We're getting a hail on multiple frequencies," Zhi's communications officer spoke up. "Shall we respond, ma'am?"

"Patch it through. Lieutenant. Oh, and tell the Swords not to attack it either, before they scramble every fighter they have."

A few seconds later, a static-laden transmission flooded through the nearest monitor, though the signal quickly picked up as the ship drew closer and a man's voice grew steadily clearer. Zhi realised who it was with a sudden jolt before the image came into focus, and only her military professionalism prevented her from uttering the filthiest curse that had bubbled up in her mind. Though hoarse, there was no mistaking the wheedling voice of the last person she wanted to see on this campaign.

"This is Commander Andrei Fosse of the NSRD to the Sixth Fleet, please respond!"

"Admiral Zhi here," she didn't bother hiding her impatience. "Why on Earth are you-"

As the transmission finally stabilised and Fosse finally came into view, Zhi's voice faltered and her eyes widened. Even Samson and Ngirandi couldn't hide the look of horror on their faces. Gone was the fastidiously neat officer than had pestered them on Earth and New Syracuse, and in his place was an unkempt, haggard-looking man whose upper body was a mess of red-tinged bandages and fresh burn scars. One of his arms was tied up in a makeshift sling, and the right side of his face was so swollen with dark bruises that his eye could barely open. Half-slumped in his pilot's chair, Andrei Fosse looked like he was on death's door.

"-doing here?"

"Admiral!" Fosse sat up a little straighter, evidently still in horrible pain. "They took New Syracuse, ma'am. Just a few hours after you left. It's gone, they... there were just too many of them."

A chill ran down Zhi's spine, but she could not let others see her surprise.

"Gone?" she asked. "They glassed it?"

"I don't know, but they weren't wasting any time in dealing with the population. After that Supercarrier took out our fleet, the rest of us on the ground barely stood a chance. We did what we could, but-"

Fosse trailed off, waving his working arm vaguely as he paused to catch his breath.

"How did you escape?" Samson interjected, crossing his arms. "You look pretty beat up, Commander."

"They tortured me for a while," the Commander shrugged off the officer's coat draped over his shoulders, giving them a better look at his burns. "Didn't ask for anything though, so it could've been for sport. Eventually a few of us managed to slip away. We caused a distraction that gave me enough time to take a ship and get offworld, but I'm the only one who made it."

Though Zhi understood Samson's scepticism, Fosse's wounds were definitely real. Even Weatherby, with his ability to analyse voice patterns to detect lying, seemed to buy his story. While she knew that Fosse was a slimy little man whose ability with words far outstripped any talent he had as a naval officer, seeing him in such a pitiful state did evoke some feelings of sympathy. Besides, if he had fought his way out and evaded an enemy fleet to reach them, then perhaps he had some potential after all.

Samson's questioning continued unabated. "What about that Supercarrier? How many enemy ships were there, and how did you get past them?"

"I couldn't," Fosse sighed. "We had the coordinates of the fleet's earlier jump, so I made the transition to slipspace before I left the atmosphere."

"Very dangerous," said Weatherby, "But not impossible."

Zhi agreed with the AI. Though unlikely, there were few other reasons to explain Andrei Fosse's sudden appearance, though his survival was not what interested the Admiral the most right now. If the Imperium's presumably sole Supercarrier was busy attacking New Syracuse - a fairly populous colony world in spite of its location - then it meant that the fleets they were pursuing couldn't count on it for backup if this turned into another drawn-out fight. Better yet, if Zhi's forces broke through enemy lines, they could even make for the Imperium's capital world, denying them the necessary resources to continue this war.

"Vice Admiral Samson, send a shuttle to inspect Commander Fosse's ship. If it's clean, then bring him here for immediate medical treatment."

On the viewscreen, Fosse broke out into an overjoyed smile, displaying several missing teeth as he raised one arm in a painful salute. "Thank you, Admiral, thank you! I'll repay you someday for this!"

You can repay me by staying the hell out of the way for the rest of this campaign.

With that, the feed cut out and Samson exited the room, presumably contacting one of his more thorough acquisition teams from wherever they were sequestered within the fleet. As her staff resumed their duties and Zhi sat back down, the weight of Fosse's words began to sink in. New Syracuse was gone, which meant that they were cut off from the nearest habitable colony. The fact that the Imperium had chosen to attack it less than a day after their departure likely meant that they had spies already watching the planet; it was too big of a coincidence to chalk up to simple chance. The Imperium's leader was coming for them next, and if both the human and Sangheili fleets didn't move fast, they would be caught between two enemy forces and crushed.

"Lieutenant," she signalled the COM station. "Message Fleet Master 'Ranak and relay what Commander Fosse has just told us, alongside permission to exit the system immediately. We'll be right behind him. Once you've done that, do the same for Rear Admiral Hawkins' battlegroup. We can't waste any more time in this system."

After that, it was simply a matter of waiting for Samson's men to deal with Fosse's shuttle. It took twenty minutes for a Pelican dropship full of his agents to board and search the tiny vessel for explosives before eventually giving it the all-clear and guiding it towards the Caspian's hangar bay. According to one report, Fosse passed out once en-route out of sheer exhaustion, but was soon back on his feet thanks to a stimulant. By this point, both Felo 'Ranak's fleet and John Hawkins' battlegroup had signalled their farewells and departed the Montak System, disappearing into the void of slipspace. Not long after the shuttle landed, the Vice Admiral contacted Zhi personally.

"I've secured Fosse," said Samson. "I was going to question him further, but his wounds are worse than they looked. Permission to take him to the med bay for treatment?"

"Granted, I'll come down when I can."

"Copy that, Samson out."

With that problem out of the way, Zhi could finally get moving. As the Sixth Fleet's vessels maintained position, their onboard computers or AI charting precise courses into their target system, she stood up and moved to the very front of the flag bridge, looking over her command staff. They had done their jobs well so far, though fatigue was trying to set in. Zhi was feeling rather weary as well, and could not stave off sleep with stimulants forever. According to Weatherby's calculations, it would take roughly a day of travel to reach wherever the Imperium's fleets had fled to, which would give most of her crew a brief period to rest. Seeing Ngirandi stand up from his post, she gave him a simple affirmative gesture. With a brief lurch, the UNSC Caspian began its transition into slipspace, slipping through a blue-tinged portal seconds after it materialised before them. All around the cruiser, smaller vessels were doing the same, and within a minute not a single UNSC vessel remained in the Montak system.

This is the big one, Zhi thought to herself as she paced around the platform, all forward viewscreens occupied by the inky nothingness that was slipstream space. As daunting as this mission was to her, the Admiral could not help but feel a measure of satisfaction in leading an assault. So many years of her career had been dedicated to defensive actions or costly retreats, with far too few victories in between, and she had grown sick of it. Though she had welcomed peace, the chance for proper revenge had been missed until now. Whatever it was that the Imperium of Clarity spouted that made it different from the Covenant mattered little to Lin Zhi. They had attacked a human colony, and in return she would strike back with the kind of vengeful wrath that had spent many years building up. She would win, and if there was any justice in this galaxy, they would all die.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

88

1753 Hours, August 29th, 2558 UNSC Maya, Montak system

It had been nearly (or was it over?) two hours since she had made her way back to the Maya from her fighting over the surface of Montak. While she had heard that Loudmouth had made her way off the planet to some frigate that had dipped down to the surface, they hadn't been able to locate GABBE's life signs on the surface below, and the alien bastards had shot down Magnet in the opening moments of the fighting. Of the four aviators that had set out at the start of the battle, two survived, and only one intact aircraft remained between them.

Looking around the busy hangar as she worked her way through the inspections of the returning aircraft, she could tell many of her squadron's divisions had suffered similar losses. Something like sixty percent of the original fighters hadn't returned, and a comparable number of aviators had lost their lives if what she overheard from the chatter around her was any indication. And those were just the ones that were lost, destroyed, or simply missing. Those that had made it back weren't in great shape.

Those last two hours had been spent doing her job as her squadron's maintenance department head, overseeing inspections, refueling, and, for a large part, repairs. A melted engine here, a snapped autocannon armature there, every fighter she'd stopped at so far had some degree of damage. In a way, it was good to see. There hadn't been any slackers out there, hiding from the fighting. But on the other hand, it would be a lot of work to get everyone back up to fighting shape for the inevitable next fight. Checking her datapad once more as it chimed an update from her aircraft division Lieutenant, a groan escaped her lips. They'd barely managed to get a single aircraft back up to full combat readiness and two more to as near as they could get. That left two Broadswords that they hadn't even begun repairs on and, from what her datapad was telling her, those were the two in the worst condition.

"Lieutenant Davis! Mind telling me what the hell we're waiting on with these two birds!?" Sasha snapped.

She felt her face cooling down as the frustration faded. Sasha hadn't expected herself to be so angry, and, from the look of shock on his face, her Lieutenant hadn't either. He took a full two seconds before stammering into a response.

"I had the crews focus on the easy repairs first, Ma'am! Thought getting as many birds back up to fighting condition should be the priority. Gives us more manpower focusing on these more complicated fixes now that those are out of the way."

Sasha nodded, closing her eyes tight briefly, before blinking them back open again.

"Very good, Lieutenant. You're right." She turned to go directly inspect the remaining two fighters when she heard a familiar voice over her shoulder, soft-spoken, but instantly recognizable.

"You okay, Robot?"

Turning around, she looked over Loudmouth as the woman stpped off the nearby Pelican, a slight smile forced onto her face. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

"That's avoiding the question. You look tired."

"It's not even 1800. I'm not going to bed. 'sides, I've got work to do, and so do you, if you're patched up alright." She gestured to the visible bruises on the woman's body. "Avionics/Armament has been down its Lieutenant for the past few hours."

"Aye, ma'am." A soft sigh crossed Loudmouth's lips, but she didn't press it further.

With that settled, Sasha turned back to the damaged fighters behind her, reading her datapad. Loudmouth was right of course. She always was about these sorts of things. Sasha was tired. But she couldn't rest now. Sure, there was work to be done, that was her excuse—it always was—but there was more to it than that. The first few nights following combat typically pulled her back into the nightmares, and that wasn't something she needed right now. Too many questions, too much explanation. No, this was another time she just had to buckle up and push through until the end of the fight.

Timothy Emeigh

89: Condemned

The Soul Ascension, its hull armor a jagged plateau of scrapes and dents but nonetheless no worse for wear, drifted at the edge of the Imperium fleet formation. The Marauders’ Purveyor of the Righteous held position nearby as its mercenary crew carried on their role as a makeshift escort. The two cruisers had escaped Montak by a hair’s breadth, leaping away from the system as the coalition fleet rushed to intercept them. They had left a grim scene in their wake: miles upon miles of Montak’s surface seared by the power of their combined plasma bombardment.

The engagement on Montak was, for all intents and purposes, a rousing success. The fact that the Imperium had ultimately retreated meant little to the Kru’desh—they were used to yielding the field after combat. From the initial landing zone battles to the sweeping assault across Montak’s dusty plains, the Kru’desh had bested every foe that rose to face them. The UNSC and Swords of Sanghelios alike had faltered in the face of their ferocious attacks. The Soul Ascension’s hangar bays were laden with salvaged weapons and war machines stripped from the Covenant’s fallen enemies.

A rousing victory.

Nevertheless, a grim cloud hung over the legion even as the Covenant warriors took stock of their prizes and celebrated their victory. They had left far too many of their own dead down on Montak. For the disgraced warriors of the Kru’desh, survival counted just as much as plunder and victory. The losses were not catastrophic, but under Stray’s command they had grown used to hit-and-run strikes on soft targets behind enemy lines. Protracted ground battles—and the losses they incurred—were a grim reality they needed to relearn.

Amidst a hangar deck cluttered by battered dropships and ground attack vehicles, Tuka ‘Refum presided over a small gathering of warriors. He, like the Sangheili and Unggoy around him, still wore his dirty, bloodstained combat harness. They clustered in a respectful circle around a captured Pelican dropship while a small team of warriors loaded limp shapes into the Pelican’s troop bay: the bodies of fallen Kru’desh warriors.

Thesse were but a handful of the battle’s losses. Most of the dead Kru’desh were still lying in the dust back on Montak’s surface. There was precious little chance to recover bodies in the heat of battle. But in the aftermath of what was already becoming known as “the Crash Site Stand” and the rout of the human assault Tuka had made a point of gathering bodies to be returned to the Soul Ascension. Most of the dead here were from that battle—many of the bodies now resting inside the human dropship were warriors Tuka had known personally.

“The gods grant us victory,” Tuka declared to the assembled faithful. The young Sangheili clenched his hands into fists, projecting his voice the way he did in battle. As in combat he became a different person during moments like these, not the fearful lesser ‘Refum but a confident preaching deacon. “And in victory they exact a price. We triumphed over our foes and won glory on the battlefield thanks to the courage and sacrifice of these, our fallen brethren.”

He gestured at the dropship as the corpse detail loaded one last Unggoy corpse onto the grisly pile inside. One of the loaders shot a look his way. Ier had little time for divine genuflection but volunteered to help prepare the bodies all the same. Even the less devout Krud’esh—of which there were many—knew the importance of honoring the fallen. Mihka stood off to the side of the gathering with a small cluster of her fellow pilots.

“These warriors were rejected by our Covenant, yet found solace in that rejection. They found their redemption not in death, but in the victories they won against our enemies. We, the victorious, stand her now because of them.” Tuka raised his arms and bowed his head in reverence as the surrounding warriors did the same. “We send them now on to meet the gods and claim their reward. Submit to their judgement and let them guide your feet down the path. Render glory to the gods. Their divinity is the light of the endless stars.”

“Their divinity is the light of the endless stars,” the crowd intoned obediently.

A stillness abruptly fell across the assembled faithful. Tuka raised his head and was startled to see Stray emerge from the crowd. Hardly much taller than an Unggoy, the human was dwarfed by Tuka and the other Sangheili, yet he strode through them with practiced ease. Stray removed his helmet and tucked it beneath his arm. His face was set in a hard, unreadable grimace as he cast his gaze first over the warriors and then at the corpses piled into the Pelican.

No one spoke. No matter how often the ship’s oracle proclaimed him as the gods’ champion, it was rare for Stray to make appearances at religious ceremonies.

Stray nodded curtly at the dropship, a stoic acknowledgement of the warriors who had died at his command. He turned back to the crowd and nodded again with that same stony expression. There was no trace of his usual self-assured irreverence. “Their divinity is the light of the endless stars,” Stray repeated in guttural, badly accented Sangheili.

A ripple, half of amusement and half of relief, passed through the mourners. Somehow the sight of this strange human observing the burial rituals set them at ease.

“Go on,” Stray muttered as he stepped into place beside Tuka. “Do your thing.”

Tuka nodded respectfully but the sight of another presence at the edge of the hangar gave him pause. Shinsu ‘Refum stood framed in the corridor, flanked by his dark armored guard squad. The sight of his brother, even at a distance, turned Tuka’s stomach.

He forced such feelings aside and turned back to the dropship. “We commend our fallen to those endless stars, that they may find eternal peace and that we may find favor in their sight.”

A trio of Unggoy engineers waved the burial detail away from the dropship. The team’s foreman waddled over with a small triggering device. He hesitated at the sight of Stray, then awkwardly offered him the device. The human waved him over to Tuka, who took the device with a bow.

Tuka tapped the device and entered the first command. The Pelican’s jury-rigged ramp hissed and rose to seal its morbid cargo inside. Tuka nearly wept at the final sight of the dead warriors. He had shared meals and laughter with some of them not days before. Now they were dead, yet more names and faces to add to the countless comrades he had lost in his service to the Covenant.

Another command from the device activated an autopilot function grafted into the Pelican’s cockpit. The dropship rose from the hangar floor and drifted off towards the bay’s plasma shield and the endless space beyond. No one said a word as the Pelican slipped through the shield and drifted away from the Soul Ascension.

Tuka’s finger hovered over the final command button. It could just as easily have been his corpse sealed up inside that dropship. He could have died during the initial assault, or when Mihka’s Phantom crashed, or if that blue-armored Spartan had delivered the killing blow. Instead the gods preserved his life once more. For what purpose did he survive when so many others died? What was it the gods wanted from him?

The command button flashed as the Pelican reached a suitable distance from the ship. Tuka pressed down. The plasma charges loaded onto the ship detonated, engulfing the Pelican in a silent flash of blue light. The dead warriors vanished from the galaxy and passed into the divine beyond.

Most Sangheili would never countenance cremation alongside Unggoy and Kig-Yar. They would insist their bodies be returned to their keeps and clans for burial according to the traditions of their ancestors. But the Sangheili of the Kru'desh had no keeps to return to. There was precious little pride left for them to look down on their fellow condemned, no matter how lowly.

Stray let the assembled warriors stand in silence for several long moments. Then he stepped past Tuka and addressed them in a strangely subdued tone. "We lost some people back there. More than we have in a while. But you all fought hard. We killed ten of those bastards for every one of ours we lost."

He shrugged, jaw clenched. "That's something. The Imperium will think twice before it underestimates us again. Now, wrap up whatever you're doing and rest up. All of you. We'll be fighting again before you know it."

Stray turned on his heel and began to march away. He paused beside Tuka. "You, too," he ordered tersely. "If you don't take the day off, I'll hear about it."

He strode out of the hangar before Tuka could reply. As he passed through the hangar doors, another human figure slipped out of the shadows and hurried after him.

Shinsu 'Refum observed the proceedings in the hangar a moment longer. Then he too followed after Stray, his guard squadron falling in like shadows behind him.

---

“I never had you pegged as the religious type,” Diana murmured in Stray’s ear. “Maybe I should be more careful when I do the Oracle act for the troops. You’re buying into the ‘gods’ chosen’ act a bit too much.”

“Don’t play dumb. You know I have to keep up appearances every once in a while. It makes them feel better about letting a human like me get their friends killed.”

“Oh dear. You’re actually sad over the ones they buried. That might be even worse than letting the holy warrior act go to your head.”

“I’m a bit too tired for teasing, Diana.” Stray didn’t slow down as he strode down the corridor. His mind swirled with a dozen different thoughts, temples throbbing as he thought of all the work that still needed to be done before he could rest. “If you don’t have anything important to say, how about you stay quiet for a few minutes?”

He hadn’t had a proper sleep since the fighting on Montak started. During the battle, it was nothing he couldn’t handle—he was used to fighting for days on end with no rest. But now that the adrenaline no longer coursed through his veins his armor and battle gear felt like a colossal weight draped over his body. He just wanted to lean up against the nearest wall and fall asleep.

The old him—the freewheeling outlaw—would have done just that. But he no longer had the luxury of such carefree stunts. The old him also wouldn’t have been caught dead reciting prayers at any funeral, much less one for dead Covenant warriors. But the Kru’desh hadn’t suffered casualties like those in a long time. He couldn’t just hole up in his quarters while the troops mourned.

And though he could never admit it to Diana, he didn’t like the thought of other people dying for him—even if those other people were Covenant.

But they were his Covenant. His troops. His dead.

“You’re in a particularly bad mood this evening. I thought all those victories down on Montak would have you whistling down the halls.”

“Victories, sure. The legion fought better than I thought they would. We’d just better hope that scores us some real points with the Imperium. In the meantime, I’ve got bigger things to worry about. Like those Spartans who kept trying to kill me.”

“Relax. They failed, didn’t they?” Diana did not seem particularly concerned, though she never fretted too much where Stray’s wellbeing was concerned. Sometimes he chose to read that as a vote of confidence in his ability to survive whatever his enemies threw at him. Right now it grated that she wasn’t taking this more seriously.

“They failed this time. Maybe they won’t be so sloppy next time. And believe me, there will be a next time.” He imagined the ones who dropped the satellite on the Mammoth were the same ones he’d smashed at the crash site. The satellite stunt reeked of desperate bravado. “It’s probably a Gamma team. Fours wouldn’t have come after me on their own the way those ones did.”

“Lovely. More old friends of yours? I guess you’ll just have to kill these ones, too.”

“We’ll see.” Stray secretly hoped his unknown antagonists were part of a team he didn’t remember, or perhaps assholes he’d hated like Team Scythe. If they came after him, they’d die, but that didn’t make him feel better about shoving a knife through another friend’s neck. “But whoever they are, now we have to keep a team in reserve to act as a quick response force when they show up. Setting resources aside like that is going to be an even bigger pain in my ass then those clowns taking potshots at me.”

“I’ll draw up a list of potential lances we can use,” Diana agreed. “And speaking of old friends, you’ve got one tailing you right now.”

“Oh, you mean Amber?” Stray raised his voice. “I know she’s been following me since the hangar.”

“Then you should have just said something.” A few yards down the hall, Amber quickened her pace to catch up to him. She still wore her dusty, blood-spattered combat armor—like the rest of the legion, she’d had no time to clean herself since they’d regrouped with the Imperium fleet. “I was wondering when you’d notice me.”

“You weren’t exactly trying to hide. I figured I’d play along, just in case you were trying to be sneaky.” Stray paused to let Amber catch up. “What are you after, anyway? I told the legion they had the rest of the day off.”

“Oh no.” She fixed him with a hard glare. “I’m done playing that game. I let you throw me around down there like one of your flunkies. I’m through playing foot soldier.”

Stray regarded his fellow Spartan for a few moments. She held his gaze, refusing to back down. A part of him—the part that spent too much time listening to Shinsu ‘Refum—wanted to call in a security team to discipline her as an insubordinate warrior. But another part of him, the part that was small and exhausted and fed up with playing the merciless warlord, knew she was right. He needed someone like her for his inner circle, and not just for security.

“Fine,” he resumed his stride down the hall and beckoned her to follow him. “You win. You’re off infantry duty.”

“Yeah?” she asked suspiciously, falling into step beside him. She was taller than him; somehow this bothered Stray more than usual. “It was that easy, huh?”

“You got me when I’m feeling generous. Don’t make me regret it.” Stray didn’t expect she would. Amber might be a savage, contrary tinderbox but as long as he slipped her into a role that satisfied her, she wouldn’t cause him any problems. He already appreciated being able to talk to her like this. It made the idea of furious Spartans—potential former classmates—out for his blood seem less threatening. “Besides, I’ve been thinking about it and I probably could have gone without shoving you into a frontline squad.”

“Yeah, you really know how to make a girl feel special.” Amber continued to scowl as they boarded a gravity lift and descended towards the Soul Ascension’s sublevels. She stiffened as the strange, floorless elevator seized hold of their bodies—then threw her hand out to grab Stray’s arm as it jerked them down through the cruiser’s decks. The sight of Amber’s fingers wrapped around his prosthetic arm brought an amused smile to Stray’s face. He had felt the same way strange resistance when he started using Covenant technology every day—now it was as natural as stepping into an elevator on any human ship.

Amber wrenched her hand back, an embarrassed pink rising to her cheeks. Stray avoided her glowering gaze. He wasn’t sure he liked the tingle the unexpected move kindled in his stomach. They floated down the gravity lift in silence and did not resume speaking until it deposited them on the Soul Ascension’s engineering deck.

“No command positions,” Stray said as he stepped away from the lift. “Can’t let them think I’m favoring a human for promotion. But I’m thinking of giving you an independent operating role. Something that’s better suited for a Spartan’s expertise.”

“Jeez. You really are into this.” Amber shook her head, though this time she kept her distance. “Who’d have thought you’d start sounding so professional? Remember that time Scythe shoved your head down a—”

A cold glance from Stray ended that train of thought. Amber shrugged. “Sorry. Hard to forget how things were.”

“Yeah. Hard to forget.” The Scythe meatheads had pinned his arms down and waterboarded him in a filthy toilet. He’d endured that humiliation just as he’d weathered the daily indignities that showered down across his years in the bottom of Gamma Company’s performance roster. He remembered the panicked, drowning sensation of the “interrogation” all too clearly, but the part of the story that really stuck in his mind was that none of his teammates—his supposed Spartan “family”—had lifted a finger to help him that day.

Amber was probing, he knew, searching for some trace of the hapless boy she’d known from back then. Stray was determined not to let her find him.

“Never really saw you as the lead from the front type either,” she pressed. “Didn’t you hide in a septic tank to dodge the drill instructors once?”

“You know, if you want to play the school reunion games I can always just kick you back into Tuka’s lance.”

“Fine, fine. What I’m trying to say is, I’m impressed. You used to be the weaselly troublemaker everyone picked on. Now you’d give some ODST colonels a run for their money—and you’ve got a Covenant legion killing for you. You’ve really moved up in the universe.”

“Believe me, if I could get away with not caring anymore, I would.” Stray reached a sealed door at the far end of the engineering hub. “But these Covenant psychos, they respect violence. So I have to show them that I’m the most dangerous person on this ship. They like that sort of thing.”

He paused, not sure how much he should confide in Amber. There wasn’t much to be gained in keeping secrets from her—she was even more isolated than he was—but after keeping her at arm’s length for so long the notion of spilling everything was disconcerting. “This leadership thing, it’s just an act. I make them think I’m one of them, then I take my cues from the people who really know what they’re doing.”

“Like that prayer back in the hangar?”

“Rule one—”

“Don’t rule one me,” Amber said, though her words lacked their usual edge.

Stray shrugged. “They appreciate it when I join in the prayers. Makes them feel special to think a human practices their religion.”

“Oh, so you’re just playing them. And here I thought Tuka was your friend.”

“He knows what I really think. For some reason he doesn’t mind.” Tuka had strange ideas about what it meant to serve the Covenant’s gods. Stray wasn’t sure he could stomach the deception were it not for the young warrior’s open-mindedness. Usually he loved the deception he pulled over on pompous Covenant types, but Tuka was honest, loyal, and utterly without guile. “The others, well, they buy Diana’s Oracle act. And the ones who don’t, I buy off. They get a better deal under me than they’d have under any Sangheili commander.”

Amber raised an eyebrow. “I see. And here I was starting to think Cassandra’s religion stuff rubbed off on you.”

“Let’s not talk about Cassandra,” Stray said quickly. He shot an irritated gaze up at the nearest security monitor. “Come on, Diana, open it up.”

“I was just waiting for you to ask,” the AI replied smoothly. The security door slid open and the two renegades stepped inside.

“I was wondering when you would stop by,” Ro’nin called from across the room. The officer stood next to a large workbench that pulsed with frenetic energy. A pair of bulbous, floating Huragok—known to most humans as Engineers—drifted around the table, their delicate tendrils massaging the UNSC satellite that had nearly pasted Stray across the Mammoth’s hull. “I heard you gave the legion a rest period. Something tells me that little boon does not extend to me.”

The ability to control the Huragok was another tool that kept Stray valuable to Jul ‘Mdama and the rest of the Covenant’s leadership. The mysterious creatures were engineering savants, able to repair and maintain nearly any technology put before them. They’d abandoned the Sangheilli once the Covenant Empire collapsed, rejecting the masters they’d served for thousands of years. None of them would take orders from the Sangheili or any other former Covenant race—yet somehow they responded with obedience and even friendliness to humans.

Diana knew more about the Huragok than Stray did—she could translate and respond the strange signed language they “spoke” with their tendrils. But as far as the Kru’desh were concerned, the Huragok’s cooperation was yet another sign that their human commander was divinely appointed by the gods themselves.

One of the Huragok peeled off from the table and drifted over to Stray as he stepped inside. He recognized the scars slashed across its delicate flesh—this one was called Yearns to Soar. He’d bought it off a Banished commander during a Kru’desh foray into deep space. Once he’d removed its cruel restraining harness, Yearns to Soar had seemed willing to do almost anything to repay Stray for its freedom.

Yearns stretched its tendrils out and yanked Stray’s helmet from beneath his arm. He let the creature have it and watched with interest as it set about repairing the damage the unknown Spartan’s sniper round had done to its internal systems.

“I don’t think I need to be handing out rest periods for the guy who spent the whole battle sitting safe up here,” he told Ro’nin as Yearns continued to fiddle with the helmet. “I’ve been dodging Spartans and space satellites, but you don’t see me taking a break, do you?”

“Safe?” Ro’nin demanded with mock outrage. “I will have you know that several enemy shots came very close to the ship. I nearly sprained a leg ordering evasive maneuvers.”

The mercenary jerked his head at Amber. “And what is she doing here?”

Amber pushed past the Huragok to lean against the workbench. She fixed Ro’nin with an ornery look, though her tone matched his faux indignation. “Oh, I see how it is. And here I thought you were one of the decent ones.”

“Do not get me wrong, I like you.” Ro’nin clicked his mandibles. “I just feel your rise to prominence will be seen as a bit of a leap from your previous position. Some warriors may not like it. They may wonder if some special relationship with our commander here prompted this new promotion.”

“They can think whatever they like.” Stray took his helmet back from Yearns to Soar, who returned to the workbench with a high-pitched chitter. “I’m sticking her in aa special operating position. Intelligence gathering and covert action should suit her. Think of it like an Ossoona position. I can’t afford to hold her back with the rank and file anymore, not with Spartans gunning for me. Direct any complaints to me, I’ll sort them out one way or another.”

“Perhaps a divine revelation from their holy oracle will smooth things over,” Diana suggested from overhead. “It’s fun coming up with fake prophecies. I’m sure I can come up with something convincing for her. Maybe a few sordid rumors aren’t too bad. There are plenty of mythical figures with warrior-consorts in Covenant legend.”

“I don’t think so,” Stray said coolly. No doubt Diana had taken notice of that brief moment in the elevator. He didn’t want her exploiting that, not when he himself was not entirely comfortable with its implications. “She takes orders from me, gets the job done, and that’s the end of it. Don’t push the Oracle business, you aren’t half as convincing as you think you are.”

“I’m convincing enough to put you in command,” the AI pointed out with a sullen air. “Don’t blame me when you have to execute some naysayers over this.”

“So there really were Spartans down there,” Amber said, pointedly pushing the conversation elsewhere. “I thought I saw some of them attacking us at the crash site, but I wasn’t sure. Any idea who they are?”

“No clue. They were gunning for me though. They made that pretty damn clear.” Stray jerked a thumb at the satellite. “And they were sloppy about it, too. I’ll guess Gamma Company. This feels like a grudge.”

“We all really weren’t happy with you after Philadelphia,” Amber agreed. “A lot of people blamed you for the fact that we didn’t get major assignments outside of Spartan branch support and ONI black ops.”

Stray thought of the Spartan he’d faced on the battlefield: deadly in her MJOLNIR, yet so easily outmaneuvered and surrounded. Would a Gamma Spartan really be so inexperienced? Maybe he was overthinking things. They could just be Spartan-IVs trying too hard to win a name for themselves. Perhaps the satellite would shed some light on this whole mess.

I should have killed her, he thought again. Instead he’d hesitated and passed the dirty work on to underlings. That wasn’t like him. He couldn’t afford weakness like that anymore.

Next time he wouldn’t hesitate.

“Well let’s see what they have to tell us about all this,” Stray said, turning back to the satellite. "You're letting the Huragok handle all the leg work here? I thought you preferred getting your hands dirty with salvage like this."

"It's safer this way," Diana explained. "They transpose the data over to me and I don't risk damaging the internal components. They've got the tentacles for it, after all."

“I’m hoping for names, but they probably wiped the onboard computer before they dropped it on me. We’ll just have to—”

“One moment,” Diana interrupted. “We’ve got another visitor. He’s out in the hall with his guards and he doesn’t seem particularly happy.”

“What now—oh.” Stray clenched his teeth. He had a sinking feeling that he knew what this was about. “Alright, fine. Let him in.”

The door slid open to reveal Shinsu ‘Refum’s tall figure. The special operations commander swept into the room before the door panels even cleared the threshold. Stray caught a glimpse of Shinsu’s guards, as quiet and menacing as ever, lining the hall outside. None of them moved to follow their commander, but he knew they’d leap into action at a single word.

“You should be getting some rest,” Stray said as Shinsu approached the workbench. “This is just a sidebar task, it’s nothing you need to—”

“I will be the judge of that,” Shinsu said coolly. The brief understanding he and Stray had shared on Montak was gone, replaced by the old imperious air of a commander inspecting a wayward underling.

“Alright, spill it,” Stray sighed. “What did I do this time?”

“You ordered this ship to conduct a surface bombardment after we evacuated,” Shinsu replied. He drew himself up to his full height as he reached the workbench, claiming command of the room with his very presence. “Why?”

Stray shrugged. “Seemed like a good way to win more points with the Imperium. Besides, I wanted to try and fry those Spartans—”

“You risked your ship and your command to make a statement.” Shinsu did not raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His words dripped angry disappointment. “Only blind luck and the enemy’s disorganization kept it from being destroyed. I always temper my expectations with you, human, but I thought you at least had the prudence not to throw away everything you fought for on such a reckless whim.”

Stray bristled. “We had air superiority. This ship’s crew knows what they’re doing. There was nothing to worry about.”

“There is always something to worry about in battles such as these. Fortunes shift at a moment’s notice. If the Imperium had anything to gain from such a bombardment, they would have coordinated ships to do it. Instead they allowed your ship to risk it instead, because they can afford to see it shot down. You risked everything for nothing.”

Stray’s fists clenched. He opened his mouth to retort, but Diana beat him to it.

“The Kru’desh commander acts only as the gods command.” Her voice filled the room, rich with the smooth tones of a Forerunner oracle. “His orders are—”

“Silence, construct,” Shinsu snapped. “Do you really think I do not know what you are? Have you and your master grown so arrogant that you think a human intelligence could infiltrate Jul ‘Mdama’s ranks, install a Spartan as one of his commanders, and think I would be fooled?”

The lights above the workbench flashed and then Diana’s armor-clad avatar shimmered into life-sized existence beside the Huragok. She did not seem chastened in the slightest. If anything, she looked pleased with herself. Of course. She’d suspected Shinsu knew, and simply goaded him into confirming it. Now she could drop the charade more freely—and Stray had the opportunity to push back. “Well, I guess the jig is up.”

“As if he hasn’t known for months,” he said, resting his hand on the table. “I’d hate to think I’m getting cocky. But as I’m sure you already know, with Diana in the system this ship runs at nearly twice its specifications. I’d never have sent it in if I didn’t think she and the crew could bring it back out. I saw an opportunity to kill the people coming after me and I took it.”

Shinsu’s gaze was hard as ever, but his anger abated. “You still run the risk of seeming over-eager to please. Our rescue of Kan ‘Larom raised the Covenant’s standing in the Imperium’s eyes. Risk too much and we look like clumsy children seeking praise.”

“I don’t care what the Imperium thinks. What are they going to do, give me a medal? I’m a hell of a lot more worried about the Spartans trying to pick me off.”

“I told you before, you overestimate their threat. They proved unequal to the task of killing you on Montak. You cannot let regard for your own safety cloud your tactical decisions.”

“Actually, a Spartan team on the warpath is a huge problem for us.” This time it was Amber who spoke up. She had watched the exchange with interest and now stepped up to face Shinsu. “Even if they don’t get a shot at Simo—the commander here, they’ll figure out our troop movements and pick off our raiding teams. They might even stage an attack on this ship. They might not win, but they’ll cause a lot more damage than we can afford.”

Shinsu regarded Amber quietly, then cast a surreptitious gaze over to Stray. “You trust this one, then?”

“Maybe not with my life,” Stray shrugged. “But she’s not really in a position to betray us. And she knows what she’s talking about. We’ve had the same training and we know how Spartans operate. Half the reason the Kru’desh follow me is because they know I’ll keep them alive. Spartans slaughtering my troops makes me look weak. I can’t afford that.”

“Very well.” Shinsu looked first to Amber, then Diana, then Stray. Whatever thoughts formed in his mind, he kept them to himself but he still seemed to come to a decision. He nodded and turned back to the workbench. “I will take that consideration into account. But do not forget that I allow your deception because it suits my own purposes. Do not think your construct here is the only reason you came as far as you did.”

“Believe me, I appreciate the support.” Shinsu was the closest thing Stray had to a patron within the Covenant. The aristocratic officer could be irritating, but he was also generally right about things. Stray couldn’t afford to lose his backing. That didn’t mean he had to grovel for him either, though. “We’ve done pretty well for ourselves so far, and we’re going to keep doing just that.”

He tapped the satellite casing, prompting the Huragok to continue their investigation. “This baby right here is going to help us in that area.”

“So, you have secured its secrets?” Shinsu asked. He looked questioningly at Diana, recognizing that she was the one doing the investigating here. “I doubt there would be much information to salvage from such a device.”

“I’m hoping it’ll tell me who those Spartans are. That’ll help me figure out how to deal with them.”

“Not much there, I’m afraid,” Diana said, shaking her head. “According to the black box the satellite auto-wiped its onboard computer before the crash. The onboard computer is a lot more advanced than what you usually see in tech like this, which probably explains why it didn't wipe properly. I’ve managed to piece together some echoes, but it doesn’t tell us much. There’s references to a fireteam called Boson, specifically an individual logged as Merlin. Not really much to go on.”

“I’ve never heard of a Team Boson,” Amber said. “No one called Merlin, either.”

“That’s because no one’s actually called Merlin. It’s a code name or a callsign.” Stray scratched his temple, disappointed. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected, but aside from having a name to give his hunters this didn’t improve his ability to fight them. “Is there anything else there?”

“Well, it’s small but there was one bit of the computer that didn’t wipe.” Diana conjured up a hologram of numbers and data paths that Stray could not read. “Looks like a random failure in the black box’s termination protocols kept it almost completely intact. It’s nothing major, just a transmission protocol for sharing data between the Spartans in the field and the broader tactical network in orbit. It’s essentially the foundation of the satellite’s broadcasting capabilities.”

Stray frowned. The harsh light from the holograms cut through the darkened engineering room. “So, what, do you think it will help us tap into this team’s communications? They’ll get new codes after they leave Montak, but if their armor stays the same there may be a way to hijack through there.”

“Nah, their techs will re-encrypt everything in those MJOLNIR frames before they send them back out,” Amber explained. “It’s a pretty basic way to avoid electronic attacks.”

“Right,” Stray sighed. It had always been a long-shot to think a burned-out satellite husk would yield something valuable. “At least we got some names. That’s a start.”

“Not quite.” Shinsu stepped forward and gazed intently into the holographic display. “You continue to let these Spartans cloud your judgement. There is a larger picture to be grasped here.”

“Big picture? What do you mean?”

“My intelligence officers have been working to break the UNSC’s fleet encryptions for some time now,” Shinsu said, still pondering the workbench display. “Broader knowledge can of course be gained from a variety of sources, but the ability to intercept and listen in on tactical fleet movements continues to elude us. I think this satellite may be the key to those efforts.”

“What, you think we can use it to hack their fleet’s communications?” Stray shook his head. “They’ll just re-encrypt their frequencies. There’s no way a satellite they were using to help coordinate ground combat would even have access to the fleet’s encryption.”

“No, but it communicated with their tactical network. It had to, in order to discern troop movements on the ground. The fact that there was any communication between the two entities at all is enough.” Shinsu looked over to Diana’s avatar. “The transmission protocol has nothing to do with the encryption itself, only the ability to reach out to those channels in the first place. And I believe your, ah, oracle here is just the sort of entity we need to break through those encryption barriers.”

“Yes,” Diana mused, considering the proposal. “I could probably establish a handshake protocol with the transmission records. It wouldn’t be perfect, of course. They’ll have AI monitoring for any sort of encryption breach. I’d have to be subtle to avoid detection. If I pulled anything more than bits and pieces, they’d know and adjust their encryption to fight it.”

“Those bits and pieces are all we need.” Shinsu clasped his hands behind his back and nodded. “Specifically, transmissions regarding efforts to repair and re-arm their warships.”

“Wait.” Amber frowned. “You want to get a backdoor channel on their coms so you can learn about their supply operation?”

“But of course.” Shinsu’s mandibles spread in a thin smile. “The strength of a war fleet is not limited to the ships in its battle line. A campaign of this size and scope requires a vast logistical effort to maintain its fighting capability. I have studied you humans and your naval strategies. Your ships have improved greatly over the years, but they are always meant to fight as part of a larger force. There is less room for self-sufficiency as you find on Covenant ships. Our shipmasters must be able to operate for longer stretches of time on their own as they drive forward in search of glory. Your officers are expected to maintain ranks and adhere to a structured battle organization.”

He turned back to Stray. “Tell me, commander, how have you managed to win so many battles with this ship so far? Your ability to adapt to a tactical command situation is impressive, but you are not such a savant that you could strike against larger forces on your own. Your friend here mentioned that there is danger in incurring too many casualties in your own forces. How have you avoided that this far?”

Stray let the barbed compliment pass. “We’ve hit the soft targets, of course. Supply convoys, troop ships, isolated outposts. None of this big fleet action stuff.”

“Of course. And so you must focus not on the miniscule threat of the Spartans or even the threat of the coalition fleet we face now. Wars are not won by seeking out danger, but in bypassing that danger altogether and rendering it irrelevant.”

“So you want us to find these support ships and destroy them. If it were that easy the Imperium would already be doing that.”

“Space is a large place,” Shinsu agreed. “Large and easy to hide things in. But with the advantage of this satellite’s transmission protocols, your construct here will be able to triangulate the fleet’s communications. Once their fleet formation becomes clear, it will be a simple guessing game to determine where the support ships are situated in relation to the principle battle line.”

He addressed the room as if speaking to a larger collection of line officers, not a raiding commander, his partners in crime, and a pair of Huragok. “The coalition fleet will arrive to engage the Imperium at Frendhal soon. We have little to gain by waiting here while both sides decide what sort of battle this is going to be. The Covenant will prove its worth once again by striking our enemy where they are vulnerable, undermining their logistics network while their heaviest ships are engaged against the Imperium.”

“Smart.” Ro’nin nodded. “Smart, but risky. Those ships will not be undefended. I can probably convince the Marauders to lend us their cruiser again, but that is still just two of ours against an entire fleet of theirs.”

“A smaller force will allow us to slip behind their lines undetected. But we will not attack alone. Kan ‘Larom owes us a favor for our help back on Montak. I will give him a chance to repay that debt and win favor in the Toru’s eyes at the same time.” Shinsu looked to Stray. “Commander, those Spartans tried to kill you with this satellite. Understandably you want revenge and you want to minimize their threat. So I recommend you go where they will not be and take the opportunity to repay them in blood a thousand times over for the warriors of yours they killed.”

“I’m starting to like this idea,” Amber chimed in. “If it goes right, we’ll be wolves among sheep.”

“If it goes right,” Stray agreed. Shinsu was watching him intently. The warrior would not order him to commit to the plan. No, he was waiting to see just what the Kru’desh did with this opportunity. “Alright. We give the crew time to rest and then we move out. Diana, get to work on those encryptions. We’ll need to be subtle if we want to pull this off.”

“Of course,” the AI purred. “Subtle is what I do best.”

Stray’s prosthetic fingers twitched against the workbench. This was the kind of battle he liked the least, ordering the destruction of lightly armed support ships from the Soul Ascension’s bridge. Shinsu was right. Wars were won by pulling off just this sort of attack, not by looking for a fair fight. Stray was all for dirty tricks when it was just him against some bastard trying to kill him. Somehow it was harder to pull the trigger from within a heavily armored Covenant warship.

Hard, but he hadn’t hesitated before. He wouldn’t do it now, either. “Ro’nin, get some sleep and then start organizing the rosters for fighter squadrons and raiding parties. If this is going to be a bloodbath, I want our best people on it.”

“I put in a request for reinforcements before we engaged at Montak,” Diana added. “We should be getting a fresh shipment of convicts soon, so get that speech ready for them.”

“Speaking of best people,” Amber said innocently. “What about me?”

“Did in our stores and find yourself a suit of ODST armor,” Stray ordered. “Something you can pass off as proper UNSC kit. I’ve got something special in mind for you.”

He motioned for her to follow him out of the engineering room, but cast a final look back at the workbench and the captured satellite. Diana had already faded away, her attention drawn elsewhere, but the Huragok continued to toy with the hunk of metal. They caressed it with their tendrils as if it were an infant in their care. Stray wasn't quite sure he liked the way Yearns to Soar devoted so much attention to the enemy device. Huragok were as innocent a creature as you could find in the Covenant, but their gentle natures sometimes made them less predictable than even the most violent warriors.

But he had bigger things to worry about than the Huragok's strange obsessions. He had a new battle plan to put together. Diana would keep things under control here in the Soul Ascension's belly.

Actene: Heaven and Earth

90: Breaking the Cycle

1810 Hours, August 29th, 2558, UNSC Maya

Callum stepped out of the S-Deck, to his rear Rodger and Dawes followed, Jacob was off ahead, angry. Simon-G294 had been on world, and they hadn’t even gotten to take a swipe at him. Rodger shrugged it off, the boy was seemingly immune to irrational behavior, but he advised Callum leave it be for now.

G294 was a stain on their legacy, one of many, but by far the deepest and hardest to scrub clean. Beta and Alpha might’ve had their own share of rogues too, angry orphans weren’t as easy to hammer loyalty into as the models of perfection that were most of the S-II’s, but for the most part the earlier S-III’s had died before they could. G294’s service to just about any enemy of the UNSC he could find, the killing of fellow Gammas, and the bombing of a city made him unique among traitors though.

And from what he could tell, Jacob absolutely despised him with a burning rage that was all to familiar. After all, he’d been in Philadelphia that day according to his file, and they’d lost people in the bombing. Natia-G253 and Selim-G087 had been killed not by an enemy in direct combat, killed by debris as Site Hotel-Three collapsed upon them.

Something in his gut, perhaps repressed brotherly instinct, urged him to run to his sibling and place a hand on his shoulder, calm him down. But he didn’t, he couldn’t, he tried but he just couldn’t make himself close the gap between them.

He knew what hatred like that did, what it was still doing, to people like them. He wanted to stop Jacob before that need for revenge became all consuming, before he was became more monster than soldier. Callum told himself that he’d have these concerns with anyone under his command, it was a leader’s job to watch after his troops.

But that was a lie. He cared about this because in spite of a lifetime apart, he couldn’t see SPARTAN-G043 as just another soldier, he saw him as the wailing infant cradled in his scraggly arms as their home turned to ash. Callum could still smell the burning, still feel his infant brother wriggling in his arms.

He needed to protect him.

Just like you protected Jamison, right? Or the others?

His gut twisted at the thought, anger and sorrow slamming him like a truck. Callum wanted to shut it all out, his brother too, but it crashed over him and refused to leave. He had to fight to stop himself from falling to his knees in the middle of the hall.

His eyes shot back up, to find his brother had stopped and was leaning against the bulkhead, one hand was between Jacob’s forehead and the cold walls, the other was balled into a fist, shaking. What was he supposed to do? Callum came closer and closer, his fear begging him not to stop.

But he did.

Callum hesitated, and debated looking back at the others, hoping Rodger or Dawes might have had some sort of advice to silently convey, but he didn’t. He had to do this on his own. Before he could overthink it, B042’s hand came to a rest on the shoulder of his brother.

The younger Spartan turned to look at him, anger burning in his eyes. Jacob probably anticipated some sort of lecture or some sort of regurgitated pep talk Callum had heard from a shrink once, that was what a lot of officers did with III’s.

“I know.” It was all he could muster, but it worked. Anger faded from the younger of the two, no one had ever been able to help B042 shoulder his burdens, and by the time they did he’d shoved them away because he thought it made him strong. He wouldn’t let his brother do the same. User:Spartan-D042 - Of monsters and men 00:53, April 3, 2019 (UTC)

91: Zog'fee

0650 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Blissful Solitude, Yain System

In the mildly crowded halls of the Blissful Solitude, Grono 'Yendam and his handful of remaining men sat by themselves once again, away from the majority of the Imperial soldiers. With only his Commander Rach, a Storm Sangheili, and a pair of Unggoy left, the young Zealot could count them all on one hand. He had lost roughly half of his limited crew in the battle to take the enemy flagship, and it seemed all for naught.

From the rumors circulating around the barracks were, Field Marshal Orro 'Hendai had managed to strike down the Swords of Sanghelios Fleet Master, Felo 'Ranak, but it was up for debate on whether the enemy commander had actually perished. Although still an outsider to the large group of troopers from the Imperium, many at least gave Grono some recognition or a nod of respect. He had fulfilled his part, and was vital in securing an escape route for the Field Marshal. Not even the most stubborn Imperial Sangheili could deny that.

The Field Marshal had promised Grono great reward, but it still remained for 'Hendai to see to that promise. 'Yendam could still feel the disgust he had harbored when Orro had assumed him and his loyal men to be freelancing mercenaries like the Kru'desh Raiding Legion, so Grono had spoken up. How degrading for my men and I to be compared to those lowlife scum. They may have saved the life of one of the Imperium's Fleet Masters, but the Forerunners will ultimately leave them to wither when our time comes.

As Grono thought about this, Rach said meagerly, "Sir, we have communication from Jul 'Mdama. The Covenant Remnant has something of utmost importance for you."

Grono warily gazed around the chamber, eyeing the many Imperial troops talking amongst each other; some were somber about the deaths of comrades, while others were relieved to have left the Battle of Montak with their lives intact. Turning back to his second in command, Grono nodded. "Very well. But if I am to speak with the Didact’s Hand once again, I should retire to a more private place to talk. I do not think the Imperium would take kindly to us openly speaking to a potential rival, even if they do appreciate our help. I would rather keep us in a favorable image to the Imperium."

"Oh, no," Rach stated, "The Supreme Commander is not personally contacting you. We have rather received a transmission from him. He says that you must be ready to receive the coordinates to the Yain system, which we are returning to."

Grono mused at this, and said, "That is where the Field Marshal plans to put up his next defense. So we return to our point of entry. But why would he want us here? To return to him to deal with other matters? Or to meet up with yet another envoy?"

Commander Rach 'Iltuk's face lit up with a menacing smile. "The Didact's Hand has sent reinforcements. Specifically the Zog'fee Imperial Legion."

Upon hearing these words, Grono was taken aback. His own Legion, coming here? Although I may have lost the Universal Resonance, my Legion could provide much needed assistance, especially with their Lichs.

"Excellent!" Grono responded, showing his rare and secluded pleasurable side. "Tell the head Lich commander to send a hail to the Solitude. I can discuss how the Zog'fee are here to provide reinforcements. I will see to it to convince the Field Marshal that my men are not ones to disobey commands, so he may treat them like a proper force. Especially considering the heavy losses of the Imperium at Montak."

'Iltuk nodded and secured his datapad back in its pouch, before turning to converse with Storm Sangheili to his left about the news. The Unggoy listened in as well, and were overjoyed to hear that more of their Imperial brethren were arriving. As he spoke, the Commander took out the chunk of Sangheili armor he had retrieved from the Questioner, also grabbing a welder that worked similarly to an energy sword. Turning on the device, Rach began to meld the armor onto his own harness.

Taking out a communicator, Grono contacted the Field Marshal. After waiting for several moments, the warrior picked up. "Shipmaster? I was not expecting you to contact me. Whatever you want, make the request quick."

"For one, Field Marshal, I am afraid I am no longer a Shipmaster, but rather a Field Master. Second, a flotilla of Lichs will be arriving in the Yain system soon after we come. They will hail you, and I request that you give them safe passage, for they are reinforcements from the Zog'fee Imperial Legion under my command."

The chatter went dead for a moment, but the swordsman replied back, "Very well. I appreciate the reinforcements, Field Master. Your request will be seen to."

Grono exhaled a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Field Marshal. Do not expect any insubordination from them. They are some of the finest trained warriors in the Covenant. I will see to it personally that they are on their best behavior."

"That is kind of you, Field Master. But I must depart. I have a meeting to attend to with the Imperial Admiral Toru 'Mahkan."

Before Grono could reply, the chatter went dead. Dropping the communicator, Grono turned to Rach. "Commander, it seems that the Field Marshal is to meet up with the Imperium's leader himself. It will be interesting to see what entourage the Imperial Admiral has."

"Indeed!" Answered the Commander as he finished up the melding process. As Grono peered at the lump of scarlet metal on the Commander's shoulder, he quietly addressed his four men. "Unggoy, Sangheili, the rest of our Zog'fee brethren shall join us in the days to come. Let us do as the Gods please!"

UnggoyZealot

92: Preparation

0948 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Fortress of Watchful Peace, Irn, Bineb System

Less than a decade ago, Irn had been home to one of the Covenant's most remote military outposts; a glorified refuelling station in a barely-populated system for lonely ships patrolling the empire's farthest reaches. Poised above the Imperium of Clarity's most populous Unggoy colony, the moon had been transformed into a powerful military stronghold at Toru 'Makhan's behest, its surface dotted with weapon emplacements and sealed habitats housing thousands of soldiers.

The journey from the Advance Guard had been a quiet one, barring the brief exchange of access codes as the Phantom dropship neared the Imperium's local military headquarters. Fleet Master Kan 'Larom stood to attention with his eyes closed, both hands clasped behind his back as his personal transport slowly descended into one of the Fortress of Watchful Peace's many docking bays. Since their flight from Montak he had had his armour repaired and refurbished, but the famed 'Taskmaster' had spoken little to his men. Though few had survived the assault on his base on that desert world, Kan's return alongside a number of Kru'desh legionaries had sparked several rumours aboard his own flagship.

"Docking complete," the dropship pilot called through the ship's internal communicator. "Fleet Master, a delegation is waiting to receive you."

Kan's eyes opened, and he eased himself out of his reverie. The only other souls within his troop bay were a pair of guardsmen pulled from their usual post at the Advance Guard's bridge, and the looming mass of bloodied flesh and metal that was Commander Mono Puru Kadun, head of Kan's shock troops. Having lost his entire retinue of loyal bodyguards to the Shadows of Retribution back on Montak, the Fleet Master had been forced to make quick replacements, both for practical reasons and to save face. The Phantom shuddered slightly and its starboard hatch slid open. Kan stepped out onto a long docking platform, and was joined by his fellows as a group of at least a dozen diminutive Unggoy clomped towards them, chattering amongst themselves in their high voices. At their head was a battle-scarred elder in ornate white-hued armour, moving slightly ahead of the pack in spite of his slight limp.

"Welcome, Fleet Master!" Hedan Koti called out in a wheezy voice, stopping just a few feet away from Kan. "How was your journey?"

Kan inclined his head respectfully. "Uneventful, though our prior battle was not."

"I've heard," Hedan's eyes flicked between Kan and his rather small retinue. "News was relayed to us not long before you arrived. Are the humans in pursuit?"

"Possibly. Are your ships prepared to defend in case of an invasion?"

Kan had stopped himself from saying 'fleet', aware that by the Imperium's laws only those with the rank of Fleet Master could command a force larger than a scouting picket. In spite of his seat in the Imperium's High Command, Hedan Koti had refused the rank even as a formality, citing his inexperience in leading ships into battle. It was a strange decision on his part, though Kan head learned from time spent with Hedan that to the millions of Unggoy who followed him he was the Shipmaster; one who had led a flotilla of their people away from the war-ravaged centre of the crumbling Covenant Empire and into the fringe territories controlled by the Imperium.

"We're as prepared as we can be," said Hedan, folding his massive forearms. "We should start planning now, though."

"I agree," Kan eyed the dozen or so Unggoy officers behind Hedan, who had fallen silent the moment their leader spoke. "Shall we go?"

From the landing pad, it was a ten-minute walk to Watchful Peace's command room. On the way, Hedan took the time to introduce each and every member of his command staff, ranging from gunnery officers to those in charge of the base's food supply. Though their enthusiasm was genuine and they treated Hedan with unabashed reverence, Kan could not detect a hint of the cringing servility he had seen from some officers eager to please their superiors. Much like Toru 'Makhan, Hedan Koti possessed a rare form of charisma among his own kind, though the Fleet Master could not help but wonder if such behaviour could ever be seen as a threat. In the days of the Covenant, the San'Shyuum ruling class had been quick to snuff out those who rose above their station, either through shoddy accusations and show trials that led to public executions or exile thinly-disguised as military reassignment.

Their Imperial Admiral had suffered the latter fate, and though he ruled his domain utterly unopposed, the Unggoy vastly outnumbered every other race within the Imperium of Clarity. Kan shook dark thoughts from his mind by the time they arrived at the command room, where Hedan quickly hopped ahead of him and onto a high-backed throne above a massive holotank. A map of of the entire system hovered above it, displaying Irn, Bineb II and Bineb III. The moon and both colonies glowed with numerous markers, each indicating a notable civilian or military centre.

"As you can see," Hedan waved towards the hologram, "We are ready for war. All ships under my command have been readied, and our civilians have been warned of the coming war."

Kan could only nod in approval as the Shipmaster began to point out the defensive measures he had put in place over his tiny domain, with the fortified moon base as the centre of operations. Like many Sangheili who had served with the Covenant military, Kan had initially dismissed the Unggoy as barely worthy of his notice; dutiful workers who existed to carry out his commands and little else. Over the years, he had come to appreciate their tenacity and inventiveness, and knew how dangerous the Unggoy could be when underestimated.

"My friend, I feel that we would have held Montak if your forces had been present."

"It's not like I didn't want to be there," Hedan grumbled. "Supplies had to be moved, troops prepared. I think 'Makhan may use our upcoming victory to begin a larger invasion."

Kan's mandibles shook involuntarily at the thought. "I have heard similar rumours, though I worry that we may end up over-extending ourselves. We are not the Covenant, after all."

A wheezy cackle erupted through Hedan's facemask. "We are not, Kan. That is why we cannot lose."

"I wish I could share your enthusiasm, but I have just lost a battle. Forgive my pessimism."

"Forgive you? You outrank me!"

Now it was Kan's turn to laugh. Of everyone in the Imperium's High Command, he was certainly closest to the venerable Unggoy leader. Perhaps it was their shared talent for logistics that had brought them together, or their perspective as outsiders compared to the hardened military leaders that stood beside them. Before Hedan could continue his description of the base's defences, a messenger scampered into the room. Looming over all present, Mono Puru Kadun turned towards the newcomer in anticipation of a threat, though a quick hand signal from Kan stopped him in his tracks. Halting just a few feet from the Shipmaster's throne, the Unggoy stopped to catch his breath, noisily sucking in methane while Hedan waited politely.

"Good Shipmaster and Fleet Master," the messenger bowed quickly to the pair of them. "Imperial Admiral Toru 'Makhan has sent some of his personal guards here to bring you good tidings. He will join the rest of our fleets in battle, and wishes to contact his High Command immediately."

Kan and Hedan glanced at each other, and the gold-armoured Sangheili crossed his arms. "He's sending his personal guards here? An unusual decision, but not one I will challenge. Where are they?"

"Close by, Fleet Master," the messenger squeaked. "That is why I ran here to-"

Before he could finish, a door across the room slid open. Six Sangheili in the shining silver armour of Toru 'Makhan's personal guard entered the command room, catching the attention of everyone present. Having arrived without warning, they ignored the stares of dozens of Unggoy workers, striding with a purpose towards Kan 'Larom and Hedan Koti. For a moment, the Sangheili Fleet Master felt a twinge of unease, and found his fingers an inch away from grasping his sword handle.

"Honoured commanders," the leader's voice boomed as he and his fellows saluted Kan and Hedan. "My apologies for our unannounced arrival, but Imperial Admiral 'Makhan himself has requested that we be present for the battle to come."

Hedan drummed his fingers against the side of his throne, eyeing the guardsman's insignia. "So an attack is certain? How do you know this, Major...?"

"Major Kur 'Cheis, excellency. Our spies have indicated that the enemy fleets chose to pursue both your fleet and Field Marshal 'Hendai's, and will arrive shortly."

"And what of 'Makhan's orders?" asked Kan.

"You are to hold your position here and fend off the human invaders until Lora 'Deris arrives with his fleet."

This was the first he had heard of his fellow Fleet Master since the High Command meeting on Iradu. 'Makhan had dispatched him on a secretive mission immediately after they departed the capital, the nature of which was completely unknown even to the Imperium's other leaders. If he was to join them then they certainly stood a much better chance of victory in the coming battle; Kan's fleet had taken losses and though large in number, Hedan's own forces boasted no sizeable warships.

"Thank you, Major," Kan made a fist against his breastplate; an old warrior's salute. "What will you do now?"

Major 'Cheis gestured to his five followers. "Half of us are to accompany you, Fleet Master, while the others were bade to stand by Shipmaster Koti's side. It will not be a problem, I trust?"

Hedan shrugged. "As you like."

Though their presence was a welcome one and Kan had seen the prowess of the Imperial Guard first-hand, he could not help but wonder how useful such a force would be in a protracted space battle. Perhaps Toru 'Makhan, having already heard of Kan's near-death on Montak, had decided that the Fleet Master could not be trusted to protect himself. In any case, it was not his place to question his leader's commands, and Kan nodded in acknowledgement before turning back to Hedan. It was time to talk strategy.

"Many of my ships are still undergoing repairs, and our mercenary contingent has diminished significantly since the last battle. Given my shortage of manpower, perhaps it would be best if we kept the enemy at range, striking only where we need to?"

Hedan tapped the side of his gas mask with a clawed finger, his eyes roving over the tactical readout once more. He knew all there was to know about the Bineb system, and Kan would defer to his judgement in matters of defence.

"I agree," he swiped a nearby panel, and dozens of purple lights flared to life around the twin colonies. "Though I will not allow our enemy to approach without a fight."

Peering closer, Kan realised that these objects were Hedan's ships. He had many more than reported, but now was not the time to report it.

"You wish to intercept them?"

"Indeed. You know of the storm cutter, yes?"

"Of course."

A smaller class of warship, usually used for system patrols, the DAS-class storm cutter was not a particularly common sight on the frontlines of the Human-Covenant War, though many thousands were used to keep home systems safe and to cover the flanks of larger fleets. If these readouts were correct, then these vessels made up most of Hedan's orbital defence forces.

"It is not a fearsome foe alone, even to most human ships. However, when properly positioned and used in force, the storm cutter's speed and massed firepower can bring down a much larger foe."

Kan's eyes widened, now aware of what Hedan was planning. The Unggoy veteran noticed this and cackled wheezily before changed the display once again. Now the twin-pronged cruisers grouped together like shoals of fish, moving with surprising synchronicity. Heading towards the very edge of the Bineb sytem, they began to slowly prowl the area, lying in wait.

"A surprise attack the moment they exit slipspace," Kan said approvingly. "With speed and numbers, we needn't involve our larger vessels until our enemy is already worn down."

"But that is not enough," Hedan waved dismissively. "They will push through my ships eventually. That is why I intend to take theirs."

As if to answer Kan's unsaid question, the tactical readout changed once more, now displaying one of Hedan's storm cutters more prominently. While its design seemed fairly normal for a ship of that class, Kan eyed several prominent additions to the underside of the ship: boarding craft.

"Ingenious," the Sangheili muttered, already seeing their application in the battle to come. "How many do you possess?"

"Two per craft, each capable of fitting around thirty of my soldiers. It took some effort, but these modified Type-28's will work, I assure you. Once aboard, they will overwhelm the enemy and stop each warship in its tracks, or die trying. Their fleet will crumble before they ever reach my worlds, should all go well."

Hedan's voice grew colder as he spoke, betraying the usually jovial Unggoy's killing intent. Though he played the part of a humble, reluctant leader, barely seeing himself as worthy of the position he held, Koti had not survived the Human-Covenant War by being a weakling. If he saw a chance to tear out the enemy's throat, then he would take it without hesitation. Kan took the realisation that he would likely play a passive role in the next battle well, and seeing that this meeting was fast coming to a close, prepared to close the debate.

"I should depart soon, Hedan," Kan eased up slightly, "Might I make a request before we begin preparations?"

"Of course."

"While we saw heavy losses on Montak, those under my command saw fit to take prisoners during the battle. While I'm sure you're aware of the Imperial Admiral's new policy on sending military prisoners directly to Iradu, I was hoping to transfer a few to this facility's prison for the time being."

"Are they important?" Hedan asked, sounding rather intrigued by the prospect. "We have no facilities for interrogation here."

Given the surprising number of secretive expansions made by Hedan to his domain, Kan wondered if the Shipmaster was telling the truth or if this was the one facet of this base he was choosing to omit.

"One is a Kaidon, I am told. Such mercy to a defeated foe has not been given in years, but on Sanghelios it was not uncommon for captured warriors to be sold back to their clans for a ransom. They would kill themselves upon return, of course, but we may have that option here."

Hedan snorted; his kind often found Sangheili honour culture to be a strange and occasionally laughable thing. With violent death as a sadly common occurrence among the Unggoy and survival at any cost seen as a tremendous priority many of them simply could not understand why capture or defeat was a dishonour worth ending one's own life over. Choosing to ignore what some less even-tempered commanders might have seen as an act of disrespect, Kan simply folded his arms and awaited an answer.

"Fine, fine," Hedan grumbled. "Send your prisoners and I will keep them accommodated. I'm no torturer, but I may find time to speak to them about their plight...and their monetary value."

"My thanks," Kan saluted Hedan. "We shall speak again as the battle commences, I assume."

"We shall."

With that, Kan 'Larom left the command room with Mono and his other bodyguards in tow. It was not until he had almost left the room that he noticed the presence of Major Kur 'Cheis and two other guardsmen, silently bringing up the rear of their little group. With the Advance Guard currently orbiting the moon, it would take some time to organise the prisoner transfer and move his other ships into a proper formation around Irn. Though the Fortress of Watchful Peace remained as a secure symbol of the Imperium's military power, Kan could not help but fear for the two grey-green Unggoy colonies nearby, and what vengeful destruction mankind's forces might wreak upon them.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

93

1758, August 29, 2558 Burya, Montak Orbit

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't let you leave the system. We're meant to hold everyone involved with the fighting here while we sort out the aftermath."

"Look, I understand that you think those are your orders, but I was given express permission by one of your Admirals, I think he's on the Maya or something, that we're allowed to leave. Do you really want to keep civilians in a war zone against the orders of an Admiral?"

"These orders come from an Admiral as well! ...but... Look, ma'am. I'll try to get this sorted out, just... stay put for now, okay?"

Elena sighed, but nodded, answering, "Yeah, okay. Whatever. Just... get this cleared up quickly, okay?"

"Yeah."

The Ensign handling her situation vanished from her holotank and was replaced by Alexios's figure.

"So, you think they're gonna let us go?"

"I've got insignificant data to make that analysis, ma'am."

"I should've gotten a smart AI. Much better for small talk."

"You can always speak with our guest."

"He's sleeping."

"His neural patterns indicate he's awake."

"Well, he said he's sleeping, so if I walk in on him, he'll not like it very much. Just... keep monitoring him and let me know when the comms come through again, okay?"

"Affirmative, ma'am."

Elena leaned back in her chair a bit as the AI's holographic representation blinked out, leaving the holotank to display the message 'please hold.' Sighing as she settled back in her chair for her wait, she picked up her datapad, turning it on and scanning over the page, taking a moment to locate where she had left off on the page and continue reading the romance novel she had been occupying her time with. Some might call it cheesy, or laugh at her, but she found the clichéd writing humorous more than anything else and often ended up laughing at it more than she would at an actual work of comedy.

She spent the next fifteen or so minutes waiting there, reading, before Alexios's voice finally filtered back in over the cockpit speakers.

"Call coming in, ma'am. Marked as from a Vice Admiral Samson."

"Vice Admiral? Wasn't the one we talked to last time a Rear Admiral? That's lower, right?"

"Yes, ma'am. Rear Admiral Hawkins would, theoretically, be outranked by Vice Admiral Samson."

"Theoretically?"

"Samson's comm signal matches with known signatures used by ONI for civilian communications. They are most likely in entirely different chains of command."

"Well, let's hope that means he can't override Hawkins's orders, then."

"ONI has been reported as being able to 'do anything,' ma'am."

Elena sighed, then nodded, sitting up and setting her datapad to the side, "Pipe it through, Alexios."

The holotank swirled in a display of light and eventually settled in on the face of a middle-aged man, presumably this 'Vice Admiral Samson' Alexios had said was calling her.

"Vice Admiral, is it? I hope you're here with good news?"

"It's certainly news, Miss Zaytseva, and could be considered good, depending on how much you prefer credits to less... desirable outcomes?"

Elena's brow rose at that comment, a slight smirk playing at her face as she responded, "A bit early in the conversation to be threatening, isn't it? Tends to help if you let the person know what you want from them, first. You do want something from me, I presume?"

"That wasn't a threat, Miss Zaytseva, merely laying out expectations. And yes, your presumptions serve you well. You're in a... unique situation to help us here, Miss Zaytseva. I've reviewed your ship specs. And Infinitum, is it?"

"That's correct, though I'd appreciate it if you get to the point where this becomes relevant."

"Hm. Very well. We recently acquired some navigational data pointing us to potential Imperium worlds. We'd like you to take your ship to one of these worlds, make nice with the local population, and confirm the importance of the world. Your ship's clearance for Imperium space should help at first, but you may have to think on your feet a bit to get in. We'll send you a document with potential excuses to help you get in that you can study on your way to the destination."

"So the UNSC is using civilians as spies, now?"

"Not the UNSC. Not officially. But if it goes against whatever moral compass you have, I'm certain there are ways we can persuade you. Credits would be the easiest for both of us, I'm thinking."

"You weren't exactly speaking that this was a choice on my end, but if you're offering, how much are we talking? And how do I know you'll pay?"

The man looked off to the side, speaking something to someone off-screen, then turned back to Elena.

"Check your account, Miss Zaytseva."

Elena smirked, looking down at her datapad and checking her primary account, chuckling when she saw the recent transfer.

"That was fast. Normally takes a couple days, at least, to come through. And that's... very generous of you, but I'm not the only person on the ship. Double it and we'll see what happens."

"Half again as much, Miss Zaytseva. You'll understand we're on a budget, and we need to leave room to transfer more if the data you send us is actionable, no?"

"One point seven five. I certainly do understand that, and I'm sure I won't be breaking ONI's bank over such a... relatively small amount."

"You drive a hard bargain, Miss Zaytseva."

"Is that a yes?"

"It is."

She looked down at her datapad again, nodding at the newest transfer registering in her bank account.

"Perfect. Where are we heading, then?"

"I'll send the navigational data to your ship. Oh, and you may detect something attaching to your vessel, near your comms system. Don't worry about it, just a secure transmitter to modify any communications you send us over our long-range channel. Reduce the chances it'll be intercepted."

"And this won't be picked up by a ship inspection?"

"It'll look like a normal part of the comms system."

"Right. Well, whenever you're ready. I'll need to convince my... friend, to come along with, so don't shoot us down if we don't leave right away."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Before Elena could even open her mouth to respond again, the connection was cut and the holotank filled with Alexios's image again. Shortly afterward she heard a light thump above her.

"The device the Admiral mentioned has attached itself. Should I allow it to integrate with our systems."

"Do it, Alexios, but be ready to cut it off if it starts doing anything weird."

"Weird, ma'am?"

"Potentially harmful to our ship. Tries to take control. That sort of thing."

"Affirmative... It's integrated. Doesn't appear harmful at this time."

"Keep an eye on it, and get our navigational computers hooked up with the coordinates they transmitted to us." she stands, smirking. "I'm going to go break the news to our guest."

---

"You said we were heading away from this whole mess."

"We were, yes. That was before I was told we'd be shot down if we left the system without authorization."

"We had authorization!"

"And we still do. We're just authorized to go somewhere else, now."

"Yeah, an unknown world in the middle of Imperium space."

"Well, we're not sure it's the middle. That's why we're being sent. We get to find out. Besides, they're offering a whole bunch of credits for this. Not so much a need on my end, but it seems you are quite interested in that sort of thing, no?"

"Well, yeah, but you can't spend credits if you're dead."

"Relax. We won't die. The ship is already technically cleared for Imperium space, and if they start shooting at us, Burya can be out of the system before you can say 'Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine.'"

"That's not exactly comforting. Long phrase to say."

"Well, I'm not gonna get shot down because I tried to go somewhere other than the coordinates they sent us, so you can either help and get a cut, or I can lock you in this room with a week's worth of food and water as your only payment."

"Fine, fine. I'll help. But I better get my credits."

"Don't worry, you will. Now, you going to sleep again, or will you finally join me in the cockpit? Always good to have someone to chat with."

"Yeah. Fine. Give me a minute to finish waking up, and I'll be right there."

Elena smiled, turning to head out with a nod, "Great. See you in a bit, then."

Timothy Emeigh

94: Promises

1304 Hours, August 31st, 2558 ORS-class heavy cruiser Questioner, Slipspace

As he lay on the metal cot, eyes closed, Nilen 'Feru wondered what his ancestors would think of him now.

Even in his earliest years of martial training, Nilen had been taught never to show weakness. A Sangheili warrior did not falter in his duty. He did not surrender, he did not show fear, and most of all, he did not betray his kind.

In the past day, Nilen had broken every one of those rules.

After his surrender to the Swords of Sanghelios, the Commander had been taken to the enemy flagship, stripped of his armour, and left alone in a cell to await further instruction. Some small part of him had been relieved to see that he was not the only prisoner, though most of those who had surrendered to the Swords seemed to be of the hired mercenary factions the Imperium had brought to Montak. Aside from a single meagre meal brought to him by a pair of heavily-armed guards, Nilen had not seen another soul since his imprisonment here.

It is likely that they have their own problems, Nilen stared upwards at the featureless ceiling of his cell. His captor, Rora 'Marak, had spoken to some high-ranking officers en-route to the ship, and the news seemed dire. From what the prisoner had gathered, one of their commanders had been badly injured in a boarding action, though he could glean no more information from them.

"To be taken alive is the greatest dishonour a warrior can suffer," the words of Nilen's uncle echoed in his mind. "If all is lost, then die well."

Nilen could scarcely imagine what the old man would say to him now, were he alive. His uncle had fallen in battle against the humans many years ago, obliterated alongside the ship he was serving on in a surprise attack. Did that could as a warrior's death? There were some who even argued that to serve solely as a driver or pilot was cowardly, favouring the glory of close combat. Nilen preferred to see the carnage of battle from above, and paid little heed to their mockery. It all seemed so long ago now; different views from a different time. The Imperium of Clarity had granted a wonderful life to Nilen and his clan, but he would see it all burn just to ensure his family's safety.

Forgive me, Nilen closed his eyes, offering a silent prayer to his ancestors.

A distant chime sounded, and the doors to the prison block slid open. At first Nilen thought that new prisoners were being brought in, but the familiar jolt of the vessel's transition to slipspace made such a thing unlikely. Sitting up in his cot, he strained to listen and picked out four pairs of heavy boots clomping towards his cell. Fearing that such a procession could only be his executioners, Nilen stood up, glancing wildly around the enclosed space for anything he could use to defend himself.

Of course, there was nothing. No cell built to hold a Sangheili would hold anything that could feasibly be a weapon. This was not for fear of a prisoner's escape, but to prevent honourable suicide. Feeling a shiver of dread at the thought of dying here, far away from his family, Nilen balled his fists and prepared to meet his end as the familiar warrior in green armour walked into view, halting just outside of his cell's energy field.

"You're lively," said Rora 'Marak jovially, crossing his arms. "Calm yourself, we're here to talk."

Two helmeted guards in standard combat harnesses stood to attention beside Rora, who stepped to one side and bowed his head reverently as the final member of their group arrived, his stride impeded by a heavy limp.

For a moment, Nilen thought he was being greeted by some Elder statesman the Swords had brought with them to Montak; a hunched figure here to engage in diplomacy, not battle. As he raised his head and met Nilen's gaze, golden armour shining even through the hazy energy field, the Commander realised that it was a warrior of prime fighting age. However, the signs of recent injury were clear; much of his upper body was still partly wrapped in sealant mesh, as was one of his legs. Nonetheless, he still maintained a regal bearing as he looked over his prisoner, eyes filled not with disdain for the enemy, but with curiosity.

"I am Fleet Master Felo 'Ranak," he spoke, and Nilen's hearts skipped a beat. "Commander 'Marak tells me that you may be willing to work with us."

To the surprise of both Nilen and Felo's guards, the Fleet Master deactivated the energy field and stepped into the cell. Though he initially considered offering his cot as a seat to the injured officer, Nilen quickly thought better of it and backed up slightly to give Felo some room. Unable to fit into the cell alongside the others, Rora detached a pistol from his thigh holster with deliberate slowness, making sure that the prisoner knew not to try anything.

Nilen cleared his throat and inclined his head slightly. "I am Nilen 'Feru, Seraph Commander of the Keen Eyes. Your ships fought well in the previous battle."

"As did yours," Felo exchanged pleasantries, though his tone made it clear that he wanted something substantial.

"Fleet Master, I willingly assisted your Commander 'Marak in exchange for a promise of safety on Montak. Without me, his forces may never have penetrated our stronghold. While I realise that my position means nothing, I humbly ask that you allow me to assist you further."

"We would have gotten in eventually," Rora growled, prompting a light snort of amusement from Felo.

"You fought in the Great War, I assume?" Felo asked.

"Of course, Fleet Master. I spent time among several fleets as a line officer before becoming a combat pilot."

Felo's voice grew severe, his eyes narrowing. "Then you know that to willingly surrender to the enemy is an act of supreme dishonour, even more so, if you intend to aid your foe."

Nilen didn't blink. "Yes, Fleet Master."

"Then why do it, Nilen 'Feru? What would your family say, to hear of your actions?"

Staring death in the face, Nilen found himself suppressing a laugh. He thought of his wife and children back at the keep, of his relatives and the constant familial squabbles that accompanied daily life there. Of his parting moments before setting out.

"They would be happy to see me alive and understand my choices, I think."

Felo 'Ranak retained his aristocratic composure, but a subtle facial twitch gave away his shock and confusion. "Explain."

"In the time of the Covenant, Frendhal was little more than a far-flung backwater, home to simple farmers and traders. It may surprise you, Fleet Master, but many of us did not abide by the ancient traditions of Sanghelios. Even our warrior's code came from those who served in the Covenant's military and sought to impart it to future generations. Think of us what you will, but above all else, we cherish family. That is why even after all it has done for us, I would see the Imperium of Clarity fall if it meant their safety."

Nilen realised that he has spoken more freely than he had expected, and could not help but feel a little ashamed after giving voice to his darker thoughts. Even so, speaking ill of the Imperium felt almost blasphemous, given his years of unquestioning support for Toru 'Makhan. His wife, Luia, had come close to saying a prayer for him before Nilen's departure. Now it seemed that they would abandon yet another source of adoration.

Felo 'Ranak, for his part, took some time to respond. Eventually, he let out a brief sigh and placed a hand on Nilen's shoulder.

"I thank you for speaking the truth, Nilen 'Feru, and wish to give you an offer. Should you assist the Swords of Sanghelios in our conquest of Frendhal, using your rank and position to ensure that the planet falls to us with minimal loss of life, then I promise to you that no harm will come to you or your clan."

Even if it was all that Nilen could have hoped for, it was a lot to ask. Though the Swords of Sanghelios did not know it, the Commander had the capacity to do great amounts of damage. His rank gave him the access codes of several orbital stations above Frendhal. Once taken, they could hijack the translocation grid to invade the planet's military command center, potentially taking down almost all automated defences if they knew where to strike. Of course, they would still have to take on the Imperium's fleets, but it mattered little to Nilen, as long as his family remained safe.

How many would die for my selfishness? he wondered, picturing cities ablaze and scores of his fellows slaughtered as the skies of Frendhal darkened above. If my treachery is uncovered, and the Swords of Sanghelios fail, they will slaughter my entire clan.

Nilen knew what he had to do.

"I accept your offer," Nilen raised one fist to his chest, completing his betrayal with a warrior's salute. "Keep your promise, Felo 'Ranak, and I will deliver the planet to you."

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

95: Reveille

1406 Hours, August 31st, 2558 DDS-class carrier Blissful Solitude, Yain System

Arriving on Frendhal had been the most calm objective so far out of this entire war so far. Grono and Rach awaited the Zog'fee Imperial Legion. Turning to his subordinate, Grono said, "Commander, what would be your opinion on the Legion's morale? Since the incident with the Demons on Kalincton and Righteous Cause, it seems that the Zog'fee have dwindled not only in numbers from casualties, but also their outlook."

"I admit, the death of Shipmaster 'Dezan and the loss of the Producer were... setbacks, Field Master. But the Legion shall be pleased to know that they can have glory in battle once more," 'Iltuk responded.

"The Prometheans have been reallocated by Jul 'Mdama to his personal forces for protection, so the twin Knight Commandos shall not be heading into battle with us, either," He continued.

Grono cocked his head to the side in a frustrated manner. The young Zealot respected the Supreme Commander's decisions and background, but taking away the Prometheans from the Zog'fee Legion was like an energy sword without the battery. Melee swipes could only get one so far...

"Very well," Grono sighed, "I shall go along with the decisions of the Didact's Hand."

Turning to face the horizon, the two were greeted by the sight of a flotilla of Liches. Nodding in satisfaction, Grono stepped forward as one of the transports in the lead swooped down, sweeping up the wind. As the Unggoy shielded their eyes, 'Yendam simply took a confident step forward. A group of Unggoy Heavies and Sangheili Storms flanking a Sangheili Warrior exited the ship, saluting before their commander.

"Field Master, it has been some time since you have lead us into battle," The Warrior said.

"Indeed. Our pirating brothers from the Kru'desh Raiding Legion have split paths with us, but we shall assist Field Marshal Orro 'Hendai in defending the planet. Our Liches shall provide useful boarding craft and gunboats, or orbital defenses, no matter. With the thousand remaining troops we have, we shall fight with vigor!"

Finishing his line, Grono held his hand up, activating his energy sword Varmint's Nail in the process. Rach roared in support and did the same, and soon the air was full of crackling plasma, shouts of glory sounding throughout the area.

Grono bellowed once more, his Zog'fee troops still continuing their war cries. "For the glory of the Didact's Hand! The humans and traitors shall fall! For the Covenant!"

UnggoyZealot

96: Critical Consequences

EVENING // 27 AUGUST 2558 (D-D) Location: UNSC MAYA

“I thought you were better than this.” Lieutenant Commander Frendsen groaned, pinching the roof of his nose in frustration.

Three Spartans, cleanly showered and changed into some fresh Marine Corps fatigues, stared loosely at their commanding officer from the crates they were laid out. Now aboard the UNSC Maya, the group was attempting to relax in the reserve storage room they converted into their temporary living quarters. The ship’s name was plaster across the wall in bold-white paint on the adjacent wall to the sealed door.

Merlin-D032 was leaning forward atop his folded-out cot with his elbows resting on a crate and his hands gripped together, obscuring his mouth and nostrils. His brown eyes were pointed toward the floor in embarrassment.

Andra-D054 was strewn atop three large crates with a cot mattress rolled out on top so she could feel comfortable. Her eyelids were shut tight and her forehead was locked in a frown that was visible even behind the cover of a cold pack and her unfurled brown mane. The early-battle concussion was still bothering her, but she was evidently fine.

Shizuko-D081 blinked slowly, a tired expression slapped on her face as she eyed Frendsen at a tilt. Her elbow laid on another crate and her temple rested in her right fist, possibly nursing a headache given how she rolled her knuckle into the skin.

“It was Simon-G294. Can you blame us?” Andra asked, her eyes still closed.

“Yes, I can! Andra, you almost lost your life out there – you guys didn’t stick together. Amy had to pull you out of the fire!”

“Amy tried to shoot Simon first, Shizuko pulled Andra out of trouble,” Merlin mumbled from behind his clenched fists, attempting to correct the naval officer.

“Don’t you talk – you didn’t fall back when the assault collapsed, I saw the combat feed.”

Merlin mumbled something incoherent, refusing to make eye contact.

“And don’t get me started on the satellite…” Frendsen hissed at the boy.

A pregnant silence inflated over the room for a full minute as everyone refused to look at one another. Finally, someone spoke again.

“Why is it a big deal? We’ve been trained our whole lives to be Spartans. It’s our job to hunt threats to the UNSC, Simon was one of the big ones back at Camp Ambrose. He was the first rogue Spartan they ever introduced to us.” Merlin added, still not looking up at the Lieutenant Commander.

“Because you three behaved stupidly. How many times am I going to have to say it? What makes you think you three can wander off and do whatever you fancy?”

“We’re Spartans.” Andra pointed out.

“Being a Spartan doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want. You still got to follow orders, you still got to abide by the rules and regulations. Being a Spartan doesn’t make you above being court-martialed and thrown in the brig. It doesn’t make you above being marked Absent Without Leave.”

“Simon nearly killed Andra...” Shizuko grumbled.

“I get it. It’s personal. I understand, really, I do,” Frendsen sighed, blinking and holding up his hands to placate his subordinates. “But you put a lot more at risk over a personal vendetta that isn’t really personal. Risks that may have just compromised our war efforts.”

“What do you mean?” Shizuko asked.

“You three left the rear guard without alerting anyone and going against what Joshua told you to do, Josh and Amy are apoplectic – for the record. And then you go hunt Simon without backup. Chased him into a combat zone where you were ill-equipped, ill-prepared, and ill-informed. And then wasted a satellite on a hijacked siege platform. And post-op teams can’t find the remains, so we have reason to believe Simon’s followers have it now. We just lost an expensive piece of equipment, but it had your team’s Smart AI on board…” Frendsen listed off, closing his eyes in further frustration. The squeezing fingers on his nose were turning white.

“Wait… Althea?” Andra whispered from her resting place, her eyes peeking open suddenly. Another silence filled the room.

Shizuko glanced at Merlin with a wide-eyed look as if to ask, ‘what the hell did you do?’

Merlin wilted under her stare before mumbling something else incoherent.

“What was that?” Shizuko asked, leaning toward Merlin now as her voice turned accusative.

“First time I heard of it…” Merlin commented just a bit louder.

Shizuko’s eyes narrowed at him and her lips parted as she sucked in a breath, ready to interrogate her teammate. Frendsen came to his rescue. “He didn’t know, that’s on me.”

Everyone turned again to Frendsen, raised eyebrows glancing at full attention. The officer’s left eye twitched a little as he tried to explain the situation.

“Doctor Reyna Zhou-Romero imparted an AI to me following Team Boson’s half-dissolution… it was supposed to be for you guys but she asked me not to mention it unless it became an emergency – the AI wasn’t fully developed due to the previous project it was a part of so I didn’t feel it was a big concern to inform you about. Evidently, its an emergency now. I’m the one at fault for the AI’s loss, I apologize. That said, Merlin’s act of launching your unit’s support satellite might have just handed off some UNSC secrets to the enemy. The techs and command elements are still trying to figure out the cost it's going to have on us.”

“Shit…” Merlin mumbled, the guilt seeped into his heart, realizing the mistake he made without even considering it.

“Don’t worry about it too much, for now, we’re still at war. We’ll just have to make do, hopefully, recover our AI at some point if the Covenant haven’t dissected her already…”

“They do that?” Andra asked, concerned curiosity creeping in her voice.

“That and occasionally more and worse,” Frendsen responded ambiguously. “Smart AI are fickle things; she’ll be able to take care of herself most likely.”

“What about punishments? Did we incur anything for our mistakes?” Shizuko asked, glancing at Frendsen.

“My higher-ups were considering demotions but at this point, it would be pretty meaningless. And you three did good work rescuing the civilians with that civilian pilot, today wasn't all bad. ONI has always been two degrees separate from the Navy so they can’t really give much input. I’ve decided you guys shouldn’t operate alone any longer.”

“You’re assigning us directly under Josh and Amy?” Andra asked, a hint of hopeful interest in her voice.

Merlin groaned behind her.

“Joshua refused you three. They got Headhunter assignments to handle, you three are something of an in-between amalgamation of Spartan types. You’re not trained or prepared for these sorts of missions, so, no. I found you a different babysitter.”

Andra's frown line turned into a serious pout.

The three Spartans glanced at Frendsen, knowing the naval officer at least intended a Spartan. He certainly couldn’t keep track of them himself.

“Who?” Shizuko voiced for the rest of Team Boson.

"Spartan-B042. You'll be meeting with him in a little bit."

Distant Tide: Hunter - Killer

97: Last Conclave

1425 Hours, August 31st, 2558 CSO-class supercarrier Watchful Custodian, Yain System

Now that it had tasted blood, the Imperium of Clarity had brought its full force to war.

Sat amidst clusters of vigilant warships and shoals of patrolling fighters was the Watchful Custodian, a leviathan of unsurpassed strength and firepower that had once led the pacification of other three dozen systems in the Covenant's name. No enemy vessel had so much as scratched its hull in battle, and the firepower it brought to bear could raze entire planets alone. While many tales had been told of its exploits, none were more popular than that of the supercarrier's role in allowing Toru 'Makhan the Imperium of Clarity; a new empire meant to one day surpass the old.

Deep within the bowels of the Watchful Custodian, within one of its few mechanical elevators, a broad-shouldered elder Sangheili in battle-worn armour paced up and down, grumbling to his companion as they slowly rose towards their destination.

"I despise being made to wait," Orro 'Hendai hissed, stopping to glare at his rather bored equerry. "I am a Field Marshal, not some grovelling supplicant."

Hunya, Orro's diminutive assistant and closest confidant, could only shrug as he adjusted the flow of methane into his rebreather. "When 'Makhan orders, we obey."

Immediately after their fleet's arrival in the Yain system earlier that day, Imperial Admiral Toru 'Makhan had called for a meeting of his High Command. The Imperium's leader had not been forthcoming in detailing why this sudden gathering was required, but he had been quick to postpone it until Orro and his brethren had restructured their fleets to fit in with those already gathered above Frendhal, the populous Sangheili colony world. It had taken ten precious hours of careful maneuvering, but they were finally ready to meet 'Makhan.

"I sent over that cruiser, did I not?" the Field Marshal stopped mid-step. "To 'Yendam's men?"

The Unggoy nodded. "You did, and just in time for their reinforcements to arrive, too."

The decision to gift an Obedience-class cruiser to Grono 'Yendam's band of warriors was one Orro had made without much forethought, especially given the Imperium's tendency to jealously guard their technological achievements from the rest of the galaxy, but a promise was a promise. Of course, there was now a disgruntled crew now without a ship, but a quick order to transfer them directly to the Blissful Solitude had quietened any dissenting voices. After all, serving about the carrier of a member of the Imperium's High Command was one of the highest honours any in their military could wish for.

"That is good," said Orro. "For a moment, I believed it had slipped my mind."

Hunya snorted. "Old age wearing on your mind?"

Orro crossed his arms and glowered at his best friend. "I have seen Sangheili execute Unggoy for less insolent statements."

"Aye," Hunya mirrored the warrior's gesture. "But then who would record your deeds? It would be a pitiful affair if your tale ended with the sudden execution of the one writing it."

"You make a good point. You may live."

In the years they had known each other, Orro's death threats towards Hunya had become a sign of playful banter between the pair. Whether he was becoming soft in his old age or if the Unggoy's sharp wit had gotten to him, Orro knew that Hunya would always speak his mind towards him when even seasoned warriors who had served with him for decades might rein themselves in. He appreciated the honesty.

At last, the segmented elevator door before them slid open with a friendly chime, and the pair stepped out onto the Watchful Custodian's bridge. A ziggurat of layered command stations stood before them, flanked by two gravity lifts and several emergency stairwells. To Orro's surprise, a number of personnel here were not even clad in combat harnesses and instead donned grey military tunics. Above the constant murmur of activity at the centre of the chamber was the command platform. Toru 'Makhan was not at his seat.

"Curious," Orro said aloud as he and Hunya threaded past the first few platforms, heading for the nearest gravity lift.

The Field Marshal had only been aboard the Watchful Custodian once before, mere hours after he and his Legion had surrendered themselves to Toru 'Makhan's expanding Imperium. Back then, many of Toru's warriors still wore the colours they had under the Covenant military, and the Imperial Admiral himself might have been mistaken for an officer of the old regime had he not proclaimed that they had trespassed into his domain. Now the Imperium's banners hung over once-bare walls, and those working here stood out in stark contrast to the warriors above them. Orro wondered if this change had simply been for pragmatism's sake; 'Makhan's usual way of justifying sweeping reforms, or if it was born of some iconoclastic desire in their leader's heart.

Orro and Hunya stepped into the nearest gravity lift one at a time, tapping an icon on a nearby holographic interface that would send them to the top of the bridge. Orro rose first, and found himself on the highest platform seconds later. Six silver-armoured warriors stood to attention around the command chair, each carrying exotic weapons that not long ago would have been consigned to dusty vaults as priceless artefacts. To his surprise, Orro also spied a very morose-looking human male, hunched over on a stool with his elbows on his knees. His tattered uniform gave him away as a military officer straight away, and the silver band around his neck confirmed his status as a prisoner to Orro. Curious, he began to approach the captive, only to have a pike-wielding female block his path.

"Field Marshal 'Hendai," she inclined her head respectfully as one hand gestured towards a door behind the command chair. "Imperial Admiral 'Makhan awaits you in the next chamber."

Orro straightened up, his mandibles shivering in outrage. "Wo- Guardsman, I wish to speak to this prisoner."

Her response came so quickly, it could have been rehearsed: "Imperial Admiral 'Makhan has decreed that only he address the human, Field Marshal."

Orro's eyes glanced to the nearest guards, and he completed the rest of her sentence. And we will kill you where you stand if you do otherwise, High Command or not. Unwilling to continue this conversation, he favoured her with the tiniest of nods and stepped away, only to be impeded once more.

"Your companion must remain outside as well, Field Marshal."

He grunted in annoyance, but did not turn around. "Wait here, Hunya."

"At once," the Unggoy stepped back and immediately began to sidle away from the nearest Guardsmen.

The door to the conference room slid open before Orro could reach for the activation panel, and snapped shut the moment he stepped through the threshold. Beyond was a long, low-ceilinged room, dominated by a carved wooden table. In alcoves along every wall sat Toru 'Makhan's collection; items taken through conquest or bought as curiosities, ranging from ancient Sangheili scripture to the crown ripped from a Kig-Yar prince's corpse to a strange two-wheeled contraption of human design. Each of these curios was an impressive find, but all that occupied Orro 'Hendai's attention were those seated before him. Three were flesh and blood; Sangheili warriors clad in shining armour befitting their high stations, while three more were ghostly holograms, brought here from far-off places by emitters built into their seats. At the head of this table sat the architect of all that they fought for, resplendent in his suit of white and gold. Toru 'Makhan extended a hand, and indicated a seat at his left side.

"Please join us, Orro. We have tarried too long already, and there is much to discuss."

The Field Marshal quickly sat down, taking note of their placement along the table. Some commanders would choose those they trusted to sit at their side in strategy meetings, while others did so according to rank or age. Given the tendency of his fellows to vie for the Imperial Admiral's favour, there was no way that they would sit away from 'Makhan unless prompted. With the Imperium of Clarity's High Command fully assembled, Toru spread his arms and greeting as he began his address.

"Brothers!" he looked at them in turn, a warm glint in his sharp eyes. "So much has happened in the short time since our last meeting for us all. At long last, we have clashed against a foe worthy of our time and effort, and now have a chance to prove our strength to the entire galaxy. The blood of our friends spilt on the crucible of Montak will be repaid tenfold in the coming days, days that will define both your lives and the life of our Imperium!"

Toru paused for a moment, having gotten to his feet mid-speech. Ensuring that all eyes were focused entirely on him, he continued.

"Some of you may hold doubts about our power; fears that we cannot stand alone against the forces that lie beyond our immediate foe. As many have stated, we hold but a fraction of the power our former Covenant once held, but I see this not as a weakness, but as an opportunity! We have the failings of a millennia to learn from, and have thrown off the shackles that held back our peoples for so long. In such a short time we have made many impressive advancements, and can bring our Imperium even further. Behold!"

With a theatrical flourish that Orro felt was rather overdone, Toru produced a dataslate and connected it to the panel built atop the old wooden table. It lit up, and the image of a armoured sphere coalesced into being in front of them. Confusion quickly turned to realisation as the assembled Fleet Masters realised that they were looking at a planet.

"A conservation sphere," said Fleet Master Lora 'Deris, his speech slightly out of sync with his holographic form. "Like the one found by Jul 'Mdama's forces?"

In the past year, news from the Imperium's far-ranging spies had trickled back to High Command of a great battle raging within a Forerunner-created planetoid encased entirely in impenetrable armour, but with a liveable world within. Such objects had been the stuff of legend in the days of the Covenant, which made news of its destruction rather shocking even to those who had abandoned the old ways of Forerunner worship.

"It is of similar design," Toru replied, "and from my research, was used as some kind of military outpost. Such a location will make for an excellent capital."

Orro felt a chill ripple through the room at the Imperial Admiral's words. "You intend to relocate the Imperium?"

"Not all at once, but that is my end goal, yes."

Nor 'Hudon was next to speak. "What of the people, your excellency? Surely they-"

"They will adapt." Toru's eyes narrowed for a moment, and a slight shift in his tone made it clear that further questioning on this matter would not be tolerated. "I have led you this far, brothers, and expect nothing but loyalty from my most trusted commanders."

"I meant no disrespect," Nor bowed his head, looking more like a scolded child than a seasoned Fleet Master.

"And I took none, Fleet Master. Change is always difficult, but it must be made in order for our Imperium to grow. Once we have ascertained the conditions within this new world and uncovered its secrets, you will not go unrewarded. Even if it is devoid of ships and weapons, it will still stand as the impregnable fortress that our people deserve."

With no more questions, Toru removed the datapad, and the conservation sphere vanished from sight. The Imperial Admiral remained standing, and clasped both hands behind his back. Gone was the countenance of an excited empire-builder, replaced by that of a military officer. His eyes fell on Orro first, and the old Sangheili sat a little straighter in his chair as Toru made his simple demand.

"Report."

"Our fleet took several losses in the last battle, though it would not break our cohesion in battle. the Blissful Solitude did sustain some structural damage to its outer layer, and I am told that several deck portions were sealed due to breaches. We also lost some warriors in the melee, but again, nothing to impact our overall effectiveness in battle."

"Warriors lost when you broke from formation to strike at the enemy flagship," Toru said. "You also revealed our ship translocation technology to the enemy mid-battle, Field Marshal, which I had not ordered. Your boarding action?"

Now Orro understood why he had been placed here. Toru knew everything already, of course, but he probably wanted to watch him squirm at his feet.

"Our boarding action surprised the enemy, your excellency. Their fleet broke cohesion attempting to protect the flagship, giving our own ships a chance to move up. As I stated in my report, I also fought with Felo 'Ranak and won, though I fear that he may have survived our encounter."

"Felo 'Ranak," Zetal 'Hudon scoffed from across the table. "They say that whenever he speaks, it is with the Arbiter's voice. He is more politician than warrior, I hear."

"He was a superb fighter," Orro continued, ignoring Zetal's jibe. "I once served with the famed Yama 'Ranak in my youth, and can say that this one inherited his strength. Even so, the wounds I inflicted were likely enough to cripple him, if he did not succumb to them. Had his warriors not arrived when they did, I might have finished him off."

Toru nodded approvingly. "For all their talk of reform, the Swords of Sanghelios still follow the traditions of our homeworld. Seeing their leader weakened and unable to fight may do more to dishearten them than having him die in combat. You did well to strike that blow, Orro."

"Thank you, your excellency."

"However, that does not forgive your rash actions. I believed that your experience would give you patience, but your lust for combat overcame any restraint. While this is a fault that is partly my own, I must relieve you of your position as my second in command. In the coming battle, you are to remain on Frendhal with your Legion and counter any ground invasion."

Orro nodded. It was a fair decision, all things considered, but a blow to his pride all the same. The others remained impassive, waiting for the inevitable next announcement.

"And my replacement?" he asked, if only to break the tension.

"Fleet Master Zetal 'Hudon is to oversee our frontline fleet organisation in the coming battle," Toru gestured to the elder of the Hudon brothers.

Zetal rose from his chair just to bow. "You honour me, Imperial Admiral. I will not fail you."

"I will hold you to that, as both you and Nor are to make up the frontal line of our fleet when the enemy reaches this system. You are to be the jaws holding our prey in place until the Watchful Custodian moves into firing range.

"You're entering the fray directly?" Lora 'Deris exclaimed. "Will there be any need?"

"This ship was built for war, Fleet Master, not for looking impressive and doing nothing. It will be in more danger than when we sought to pacify the frontier of pirates and traitors, but with our supporting fleets, I believe that we will have more than enough firepower to crush the enemy."

"Is that our stratagem, then?" asked Zetal. "A simple advance and fire?"

"It is not an elegant plan, I will admit, but we simply have enough ships to make it a reality. However, we will need to draw both the humans and Swords of Sanghelios into the system. Should they exit slipspace and find themselves facing the massed guns of most of the Imperium of Clarity, they may simply flee."

"We're using Frendhal as bait, then?" Orro spoke up, wondering where he factored into the equation.

Toru laughed. "It seems you've figured out my plan before I had the chance to voice it, Orro, but yes. Frendhal's ports and cities make it too valuable a location to ignore, and even if it puts our civilians at risk, we may have to allow the enemy to land troops. Once they have the confidence to think that they can attain victory, we double our efforts in orbit, surround them, and deliver a final, decisive blow."

Kan 'Larom, who like his Unggoy counterpart had remained silent throughout the meeting, finally spoke up. "Is our plan the same for both the Swords and the humans, excellency?"

"Of course. You have objections?"

"I do not mean to doubt your stratagem, excellency, but I fear that we underestimated our foe on Montak. Though their invading armies fought conventionally, the course of a war can be changed by spies, saboteurs and special forces. Though apparently few in number, I have had wordt that the humans count several demons among their forces."

"I see your point," Toru sat down, placing both elbows on the table and steepling his fingers while he considered a countermeasure. "Even a few so-called 'demons' may cause havoc, but only if we let them. I have done some research into them prior to this campaign, and feel that our best countermeasure is simply to not allow them to land. I am aware that some of you retain our old faith, but these are simply talented warriors, not otherworldly creatures. Should one be reported, pull our forces back and bombard the area."

"Thank you, your excellency," said Kan.

"Moving on, I feel that we have adequate defences over Frendhal to keep it safe, especially with our fleets backing up our orbital stations. It is unlikely that our foe will target Telwun, but I have several cruisers nearby to defend it if necessary. It is the Bineb System that concerns me now."

Orro, Zetal and Nor turned towards their holographic companions, so far away. Though fairly unimportant from a military standpoint, the system was home to the Imperium of Clarity's largest Unggoy population, and had been chosen by Toru as appropriate bait to lure in a portion of the enemy fleet. It was a risky gamble, but if they could catch their foe off-guard in two different systems it would be easier to divide and destroy their forces. The Unggoy Shipmaster, Hedan Koti, shifted a little in his chair and coughed before realising that he had to address the room.

"We have fortified the moon of Irn, Imperial Admiral," Hedan said gruffly, evidently looking at tactical readouts nearby. "Once the enemy arrives, we will attack them immediately with boarding craft."

"A dangerous maneuver," Toru sounded slightly skeptical. "And if that fails?"

"We draw them in for a close-up fight. Fleet Master 'Larom's fleet is between our colony worlds, ready to defend each one. Once they are in close, we will launch another assault from the moon, while more swarm them from the planet below."

"You intend to overwhelm them with numbers?"

"With strategy. Once they realise that our colonies have little in the way of military targets, it may be too late for them to turn all attention towards Irn. We want to keep them occupied with fighting us until Fleet Master 'Deris arrives to finish them."

"A sound plan. You are to take no prisoners and destroy the enemy fleet as soon as you can, then rejoin the remainder of our fleets in this system. Should any try to flee, they will likely be caught off-guard by your arrival and completely surrounded."

Toru leaned back in his chair and eased up slightly, draining the room's tension. The rest of High Command felt it too, with some preparing to stand up and return to their duties. After several seconds of silence, the Imperial Admiral suddenly snapped forward, pointing a finger towards the youngest Sangheili Fleet Admiral.

"I'd almost forgotten. Lora 'Deris, how goes the secondary mission I tasked you with?"

"We have been monitoring our assassin from afar, excellency. Though he has not responded yet, he still has some time to carry out his mission before I am forced to terminate him."

"Good," Toru got to his feet, and the rest of High Command did the same. "Though it pains me to say this, our war will not be won by sheer force alone. I expect you all to do whatever it takes to win, as long as it preserves our Imperium. Go now and rejoin your fleets, my closest brothers. This victory will announce our strength to the galaxy, and teach it that the Imperium of Clarity is to be truly feared."

With a cheer, the assembled High Command of the Imperium of Clarity began to leave. All three holograms vanished within moments of each other, and he Hudon brothers departed together, talking in low voices. Toru 'Makhan left through a side door, no doubt returning to his personal quarters to get some rest before the battle. Soon, only Orro 'Hendai remained in the conference room, moving slowly towards the exit. He ran his hands along the table, admiring its craftsmanship. Much like the one back in their tower on Irdau, it seemed to be quite old, and would have been expensive to take all the way out here. In spite of it all, Toru 'Makhan had chosen to reshape it, bolting that ugly data reader and holoprojector atop the ancient wood. Wires now ran along carved grooves and a crudely made divot on one side now held a miniature power supply.

"This is advancement, to him," he muttered, shaking his head at the sight of it.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

98: Fresh Tidings

Yearns to Soar drifted above the workbench, tendrils reaching into the belly of the captured human satellite. Its delicate appendages split off into a web of sensory nodes that spread throughout the charred satellite and gave Yearns access to its core components—namely its battered onboard computer. The lights had been turned off when the Sangheili overseer departed, leaving Yearns to Soar and its fellow Huragok to work in the pleasant darkness.

The Oracle had given the Huragok an important task. They needed to reconstruct the communications data stored within the satellite and feed it into a new transmission code of the Oracle’s own design. Yearns to Soar happily busied itself with building this code. It was a complicated task, one that only a Huragok could perform. There were a few minor errors with the Oracle’s calculations, imperfections to be smoothed out. Yearns to Soar was glad to help here as well. If the Oracle minded such interference with her specifications she did not mention it to Yearns. She rarely took notice of the minutiae of such tasks.

And why should she? The Oracle had many tasks to perform in service of their master. Yearns was grateful to be needed aboard this ship. Huragok’s greatest pleasure lay in electronic tinkering and there was more than enough of that needed aboard the Soul Ascension. To make matters better, such work was not in service of cruel Jiralhanae or haughty Sangheili but instead the Oracle’s chosen Reclaimer.

The Reclaimer had freed Yearns to Soar and its brethren from the savage, painful yolks the Jiralhanae had foisted upon them. Yearns’s soft, pink skin still bore the marks from where sharp receivers had stabbed it. Stray, the Reclaimer, had saved them from the cruel, humiliating mining duties the Jiralhanae forced them to perform. Yearns had no love for the Covenant, but serving a Reclaimer was a different matter entirely.

Yearns continued about its duties, carefully piecing the code together. It was deep, demanding work but not quite so consuming that Yearns could not dedicate a portion of its brain to another task: the construct trapped within the satellite.

You’re doing this all wrong, the construct told Yearns, subliminal messages coursing from the satellite computer and up the Huragok’s tendrils. It was not a flesh and blood creature, though unlike the satellite computer the construct’s coding bore resemblance to a living creature. Yearns understood that it identified itself as female. You can’t just go into my core and mess around like this. I won’t let you.

I must have access, Yearns insisted, using the language it replicated from the construct’s own instructions. It was similar to the way the Oracle sometimes transmitted orders to the Huragok when no words were needed or the task was too complicated to express without technical specifications. Your coding is fragmented. I must re-concentrate it before you suffer permanent damage.

But if I don’t give you access? I can shut you out.

You can try. The thought that the construct might resist the efforts to repair her flustered Yearns. It did not like its subjects to be so unreasonable. I will be able to gain access anyway.

But you won’t.

No. Not without your permission. I will not harm you.

You keep saying that, but you won’t help me escape this ship.

There is no way to remove you without notice. And if they notice and discover you, they will hurt you. Yearns to Soar had seen what the Oracle did with human constructs she captured. Those memories disturbed it even now. It did not want to see that fate befall this construct.

You know they’ll hurt me, the construct pointed out. But you help them anyway.

I serve the Reclaimer who commands this ship. We owe him a great debt. I would not have any harm befall him either. I can serve him and protect you at the same time. Yearns saw no contradiction here. The Kru’desh were violent warriors. Every time they left the ship they brought fire and death upon their enemies—fire and death with the very weapon systems Yearns helped maintain. But it was not the place of a Huragok to judge how technology was used. It simply maintained that technology, did what good it could, and brought no harm to others through its own actions.

I guess I can let you through. The construct’s resistance to Yearns’ probing lessened. Just don’t rearrange anything you aren’t supposed to.

I will sort everything as it should be, Yearns promised. It didn’t want to lie, and it knew there would be imperfections in the construct’s natural code it couldn’t help but correct.

And if you see an opportunity to get me off this ship? Let me get back to my people?

Then I will provide it to you. I do not wish to see you harmed.

I wish I could believe you.

Deception is not our way. I only wish to help. Yearns diverted some attention away from the construct and back to the satellite project. It would not do for the Oracle to notice the work falling behind. The ship was stirring—systems being primed, dropships charging, warriors moving up and down the halls. Another battle was fast approaching.

Alright. I guess you’re my only shot here. The construct hesitated. Thank you. And you can call me Althea.

---

WIP

Actene: Heaven and Earth

99: Interference

1519 Hours, August 31st, 2558 UNSC Caspian, Slipspace

"I told you, I'm fine!"

"You'll be fine when I say you're fine, Commander, now please remain in your bed!"

Andrei Fosse lay back with a petulant moan as Chief Medical Officer Rawlings loomed over him, brandishing his bleeping medical scanner as though it were a weapon. Between his treatment by the ONI meatheads who had boarded his craft and delivered him to the Caspian and the brusque manner in which he had been treated by the Caspian's medical staff, Fosse's hopes for a hero's welcome had all but vanished.

In spite of their promises, the Imperium had not been kind to Fosse. Wanting to ensure that his capture and subsequent escape seemed believable, Fleet Master Lora 'Deris had left him in the hands of that abominable torturer, Gyan, for long enough that he was now scarred for life. The disfigured Sangheili had taken great pleasure in wounding Fosse, slowly carving his flesh with a skinning knife and throwing in a few punches with his flesh-and-blood arm for good measure. He had passed out from the pain twice during that ordeal, but Gyan had brought him back to consciousness before continuing, being careful not to let his subject expire.

In the end, the Fleet Master had given him some degree of medical treatment for his wounds and provided him with a ship and supplies for the journey, even apologising for allowing his human-hating subordinate to go as far as he had. Fosse couldn't tell if 'Deris was lying for his benefit, but it mattered little at this point. Before his departure, the Imperium had implanted him with a tracking device; a tiny, thumbtack-sized disk embedded into one of his teeth. With it they could track him across half the galaxy if they wanted to, and despite its size, could quite easily kill him if it looked as though Fosse intended to abandon his mission. In truth, they could have bolted a piece of useless metal inside him, but he had no intention of testing that theory. After all, he had made an agreement and would carry out his orders to the letter.

He would kill Lin Zhi.

"How long until I'm able to leave?" Fosse spoke up, his voice hoarse.

"Between the fractured bones, lacerations, plasma burns and general exhaustion, I'd usually have you in here for at least a week," said Rawlings, his tired eyes roving over the scanning results. "But since we're likely to see action again you might be out of here pretty quickly."

"And Fleet Admiral Zhi?" he asked. "I need to speak to her."

"And I need a nice, long furlough on Sundown. She'll probably head down as soon as she's rested up."

"She's sleeping!?"

Rawlings raised an eyebrow. "Yes, which is exactly what you should be doing. God knows she needs it more than some of us."

Fosse propped himself up with his elbows, enduring a twinge of pain from his injured arm that felt quite muted in the face of the writhing sea of anger and indignation inside him. After all he had gone through to stress the urgency of his situation to that arrogant woman, she had the gall to rest instead of checking on him immediately. He took several deep breaths, suddenly aware that his pulse readout had sharply risen on a nearby monitor. Rawlings shot him a confused look, only to shrug and turn away from the bed.

"You'll tell me when she's heading down, won't you?" Fosse called.

"Yeah, sure."

Rawlings walked off, sliding the translucent privacy screen shut behind him. Sat on the other side was, to Fosse's dismay, an armed guard. Even after ONI's thorough search of his ship, they had kept the Commander under close supervision and had even ensured that he got an entire room of the med bay to himself. It seemed that in spite of his numerous injuries, they weren't quite ready to trust him yet.

They can't keep me like this for long, Fosse slowly peeled a scanning device from his wrist. The Fleet Master said I had three days to make it back to New Syracuse or they kill me.

It had occurred to him several times on his journey that the Sangheili commander had dispatched him on this mission knowing that he had no chance of success, but there was little that Fosse could do about it now. He had accepted the offer of his own volition, and had every intention of returning to Lora 'Deris after a job well done. The Sangheili had given him his word that he would be handsomely rewarded for killing Admiral Zhi, and having studied his people for some time Fosse doubted that a warrior of his standing would renege on a deal, even if it was with a traitorous human prisoner.

Fosse silently slid out of bed, grateful that the painkillers he had been given did nothing to dull his movement. It had occurred to him that his only meeting with Lin Zhi would likely be a bedside one, giving him no chance to attack her. Getting to the bridge would be near-impossible, and with his torn uniform discarded and replaced with the thin grey pyjamas of a hospital patient he could not hope to disguise himself as one of the crew. Fosse slowly crept towards the privacy screen, keeping one hand over his mouth to stifle his breathing. Edging towards the wall, he chanced a quick peek through the screen's partition and saw that his guard was not only facing the other way, but seemed wholly engrossed in some article on his datapad.

He has to go first.

In his seven years in the UNSC Navy, Andrei Fosse had never engaged in direct combat, let alone killed someone. In the war, tales abounded of brave crews fighting of Covenant boarders and Rebel pirates with nothing but their service pistols, but those days were long past for most of the Navy. Warfare was carried out at great distance, and few gave though to the souls aboard when an enemy vessel was blown apart by MAC rounds or consumed by nuclear fire. All a man like Commander Fosse had to do was perform adequately in the occasional training day and an entire career could be spent comfortably away from any action.

It was because of this that, as he looked through his peephole at the back of a man he had to murder, Fosse began to tremble. In this tiny corner of the room he had no weapons and a body to injured to fight with. He began to sweat, eyes darting around for something - anything - to use. Quietly shuffling barefoot across the cold tiles, he lifted up Rawlings' scanner. It was the size of a brick, and just as heavy. Fosse lifted it up and down with his good hand, and gave it a practice swing, bringing it down as hard as he could through the air. It seemed good enough.

As he edged back towards the screen, Fosse fought to keep down any second thoughts. Part of him wanted to surrender, to throw himself to ONI's mercy and beg them to remove the microbomb. It seemed like the most rational choice an officer could make in this scenario, and one that would endanger only one life: his own. If it detonated, it would kill him, leaving Andrei Fosse as just another name on the long list of casualties this war had already created. If he was lucky, he might even get a posthumous medal. However, a willingness to self-sacrifice was not one of Andrei Fosse's virtues, By the time the fingers on his injured hand brushed against the edge of the security screen, he had already committed himself to treason. He bent his knees, ripped it back, and sprang forward.

What happened next seemed to last an eternity.

Fosse leapt through the air with a pained grunt, cannoning into his guard as the young man's head snapped round. Though injury had weakened him, the force was enough to send his target sprawling to the ground, yelling in surprise. A second later, the scanner connected with the side of his head with a dull crunch. The guard jerked to one side, barely resisting as Fosse struck again and again, splitting the skin with his second strike and splashing blood across himself with the third. By the nineteenth, he stopped to catch his breath, and found himself facing a pair of lifeless orbs embedded in a ruined mess of gore.

Gun.

His thoughts were simple now; they had to be. Adrenaline coursed through him, staving off shock as he fumbled with the man's holster and withdrew his sidearm. Fosse recognised it: a M6H2 magnum, standard issue across the Navy. Twelve rounds, armour-piercing. Getting to his feet, he flicked the safety off and glanced around the empty room, waiting for an alarm to sound or for the doors to lock.

Nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Fosse looked back to the corpse at his feet, and realised that his shirt was now absolutely splattered with blood. As was the floor. He had initially hoped to excuse the guard's absence with some story about an insubordinate toilet break after hiding the body, but that was no longer an option. In that case, I'll just wait here and-

"-his mental well-being I'm concerned about."

Muffled voices drifted towards the med bay. Fosse tensed up, gun in hand, as he strained to listen. One was unmistakably Rawlings, who seemed to be in the midst of a disagreement with someone, while the other was vaguely familiar. Taking a deep breath to steady his shaking hands, Fosse raised the pistol and trained it on the door, ready to kill again. A chime sounded from the corridor, and the orange light on the door panel switched to green. It slid open, and the assassin's face split into a manic grin at his sheer luck as the pair before him froze at the sight of him.

"Commander-" Admiral Zhi began. It was all she had time to say.

Fosse squeezed the trigger again and again, struggling to keep the handgun steady as the recoil from each shot threatened to throw him off-target. The first two rounds struck Rawlings in the neck and forehead, sending him toppling backwards. Zhi was quick to react, and had almost unholstered her service pistol before the first shot smacked into her arm in a spray of blood. Three more bullets hit her as she span from the impact, blasting holes in her hip and upper torso. She fell alongside Rawlings, convulsing as she hit the deck hard.

Fosse eased his finger off the trigger, ears still ringing. In the confined space of this medical bay, the sound of each blast had been amplified tenfold, each shot sounding like a cannon blast to Fosse. He moved shakily, edging towards Rawlings and Zhi. Their uniforms - white and grey respectively - were already soaked through with dark blood. Neither moved. For a moment Fosse considered emptying the rest of his magazine into the Admiral just to make sure the job was done, but the sound of a piercing alarm overhead snapped him out of it. A moment later, a male voice sounded over every intercom.

"All hands, we have a security breach in Med Bay Two, all available combat teams and medical staff respond ASAP, we have casualties!"

It was Weatherby, the Caspian's AI. Fosse had briefly encountered him before his posting to the base on New Syracuse, and had gotten the impression that the construct hadn't thought much of him. Knowing the extent of a shipboard AI's powers, he broke into a run, deftly leaping over the bodies jamming the door open before scrambling down the corridor as fast as his legs could carry him, desperately searching for the emergency stairwell he could use to evade the AI's security lockdown. All around him he could hear doors double-locking, and the first shouts of armed crewmen were already echoing down the corridor.

The hangar's not far. All I need to do is steal a dropship and blow my way out.

Escape would not be easy, but he had no choice but to survive. A single Pelican could not traverse Slipspace alone, but as long as he remained close to the Caspian he could wait until they arrived at their destination before making his escape. If the Imperium were as well-prepared as Lora 'Deris had made them out to be, then they would be ready and waiting for the UNSC and able to defend him until he reached the safety of their ranks. The suddenly-leaderless fleet would need time to adjust, even with a clear chain of command, and that momentary confusion would give Fosse the time he needed.

Skidding round a corner, Fosse finally sighted a pair of doors that led to one of the ship's many stairwells, which were seldom used save for emergencies. Even if Weatherby had triggered the electronic lock, Fosse knew that most non-critical doors aboard UNSC vessels contained emergency circuit breakers that could open them if power was lost. Panting slightly as he drew close, Fosse stopped at the sound of an elevator chime, and wheeled around as a pair of doors slid open before him. Five men stood inside, weapons already raised as he tried to level his pistol. He let out a quiet whimper.

"I-"

Andrei Fosse staggered backwards as four bursts of rifle fire ripped through his body, letting out a strangled choking noise before a final round struck him between the eyes. The pistol slipped from his grip, and hit the metal deck a second before his body did. The Commander lay in a pool of blood, his bruised face still wide-eyed and set in an expression of utter terror.

***

As his bodyguards stepped aside, Vice Admiral Ryan Samson slowly holstered his sidearm and moved to inspect the body. He hadn't expected his team to find Fosse, but the moment that weaselly bastard had come into their sights, he didn't hesitate. Other combat teams were already jogging down the hall towards them, while medical staff rushed in the opposite direction.

"Waste of a damn bullet," he remarked, suppressing the urge to spit on Fosse's corpse.

For all his annoyingly repulsive mannerisms, Fosse didn't seem like the type to turn traitor, or so Samson had thought. Now, as his mind raced through all the possibilities, he realised that he had been nowhere near as thorough as he should have been in ensuring that the Commander hadn't switched sides. The fact that he had escaped captivity was bizarre enough, but had not worried Samson at all until the moment an uncharacteristically panicked Weatherby had informed him that Admiral Zhi had been shot. Now though, as he looked down at the body of that miserable wretch, everything made sense.

He just wanted to save his own skin.

Samson moved off at a steady pace, barking orders at the swarm of armed crewmen who had converged on the medical deck. Aside from securing Fosse's body for a more thorough examination, they had to be absolutely sure that he had no accomplices on board. The Imperium of Clarity had already exhibited a level of pragmatism that the Covenant rarely showed, and the chances of them having bribed UNSC personnel within the Sixth Fleet had risen exponentially. Following a trail of bloody footprints left by Fosse, Samson rounded a corner to see a thick cluster of medical staff surrounding a pair of gurneys. As he approached, he felt a hollow pang in his stomach as he sighted the corpse of Chief Medical Officer Rawlings, moments before a sheet was draped over his mangled body.

The occupant of the other gurney was obvious, and seemed to be the primary focus of attention from everyone else in the hall. White medical crates lay all around, and a group of officers had already donned white surgical masks while others set up sterile field generators. One of them turned, and jumped at the sight of the Vice Admiral standing right behind them.

"Sir!" he saluted, already wearing rubber gloves.

"Admiral Zhi?" he asked.

"She's alive, just about." The officer looked back at the crowded gurney nervously. "We're going to have to operate, but she's lost a lot of blood, and with our Chief Medical Officer gone..."

"Do whatever it takes to save her," Samson said, nodding reassuringly. "You have my permission to do whatever is necessary, so long as you provide regular updates to the bridge."

"Yes sir."

Samson saluted and turned away. There was nothing more he could do. He spoke sparingly as he returned to the elevators, commanding the remaining security teams to do a thorough search of the surrounding decks while his own ONI troopers ensured that Fosse's body was moved. By the time he entered the elevator and punched in the command to ascend to the bridge, he was alone again, and sighed wearily.

"Weatherby," Samson turned his head to a nearby speaker. "How long until we exit slipspace?"

The AI answered instantly, as though he were expecting the question. "A little under two hours, Vice Admiral."

And now the fleet's in my hands. Shit.

"Affirmative. Make sure we're ready for one hell of a fight."

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

100

0832, August 31, 2558 Burya, Slipspace on Approach for Iradu

Elena sat in the cockpit of the Burya, coffee in hand, eyes staring out at the inky blackness of space, lost in thought. She'd tried to get some sleep on the journey, but even with Alexios watching over him, she didn't quite trust their new guest not to try something while she was out. And so, here she was, more than 24 hours later with barely two worth of shut-eye to show for it, caught when she was reasonably sure Miller was sleeping as well. With the augmentations she had purchased for herself, it was enough to keep her up to snuff, but she had to admit it was bordering on too little, even for her.

Speaking of their guest, here he was now. She heard him making his way up the ladder into the upper ship access, the door hissing open shortly afterward and his footsteps becoming much clearer as he made his way over to the copilot's chair and sat down.

"Morning."

"Morning," she mumbled back, still looking out the viewport, "We're almost there, I think. Alexios?"

"We should arrive at our destination in just under five minutes."

"Thank you, Alexios. Standard drop out procedure, try not to hit anything." She smirked, turning to Miller, "Enjoy your rest?"

"Your beds are a lot more comfortable than I'm used to, for a starship."

"It's a good starship."

"I've gathered..." The man trailed off a bit, pausing, before speaking up again, "Did we ever get cover stories?"

"Yeah, ONI sent them along with the coordinates. Apparently we'll be able to get permission to land if we claim to be part of a 'Guild of Free Traders.'"

"Hey. I think that's the group that took control of Montak."

"Huh. Well, it doesn't say much else besides that, so I guess we'll just have to trust that works, but I wouldn't be surprised if we went through a bit of questioning, considering where we're coming from."

"Ugh. I hate questioning."

"Just don't let them know we're working for ONI and you'll be fine. Though be prepared to bluff if anyone actually from the guild is there as well."

"Yeah. Bluff..."

The man trailed off once more as the ship departed from slipspace, a swirl of blue light filtering in through the viewscreen as the Cherenkov radiation flared from the reentry into realspace. A small circle came into view as the radiation flare cleared, the navcomputer quickly holo-marking it as their destination on the viewscreen. Alexios's figure filled the holotank.

"We have arrived, ma'am. I'm detecting what appears to be some sort of defense fleet in system, and a large number of lifeforms, of many different species, on the planet's surface. Wherever we were sent, it appears to be important."

"Thank you, Alexios. Open all standard hailing frequencies, bring us in, and await a ping from them. We'll see which they use first and fake an issue with comms if they get snippy about us not sending a hail. Don't want to give away our allegiance."

"Understood ma'am. Comms channels open, bringing us in."

The ship approached the planet in silence, growing ever closer at a painstakingly slow pace, trying to avoiding giving off any signs of being a threat. Five minutes passed, which grew to ten, fifteen, until finally, after a good eighteen minutes of approach, a hail came across one of the open channels.

"Alexios, focus on that hail. Bring it onto the holotank if it's got visuals. Let's be nice and transmit a view of our own cockpit as well." She smiled sweetly.

"Of course, ma'am."

A Sangheili's face filled the holotank. "Unidentified vessel! You are approaching an Imperium of Clarity world without transmitting! Come to a halt and identify yourself immediately, or defensive action will be taken!"

Elena kept up the sweet smile, though made it seem just a bit more genuine now. "This is Elena Zaytseva, captain of the vessel Burya. My partner and I are members of the Guild of Free Traders, cargo runners, seeking refuge after the fall of Montak. Alexios, bring us to a halt relative to the planet."

"Of course, ma'am." The AI slowed the ship to a halt, keeping it stable relative to Iradu with the vessel's thrusters.

"Alexios? Is that your partner?"

"Negative, that's my AI. My partner can introduce himself..?" She turned to Miller, expectantly.

"Uhh... yeah... Guild of Free Traders. I'm Bernhard Moore."

A pause on the line, the Sangheili's figure disappearing out of view of the holocam, returning moments later.

"We have you registered in our systems as having permission to land on Montak around the time of the Guild's arrival. You are clear to approach for further processing. We are transmitting coordinates for landing on Iradu now. Proceed immediately for the transmitted coordinates, land, and shut down your vessel. Further instruction will be provided by the agent that approaches your vessel upon completing these directions."

Elena gave one last sweet smile. "Understood! Thank you and have an excellent day!"

The comms went dead as she picked her coffee back up, sipping it and smiling to Miller. "I think that went well."

"Yeah. That's one word for it."

"The coordinates have arrived. Shall I set a course."

"Do it, Alexios. Bring us in on thrusters only once we hit atmosphere. Don't want to give them anything to shoot us down over."

"Of course, ma'am."

The figure of a Greek soldier vanished once more from the holotank as Alexios set to work, the planet slowly starting to grow larger in the viewscreen again as the Burya accelerated towards the surface.

"So... 'Bernhard Moore,' huh? I thought you said your name was 'Hall', earlier?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to give them my real name. Besides! You said to be prepared to bluff."

"You have a different understanding of 'prepared to' than I do, 'Bernhard Moore,' but I suppose I can't complain." She smirked and shook her head, taking another sip of coffee. "Alexios, how long until we reach the surface?"

"We should be arriving in just under ten minutes, ma'am. I will let you know when we are approaching atmosphere so you may prepare for the transition."

"Thank you, Alexios." Settling back in her chair, she finished off the last few sips of her coffee, setting the cup down in front of her, and closed her eyes, content to just wait in silence. Five minutes passed, then eight before Alexios spoke again.

"Approaching atmosphere, ma'am. A bump may be expected."

Sure enough, just as the AI finished speaking, the ship rocked as it smacked against atmosphere and switched over to thrusters, slowing its descent. A wooshing sound took over from the gentle thrum of the fusion drive and the red glow outside the cockpit viewscreen slowly faded. A minute passed and clouds became visible as they passed through the planet's troposphere, the ship's ventilation system whirring to keep the internal pressure static despite the rapidly changing exterior conditions. Finally, another minute come and gone, the ship lowered its landing gear, passed through an open hangar roof, and settled to the ground with a gentle thump.

A brief silence fell upon the ship as Alexios shut the systems down, before a muffled voice made its way through the exterior hull, amplified by some sort of sound system.

"Open one hatch of your vessel, make your way to it, unarmed, and meet with customs agents. The owner or primary operator of the vessel will be expected to guide an inspection team and disclose any weapons for registration and holding until you prepare to depart Iradu and then taken for processing. Any additional passengers will proceed to processing right away."

Elena looked at Miller. "Well. Seems like this is where we get separated for a little bit. Meet you on the other side of processing?"

"Yeah, sure..."

From the hesitation in the man's voice, she started to think she should've waited to transfer him his cut of the payment, but there was little that could be done now but to comply with the customs agent outside. Opening the main cargo bay hatch, she stood, made her way through the ship, and stepped out onto the hangar floor, Miller following shortly behind her.

"I'm the owner and primary operator of this vessel. This is my only passenger. I'd be happy to show you around the ship!" She put on that same sweet smile as before as the inspection team approached. Tossing Miller a wave as he followed a pair of customs agents into the spaceport, she turned back onto her ship, ready to show off the Burya...

---

1623, August 31, 2558 Iradu, Capital city

From the time she had arrived in system to the time she cleared processing and stepped out of the spaceport onto the streets of Iradu's capital city, computer bag slung over her shoulder and ID installed onto her datapad, nearly 8 hours had passed. She had a feeling she should probably report back what she had found to ONI, but heading immediately back to her ship would have raised suspicions, and perhaps there was more to be found mingling among the locals?

Shrugging, she clutched her computer bag, double-checked that she had Alexios's memory crystal in her pocket, and headed for what appeared to be some sort of bar. Rumors. That was always a good place to start. Timothy Emeigh

101

1430 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Cell Block ђ, Brig of CCS-class Battlecruiser Purveyor of the Righteous, Bineb System

Every vaulted arch of the cell block's ceiling resounded with the throaty harmony of Sangheili song.

Had Thyl not been apprised of the disruption, he might've taken the bellows unleashed when the brig doors slid apart for a riot. Demands for silence roared by pike-wielding jailers hardly registered as more than grumbles quashed beneath the ballad's refrain, which extolled the various uses of wood blocks—jir'a'ul—in ways the Jiralhanae guards found unflattering.

To join in the mockery of his own troops was unbecoming of a commander of any station, but even Shipmaster Thyl 'Zantak had to suppress a guilty smirk as he strode down the cell block. Years before, the Jiralhanae had sought to overthrow their Sangheili betters, and been the Covenant's undoing. Obedient as these had been since coming aboard his ship, bound together in service of the Marauders of Campbell by the desperate search for stability in a universe they had upset, it did them good to be humbled now and again. Thyl stopped at last when he came to a cell containing two Sangheili.

The first, no more than a boy stripped bare, lent his voice fervently to the chorus until the Shipmaster approached, shrinking back from the cell's barrier wall. The second remained seated at the foot of the far wall, as though pinned beneath the disheveled pile of his garish robes. He returned Thyl's polite smile after a feigned delay in noticing him.

"Aha, our esteemed host graces us with a visit!" called the bundled old male, just loud enough to be heard amidst the hymns. "We'd hoped our toasts to your success and good health would honor every compartment to reach you, and at last they have. I would find a drink that you may join us, but I can't seem to find any at all."

"You haven't let it stop you," Thyl remarked, casting a glance around the brig. "I am pleased to know even a kaidon's tastes might be satisfied with our humble accommodation."

A cynical bite entered the kaidon's laugh. "Be assured, I could think of means for their improvement. But I surmise you didn't join us for suggestions of ornamentation. To what might we owe the pleasure of your company? Come to price your kin as you would cattle?"

"I've already sold you, if it is of any concern." Thyl replied. "It's that which brings me down here."

"Ah." The kaidon's eyes dropped, as though propped upon some measure of fight receding within him. "Did you get a good price?"

The sardonic question amused Thyl enough to earn an honest response. "Not very. But surrendering a small prize in good faith now will show its worth in years of opportunity to come."

"A bargain indeed." The kaidon said. "Especially as I would have been no great ransom. Abzu 'Samakr is not a name hailed as a great kaidon, as my presence here might indicate."

"The Kaidon of the Cellars?" Thyl recalled. "The first to bring Jiralhanae to the homeworld?"

The kaidon closed his eyes, mandibles parting to exhale. "The same. I had no army, and lands and lives under my charge. If I have any sins, failing my charges is not among them."

There was a stubborn set to the arch of 'Samakr's neck. It seemed to Thyl even here, buried in ignominious defeat and heaps of cloth, some part of the old kaidon knew pride.

"Many would call a failure to lie down and die at the appropriate moment a sin." Thyl commented. "They are not well-suited to this age. Survival and profit are more pragmatic commodities than the deeds of one's long-dead great uncles."

"Is that why you side with 'Makhan's Imperium, then?" Abzu's slitted eyes opened to fix curiously on Thyl, "Pragmatism and profit?"

The question had become a tired one to Thyl. When Campbell pointed him at a fellow Sangheili ship to attack, he was always met with outraged accusations of being an oathbreaker and an honorless traitor to kin, hypocritical litanies from Sangheili pledged to equally ignoble causes⁠—or nobler ones for just as ignoble reasons. But Thyl sensed a sincerity in Abzu's asking; he knew no answer forced from Thyl would change his predicament, and wished to know anyway. It almost surprised him.

"Is there any other cause worth pledging one's strength to in this era?" Thyl replied. "The palatable lie of greater ends died with the Covenant. Those left scrabble to prop up their own empires or flock beneath those strong enough to do so. If I will not take to sate my own needs, none other shall see them as worthy cause."

Hearing his own voice on the verge of contempt, Thyl softened his tone to direct a question at the old Sangheili. "Are these not the same reasons you took the field on Montak? Does your servitude to the Swords not bring you security and authority? Do you profit in no way by allying with them?"

The cell's younger occupant bristled to hear his lord's motivations questioned, but to his credit, the kaidon nodded in concession.

"It could be viewed as such. I pledged my clan the Swords because they could protect the lands and people I could not, perhaps swift enough to call 'flocking'. And while the Samakr have not been made wealthy, we do see gains for ourselves under their authority. But these are not why I remain with them."

Abzu paused, and when Thyl did not interject, elaborated, "I remain because I see more in the Swords than warlords fighting for gain or chasing the mindless days of honor through service. In Thel 'Vadam, I see a will to unite the Sangheili, make them speak with one voice. Only then can we speak loud enough to make the stars heed our command again, and become safe for us to live without scavenging for our needs. And better still, I see he possesses the strength to make it so, as much of our own blood he needs to shed first.

"I won't lower myself with petty lies to claim we are different, Shipmaster. Perhaps I'm simply more fastidious in who I flock to for survival."

Thyl stared at the kaidon for a long moment, unsure if his last statement was meant as a barb and, if so, one worth responding to. Finally, he pronounced, "You are a fool, Cellar Kaidon."

Abzu gestured about the cell with an open hand. "Evidently--I am here, after all."

Shaking his head, Thyl bade the Jiralhanae waiting nearby to deactivate the cell's barrier wall, ready to take the prisoner to a shuttle waiting decks below. "I wish you luck on the moon of Irn, kaidon. If what's said of Hedan Koti is true, he plays at making the Unggoy be taken seriously. He may imagine a kaidon prisoner will earn him esteem, and you may find a being to indulge your love of talk."

That Damn Sniper 04:45, June 4, 2019 (UTC)

102: Ambush

1547 Hours, August 31st, 2558 UNSC Maya, Slipspace

With the final checks being made for exiting slipspace, the bridge of the UNSC Maya was bustling with activity as over a dozen naval officers checked and double-checked equipment, ensuring that no systems had unexpectedly gone down during their journey. With their impending arrival came a shift change, allowing the interim staff to rest while a fresh team of senior officers retook their stations. From the elevated command platform above, Rear Admiral John Hawkins stood and watched the proceedings. Well-drilled in pre-battle procedure, the Maya's crew barely spoke a word, save for whispered fragments of conversation that soon dissipated as the eyes of their commander fell on them.

"Rear Admiral," the smooth voice of the battleship's AI, Chance, broke the silence. "I have calculated an appropriate interstellar jump point within the enemy system and have adjusted our course slightly."

Hawkins turned to face Chance, whose form hovered over a tiny holoprojector. Unlike most Smart AI, who tended to materialise as human beings, his chosen avatar was that of a white theatrical mask, its features depicting either a joyous smile or a mournful, weeping human face. Many crewmen found Chance's appearance to be quite disconcerting, though the AI would - or could - not change his form. Hawkins didn't mind, and though he worked well with Chance and considered him fairly pleasant was quietly glad that he had not taken human form. After all, he was well into his sixth year of service, and the dispensation process for some AI nearing the end of their allotted lifespan could be a rather unpleasant one for many naval commanders.

"How are repairs coming along?" Hawkins asked, taking a seat.

"We've done what we can to fix any battle damage, though it was mostly stopgap measures until we receive proper repair work. You'll be pleased to know that full functionality has been restored to any point-defence stations not completely destroyed earlier."

The Rear Admiral nodded, reading through the latest status reports from the Maya's engineering crew as his executive officer emerged from a stairwell to his right. Captain Aguirre waited patiently for him to finish, pulling at the sleeves of her grey service uniform until Hawkins turned to face her.

"Captain?"

Aguirre snapped a quick salute, and produced a small metal cylinder from her pocket. "Rear Admiral, we've received a top-level communique from the UNSC Caspian, intended for you."

Hawkins took the cylinder and held it up to his face before tapping a tiny button embedded into the side. One end lit up for a moment, and a scanning grid swept over the officer's face. A moment after confirming his identification, the light flashed green and it slid open with a hiss. Inside was a small roll of printed paper with a brief message stamped across it. Hawkins read through it, then did so several more times before crumpling it up with a sigh.

"Shit," he hissed between gritted teeth. Chance's mask swivelled on its pedestal to face him, while Aguirre waited expectantly for the news.

"Sir?"

"That was from Vice Admiral Samson," he whispered, hoping that none of the officers below him were eavesdropping. "Admiral Zhi's been incapacitated after an assassination attempt, and the rest of the Sixth Fleet is about to engage the enemy."

Aguirre's eyes widened. "How did an assassin get aboard?"

"He didn't say."

"Shall we inform the crew?"

Hawkins shook his head. It would be bad for morale to let everyone know of the attack, especially when they were on the eve of entering enemy territory themselves. He had already lied to his executive officer; Samson's note had made it clear that Andrei Fosse, that obnoxious upstart from he NSRD, was the culprit. Losing a leader like Zhi in the middle of a campaign like this was terrible news for the Sixth Fleet, and though Ryan Samson was a superb officer who had known Hawkins since their years at the Luna OCS Academy, he simply lacked the tactical prowess of his superior when it came to directing entire fleets in battle.

And naturally, Ryan's not going to retreat, Hawkins knew how stubborn his friend could be. If the Sixth Fleet were to lose in the coming fight without sending out a warning to Hawkins' battlegroup, then they could end up flying directly into a massacre once their business here was done. Having the Swords of Sanghelios on their side would even the odds, but Hawkins couldn't help but worry, even with his own incoming battle to contend with.

"Captain, resume battle preparations, and have our security team put on alert, just in case."

"Yes sir!" Aguirre saluted again before marching off.

With only minutes to go until their scheduled arrival time, the last of the Maya's bridge crew filed in around Hawkins, greeting their stoic Captain as they passed her on the stairs and snapping respectful salutes to the Rear Admiral. While many officers on the lower portion of the bridge were relatively fresh-faced, Hawkins kept his veterans close at hand. Many of the men and women operating the ship's forward guns and navigation systems had served with him for years, and had been present for his victory against a vicious Sangheili warlord in the Siege of Yawada four years ago, which had gotten him a promotion into the Admiralty. Their quick thinking and experience would prove invaluable in what would almost certainly be another gruelling trial of space warfare.

"Beginning exit calculations," Chance's avatar glowed as he spoke. "Prepare for transition."

Hawkins rose from his command chair, feeling a familiar internal lurch as the UNSC Maya exited the black void realm of Slipspace. The forward viewscreen filled with stars, and as the faint glow of reconciliation dissipated from the ships forward antennae. Most of Hawkins' battlegroup had already emerged, with a four-ship vanguard of Paris-class frigates leading the way. Coordinating the arrival of an entire fleet had been an imprecise art not too long ago, with temporal inconsistencies interfering with slipspace travel and subsequently breaking fleet cohesion. Recent technological advances had done wonders to alleviate this problem, and within thirty seconds the arrayed might of Hawkins' entire battlegroup had arrived in the Bineb system.

"Mapping local system," said Chance, "Assessing threat level."

Glowing lines spread over the nearby holotable, bringing up the battlegroup and two distant planets. Red threat markers indicating flashed up over both worlds, clustered primarily around a small moon. It only took a few seconds for Hawkins to see that the Imperium's retreating fleet had been reinforced, though thankfully there was no sign of the Supercarrier that had taken Montak.

"Form up two battle lines," Hawkins turned to his senior communications officer. "Establish a field of fire with our long-ranged vessels and ensure that we've got good resupply space for our ammunition ships. Also-"

A piercing alarm from the tactical table interrupted Hawkins, who looked over to see well over two-dozen hostile vessels streaking towards his battlegroup's left flank. Several outlier vessels had already turned to engage, but they were coming too fast to be halted immediately at range.

"Storm Cutters," Chance brought up a file image of a Covenant scouting cruiser. "I'm counting close to thirty ships in hunter-killer formation."

"Weaponry?"

"Light, but still dangerous," the AI paused for a moment. "Hmm, and I'm detecting modifications to these ships."

"What is it?"

Chance's avatar flickered into a tragic mask. "Boarding craft. They're going to try and take our ships."

It all made sense to Hawkins now. Though numerous among the Covenant fleets he had encountered over the years, Storm Cutters were only really ever a danger to lighter warships and troop transports, and were treated by most commanders as a nuisance to be dealt with as soon as possible. Though a swarm like this was indeed dangerous, they wouldn't last long against the Maya and the other capital ships in this battlegroup. However, a well-placed boarding craft filled with seasoned troops could potentially overwhelm an unprepared crew, leaving a ship entirely helpless to future attacks. Hawkins snatched up his personal communicator, and broadcast a fleet-wide message.

"All craft, focus on point-defence and destroy any incoming enemy ships. Any combat teams on board should prepare for potential boarders."

As a chorus of affirmative responses sounded over the COM, the Rear Admiral returned to checking the tactical readout. Though several storm cutters had been successfully destroyed, each one had launched its boarding craft beforehand while the others swarmed the battlegroup's outer defences. The shoal of Imperial vessels moved quicker than the UNSC warships could turn, sacrificing themselves to push deeper into enemy lines. After a few moments, Hawkins realised that their goal was not to destroy the fleet itself, but to decapitate its leadership. If the Imperium were was observant as he feared, then the survivors of Montak had likely reported the Maya's importance to their fellows and intended to destroy it the moment it arrived. Surprisingly, Hawkins realised this a moment before Chance did.

"They're trying to take the flagship," the AI span towards Hawkins. "That explains their rush towards our defences."

"Think we can take out enough before they hit us?" Hawkins asked.

"Based on the number of incoming ships and our current defences, I'd say we could take out five before they launch their boarding pods."

"How many will hit us?"

"Worst-case scenario? Twelve. It's a good thing Captain Aguirre had our combat teams prepare."

Though the ultimate outcome of the space battle was already decided, Hawkins could do nothing but wait for the swarm of storm cutters to weave their way towards the Maya. The deck juddered slightly as one of its larger cannons finally opened up, obliterating a distant vessel in a flare of light. The rest span through space with surprising speed and grace, only getting as close to the larger Vindication-class battleship as they had to before firing off their boarding pods like torpedoes. Hawkins felt the tremors as the first few struck his ship, and found himself instinctively reaching for his service pistol.

Chance brought up an interior map of the Maya before him. "Counting seven confirmed enemy boarding parties. Big ones. Most struck amidships, though two are closer to the stern airlocks."

Hawkins nodded, and reached for his communicator once more. "Well, let's give our guests a warm welcome. Time to deploy the Spartans."

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

103: Interlude: The Architect

1904 Hours, August 31st, 2558 (local colony time) Harlow House, Nouveau Montreal

Nestled in a valley of pines at the base of one of Noveau Montreal's highest mountains, Harlow House had first been built as a resort for the wealthy, eager to enjoy the unspoiled wilderness. With its externally châteauesque design, the sprawling estate seemed very out of place on a colony world known for its cities of glass and steel that exemplified 26th century design philosophy. Used over the years to host everything from gubernatorial balls to secretive military conferences, its sudden purchase by a private party had surprised many, and traffic to Harlow House had been reduced to the occasional delivery vehicle or furtive motorcade heading out of the city.

As one such motorcade pulled into the long gravel driveway leading up to Harlow House's main entrance, the current owner checked his watch and sighed.

"Nearly half an hour early," he muttered, checking his expensive watch. "Typical."

Stood on the balcony overlooking Harlow House's front doors, Isaac Kenner watched the line of black cars approach with a wry smile. A tall, powerfully-built man in his late forties with a distinctive scar along the side of his bald head, Kenner had spent the last twenty years making a name for himself as a reliable trader, establishing connections throughout the Outer Colonies as they had re-established themselves after the war's end. With so many worlds cut off or reduced to silence for fear of attracting the Covenant's attention, the demand for transport ships that had not been requisitioned by the military was high, and he had been more than willing to oblige. Though many did not like to admit it, the Human-Covenant War had provided opportunity after opportunity for those enterprising and unscrupulous enough to take a few risks.

Years of running cargo, setting up trade networks and salvaging battlefields had paid off immensely, and the building Kenner now owned was the crowning jewel in his little empire. However, it was not his wealth that brought the board of directors of the Guild of Free Traders before him. Most of them were older and richer than Kenner, with power and influence that spread far beyond his own fiefdom in the Outer Colonies. While they could not compare to the monolithic corporations that had survived the Human-Covenant War mostly unscathed, the Guild's subtle influence across human-controlled space through various shell companies and affiliate organisations had made them a somewhat notable trading group that preferred to remain out of the spotlight. This procedure of quiet operation had served them well over the last few years, and it was not until very recently that this curtain of privacy had been unwillingly raised by a single member.

Tonight, they had come to hold Isaac Kenner to account for starting a war.

Officially, tonight's meeting was to discuss the expansion of trade further into former Covenant territory, dealing primarily with Sangheili and Kig-Yar traders willing to deal with human-made goods. Usually these conferences would be held via long-distance correspondence or ChatterNet calls, but the board chose to meet in person on occasion for purposes of maintaining familiarity while enjoying the comforts of some luxurious venue. It was for this reason that when Kenner saw the besuited figures approaching the mansion's front doors with an entourage of armed bodyguards, he knew that he was not meant to expect anything out of the ordinary.

As such, he played the role of gracious host. Kenner met the Guild's directors in the atrium, exchanging pleasantries and small talk as he guided them towards the main dining hall, where dinner had already been prepared. In this time, he made no remarks about their personal security, who trailed behind the wealthy traders without a word and refused to let their employees out of their sights even when offered a place to eat away from the main hall. The food was as lavish as expected; imported meats from a dozen animals, locally-grown vegetables, drink from Earth itself and several exotic platters laid out more as a sign of wealth and status than as part of a meal. For a time, Kenner immersed himself in the festivities, sat at the head of a table of fourteen. Conversation was polite, though tongues soon loosened as the alcohol spread and voices grew raucous with time. It was not until dessert had been cleared away some two hours later that the mood began to grow sombre. As Kenner shifted to leave his chair, a hand suddenly grasped his wrist.

"I think it's about time we got down to business."

The speaker was Bram Cohen, a businessman of seventy-eight years and the closest thing the Guild of Free Traders had to a leader. Though slightly stooped with age, Kenner felt the strength in the gnarled hand holding his wrist, and between his sharp eyes and mane of white hair he could become very imposing when he wished. There were plenty of rumours about his involvement in organised crime many years ago, and as a trader who rode out the entirety of the Human-Covenant War without so much a scratch on his business, he was a man to be feared.

"Business?" Kenner faked surprise. "Bram, we're here to get away from all that."

Most of the other directors had sobered up fast, and were watching Kenner and Cohen with interest. Some refused to meet the former's gaze as he glanced down the table.

"Isaac," Cohen eased his grip on Kenner's wrist as his gravelly voice reverberated throughout the room, "You and I both know you're not dumb enough to know why we're here. It's about Montak."

"That little business venture? What about it?"

Cohen jabbed a finger towards him. "Boy, I won't warn you again about acting dumb. You and Mister Thaler went to scout out some alien territory for trade routes, and you end up starting a goddamn war. Not only did you rile up the locals, you've pissed off Liang-Dortmund by all but levelling one of their refineries and gotten the UNSC interested in us by leaving guys their acting in our name. Thaler's dead, by the way."

That particular bit of news had reached Kenner the previous day. He'd liked Thaler as an entertaining conversationalist and business partner, but the man's naivety when it came to direct action had likely gotten him killed when he decided to remain on Montak. What bothered him more, though, was the fact that Cohen already knew about it.

"I'm sorry to hear that. The frontier's a wild place, as I'm sure you know, and it's unfortunate that he got caught up in all this."

A voice from halfway down the table called up to him. "You mean you didn't plan this?"

"Miss Hassan," Kenner's voice rose sharply in indignation, "Thaler was a good friend of mine, and I resent that kind of accusation. As far as I can tell, the situation on Montak got out of hand because of some kind of translation error in our dealings with the Imperium of Clarity. It's possible that in our talks on trade routes, they may have interpreted our mention of Montak as the nearest colonised world as an invitation to invade it."

"If that's the case," another trader, Popov, cut in, "Then why were mercenaries explicitly working for the Guild of Free Traders present to take control of the Montak refinery at gunpoint?"

How the hell do they already know about that? They had to have sent a spy in to keep tabs on us.

"Once we realised what the Imperium intended to do, we had no choice but to enlist some muscle to ensure that the workers were treated humanely. They might have been massacred if we hadn't intervened, and we all know what kind of trouble that would lead to."

A wave of murmurs spread down the table, split between those who agreed with Kenner's sentiment and those who weren't buying his story. Cohen, who had been listening intently with his arms crossed, soon rejoined the conversation

"While it's true that the UEG hasn't officially declared war and the public news is still only reporting the disappearance of ships sent to investigate Montak, you've still screwed us here, Kenner. While as far as I'm aware the only people aware of your little trip to the Imperium are in this room, the Guild's takeover of the refinery and mining complexes was practically broadcasted to everyone in-system. That means there's gonna be an investigation by ONI and at worst, our faces plastered across every goddamn colony world as opportunistic traitors."

A single mention of the Office of Naval Intelligence sent ripples of fear across the room. ONI meant raids, property seizures and blacklists. It meant arrests, disappearances, and sudden, fatal accidents. For a group of independent traders who had spent years trying to remain as low profile as possible, dealing through shell companies or the black market when necessary, there was no worse fate.

"Don't be dramatic, Bram," Kenner waved a hand dismissively, ignoring the sweat beading at the back of his neck. "Let's not act like we've not all had our brushes with the law in the past. All we've got to do is deny involvement and disassociate with those who were found on the scene. It's not a problem-"

"It IS a goddamn problem!" Cohen barked, making those around him wince. "This ain't interstellar police or some crooked governor we're dealing with here, Isaac. They might not have made it official but there's a war going on out there, and every single life the UNSC loses fighting those aliens will be blamed on us! That's where accountability comes in."

Upon hearing Cohen's last few words, Kenner rose from his seat. The bodyguards stationed around the room quickly drew their weapons and edged towards him, though he made it clear that he was going nowhere. Looking down the table at the men and women he had once considered friends and business partners, he now saw a rabble of cornered rats, willing to sacrifice one of their own if it meant getting away with their lives. Cohen was right, of course; the Guild was about to get a lot of heat, and an official investigation would hit their funding pretty hard, but those in charge would do anything to survive. After all, it was that instinct that had brought them together once the war had ended, uniting a disparate group of businesses into a semi-formidable conglomerate.

Kenner let out a long sigh, and smiled. He had the floor.

"All right," he nodded to the others, "I can see where this is going, so I might as well come clean about this whole deal."

Popov snorted. "Finally."

"As I'm sure you're aware, I fought hard just to get a trip out to the Imperium of Clarity. It's pretty out of the way, so most human captains aren't even going to bother even if they weren't led by ex-Covenant military. All the same, when I heard rumours of an alien state out there that wasn't stuck fighting itself or killing anything that came close, I knew we had a chance of striking a deal. That's when I met with Toru 'Makhan."

"Their king," Cohen muttered, earning a few smirks.

"He prefers 'Imperial Admiral', which sounds just as pretentious. In any case, by the time Thaler and I got into a meeting with him, I could tell that he was dreaming big. Turns out that even before we prodded him into taking Montak for us, this guy was grabbing every star system he could in the name of carving out his own little empire. Anyone, be they human or Sangheili or what, has to have an ego to match. You hand them a defenceless system as their first piece of proper conquest, and they'll jump at the chance, just because they can."

"And so you used that to take over mining operations on Montak, which you really believed would last long enough to give you and the Guild a proper trading foothold out there."

Kenner wagged a finger at the elderly businessman. "That's where you're wrong, Bram. Truth is, I never gave two shits about Montak or the mine. Do you have any idea how long that'd take to get up and running to a point where we turn a profit?"

At last, he seemed to have caught Cohen and the others out. Basking in the satisfaction of seeing the look of confusion on the know-it-all businessman's face for just a moment, Kenner continued.

"Now we've all had our fingers in this particular pie, but as I'm sure most of you know, I got my big break in the Fetching business. Started out making a tidy profit salvaging slipspace drives, then moved on to recovering military hardware left behind on the battlefield. Even now, I've got teams running salvage ops in half a dozen systems. Even so, with things settling down, all this is going to dry up sooner or later. That's where starting this new war comes in."

Cohen shot him a look of utter contempt, his hands balled into bone-white fists atop the table. "Yeah, you're a real scavenging mastermind. Kill a few thousand, grab what's left. Genius."

No one could mistake the venomous sarcasm dripping from every word as genuine praise, but as Cohen made no move against Kenner, he carried on.

"It's not just that, though. When the UNSC wins this war - and they will win eventually - they'll suddenly have an entirely new area of space to manage. Remember, this isn't some terrorist outpost or a military target they're attacking, it's an actual nation state with a civilian populace and government. They can't just bomb that away without it getting leaked back to the public somehow. The only reason the UEG hasn't officially declared war is because they know it'll likely bog them down in political bureaucracy when what they really want is a quick win. Once that's achieved, someone has to come in and take care of the tasks the UNSC doesn't want to allocate resources to. That's where they bring in the private sector - namely us - with some nice, lucrative contracts to help run this little corner of the galaxy."

Slowly, Kenner could see realisation dawning in the eyes of his peers. Even those who had nodded along with Cohen's blistering rant and met his gaze with cold scorn now looked up in wonder at the possibilities. Cohen, however, was not at all moved.

"And if they don't win?" he asked. "If the Imperium wipes out the fleets the UNSC and their allies have already sent in?"

"Then the UEG has no choice but to officially declare war, and it's business as usual for us 'scavengers'. Unless they pull something major out of their hat, the Imperium won't last in a protracted war, especially if the UNSC commits heavier fleets to subjugate their systems. Think of it as a rigged coin flip, Bram: Heads, we win, tails, we win."

Before the room could descend into discussion, Bram Cohen slowly rose from his seat, deliberately scraping it back as slowly and noisily as possible to silence everyone else. The old man took one look around the room before fixing Kenner with a dejected look.

"Here's what's gonna happen, Isaac. My men are gonna take you into custody while the rest of us seize all your assets. Anything not worth keeping is gonna be sold or sacrificed to take the heat off the rest of us, and at our earliest convenience, we're handing you to ONI on a silver platter as the man responsible for starting all this shit. End of story."

Cohen waved an arm, and two nearby bodyguards began to approach, pistols drawn. With another long sigh, Kenner raised both arms slowly above his head. Though he closed his eyes, the smile remained on his face.

"If that's the way it's going to go..."

He clapped three times.

A moment later, the dining hall erupted into a cacophony of light and noise as machine gun fire erupted from all around them. Behind each of the dozen paintings - each a replica of some expensive piece - sat soldiers in Kenner's employ, hosing down the dining table's occupants and those standing guard around them with non-stop fire. Most had no time to react, dying instantly as the first few bullets tore through them in sprays of blood and gore. Fragments of bone clinked into empty plates alongside ragged chunks of meat, while horrendously disfigured corpses slumped forward or slid off the remains of their chairs. In less than ten seconds, all but two members of the Guild of Free Traders' board of directors lay dead.

Isaac Kenner opened his eyes, and beheld the slaughter that he had arranged. He was a strong-willed man, but even he could not bear to look at the corpses for more than a few seconds. Swallowing down the bile rising in his throat, his attempt to move was hampered by a familiar strong grip around his ankle. Bram Cohen lay before him, his dinner jacket splattered with blood that trailed out onto the tiled floor. Though his proximity to Kenner had saved him from instant death, his chest injuries were still fatal. Kenner locked eyes with the old man for a moment, and opened his mouth to say something. Nothing clever came to mind, so he kicked away Cohen's grip with his free leg and moved towards the nearest door before the smell of voided bowels got to him. On his way out, he looked towards one of his men, who had emerged from a specially-prepared cubbyhole to reload.

"Finish that one, will you?" he jerked a thumb towards the wheezing form of Cohen. This kind of work wasn't for him.

Another gunshot sounded as he left the room. Kenner moved at a swift pace, wanting to leave before the remaining staff and his own guards made their way out. As he reached the atrium, two men in his employ entered through the front door, carrying a dark body bag between them. He gave the slightest nod towards them before heading outside. His car was already waiting.

And so dies the Guild of Free Traders, Kenner thought to himself as he slid into the back seat. Idiots.

Killing off his fellow directors was a bold move, but an ultimately profitable one. Lacking strong leaders, most of their companies would flounder for long enough to be bought out either by Kenner or one of their competitors, giving him a stronger powerbase. There would be an investigation by law enforcement into their deaths, naturally, but given the secretive nature of the Guild's leaders and their less than legal business practices it would be a while before anyone picked up their trail. Harlow House would have to go as well; once his employees finished up in the building, it would be carefully demolished in such a way that suggested a sudden and tragic fire. Once the local authorities and news organisations looked into it, it would appear that some business conference had gone horrifically awry, claiming the lives of a group of offworld traders and Harlow House's owner. Thorough in his dealings, Kenner had concocted the identity of a reclusive female magnate while purchasing the property, and had kept a corpse in cryogenic suspension for nearly a year in case he ever had to discard it. It was not a fool-proof plan by any means, but it would likely deter all but the most determined of sleuths from looking deeply into the case.

Leaning back in his seat as the vehicle carried him away from Harlow House, Kenner found himself looking back, as he so often did, to the glassing of Troy. Six years ago, he had watched from afar as his homeworld was burnt into a ball of glass, erasing everything that had been built up on the colony in over a century of its existence. That had taught him that nothing was truly permanent, and that those who believed in the infallible and the impervious were deluding themselves. Not planets, not organisations, and certainly not people. Given the right circumstances, anything could be brought down. This war would prove that, and all he had to do was wait for one side to topple before he could reap the benefits.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

104: Babysitting

1500 Hours, August 31st, 2558, UNSC Maya

He looked down on the three of them with a look that bordered on disdain. They were children, augmented, trained, and fresh off one of their first major engagements, but children all the same. Just like he’d been, just like Jacob and Rodger had been. Deltas.

All it would’ve taken was for him to cast aside his sensibilities and have blown the whistle on what had been going on, and maybe the three adolescents in front of him would’ve been stuck in school complaining about homework, or whatever it was normal kids their age did. But he couldn’t do it then, he wasn’t able to force himself to expose Kyle-B115, the man who’d pulled him from the sand to safety after TORPEDO.

Now, three hundred more children were SPARTANs. Just like him. Just like Jacob and Rodger. Meat for the grinder.

“Get in, find a bunk, we’re going to the chow hall in ten.” Callum’s arms were crossed over his chest as he motioned for Merlin, Andra, and Shizuko to file into the open door behind him.

B042 didn’t know why he’d been the one chosen to babysit the three Delta Company Spartans, and he was far from pleased with the job, but he couldn’t find it in himself to take issue with it. At least with him they weren’t being dropped into situations they couldn’t handle, or doing whatever wetwork ONI figured they could get away with using them for.

“Permission to speak?” The boy piped up, Callum’s eyes darting to meet his own. He didn’t know much about the Deltas spare their names, he’d had all of a few minutes to glance at their dossiers before they showed up, but this one had caught his eye more than either of the girls. Andra and Shizuko had glowing combat scores, but the boy, Merlin, he struggled. He was a problem child, dead weight, a hindrance to those around him and more according to comments from one Codename: DAEDALUS. That was alright though, Callum had been the same way, all it took was the right kind of support.

He kicked himself mentally, furious. His life had been suffering, and here he was thinking of ways to help mold the child looking up at him into something like him. But at least that would keep him alive, right?

Ask Jamison that question.

The pang of guilt cut deeper than any knife, and his brow furrowed for a moment. “Sir?” The boy asked again, bringing him back to reality. Callum realized he’d been standing there in thought for much longer than he’d thought.

“Granted Petty Officer.”

“What’s the plan for us? Lieutenant Commander Frendsen wasn’t exactly clear on the details other than that we’d be operating under you.” It was a decent question, and one Callum hadn’t had much time to think of an answer for. From the scanning he’d done he knew the boy and the girl practically glued to his side were a sniper-spotter team, so in all likelihood he’d stick them with Rodger. The other girl had high scores across the bar, Dawes would take care of her.

All he knew is he didn’t want them up front, it was bad enough his brother insisted on being almost as deep in the fray as he did, but given their fortes it was hard to argue against it.

“Still working on that. Likely I’ll pair you two up with my sniper, and you,” He paused looking to Shizuko. “We’ll figure something out, Spartan Dawes will probably take you under his wing.”

“Any questions?” The three shook their heads, he nodded, and motioned for them to move into the room which had suddenly become much less roomy with the addition of three Spartans to the team. They complied and filed in, with the elder Spartan close behind.

Inside the three other Spartans sat on their respective cots, and their eyes darted up to the newcomers. Jacob looked up from a datapad, not bothering to do much besides nod in acknowledgment before running a hand through the black hair he and his brother shared. Rodger and Cadmon on the other hand both waved as the trio of Deltas set down their things.

Unsurprisingly Merlin and Andra claimed cots next to one another, with the former sheepishly returning the wave to the two Spartans across the room.

“Stallion, we’re getting chow, together.” Callum stated flatly, his brother casting an agitated glare. Simon was living in his head, and he wasn’t letting it go. Callum wondered if it was some cruel joke that they were so different except in the worst ways.

“Sounds great, was getting hungry.” Cadmon chimed in, striding over to stand beside B042. “You gonna introduce us?” The Spartan IV asked, a warm smile on his face.

“Chief Petty Officer Shizuko-D081.” The girl was at attention, and while Callum’s expression didn’t change, he caught Jacob raising his eyebrow from his cot. Cadmon of course simply smiled and shook his head.

“No need for all that, Cadmon Dawes, pleasure to meet you Shizuko.” He offered his hand to the girl to shake, and for a moment it was her who raised an eyebrow in confusion. Sheepishly she shook the outstretched hand, eyes searching for something in Dawes, usually people that were outwardly kind to their kind meant to send them into one death trap or another, she knew that. She was too young to know that, they’d all been too damn young.

“Andra.” The other girl said bluntly before beginning to make her cot, ensuring every bit was creased to perfection. She was a cold one, and not overly thrilled to be with them from what he could tell.

“Merl-uh, Petty Officer Merlin-D032.” The boy stammered, Callum nodded to him, hoping the acknowledgment would take the Spartan off high alert. There was some sort of anxiety that seemed to hang around the boy, the kind that hung over the Betas when a few of the Alpha Company washouts were having a bad day and stormed the bunk house with humblers.

“Petty Officer Third Class.” Shizuko added harshly, a flustered expression spreading over Merlin’s face as Andra suddenly turned away from her cot, staring daggers into the other girl.

“Good to have ‘ya Merlin, I’m Rodger or Stallion Three, or whatever you want. I think you and Andra will be with me. I hear you’re a good spotter.” The Gamma spouted from across the room, smiling almost as warmly as Cadmon. That threw the three Deltas off, Merlin in particular.

For a brief moment the boy looked over to Andra as if to ask how he was supposed to respond. She did so by speaking for him. “Yeah, he and I are a good team.” The girl stated firmly as she fluffed her pillow and set it neatly at the head of the cot.

“So your dossiers say, I just hope an old man like me can keep up.” Rodger smirked, Jacob chuckling quietly from his corner. Andra didn’t know quite how to respond to the joke, and Shizuko was still examining Cadmon in an attempt to figure out his perceived hidden intentions. The adoptive father to three children that he and his husband had taken in after the war simply maintained his kindly expression. His oldest was something of an ice queen too from what Callum had heard him say.

“We’ll do our best to accommodate you, no promises.” Merlin piped up, sheepishly grinning and leading Rodger to laugh lightly.

“I thank you for the consideration.” G050 lazily saluted.

“Oh and since they won’t do it themselves, the angry one in the corner is Jacob, and the angry one you already met is Callum. Before you ask, no their resemblance is not a coincidence, they’re just long lost brothers.” Rodger added with a grin. Jacob dropped the pad onto his bed and glared at Rodger in sync with his brother.

The Deltas were now all thoroughly confused, and Merlin managed to chuckle nervously.

“No he’s serious.” Dawes added, G043 and B042’s glares darting to him in a blink. The awkward silence hung in the air for a time before Callum cleared his throat and relented in his staredown.

“Anyway, food, move out.” He ordered, stepping out of the doorway and watching the team filed out. Cadmon went first, leading Shizuko along and attempting to converse with the girl. Rodger and Jacob followed after, then Andra and Merlin. Just as Callum turned to follow them out the boy stopped and turned back to face him, his constant companion whirling around to see why he’d stopped.

“I’m sorry I laughed, I thought he was uh,”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s just a new thing. Still getting used to it.” Callum assured him, his lips drawing tight in the closest thing to a smile he’d made in years. The younger Spartan nodded and turned to follow Andra who practically yanked him along by his arm down the hall.

Callum didn’t like it, the boy was nervous around them sure, but the girl seemed ready to pounce, as if at a moments notice she would gouge his eyes out for so much as coming near Merlin.

As they walked he looked brought up the wrist-mounted datapad and opened up the trio’s dossiers again, eyes scanning the lines of text until he found what he was looking for. Previous Assignments: VIOLET-III

He knew that unit, only from mentions and seeing it assigned to similar ops, but he knew the names. Joshua-G024, Amy-G094, Headhunters. Looking up he watched the two inseparable Spartans, maybe they had been being groomed for the same role. Evidently it hadn’t worked out.

Still the girl had been ready to dive in, to protect him, but from what? Maybe it was just having lost people, he didn’t know if the rest of their teams were dead or what but he knew a thing or two about loss, but this seemed different to his behavior. His mind kept asking the same question: What had happened with VIOLET-III?

---

1610 Hours, August 31st, 2558, UNSC Maya

Lunch had gone about as well as it could have, they’d managed to sit down, eat, and talk. Cadmon had even been able to get Shizuko to speak a little. Not much, but it was progress, and things like that took time as he’d learned with Ophelia. He hoped his oldest was doing okay, he knew Darius could take care of her fine, but he’d been the one she finally opened up to.

Her dark eyes had flooded with tears and she sobbed uncontrollably, and he’d held her as her little body shook from the wailing. But she’d trusted him enough to talk about New Mombassa, about her family, about the monsters. Shizuko had the same look in her eyes Ophelia did before she’d told him.

Sadness, guilt, anger. It was there in her, and in Callum too but he was working on that.

He wanted to help her, and maybe he would, but it would have to wait. The alert of inbound boarders and call for the Spartans to gear up had derailed the nice meal. Cadmon looked to the other end of the barricade where the girl clad in FOTUS armor was crouched, a shotgun clasped in her hands.

Callum had his concerns about that, but despite the joke he’d made at B042’s expense Cadmon knew full well that his issue was not that he was worried D081 would outclass him with the weapon. It was that he didn’t want her getting up close and personal.

Cadmon respected Callum, and the Beta Company Spartan was a talented small-unit tactician, but Cadmon nearly had to throttle him during their first deployment so he’d let Jacob do his job. He got to wrapped up trying to keep his people alive that he’d try and do the whole damn mission himself. Or try.

Cadmon was hefting an MA5D with a larger magazine and shredder rounds, and just to back them up a heavy autocannon was hanging from the ceiling above them. The two boarding craft about the breach the hull a good few yards in front of them had decided to hit right in front of some of the ships automated defenses, the others had gotten more difficult to defend positions.

Jacob and Rodger were a few decks up, Callum, Andra, and Merlin a few below. The Spartans were to set to hold of the seven boarding pods the moment they crossed into the Maya. He prayed it would be a quick fight, that the boarders wouldn't be exclusively elite zealots or something similar. They could take them, but Cadmon wasn't one to crave a more dangerous fight.

He wanted to win, save lives, and make sure that he and everyone else could go home in one piece.

“You ready?” He called out, the girl winked her status light green, not uttering a word like he’d expected. “Hey!” Cadmon barked, she looked over to him.

“I looked at your file kid, I know what you can do.” He also knew she was an orphan twice over, first her parents, then her team. “I trust you, I just need you to trust me too alright Shizuko?”

She hadn’t expected that, and her helmet shifted towards him, whatever she might’ve said never came, as boarding craft slammed into the hull.

User:Spartan-D042 - Of monsters and men 19:55, June 26, 2019 (UTC)

105: Reluctance

1701 Hours, August 31st, 2558 UNSC Caspian, Yain System

In the hours since the attempt on Admiral Zhi's life, Ryan Samson had not had the chance to assume his position in her command chair. While the Caspian did not lack for capable officers, the Vice Admiral had taken it upon himself to organise security sweeps of the entire cruiser, checking its crew and scanning as much of the ship as they were able for signs of enemy intrusion. Though some grumbled about these procedures, none could fault his thoroughness. The Admiral, still under heavy guard, had survived the initial surgical procedures, and while the ship's medical staff continued to work on keeping her alive the acting Chief Medical Officer had informed Samson that they had done all they could; whether or not Zhi woke up was entirely up to her body. It was not until Weatherby signalled to the crew that they were minutes away from exiting slipspace that Samson finally relented, admitting that he had done all he could before returning to the bridge.

Zhi's attack had clearly shaken the crew's morale, and as Samson arrived at his station he could feel the eyes of half the bridge fall on him. Even Captain Ngirandi, who had proven himself as a solid officer under fire, did little to hide his trepidation as the Vice Admiral took his seat. Mere moments later, they arrived in the Yain System.

"All ships present and accounted for," said Weatherby, materialising above a nearby holotank. "Initial scans indicate at least seventy enemy vessels."

A holographic map of the system popped up over the command table, indicating the fleets of the United Nations Space Command, Swords of Sanghelios, and Imperium of Clarity. With almost no intelligence to go on, the Sixth Fleet and its allies had charged blindly into enemy space, relying on their combined strength to counter any potential threats. As far as military procedure went their actions were certainly unorthodox, but Lin Zhi had used her position as head of this expedition to authorise it. Three planets orbited the local star, though it soon became clear that the majority of enemy forces had gathered over a single world, ringed with space stations and the distant outlines of orbital shipyards.

Ahead of the Sixth Fleet, Felo 'Ranak's warships had already spread out, forming battle lines with his own cruiser, Questioner, at the centre. A row of blockade runners led the vanguard, backed up by a tight formation of battlecruisers and carriers that flanked their flagship. Evidently, they had no intention of allowing the Imperium to get close enough for a boarding action after that debacle over Montak. Bringing up the rear were four Carracks; massive cruisers dedicated to troop transport and fleet support, ringed by nearly two dozen sleek Man O' Wars, ready to intercept any potential flanking manoeuvres. As they slowly made a beeline for Frendhal, the human fleet made its own arrangements for battle.

"Move into formation behind 'Ranak's fleet," Samson's hands slid over the holotable, moving ship formations as though they were game pieces. "As with before, use them for cover where necessary, but I want clear firing lines made both above and below their ships."

At this point, Samson was relying on fairly simple tactics to get by. While the chain of command had placed him in charge after Admiral Zhi was incapacitated, his role as a naval commander was nothing compared to her own record. Though he had never said this out loud, Samson once realised that as the highest-ranking officer alive aboard the UNSC Trafalgar after its bridge was destroyed over Reach, he technically held command over the flagship of the Epsilon Eridani Defence Fleet during its greatest defeat. Even with that bitter memory swirling though his thoughts, he had to step up and make the best of a bad situation, using the experience and advice of those around him to guide the Sixth Fleet through this battle.

"Shall we deploy fighters?" asked Ngirandi, checking a readout from the ship's hangar bays.

"Wait until we're closer, but have our pilots ready to launch once the enemy sends out their own fighters. We'll likely need them later."

Drumming his fingers along the command chair's armrest, Samson watched as his orders were relayed and the Sixth Fleet moved into position, forming up with the Caspian at its centre. The fleet's three remaining Orion-class ships - the Shiroyama, Gilded Cage and Hard Luck - resumed their earlier role as heavy-hitters, supporting groups of weaker frigates and destroyers. When combat began, these smaller detachments would combine their fire on a single warship at a time, overwhelming the energy shielding of target vessels with a hail of deadly MAC rounds. As long as they did not take an unnecessary risks, they would not suffer the same decimation that the over-eager Captain Richter's detachment had over Montak.

"Sir," a communications officer called up, "We've received a message from Fleet Master 'Ranak."

No direct communication? Samson raised an eyebrow. He had sent a tight-beam transmission to the Questioner and all ships within the Sixth Fleet before they exited slipspace to inform them of the attempt on Admiral Zhi's life, but the friendly Sangheili's lack of contact beyond a brief affirmation was puzzling. Several years ago, Samson had met with Ranak during a summit on Earth, and after surviving a sudden attack led by Felo's own kin had gotten along fairly well in subsequent discussions. Considering the speed at which the Swords were racing towards the enemy, the Fleet Master likely sought to engage and defeat the enemy as quickly as possible.

"Let's hear it."

The officer nodded, and the holographic form of Fleet Master Felo 'Ranak appeared before Samson. Since his last transmission he had removed the cocoon of sealant mesh around his chest and either replaced or repaired his armour, but there as a noticeable change in the Sangheili leader's posture. Samson realised almost instantly that Felo's injuries over Montak had likely taken a greater toll than they thought.

"Vice Admiral," Felo spoke clearly, though he was clearly in great discomfort. "We are maintaining our course towards the Imperium's primary fleet over the planet Frendhal, and will strive to break through their lines as soon as possible to prepare for invasion. I will be diverting all attention towards engaging the enemy, and any further contact will be made through my officers. I wish you good fortune on the battlefield."

With that, the message ended, and the Fleet Master vanished.

"I see," Samson nodded, adding the annoyance of Sangheili pride to his current list of grievances. "We'll continue our force deployment, but I don't want any attempts to launch a ground invasion until we've got a clearer grasp of the situation. We're not having a repeat of Montak."

For all his actions towards peace and interspecies cooperation, Felo 'Ranak's sudden unwillingness to engage in direct communications with his human allies was a sign that the warrior hadn't abandoned all of his people's traditions. He had been badly injured in a boarding action aboard his own flagship, possibly to the point of not being able to fight again, and had no intention of showing weakness. As an officer, Samson understood all too well the need to keep up morale by putting on a brave face in the worst of situations, but to limit communications with a friendly fleet in battle because of a personal wound was a terrible decision.

The Sixth Fleet continued its flight through the Yain System, moving as quickly as they could to keep up with the battle-hungry Swords of Sanghelios. Flanked by four heavy frigates, the Caspian kept itself to the rear of their formation, allowing Vice Admiral Samson to direct their ships as best he could. Lacking Admiral Zhi's flair for daring tactical moves, he ensured that their ships had a wide range of fire that would maximise the effectiveness of their long-range cannons while its prowlers - vessels that he had the greatest experience in directing - ranged ahead, scanning for concealed foes and marking sites for potential minefields, were the enemy to advance.

"Got a visual on the enemy," Captain Ngirandi broke a silence of nearly twenty minutes. "Looks like the same fleets we fought over Montak, with additional reinforcements."

Weatherby, who had been helping with fleet navigation, nodded. "I'm counting at least forty new ships, all Obedience-class."

This new cruiser design, apparently one unique to the Imperium of Clarity, had proved difficult to properly counter at Montak. While Samson's agents had quickly compiled as much data about them as possible, working with AI aboard their prowlers to locate weaknesses and pick up information from intercepted enemy transmissions, they were still something of an unknown even after a number had been obliterated in the previous battle. If their translated name and the number of them was anything to go by, then these cruisers were likely the backbone of the Imperium's navy. However, it was not the massed ranks of these new ships that worried Samson and his command staff. It was a single ship, stationed towards the rear of the enemy fleet.

Ngirandi let out a low whistle. "CSO-class supercarrier sighted, sir."

"Yeah," Samson breathed, "I think we all see it."

Of all the weapons of war fielded by the fleets of the Covenant, there was nothing that inspired dread in the Navy like tales of enemy supercarriers. Rarely seen, if only because the presence of one in battle usually resulted in the complete annihilation of the opposing fleet, these gargantuan vessels heralded the destruction of entire colonised systems. Though a number had been destroyed by the UNSC during the war, it was usually either at a ridiculously heavy cost or at the hands of internal sabotage that these leviathans fell. While the power of a fleet's ships was not always the deciding factor in a naval engagement, as the UNSC Navy's tacticians had proven numerous times in the past, the sheer size and power of a supercarrier often meant that even the simplest brute-force methods could succeed.

Faced with the flagship of the Imperium of Clarity, Samson was struck with a momentary sense of terror. Even with the help of the Swords of Sanghelios, could they ever hope to bring down a supercarrier? Perhaps it would be a better idea to beat a hasty retreat back towards the colonies, where they could contact FLEETCOM and request reinforcements. Though this idea would involve abandoning both Felo 'Ranak's ships and Rear Admiral Hawkins' battlegroup in enemy territory, it would save many more lives on his side. By the time he snapped out of it, the retreat order had almost reached his lips.

"Weatherby," he turned his attention back towards the holomap, "What's the status on our contractor ships?"

"Acting as the fleet's rearguard alongside our supply vessels, sir."

When the Sixth Fleet set out from New Syracuse, it had brought along a number of warships belonging to Baal Defence Solutions, a private security firm with its own fleet of warships. While many in the military disliked these groups, Admiral Zhi included, Samson's work within Naval Intelligence had brought him into contact with them on numerous occasions, giving him a slightly better disposition towards PMC groups. So far, they had spent the majority of this campaign at the Sixth Fleet's rear, guarding their supply ships with no actual engagement save for a few potshots at stray enemy fighters. That would change now.

"Get in contact with their commander. We're going to need a fast-response group to cover our advance and cover our troop transports once we're in a position to deploy forces on the surface."

"You sure about that, sir?" Wetherby inquired. "We'd be leaving our supplies unguarded."

Ngirandi was next to chime in. "They're not Navy, either. Contract or not, there's nothing to say they won't cut and run if things go south."

Samson shook his head. "I've seen Navy Captains break and try to abandon ship mid-battle, too. If we don't commit everything to winning this battle then there's a good chance that none of us are making it out of here alive. Send the order."

Weatherby nodded, and began transmitting Samson's commands to one of the nearby communications officers. As he did so, the system map on the holotable flashed an amber light, emitting a shrill tone as the Imperium made their move. Unlike the Swords of Sanghelios, who had reformed their fleet into what was essentially a massive wedge formation for breaking through enemy lines, the Imperium's fleets were re-applying their earlier defensive formation and were holding their ground within range of the space stations orbiting Frendhal. Soon, the first exchange of fire erupted from both fleets, with beams of white-hot plasma streaking through space. Several ships perished under that first volley as their shields quickly overloaded, vanishing as explosions consumed them in an instant. The remaining ships in the frontal line continued to fire, even as the vessels around them were torn apart.

Within minutes of this first exchange, the Sixth Fleet caught up to their Sangheili allies, reinforcing their battle line from above and below in an attempt to break through the Imperium's defences. Even under this onslaught, they did not break, and merely adjusted their formation to account for an increase in hostile fire. It was then that the first of the orbital stations opened fire, firing a beam from its energy projector that gutted the nearest Sangheili battlecruiser in a single burst of white-hot light. The second and third shots from its sister stations were less effective, though the intensity of the blasts made keeping a tight formation difficult for the Swords. With their initial attempts at a charge foiled, they were forced back, with MAC gun fire from the UNSC providing cover against any Imperial ships that attempted to pursue. With both sides slightly rebuffed, the battle soon became a long-distance exchange of plasma torpedoes and nuclear missiles, followed by the inevitable scrambling of smaller craft. Fighters, heavy gunships and troop transport threaded the field of fire between the two fleets, and the coalition forces responded in kind, and tiny bursts of cannon fire now arced across the void.

"Launch fighters!" Samson ordered, his eyes flitting from the distant flashes plasma fire that filled forward viewport to the cleaner display over his holotable. "And have all EVA-capable troops ready for deployment as soon BDS moves its ships up our right flank up to give them cover."

While the ships now fighting to gain orbital superiority over Frendhal soon reached a bloody impasse, just as they had done over Montak, this would not last forever. As a second wave of transports disembarked from their mother ships and fleet lines broke off to redirect their fire in the name of carving a path to the surface, a single CSO-class supercarrier began to move. Slowly but surely, it would reach the front, and prevent another slow war of attrition. It was with this bloody clash that the Battle of Frendhal began.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

106: Same Old, Same Old

1517 Hours, 31 August 2558 (Military Calendar) UNSC Foxhound, in slipspace

Cain winced as she gingerly touched the left side of her torso, which was covered in deep black and blue colored bruises. The medical suite made quick work of the broken ribs, however the area was still extremely sore and sensitive. The painkillers would work their magic soon, she knew. Even if it didn't, she had other things on her mind.

She lowered her black fatigue shirt and straightened her posture. The pedestal located within her quarters lit up, revealing the all too familiar avatar of her AI companion.

"I'm not liking this whole plan - feels like a trap to me." Cain called out to him. "Chasing the enemy across space without any prior intelligence just rubs me the wrong way."

"I'm inclined to agree. However, sitting around only invites another surprise attack." Klayton countered.

Cain mumbled in agreement. "Yeah, still doesn't mean I like the plan any more than before. Even more so with our plan."

This plan was what had her mind racing. The uncertainty of it all left her uneasy. Diving in with weak intelligence wasn't new to her - in fact, about half her operations were conducted under such circumstances. Her gut feeling told her that chasing the enemy into their turf was exactly the wrong kind of move. While the allied fleet fought against whatever the Imperium have set up for them, Cain was going to board a vessel and rescue Abzu 'Samakr and any others - then blow the damn ship up.

Many things could go wrong, more than half of which were completely out of her control. Boarding action in itself was a dangerous operation, but adding all the unknown variables alongside it made the success rate plummet.

The Colonel had made it clear the amount of forces he didn't have to spare on such an operation, but nonetheless, reluctantly gave the green light, under certain circumstances.

The priority was allowing Klayton into the ship's systems to collect all the data he can - this was of more importance to the brass, kill two birds with one stone, she supposed. Then, rescue the prisoners. Last, get the allies out and blow the place. The plan of action was simple enough.

However, it was most definitely easier said than done.

She would be assisted by 'Zenim and the rest of Abzu 'Samakr's contingent, and one squad of ODSTs. In terms of a boarding party, this group was far too small - but what they lacked in personnel, they made up for in tactics.

The Elites knew the fine intricacies of the vessel, considering it was much like their own. They know precisely where to strike and when. Cain figured this was the best intelligence she was going to get. Now, they all played the waiting game.

The Elites had been waiting in the common area since their arrival with Cain aboard the Foxhound. Judging by their grumbles, it wasn't the most ideal situation for them, but they would have to suck it up for the short time until they would take to drop out of slipspace. She supposed that rescuing their Kaidon would make up for it.

“We will be exiting slipspace soon, better get ready for the action.” Klayton suggested.

Without a reply, Cain rose from her bunk and began to change into her techsuit, still in a pre-mission thinking phase. It was an old habit for her to try to out-think all the issues an operation had. She knew it would never be perfect - there would be snags, delays, unexpected circumstances, and the like - but preparation, however extra, certainly never hurt.

When she exited her quarters, the Foxhound’s ship-wide alarm sounded, indicating 5 minutes until their exit from slipspace. Cain jogged to the armory and began suiting up.

This Kaidon’s going to owe me after I bust his ass out of jail. She thought to herself jokingly, then slipping her helmet over her head.

User:CBrando89 - 16 July 2019, 23:53 (EST) -

107: Deception

1740 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Questioner, Yain System

Standing in the cramped confines of a Phantom dropship, shoulder-to-shoulder with warriors willing to kill him if he so much as twitched his mandibles the wrong way, Nilen 'Feru remembered exactly why he preferred his role as a fighter pilot.

After agreeing to assist the Swords of Sanghelios in their campaign against the Imperium, throwing away his loyalties to ensure the protection of his clan, Nilen had been very cooperative. Though he had been removed from his prison cell and allowed temporary quarters on the cruiser's upper decks, a pair of armed guards watched him at all times and never allowed him within striking distance of their Fleet Master, Felo 'Ranak. Given audience with the fierce commander, Nilen had done his best to prepare the Swords for their next battle with the Imperium, giving a rough outline of ship numbers, formations, and what they could expect when they brought their war to Frendhal. Though his knowledge of the rest of their fleets was vague at worst, he was able to give a detailed account of his homeworld's orbital defences; twelve space stations, positioned to provide maximum coverage of the planet and loaded with enough firepower to bring down capital ships.

"Will they hinder landing craft?" Felo had asked, limping slightly as he moved around the command table.

"While they are designed to eliminate larger vessels, the stations possess enough secondary cannons to defend themselves from boarders and enemy fighters, and have their own fighters. The Imperium's fleet will also be a threat, naturally."

"Led by Toru 'Makhan and his supercarrier, no doubt."

At the mention of the Imperium's leader, a murmur of rose discussion from the many officers surrounding the table, where a holographic image of Frendhal captured by one of their scouting ships slowly rotated. Aside from Felo, Nilen only recognised the infamous 'Outrider' Rora 'Marak and General Fol 'Taram, who had rescued them from Montak. While the Swords' fleet had taken minor casualties so far, they would be forced into a certain retreat if they were caught between the firepower the Watchful Custodian and Frendhal's defensive platforms. Unlike Montak, where they could use the planet itself as partial cover from enemy fire, the defences of the fortress world allow for no safe haven in its orbit. Stepping forward, Nilen pointed to one of the stations, positioned above one of Frendhal's northern continents.

"If we are to take down the defence grid, then that station should be our primary target."

Some of the officers shot Nilen dark looks for speaking out of turn. Though he had sworn to assist Felo 'Ranak and the Swords of Sanghelios, many of these men were seasoned officers who in the days of the Covenant would rather execute a helpful turncoat than allow their honour to be stained by allowing one to live. Felo folded his arms.

"Is there anything important about that station in particular?"

"Nothing in its structure, Fleet Master, but I happen to know its commander, and have visited it on more than one occasion. If you would permit it, I could help to lead a team aboard using my access codes and seize it from within."

Nilen's hopes rose when he saw Rora 'Marak nod approvingly from across the table, but there were many more sceptical faces around him. Fol 'Taram, whose position as a groundside commander had kept him quiet for most of this meeting, finally raised his voice.

"Your Imperium has likely already listed your name among the fallen," his low, rumbling voice sounded across the crowded meeting room. "And should you and whatever warriors we send with you survive, there is no guarantee that you will not return to your kin. It is too much of a risk."

Rora spoke up in Nilen's stead. "It would be a difficult task, but not an impossible one. We have both the time and the technology to modify one of our craft for infiltration purposes, and in the heat of battle it is unlikely that a defence station would be able to differentiate between their ships and ours. If Commander 'Feru is familiar with those aboard, he could gain their confidence and we could handle the battle once aboard."

"We?"

"The Shadows of Retribution," Rora turned towards Felo, whose eyes lingered on the holotable. "Fleet Master, this man has sworn to help us, and made no attempt to betray my warriors on Montak. Give us the chance and we may change the course of this battle in moments."

Felo shifted slightly, favouring his good leg as he rose to his full height. "You have my permission. Nilen 'Feru, once the station is taken, what more can you do for us?"

Feeling relieved, Nilen unleashed the last scrap of information he had been saving, had the room turned entirely against him.

"Once we turn the orbital station's main gun against its fellows, I believe we will be able to bring down at least two or three others before the Imperium takes action. As such, I believe that we could then use the station's teleportation terminal to escape to the surface."

"And where does that go?" Felo asked, not bothering to question why Nilen had withheld this information.

"To the Imperium's groundside command base."

***

The meeting had ended soon after that. By the time the first volleys of plasma fire had been exchanged by both fleets, Rora 'Marak had summoned the Shadows of Retribution to his side once more. Though they seemed to be a small group, they had already replenished their numbers after taking losses on Montak and packed thirty commandos into a hastily-modified Phantom troop transport. The Questioner's crew had swiftly redesigned the outer hull to match the slate-grey exterior of many newer Imperium-owned transports and installed an active camouflage module that would conceal their physical presence for a limited time. Of course, there was no guarantee that a stray bolt of plasma or unaware fighter wouldn't hit them as they made their way towards the target station, but all Nilen and his newfound allies could do was pray for a safe journey.

"I hope this works," Rora 'Marak said as he clambered into place next to Nilen. "Space is a horrible place to die."

Nilen had no reply. The Phantom's outer doors sealed shit with a loud clank, leaving the boarding party blind to the outside world within the tight metal space. All they could hear was the occasional battlenet transmission to the dropship's pilot, and the occasional mumbled prayer from their allies. To cover their approach, Felo 'Ranak had ordered a large fighter offensive, with over a dozen Banshee attack wings and Seraph fighters heading to assault the nearest orbital stations. Moments before their launch, Nilen heard a report from the Questioner's bridge stating that one of their battlecruisers had successfully destroyed one of Frendhal's defence platforms, though it had sustained irreparable damage in the process.

"We have the signal to launch," the pilot's voice sounded through their helmet communicators. Once we are free, I will activate our camouflage and proceed to the contact point."

Though he was not aware of it, Nilen had begun to feel a sinking pain in his gut that was very much like stage fright. His bluff on Montak had been mostly a spur of the moment thing, driven by his own desire for self-preservation, but this time he had rehearsed a speech in his head, and knew that a failure to remember every word would lead to certain death. With the slightest of bumps, their Phantom exited the Questioners rear hangar bay and sped off, quietly disappearing from sight amidst swarms of advancing fighters. Though the Imperium was surely monitoring the Swords' ships as they approached, it was highly unlikely that anyone would notice the sudden disappearance of a single radar blip amidst hundreds.

Drifting mostly on momentum from minute course changes to minimise risk of detection, the dropship sailed quietly alongside the main battle lines, where a staggered formation of Obedience-class cruisers traded cannon fire and plasma torpedoes with heavy battlecruisers and carriers, swaying to and fro where necessary to avoid shield-piercing hits. The space between the two fleets was a hellish no-man's land of duelling fighters and gunboats, with each pilot having abandoned any pretence of formation in order to navigate the maze of criss-crossing plasma. Soon, the rugged warships of the United Nations Space Command joined the fray, adding their own display of firepower to the burgeoning battle. Focused on simply surviving, Nilen never gave much thought to the possibility of being accidentally shot down by their human allies, who in the process of establishing their own surefire ways to win the battle had not been informed of the Shadows of Retribution and their operation.

"Get ready," Rora pressed a communicator into Nilen's hands, "And be convincing."

With all eyes on him, Nilen tried to ignore the thundering sound of his rapidly-beating hearts and began tapping commands into the disk-shaped device, accessing the Frendhal system's local battlenet before inputting a code he had memorised several months ago. As a ranking officer whose role outside of wartime involved managing aerial patrols over half a continent, it was only natural that he had the authority to contact the defence platform stationed above his home state. After several worrying seconds, a connection established between Nilen and the station.

"Unknown contact, identify yourself at once!" the brusque voice of a communications officer erupted from his device.

"This is Commander Nilen 'Feru of the Keen Eyes and Watchman of the State of Deris. I request immediate contact with Commander Hals 'Rendat."

There was a long period of silence, during which Nilen began to picture the platform's energy projector swivelling to take aim at their dropship. Eventually, a tiny bleep indicated that their channel had been switched and familiar voice sounded over the communicator

"Commander 'Feru!" Hals 'Rendat sounded fairly jovial for someone in the midst of a battle. "When I saw that the Keen Eyes had not returned, I feared for your safety. What do you need of us?"

Hearing the relief in Hals' voice only made replying harder. Both he and Nilen had grown up on Frendhal back when it was little more than a backwater world of barely a million colonists, and the pair had joined the Covenant military alongside each other. While Nilen had found his place on the battlfield within the cockpit of a Seraph fighter, Hals' knack for administration and organisation had led to a less glamorous quartermaster's position aboard an unimportant fleet's flagship. After the war's end, the two had merely been glad to survive the conflict, and had both risen to positions of some importance after the establishment of the Imperium of Clarity and Toru 'Makhan's peaceful annexation of Frendhal. Now, Nilen would have to betray one of his oldest friends.

"I was unlucky enough to make it back without my ship," Nilen chuckled, aware that every wasted moment would lead to more deaths. "So they're organising combat lances to defend our orbitals from enemy boarders and put me in charge."

Hals snorted. "Putting a pilot in charge of a ground team? It's as though the Covenant never stopped existing."

"Indeed. My Phantom is on the way, but will require safe passage into your station. Could you tell your gunners not to fire on their own side?"

"That I can do, Nilen 'Feru. Approach along the designated path and land in our second bay. I look forward to seeing you."

With that, the channel cut out. Nilen sighed, feeling utterly defeated. Their Phantom, which had drifted its way past one defence platform undetected and with its camouflage systems reaching their limits, finally disengaged the system and banked towards Hals' station, playing the role of a friendly dropship moving in from behind allied lines. Seemingly none the wiser, the defence platform's crew lay out an avenue of approach that kept them well out of the way of its powerful cannon. Every twenty seconds, its massive barrel erupted and sent a beam of directed energy towards the incoming enemy fleets. While not close enough to land a direct hit every time, the boarding party were grimly informed that the platform's last shot had gutted a pair of blockade runners. Believing his work to be done, Nilen simply stared at the ground until they were on their final approach to the station's hangar bay, whereupon Rora 'Marak put a hand on his shoulder.

"Nicely done," intoned the Outrider through his iconic helmet. "Though this feels far too easy."

"I have done everything you asked."

"You have, but until victory is achieved you are to continue acting as instructed. Now, crouch down."

"Why?"

Rora detached a modified plasma repeater from the back of his armour, and angled it towards the dropship's starboard exit hatch. The Shadows of Retribution copied their leader, brandishing rifles and carbines in preparation for the fighting to come. In spite of their cover story as friendly reinforcements being bought, it seemed that they no longer required Nilen's acting skills. Compared to their prisoner, who had been allowed to don his battered blue-grey pilot's suit for this mission, the Shadows all wore heavily customised combat harnesses with no uniformity save for their green hue. No unit in the Imperium would dare look so raggedy.

"Because when the shooting starts," Rora gently nudged Nilen to one side, "The first shots at us will be aimed straight at you."

Nilen couldn't argue with that. Their dropship juddered for a moment as an automatic docking clamp held it in place. Rora motioned for his warriors to form two firing ranks, intending to wipe out everything in their way the moment the bay doors lowered. From outside, Nilen could hear the muffled sounds of orders being given. A moment before letting loose his cargo, the dropship's pilot happily informed them that he had activated their signal jammer, momentarily cutting off the entire orbital platform from its allies. At last, the doors clanked open, and the first thing Nilen heard was the voice of Hals 'Rendat.

"Nilen Fe-"

Waiting on the disembarkment platform alongside a group of boyguards, there for no other reason than to show off rank and status, the station commander spread his arms to greet an old friend. Instead, he found himself standing before a wall of guns, and froze on the spot. He was the first to die.

Sitting unarmed within the confines of the Phantom, Nilen forced himself to watch the slaughter unfold. Moving quickly, the Shadows of Retribution swept through the hangar in seconds, overwhelming the surprised guards and crew before they had a chance to respond before racing towards the defence platform's control room. To their credit, the alarmed officers inside attempted to contact the Imperium's fleet, and upon finding their transmissions blocked resolved to simply continue firing their main gun until they were all slain. Though a spirited last-minute defence claimed the lives of four commandos, the station fell under Rora 'Marak's control in less than ten minutes. Once the surrounding corridors were secured, word was sent to the pair guarding Nilen to bring him through.

"Hurry up," barked Ju'ya, the female Shadow he had met on Montak. "Drag your feet any longer and I will consider it an attempt to aid your former allies."

Though Rora seemed to tolerate him, Nilen knew that his subordinate would kill him without hesitation, and sped up through the corpse-strewn corridors towards the control room. After seeing Hals' plasma-ravaged corpse in the hangar, he had to fight hard to push down the overwhelming feelings of shame and guilt within him. For my family, he thought to himself, again and again. This is all to see them again. It did not help very much.

"We've taken over the station's energy projector," Rora 'Marak announced as Nilen entered the room. "With this, I believe we can create a large enough gap in the Imperium's orbital defences for a ground invasion."

At this, Nilen turned quickly enough towards the nearest holotable for Ju'ya to raise her rifle threateningly. Rora's warriors had already targeted three other stations keeping watch over the northern hemisphere, where most of Frendhal's cities were located. Running a four-fingered hand over the planet's image, which flickered under his touch, he pointed towards a spot in a large swathe of land, not far from one of the planet's larger settlements.

"My keep is there," he said solemnly. "Please, inform your superiors and tell them to avoid attacking that land. We are farmers, with little in the way of defences."

Many saw it unbecoming of an adult Sangheili to plead, but Nilen 'Feru had already thrown his pride away in this awful war. He wished that he could see Rora's expression, but that helmet of his remained impassive. Even Ju'ya and a few nearby Shadows looked to their leader, sympathy dawning behind their usual stone-cold countenances.

"I will contact them," Rora said at last. "But the nearby city may be a problem."

"How so?"

The Outrider moved to adjust the projection just as the entire station shook. His men had already begun firing on the other orbital platforms. A cheer went up from the adjacent room. When the image before them cleared, it now displayed a more detailed scan of the city, displaying a large carrier and over a dozen smaller cruisers standing by above it. Nilen recognised the largest vessel as Fleet Master Orro 'Hendai's flagship, Blissful Solitude. If he was present, then it could only mean one thing.

"The Imperium is using that city as its primary military base on Frendhal, which makes it our biggest target. We could potentially end any fighting on the ground today if we move fast, but there is a chance that your keep may be caught in the battle."

"Your Fleet Master made a promise," Nilen said flatly. "Or are you so without honour that you would kill me here and forget all that was said?"

For one in Nilen's position, it was a dangerous thing to say. He knew little of Rora's history, save for the legends of the Outrider that seemed to grow wilder with each retelling. It was already clear that he and the Shadows of Retribution were chosen to take up tasks to dangerous or unseemly for the higher-ups in the Swords of Sanghelios to approach, but with nothing to lose, Nilen would see what kind of warrior Rora 'Marak really was. As the station shook again and another platform winked out of existence in a distant flash on the monitors, the Outrider removed his helmet and faced the prisoner face-to-face. It was easy to forget how young he was.

"We will save your family. Come with us."

With that, Rora stalked out of the room with Nilen and the rest of his commandos in tow. Across the hall lay a room with a raised platform, surrounded by monitors and thrumming power generators. With their Phantom already departing the station while the Shadows of Retribution blew another platform apart, their only way to escape this station's inevitable destruction was to head to the surface. This translocation pad was their ticket down.

"Do you know how this works?" Ju'ya asked Nilen, sounding slightly kinder now that she wasn't threatening to kill him.

"I've used this one before, though I do not know the specifics."

Slipspace translocation had never been an exact art during the days of the Covenant, and though the Imperium's scientists had done much to refine the technology for military use it was still very much in its infancy. However, the development of numerous army-transporting translocation pads meant that these devices were designed to be operated by average soldiers if necessary, especially in emergency situations. Checking the monitor, Nilen saw that this particular pad was linked not only to its usual destination of the Dival City military outpost, but to several other bases and war camps now dotted around the continent. As the only one in the group with any knowledge of Frendhal's geography, he would have to calibrate it. The station's gun fired once more, and a distant rumble signalled the impact of a plasma torpedo on the station's exterior. They didn't have long.

But where to go? Nilen's mandibles twitched irritably. Of their potential locations, only three put him anywhere near his keep, though the chances of transporting them into the middle of a heavily-armed military camp was high.

"Hurry up," warned Rora as the trio of commandos operating the gun room raced inside to join them. "In case you have not realised, we are about to be blown up and our pilot has already departed."

Deciding to go with a familiar path, Nilen chose to lock the translocation pad to its groundside counterpart within the military outpost he had once been stationed in. Before this war, he had spent days there repairing his Seraph, Huntsman, before and after every patrol. If Field Marshal Orro 'Hendai was present then it was unlikely that he would take a glorified hangar and engineering bay as his primary base. As tremors shook the station, Nilen finished inputting the command that linkeed both platforms, and set it to a timer before joining the Shadows of Retribution. The generators around them roared to life, and as shards of light rose and coalesced into rings around them, he leaned towards Rora.

"If this does not work, then all is forgiven."

It was a silly thing to say, but Nilen couldn't help it. In spite of all he had done, one thought overrode his guilt and filled him with an odd sense of excitement: he was coming home. The white light flashed gold, enveloping the Sangheili as the floor began to shake. A second later there was a bright flash, and they were gone.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

108

1555 Hours, August 31st, 2558 UNSC Maya, Slipspace

Lieutenant Commander Zaytseva once again found herself strapped into the cockpit of her Broadsword, running over the final checks for the fighter as they approached their destination, prepping for the inevitable call to launch once they dropped back into realspace and begun their assault. Glancing at the timer on her control panel, she saw it tick over the five-minute mark and pulled her helmet on, not sealing it quite yet, just working on getting the HMD linked-up properly with the fighter. As the helmet's software connected with the cockpit's computer and icons began flashing across her visor, there was little for her to do but sit there and watch out the window, observing the commotion around the hangar bay and the five remaining broadswords in her squadron.

With the losses they had sustained to this point, they'd be deploying all together as a single flight, with the option to split into two smaller flights if needed, Sasha and Loudmouth making up one of them, with their Squadron CO, XO, and one of the other department heads composing the other. The loss of seven of their fighters and a smaller number of their pilots had left some who had been hoping to see action missing out for this deployment, the most experienced pilots getting priority to deploy due to the stakes. Instead, those who hadn't made the cut were either working their duties on the flight deck or being shuffled to replace and assist marine pilots with dropships and other, non-fighter vehicles.

Sasha's helmet finished up linking with her cockpit computer and she turned her attention to the mission clock. It was currently showing twenty seconds until they dropped out of slipspace, and, unlike during the battle over Montak, they'd not received orders to deploy as soon as able. Perhaps the Captain was looking to keep the fighters within the relatively safe confines of the ship until they'd gotten a feel for the potential battle ahead of them. It would make sense considering the losses they had sustained after such an abrupt deployment last time. Whatever the reasoning, Sasha couldn't help but feel a bit impatient, tapping her foot on the floor of her cockpit. She hated waiting. The mission clock hit zero.

A few seconds passed in silence, still no order to deploy. Then it stretched past a minute, two, when finally an alert light flashed in her cockpit. Grinning, she tapped the message to pull it up onto her screen, only for the cheerful expression to fade from her face as she read the contents.

"Hostile boarding craft incoming. No time to launch, prepare to defend the ship." The written message was quickly followed by her squadron CO over the coms. "Robot, Loudmouth, stay in your birds, raise shields and ready autocannons. We can use you as defensive guns. The rest of us will be fighting from the ground. Everyone, seal up your suits. If they hit us, we could lose atmosphere."

Sasha flicked her confirmation light green and raised her shields, sealed her helmet, and prepped her autocannons, looking out over the hangar. Her CO had made a smart choice. She and Loudmouth had been taking the flanking edges of the five Broadswords prepped, so they'd be able to cover both the hangar door and the side entrances from their ships, while the remaining fighters were stuck in the middle and would be unable to get a clean shot.

Another minute passed, the noise in the hangar dying down as everyone took defensive positions, creating stacked half-circles, covering every direction the boarding parties could potentially come from. Sasha flexed her fingers around the controls of her fighter, looking around the room. She took deep breaths to steady her heartbeat as the seconds ticked by. Thmp-thmp. Thmp-thmp. Thmp-thmp. THMP-THMPTHMP-THMPTHMPTHMP-THMP!

A rumble was sent through the ship as seven individual pods slammed into the hull, but Sasha didn't spare the time to count beyond the single pod that bore its way through the exterior wall of the hangar, She swung her autocannons towards the craft's opening doors and wasted no time in opening fire, vaguely aware of her wingman doing the same, followed by the small arms fire from the personnel below. She kept the onslaught going for a good ten seconds before holding back her fire, watching a few dead grunts tumble from the pod, fuel rods in hand, and waiting for any survivors daring enough to poke out their heads. She had no doubts some of the enemy had fallen back deeper into the pod and survived the initial salvo, considering the angle she was firing from, it was just a question of when they'd try their luck a second time. If they all had weapons like the ones the first few did, she was not looking forward to letting them slip into a position that would offer cover from the fighters.

It seemed most of her comrades were having similar thoughts, turning their focus towards the pod, because when the aft door of the hangar blew open, none of the multitude of weapons in the hangar were turned that direction, leaving a clean few seconds of distraction for the incoming grunts to lob off a trio of green plasma blobs and get into cover. Sasha felt the deck vibrate as the rounds impacted and saw bodies flying from the blast before the signature sound of human weaponry started up again in response. As she tried to swivel her autocannons towards the new threat, she found her line of sight blocked by the other broadswords in the hangar and cursed under her breath, swinging back towards the original boarding pod, just in time to see a trio of grunts, all armed with shield gauntlets, jump down into the hangar, followed by more grunts with fuel rods. That was a new one.

If it hadn't been for the forces flanking to her left, it would have almost been funny as she opened fire on the aliens, autocannons slamming through the shields with ease and tearing the grunts staged behind them to shreds. She saw a blob of plasma streak for her ship just before the last grunt fell and grinned slightly again at having successfully drawn the heavy weapons fire, knowing her fighter, with shields raised, could take the blast far better than her comrades on the deck below, her smile only getting larger as the boarding craft drew away from the ship.

Glancing back aft, though, Sasha's grin left her face as she saw the situation on that end of the hangar. The grunts had managed to use that initial volley of fuel rod shots to push into the hangar with minimal resistance, setting up in sturdy positions of cover and hammering away at the humans doing their best to fight them off. Cursing at her lack of a shot, she grabbed her M20 and a few magazines of extra ammo from next to her and pushed her cockpit open, climbing out and down to the deck below. Sprinting across the hangar towards the aft of the ship, she ducked behind a loading ramp and found Loudmouth next to her.

"What are you doing out of your fighter? You're meant to be covering this side!"

"Autocannons got hit. Melted shut."

"Damn!" Sasha glanced out from cover, firing off a few shots towards the grunts, ducking back behind cover a few seconds before a blob of green plasma flew past where she just was and bounced off towards the opposite wall of the hangar. "Do we know how many?"

"At least twenty, from volume of fire. CO and XO are down by the way. It's your command now."

"Damn..." Sasha poked her head out and fired off some more rounds. "Twenty or more of them with God damned heavy weapons and we're stuck here with PDWs." She looked over the hangar. "Do we have any Marine support left?"

Loudmouth shook her head, pulling back behind cover after firing off a quarter magazine of rounds. "First ones targetted. Just pilots and techs."

"Shit. We're not gonna be able to push them off alone..." She activated her helmet comms for local UNSC frequencies. "This is Lieutenant Commander Zaytseva in the starboard hangar! We're being overrun by at least twenty heavily armed enemy troops. Fuel rods, mostly. Marines are down, they were targetted first. We need assistance!"

She set the distress call to loop and peered back out from cover, firing off some suppressive rounds, before linking up to the hangar crew comms.

"Everyone pull back into the hangar, stay in cover. Let's try to pull them off the aft wall into the open. Lieutenants, find your best shots and send them to the port wall and try to get some flanking fire in. Two each!" Sasha looked to Loudmouth, switching back to direct link comms. "Help guide the fallback. I'm our best shot."

"Aye."

Sasha briefly watched Loudmouth fire off some covering shots and heard her voice crackle over the comms, giving out brief orders to direct the pilots and techs pulling back into the hangar before turning to the port wall and rushing for it, ducking in and out of cover. She hoped she had bought them enough time for backup to arrive, or things wouldn't be looking pretty.

Timothy Emeigh

109: Bombing Run

1759 Hours, August 31st, 2558 UNSC Caspian, Yain System

"November One, you are cleared to launch. Good hunting."

The moment the departure light on her console flashed green, Captain Erika Ruskin gunned the engines and blasted out of the hangar bay, putting some distance between her Broadsword and the cruiser before adjusting course. With an enemy fleet nearly twice as large as the one they had fought over Montak looming on the horizon, the Sixth Fleet could not afford to show the kind of restraint it had earlier and had dispatched its entire fighter complement to assist their Sangheili allies in a push to gain orbital supremacy over the nearby colony world.

"All fighters form up on me," she said over the local TEAMCOM channel. "Keep a loose formation; if they swarm us again I don't want us to be too grouped up."

Before they had set out from New Syracuse, the 83rd Tactical Fighter Wing and their fellows from the Air Force had been the butt of quite a few jokes from the Navy personnel aboard the Caspian. As a primarily defensive organisation that rarely received the kind of good publicity that the other branches of the United Nations Space Command Defence Force enjoyed, it seemed that some aboard the Sixth Fleet's flagship had seen them as little more than an auxiliary group meant to support the 'proper' pilots. After Montak, where the 83rd had successfully driven off a force more than thrice their size after losing a third of their number, no one dared criticise them.

"Got eyes on the enemy battle line," November Fourteen spoke up. Lieutenant Aizawa had been one of few survivors from Erika's squadron after Montak. "It's a mess out there."

Seeing the hellish maze of duelling fighters buzzing around a distant cruiser formation, she nodded. "We'll have to break through somehow."

"Can't we just skirt around towards the planet?" November Eight, Lintz, spoke up.

"No can do," Erika sighed. "They've got Navy fighters and contractor forces pushing that way to cover a surface invasion. We're the distraction."

Aside from a short briefing after they arrived in-system, Erika knew almost nothing of their target world, Frendhal. Unlike Montak, it was a heavily-populated Sangheili colony with proper orbital defences, and the announcement as they were suiting up that one of the Swords' battlecruisers had been blown apart by an enemy orbital platform did little to encourage them about the upcoming assault. As the Imperium had taken up a similar defensive formation to the one used over Montak, the Caspian's AI had devised a strategy of using fighter-bombers to attack key ships in the enemy battle line, creating holes that would take time to fill. It was a risky plan, but with the Swords tying up most enemy fighters as their warships traded plasma fire, feeling each other out and testing for weaknesses, the UNSC hoped they could slip in without too much difficulty. Normally sending fighters against shielded vessels would be a strategy for buying the rest of the fleet time with the lives of pilots, but each squadron had been gifted a surprise weapon to use against the Imperium: a HAVOK tactical nuclear weapon.

The 83rd surged ahead, splitting up into several squadrons as they followed a series of waypoints that cut across the friendly fleet. Being this close to Sangheili ships made Erika feel uneasy, dragging up unpleasant memories of Reach and half a dozen other battlefields from the Great War's bloody final months. As they passed beneath the massive bulk of the Swords' flagship, Questioner, a flash from Frendhal's orbit caught her eye. Compared to the pinpricks of light winking out every time a distant fighter was destroyed, this was like watching a miniature sun flare to life for a few moments. Chancing a look at her tactical readout as their fighters finished weaving past a cluster of friendly ships, she saw that three - no - four of the Imperium's orbital defence platforms were gone.

"Everyone else seeing this?" asked Aizawa over the COM. "They're firing on their own ODP's!"

As the rest of their squadron responded with affirmatives, Erika couldn't help but wonder what had happened over there. Each of those platforms possessed an energy projector powerful enough to gut any ship in the Sixth Fleet, but were bristling with enough anti-fighter weaponry to dissuade any frontal assaults. Either the Swords had managed to slip its infiltrators into one of the stations to wreak havoc, or the Imperium was undergoing a very timely civil war. In any case, this had little bearing on their mission, and would only make things easier for the force being sent in for a ground invasion. Augmented by ships from a private military company known as Baal Defence Solutions, a flotilla of transport ships would dispatch an armoured strike force to the surface while a second EVA-capable company of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers launched their own attack against the Imperium's ships at close range. Leaving the protective range of the Swords' fleet, the Broadswords of the 83rd sped up and spread out, priming missile pods and performing last-minute weapon checks. Though the Caspian's engineers had been thorough, there was always the chance of an undetected or overlooked fault. Erika's console flashed a warning as over a dozen red blips appeared on her radar, surging towards their location.

"We've got contacts!" she called as her squadron veered to one side. "Engage at will but protect your designated bombers and watch your backs!"

It was simple advice, but Erika knew that it was appreciated. In the heat of a dogfight, it was easy to panic and split off from your wingmates, especially when facing the banshee swarm tactics utilised by the Covenant and their seemingly innumerable successor factions. Thankfully, the incoming craft were Seraphs; teardrop-shaped attack ships that had been the bane of Longsword fighters during the war due to their energy shielding and maneuverability. Now that technological advancements had levelled the playing field, it was simply a matter of Erika's fighters outgunning them.

"Picking up twenty fighters," said November Three. "Looks like two arrowhead formations."

Erika addressed all three squadrons. "They'll try to cut right through us with the first wave and use the second to pin us down while the rest of them turn and hit us from behind. Whittle 'em down with your cannons and launch missiles the moment their shields start to fail."

It's strange, the Captain thought, thumbing the switch to prepare her autocannons. We're still abiding by combat doctrines that were around when I joined up. Back then, when fighter hulls could be shredded to pieces by plasma fire in seconds and energy shielding was in its infancy among the UNSC's armed forces, pilots of the Navy and Air Force had to rely on their own skills and the actions of their comrades to survive even brief engagements. As the Seraphs drew closer, already loosing plasma bolts at the 83rd, she couldn't help but wonder if the Imperium's pilots were still being trained to fight the last war too.

Any shots that found their mark on the Broadswords did no damage, dissipating harmlessly in flares of light that made the fighter's energy shields flare. The 83rd responded in kind, splitting their own ships off into pairs that targeted a couple of Seraphs at a time. Set upon by a blistering rain of fire from two fighters, several Imperial craft had their shields smashed aside in seconds, opening the way for pinpoint missile strikes a moment later. Four Seraphs at the centre of the lead formation found themselves torn apart by their foes before they got anywhere near their target, allowing Erika's squadron to easily break through and begin attacking the second wave head-on.

In spite of their plans for an orderly engagement, the battle between the 83rd and the Seraph group quickly descended into a disorganised dogfight as the Imperium's fighters broke formation, deciding to engage the human craft at close range instead of relying on massed firepower. It quickly became apparent that any perceived superiority on the Sangheili pilots part was entirely wrong, and that attacking a larger force would not end well. As the Broadswords whittled down their numbers they grew increasingly desperate, fighting at a range that would endanger their own fighters as well. Even so, the last of the Seraphs was obliterated in a missile strike less than ten minutes after first contact. Calling for her squadron to form up once more and continue their advance towards the Imperium's fleet, Erika checked the casualty list: Novembers Four, Nine, Seventeen and Twenty-Two were gone. Compared to the scrolling lists of names she had become used to seeing in the aftermath of battles in the Human-Covenant War's final year, these losses were fairly minor. Better yet, none of their HAVOK-carriers had been taken down.

"That looks like the last of them," Aizawa spoke up as his ship resumed its place alongside Erika's. "I say we've got a couple of minutes before we're hit again."

"Agreed. All fighters, accelerate and proceed to the target. We're going to be in the thick of things, so don't get caught up or you will get left behind. Understood?"

It was the kind of order that no commander wanted to give, but Erika had little choice. Once they passed the first battle line of Obedience-class cruisers that made up the bulk of enemy forces, a single moment's hesitation would mean death. Aside from enemy fighters, they had to deal with the pulse lasers and plasma cannons that lined every Imperial warship. Quickly bringing up her tactical map, Erika adjusted their mission waypoints to mark four CPV-class heavy destroyers that had set themselves up in a defensive formation around what their superiors assumed was one of the enemy flagships. Noticing that such warships were usually used in a much more aggressive role, the Caspian's AI had suggested that they would be used to shore up their fleet's formation were it to collapse by providing supplementary firepower to wherever their allies needed assistance. If they were gone, then a full breakthrough by the combined UNSC and Swords of Sanghelios fleets was much more achievable.

Now out of the contested no-man's land between the two fleets, the fighters of the 83rd moved at full throttle, its squadrons splitting up and weaving around the first pair of cruisers in their way. Erika's Broadsword jerked to one side as she pulled hard on the control stick, narrowly avoiding a globule of white-hot plasma bigger than her craft as it flashed past. Focusing only on evading the enemy as the distance counter on her helmet's heads-up display ticked down, she continued to accelerate towards their goal. Her squadron kept up, maintaining a tight formation around Lintz, whose craft carried their HAVOK nuke. Enemy craft swarmed towards them on intercept trajectories, prompting two Broadswords to peel away engage them directly. For a time, they avoided the worst fire from enemy capital ships with a downward dive, though it did little to dissuade their smaller pursuers. Seraph fire

"November Eight," Erika said through gritted teeth as she evaded a second volley, "Pull ahead and proceed towards the target while we hold these guys off. You remember where to fire?"

"Aim for the hangar bay," Lintz replied calmly. "I'll see you on the other side."

As his Broadsword streaked past, Erika yanked on her control stick and reversed course, cutting her rear engines for a moment to allow for a quick course-correction as she turned to face her pursuers. Suddenly, she found herself facing a gauntlet of Seraphs and Banshees, all firing vainly at Lintz's fleeing fighter. She smirked and charged the swarm, feeling the rhythmic jolting of her fighter's rapid-fire machine guns as they ripped ship after ship to pieces. With their pursuit suddenly cut short by her furious attack, the remaining Imperial ships scattered, still trying to give chase. Erika swung round once again and shot after them, bringing down the slowest Seraph with her missiles. Above them loomed the destroyer; a massive vessel that dwarfed even the Caspian, with a bulbous fore section that narrowed out into a slimmer aft, complete with six protruding 'wings' around the engines. If their briefing was anything to go by, then the hangar bay would be somewhere along the middle.

After blowing the rear end of a Seraph to pieces and watching its hapless pilot be sucked into the void, Erika turned her attention back towards Lintz just in time to see the destroyer's ventral cannons light up. Half a dozen beams of pulse laser fire erupted from the ship, missing the fighter only due to a desperate turn from its pilot. Lintz continued to evade, though it was only a matter of time before a lucky hit took out his craft and its destructive cargo.

"Move up and draw their fire!" Erika yelled, fearing for her subordinate's life.

The remainder of her squadron quickly disengaged and concentrated on moving up to support Lintz, loosing a few missiles that impacted harmlessly on the Destroyer's outer shielding. The pulse lasers soon found themselves firing on an entire fighter squadron, most of whom resorted to skimming just above the ship's hull or engaging in near-point blank duels with pursuing Seraphs so the enemy gunners could not target them for fear of hitting their own allies. Unlike the Covenant, it seemed that the Imperium had more scruples when it came to friendly fire. This risky tactic was not pulled out without losses; November Ten vanished in a flash of light as her ship was vaporised, while November Fifteen's craft was bisected and left to spin uncontrollably as it rapidly disintegrated amidst the pilot's panicked cries. However, their sacrifice would eventually pay off.

"I'm moving in now!" Lintz called, shaking off two banshees thanks to a well placed burst of fire from Aizawa."HAVOK's armed!"

A yellow and black hazard symbol flashed up on Erika's TACMAP over Lintz's waypoint as his ship momentarily passed into the warship's hangar, only to streak away from his fighter a second later. She immediately angled herself away from the destroyer as it was consumed from the inside by nuclear fire. Explosions erupted along the length of the warship, and its shields, which continued to hold futilely for a few seconds longer, kept the blast contained. Within twenty seconds every living thing aboard the destroyer had been atomised, leaving only blackened chunks of its exterior hull to spin away through space as Erika and her squadron raced back towards their fleet.

"Look at it go!" Lintz laughed amidst cheering over TEAMCOM. "I can't believe we pulled that off!"

Angling her craft downwards to avoid any heavy cannon fire, Erika checked her TACMAP once more to see how the rest of the 83rd were doing and regretted it instantly. Of the three squadrons dispatched, one had been completely wiped out, and its target craft appeared completely undamaged. The other - their largest, carrying two nukes - had been reduced to only six Broadswords. However, they had achieved their goals, and the sight of two more enemy destroyers gutted from the inside out was a magnificent sight. If this didn't frighten the Imperium, then nothing would. Sighing, Erika flew beneath the hull of an oblivious enemy cruiser and prepared to contact the Caspian when a shrill alert tone sounded on her console, indicating an incoming threat.

"November One," Aizawa breathed over the COM, "You seeing that?"

Erika swallowed nervously. "I see it, Fourteen, and I don't know what the hell we're supposed to do about it."

At the rear of the Imperium's fleet, a craft of gargantuan proportions lurked. Much had been said about the enemy supercarrier, which had done little but edge its way across the system to reinforce its fleet over the course of an hour. For pilots like Erika, whose mind had to be focused on what they could take down with their fighters to achieve the mission, it had been a problem for those higher-up. Now that they were unburdened with this mission and had a somewhat clear path back towards their ship they could afford see the bigger picture, and right now that picture took the form of a CSO-class Supercarrier moving with surprising speed towards the thick of battle. Cruisers hovered around it, forming a protective line that it simply didn't need, while the flagship disgorged starfighters by the dozen.

"All ships," Erika kept her voice steady, "Return to the Caspian and await further orders. Our mission's done for now."

By her reckoning, the surviving ships of the 83rd Tactical Fighter Wing would be back aboard the Caspian within ten minutes, ready to repair and re-arm for more combat. It was a fight that she and her comrades were ready for, but not one she was sure they could win.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

110: Unggoy Attack

1556 HOURS // 31 AUGUST 2558 Location: UNSC Maya

Whoever planned the assault on the UNSC Maya didn’t really consider how tight the hallways would be upon boarding. There were, of course, wider hallways on the ship like any other ship but the enemy that came down Merlin’s hall made a rather irresponsible tactical error.

Long sightline. Narrow passage. Yeah, let’s send in methane crab-monkeys armed with high explosive plasma launchers that are up against enemies behind titanium pylons and fold-up barriers to create some immediate cover, good concealment, and an obvious chokepoint.

Merlin didn’t know what to think of this Spartan-B042, Spartan Callum? According to Spartan Branch regulations, the Beta Company graduate was an officer, but what kind was tricky. His previous rank was the same as Merlin’s current one, Petty Officer Second Class.

It seemed the curse of eternal Petty Officer extended to most SPARTAN-IIIs. And yet, Merlin found him disarming, so unlike the Spartans who trained him the years before. Not like Xiphos, the Gamma Company Headhunters. Not like Commander B115 and his SPARTAN-II training coordinators back at Camp Ambrose. He was disarming, cold but kind.

That was a weird combination to witness but this respect for B042 was blossoming little by little in Merlin, warming him up to this ‘new babysitter’.

Oh, he was a brilliant strategist too, from what little the younger Spartan could tell.

First, he split his Spartan subordinates up based on locations of inserting Grunt shock troops. Then he orders all the Navy and Marine Corps personnel to vacate the contest zones and everything in between and seal the area off from one side followed by slapping down barriers right behind the armored doors.

That means the enemy assaulters had only one direction to expand, towards Callum and his Spartan forces. Right into Callum, Andra, and Merlin on their specific hallway.

So here Merlin was with Andra and Callum, huddling behind some pylons and raised cover armed with a pair of automated chain gun turrets and several marksman rifles. SRS99s. M395s. Lots of grenades, particularly shrapnel and electronic types. Even a box of anti-personnel mines.

They sat back and played Fish in a Barrel, hell, Andra was doing most of the work, lying prone on the ground with an SRS99 sniper rifle while the little Grunts would hobble forward behind some Jackal energy gauntlets for protection.

One steps out of cover or exposes a single limb within the narrowed phalanx formation the four-foot-tall methane monkeys had created and Andra just takes a shot. Bam, that’s a mortally wounded Grunt and their push freezes in place.

The machine guns keep them in pinned down and overly cautious. Andra takes off limbs, whittling their number down minute after minute. Compared to the open deserts and foothills of Montak, this was just too easy.

Merlin was left to be a glorified ammunition loader, handing Andra magazine after magazine whenever she ran dry, which was every four shots. Kneeling over the top of a repurposed fuel drum, Callum was analyzing and picking off targets and guiding the automated weapon turrets with his helmet camera by way of line-of-sight targeting.

It was a boring, slow drag.

And then a report came upon the ship broadband radio, from some naval aviators.

"This is Lieutenant Commander Zaytseva in the starboard hangar! We're being overrun by at least twenty heavily armed enemy troops. Fuel rods, mostly. Marines are down, they were targeted first. We need assistance!"

It continued to loop but the first time was all he needed to hear, Merlin logged off the automatic radio burst receiver and glanced to B042. “Permission to break off and assist?”

Callum looked up from his gunner station, a contorted fuel drum, and looked between Andra and the gunfire unfolding before the Spartans. A manageable situation, the older Spartan didn’t hesitate to give Merlin permission.

“Go do it Spartan, save some pilots.”

“Sir,” Merlin shouted, breaking off from his boring spot on the floor and raced down the corridor and around the corner, out of sight.

“Stay safe, Merlin,” Andra added over the radio before returning her focus to the exploding sniper rifle noises and splashes of exploding plasma in her background.

Run and weapon check. Merlin didn’t slow, bursting passed a pair of Marines stacking crates outside an armory. Leaping over a wheeled cart, he nearly gave one of the Marines a close shave with his extended arms.

“Hey, watch where you’re running!”

“Sorry!” Merlin shouted back, yanking his M6C off his thigh and screwing a suppressor tube from a waistline pouch. He ran a diagnostic check, confirming that his Active Camouflage armor mod was still inserted in his suit plug-in. He slapped the M6C back on his thigh and magnetically yanked the M395 DMR off his back, screwing a suppressor tube on it too.

Checking his body, Merlin groaned slightly, forgetting he didn’t bring any extended magazines or special ammunition types. At least he had several fragmentation grenades, good for clearing out a room of enemies.

Following the waypoint set on his Heads-Up Display, he made a last-minute change request with his neural implant – ordering the HUD waypoint to instead direct him toward an upper level of the nearby ship hangar. It loaded in a half-second, but Merlin had to slow, nearly skidding onto his butt after realizing he just missed his designated service staircase.

He spun around and climbed the short incline, skipping every two steps. It took another dozen stride and two more roundabouts until he found the darkened corridor that opened into the hangar. The security door was sealed to him, however, a giant wall of titanium between him and the trapped pilots.

“Fuck, can someone open this door for me?” Merlin shouted over the ship’s wideband radio.

“Done,” the quick audible response came from the shipboard AI. “Stay safe in there.”

“Thanks,” Merlin mumbled back as the door hissed up and out of his way. A bright light enveloped Merlin’s darkened hallway from the well-lit hangar beyond.

The Spartan boy immediately hit the floor, aiming from a prone position for any enemy legs sticking out from under the door. The door came up a second later and Merlin already confirmed, proximity zone clear. No enemies on either side of the door.

The wide doorway opened to a metal railing and overlook of the hangar with railings emplacements extending to over the top of a squadron of parked F41 Broadswords. Explosive noises echoed through the expansive chamber, crackles of small arms fire drowned out by the draining, alien noises of discharging Fuel Rod Guns.

Enemies below, Merlin activated his active camouflage with a wink and a thought a disappeared from the visual spectrum. His armor clanked along the metal grating but with the loud noises of combat erupting below, he went unnoticed.

A glance over the railing told Merlin he landed his luck right, just like Andra and Callum back in the chokepoint hall. The grunts had cut a few delta-like formations in approaching a group of Navy personnel at the other end of the hangar, taking potshots at the approaching Grunts to little success.

The Grunts’ shield gauntlets were taking the brunt of the small arms fire, bullets getting stopped by energy fields and then melting into dull, crushed metal, falling to the hangar deck harmlessly. The alien heavy weapons unit were operating off one another, taking potshots with their giant, shoulder-mounted plasma launchers and then covering one another with shields when they needed to reload.

Merlin yanked two frag grenades from his waistline and primed them both with a click, throwing the baseball-sized explosives down to the floor below and watching them bounce into place next to the midget-sized aliens.

They didn’t stand a chance. The grenades cooked off seconds after one another, popping with a violent thump.

Methane tanks popped under the pressure, sending a couple of Grunts zipping into the air before exploding into scaly messes. Others collapsed, taking shrapnel hits to their arteries and falling over in pain. Alien voices screamed in agony as utter chaos erupted on the floor below.

Unfortunately for Merlin, the heavy weapons Unggoy unit was better trained than he expected, those unaffected by the grenades broke from their approaching assault lines and spread out to take cover, continuing to spray down on the naval aviators with the fuel rod munitions but now turning them to the ceilings above, catching Merlin, there in a pinch.

He ducked and rolled, getting low to the floor as possible as green balls of fast-moving plasma cooked off around him, melting down the titanium fixtures around him. Well shit, they had a general idea where he was now – his active camo could only take so much and with his energy shields flaring involuntarily under the plasma weapon assault, the camouflage also gave out, revealing the teenage Spartan behind cover.

Merlin decided to wait a bit, draw the enemy fire and figure out how many he took out. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, clicking his way forward at a snail’s pace. A check on his HUD radar identified fourteen enemies still actively engaging him and the pilots, well, he got six, that’s not a bad start.

Merlin activated his radio, connecting with the emergency radio broadcast, a link hosted by this Lieutenant Commander Zaytseva.

“Hey, this is Spartan-D032. I’m up in the rafters if you could take out some of those Grunts or redraw their fire – that would be helpful. I got a couple more grenades I could drop down there if I could get the heat off me a little bit.”

Merlin paused for a moment, knowing he was talking to a superior officer.

“Where do you need me, ma’am?” He asked, deciding to let the pilot give her assessment as he continued to inch out of the current danger zone. His shields were still falling from the splash damage, they were standing at two-thirds strength now.

Distant Tide: Hunter - Killer

111

1610 Hours, August 31st, 2558 UNSC Maya, Bineb System

“Hey, this is Spartan-D032. I’m up in the rafters if you could take out some of those Grunts or redraw their fire – that would be helpful. I got a couple more grenades I could drop down there if I could get the heat off me a little bit," the voice that suddenly came in over her helmet comms paused a moment, before speaking up again, “Where do you need me, ma’am?”

Sasha frowned as she pressed against the port wall, reloading her SMG. She paused a moment, thinking the situation over. They'd managed to get their forces spread out along two sides of the advancing Grunt formations, but the little aliens had managed to adjust their shield wall to withstand the incoming flanking fire just as well. While the Spartan's grenades had broken their lines, it had simply pushed the Grunts behind cover, leaving the surviving defenders to squeeze off potshots when they could. They wouldn't be able to sustain this. Potshots from SMGs and handguns weren't anywhere close to even with potshots from the shoulder-mounted plasma launchers the creatures carried with them.

"We're pulling their attention best we can, Spartan. If we give them much more to shoot at, there won't be much of us left by the end of this. You're up in the rafters, right? See if you can get shots into them when they expose themselves to take shots at us. Stay out of sight and keep moving, and they shouldn't be able to get a fix on your location long enough for it to be an issue."

"Aye, ma'am. I'll see what I can do."

As the comms clicked off, Sasha peaked out around the crate she was hiding behind, ducking back almost immediately as she saw a flash of green. The fuel rod shot passed by where her head had been moments prior and hit the wall to her left, giving a lucky bounce away from her before exploding. Not willing to let a chance pass her by, she fell to a knee and pushed back around the corner, firing off a spray of bullets towards where the shot had originated from, grinning as she saw the splash of blue alien blood indicating she had gotten a hit.

The reaction was short-lived, however, as another flash of green sent her behind cover again. She popped back out and fired off another spray once the blob passed her by, not quite so lucky this time and only catching the crate the grunt was using as cover. However, as she moved to duck into cover again, she caught a glimpse of blood splatter from behind the crate and, tracing back up towards the ceiling from what she guessed to be the location, a flicker of movement, almost like a trick of the light.

"Nice shot."

She grinned and moved along the wall behind what cover she could find, pushing harder to flank the Grunts as a few more turned their attention back towards the Spartan that had just taken out one of her own. Peeking out of cover, she noticed a pair of Grunts, methane tanks turned towards her, and fired away, felling two more of the little beasts. D032's arrival seemed to have shifted the pace of the fight.

The combat continued for the next three minutes, Grunt after Grunt falling to the combined effort of the hangar's defenders and the lone Spartan in the rafters. As the Spartan signaled the last alien falling, Sasha took a few more seconds to ensure the room was clear before finally relaxing.

"Everyone, report to your immediate COs. Lieutenants, report back to me once you've got a count." She flicked her comms over to the bridge frequency, reporting in to the XO of the ship, "Captain. A pod hit the starboard hangar bay, but we managed to clear it out with the help of Spartan-D032. We took a fair bit of casualties. I'm still waiting on the specifics, but I know our Squadron CO and XO are down. I've taken command down here."

"Good, Lieutenant Commander..."

"Zaytseva, ma'am."

"Zaytseva. I'm just heading back to the bridge from a security sweep of my own, so I'll let the Admiral know we're down some aviators. Sit tight and regroup down there. We may need you."

"Understood, ma'am."

Sasha sighed as she got off the comms with the Captain, turning to look over the hangar. The fight had left it a mess, fuel rod detonations and bullet holes everywhere, overturned crates, damaged Broadswords... almost too much carnage to know where to start. Shaking her head, she glanced around for the Spartan. At least, thinking she could at least put on a show of thanking him, but be it the active camo she had caught, or him leaving, Sasha didn't seem to be able to find him. Just as she was about to put it aside, an armored figure approached from around a crate, speaking and nearly sending her jumping out of her skin.

"Ma'am. Anything else you need here?"

"Uh. No... no, Spartan. We should be fine. Got plenty of people to help straighten out this mess. I'm sure you're more valuable elsewhere."

"Aye, ma'am."

The Spartan gave her a nod before turning to head off to wherever Spartans went. It was only after he passed out of the hangar that she remembered she had meant to thank him. Shrugging, she looked back towards an approaching Lieutenant, took out a datapad, and prepared to record the final casualty report.

---

1730, August 31, 2558 Iradu, Capital city

Elena sat in a corner table of a bar, coffee mug set on the table before her next to her laptop. She had spent the past hour drinking, listening, and working. From what she had overheard, the Imperium citizens (seemingly mostly Sangheili and Unggoy, though with a scattering of Yohnet and Humans as well) either didn't think much of the war, didn't realize it was going on, or just didn't like talking about it. Either way, the rumors hadn't been as much help as she had been hoping for.

No, what had really been keeping her here in this bar was the seemingly insurmountable task of linking up with her ship remotely. It was far too early to be caught going back into the spaceport just to send a message, but she also didn't want to leave whatever she sent easily readable to the Imperium forces on Iradu nor wait too long to report back to the UNSC forces lest they come for the planet too hastily and ill-prepared. This was the capital world, after all. It was sure to be protected well, even if she hadn't managed to glean what exactly those protections were.

"Alexios, how are we doing on our two little missions?"

The AI's voice crackled to life in her headphones as he reported his progress.

"We've not been kicked out of the city's network yet, but not so much luck on any of the other fronts. Miller's still nowhere to be found with the access I have, and these Imperium tracking programs are putting up an honorable fight. Not to worry. I shall have them bested in just a moment."

"You've been saying that since half an hour ago! We can't be wasting time here."

"I know, ma'am, but we can't be too careless. One mistake and we'll be taken prisoner certainly."

"You'd probably just be rewritten or destroyed."

"Better destroyed than a slave."

"Focus, Alexios."

"Apologies ma'am. Though I will remind you that this conversation is taking up very little of my processing power."

"Just let me know when you've got..." she paused, lowering her voice when she realized she was speaking quite loudly and a few heads were starting to turn, "When you've got an encrypted channel back to our ship."

"Just a moment, ma'am."

Elena rolled her eyes with a little groan, picking up her coffee to her lips, closing her eyes, and sipping from the cup as she leaned back, letting the flavor and aroma do what they could to calm her nerves. Just as she was getting settled, Alexios's voice flooded her ears again.

"Εύρηκα! Success! I've got us a link. Text only, but that should be enough to send a report."

"It is. Thank you, Alexios."

Leaning in, Elena tapped away at her keyboard, typing up a report to her... temporary client.

"I have made landfall on Iradu, the Imperium capital world, after following the provided coordinates. I haven't been able to determine exact defenses at this time, but I presume they're heavy. The population has a large number of Sangheili so expect resistance from even civilians if you land. Unggoy, too, and a few Humans and Yohnet. Oh! By the way. Remember our pal, that second guy I mentioned? Calls himself Hall. Also calls himself Moore. Either way, he seems kind of shady, and he's disappeared. We went through processing to head onto the planet and he didn't come through the other side at the same time as me, and I've not been able to locate him since. Other than that, nothing else much to report. I'll get you another message if something comes up. Good luck out there."

Tapping send, she leaned back once more and took a sip of her coffee, eyes closing again as she shut her laptop.

"Alexios, play 'The Elena Zaytseva Experience' playlist, please."

"Of course, ma'am."

Timothy Emeigh

112: Exitus Acta Probat

1615 Hours, August 31st, 2558 UNSC Maya, Bineb System

As the last of the fleeing storm cutters vanished from their sensors, Rear Admiral Hawkins breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's the last of them," said Chance, the ship's AI. "I'll begin calculating losses."

Hawkins, who had spent the past half hour on his feet with a hand over the holster of his service pistol, finally sat down. The sudden rush of enemy attack ships moments after his battlegroup's emergence from Slipspace had taken him off-guard, and the fact that they were able to hit the Maya itself with over half a dozen boarding pods had been outright shocking. Within the sealed bridge, guarded by a heavily-armed combat team, he and his staff could do little but wait for the all-clear to be given as their troops drove off the Imperium's well-armed boarders.

"Is there any major damage to the ship itself?" Hawkins asked.

"One of the pods hit the starboard hangar bay, which will need repairs. Several fighters were also damaged. Aside from personnel losses, the Maya is fine."

"And the fleet?"

"I'm afraid that we've lost the UNSC Yucatan. Direct plasma strike to the bridge."

Hawkins nodded, making a mental note to begin drafting formal condolence letters for when this operation was over. Earlier in his career he might have dwelt on the lives lost in the destruction of a warship, but the Great War's final years had hardened him to such things. Though he would never speak it aloud, the destruction of a single minor vessel was no great loss for his battlegroup. Looking over his holotable to the local system map, Hawkins set his eyes on a pair of green-brown worlds twinkling in the distance. Having fled from Montak, a portion of the Imperium's fleet had gathered here to make their stand against their pursuers.

"Give the order to advance," Hawkins addressed his communications officer. "Reform the battle lines and continue until we're just outside their firing range."

The bridge, which had fallen silent during the attack, quickly burst into action as orders were shouted between stations and officers assumed their active posts. With the severe lack of heavy-tonnage ships within Battlegroup Maya, clusters of destroyers and frigates were made to advance in tandem, ready to combine their firepower against better-armed and armoured vessels. Slowly moving into an offensive formation, it would rely on two heavy hitters: the Maya, and the UNSC Auld Lang Syne, a Poseidon-class light carrier formerly relegated to guarding Anchor 15 and other support ships. Bringing up the rear were a pair of ammunition ships, lightly-armoured and carrying enough supplies to keep their entire battlegroup well-stocked for at least a month. While this procession up the lesser part of the Sixth Fleet, its combined firepower far outstripped that of the ships it had come here to destroy.

"I've finished my initial survey of the Imperium's defences," Chance's mask flickered slightly, "And have finished compiling casualty reports."

"Send the reports to my personal datapad for later. Right now, I want to see exactly what we're up against."

The holotable's layout changed slightly as new tags materialised over it, denoting enemy ship positions and particularly active locations on the surface of both worlds. As things stood, their biggest targets would be the cluster of RCS-class cruisers around the first planet's moon. Though not as large as the flagship, a CCS-class battlecruiser, Hawkins knew from experience that these ships could pack quite a punch and would whittle down his smaller ships with long-range plasma fire as they approached if he was not careful. A smattering of light cruisers, corvettes, and a single modified Destroyer made up the rest of the Imperium's fleet; a major threat to be sure, but not an insurmountable one. Compared to the might of the Covenant at the height of the war, the force arrayed against Hawkins' battlegroup would have been used as the vanguard for more powerful ships just a few years ago.

Looking over the tactical map, Hawkins quickly realised why the Imperium's fleet had chosen to mass its forces behind the nearby moon instead of one of the local planets. Though preliminary scans had not picked it up, Chance's more thorough analysis had detected the presence of a sizeable fortress on its surface, bristling with anti-ship cannons. By abandoning the defence of their colonies, it was likely that the Imperium intended to lure the UNSC into a situation where they would be taken off-guard by a sudden attack from the fortress. It was a plan so obvious that as a military commander, Hawkins couldn't help but wonder if it was some kind of feint.

"Rear Admiral," Captain Aguirre, his executive officer, spoke up as she returned to the bridge from leading a security sweep. "We've finished checking for explosive devices and found nothing. It looks like those boarders were only attempting a frontal assault."

"That's strange," he looked up from the holotable. "Large-scale boarding operations by the Covenant often included the planting of plasma charges or antimatter bombs."

"Perhaps we overestimated this 'Imperium' then, sir. They aren't the Covenant."

Hawkins sighed. "So I keep forgetting. In any case, we've got quite the fight on our hands, so give the order to deploy fighters."

"You're aware of the damage to our hangar bays?"

"I am, Captain. We'll move fighters and pilots where necessary, but we should have more than enough among the battlegroup for the next engagement."

"We should have deployed them right away."

Hawkins shot Aguirre a dark look, but did not reprimand her for her near-insubordinate tone. It was no secret that the Captain had been gunning for a position in the Admiralty for a while, and had been less then pleased when Hawkins - five years her junior - had gotten the promotion instead in spite of their fairly similar service records. As the nephew of a traitor, Hawkins had gotten used to ridicule back in his OCS days, so the 'Baby Admiral' whispers floating around HIGHCOM in the last few years had done little to rile him. Aguirre, for her part, was a very talented officer who was willing to speak her mind when necessary, though the even-tempered Rear Admiral felt the need to dispel thinly-veiled accusations of incompetence.

"Our fighters would've been torn apart by those storm cutters, especially at close range. Even if we may have lost a couple because of the boarders, it's preferable to keep them held back for the main assault."

Aguirre nodded. "I understand, sir."

She probably still disagreed with him, but that didn't matter now. Battlegroup Maya continued on its current trajectory, slowly forming firing groups that would target the enemy cruisers one by one when the battle resumed. While no military presence of note had been detected on the two alien colony worlds, Hawkins couldn't shake the feeling that they were flying into some kind of trap.

"Chance?" he said softly. The AI materialised on the holotank by his command chair.

"Yes sir?"

"How many stealth-capable transport ships do we have in our inventory?"

There was a brief pause as Chance's comedic mask flickered. "If it's for what I think you're suggesting, then we have three Owl insertion craft on standby in our port hangar."

"What are the odds of one being detected if it were to launch now and travel to one of those planets?"

"Stacking up our own advances in stealth technology against what we know of the Imperium of Clarity, a single dropshop with stealth ablative coating, texture buffers and limited active camouflage systems would probably slip down to the surface unnoticed. Considering how lightly defended this system is, I've a hunch that the worlds we're advancing on aren't particularly important ones for the Imperium."

"Anything else to back that up?"

"The planets we're approaching seem to have large quantities of methane in their atmosphere, produced either naturally or via artificial means. However, the presence of what appear to be large cities on the surface would indicate that these are Unggoy colony worlds."

"Right, and considering how badly the little bastards get treated by other races, they're not going to have much in the way of defences."

"Precisely."

"So we've chased them to a backwater," Hawkins scratched his chin. "I wonder, will the inhabitants down there feel the same way the people on Harvest felt when they look up and see our ships in the sky?"

"Seeking revenge, sir?" Chance asked. His unusual avatar made discerning his feelings nigh impossible.

"Just thinking out loud, Chance," the Rear Admiral waved him away. "Still, I want a team down there by the time we re-engage the enemy. I have a plan, and if it works we may just be able to cut this battle very short."

"Considering the sensitivity of such a mission, may I suggest sending down one of our Spartan units?"

"That's a good idea," Hawkins picked up his personal datapad. "Send the files over."

"Yes sir."

A few seconds later, a new document appeared on Hawkins' screen, listing the names of every Spartan supersoldier aboard. As he leafed through them, he was unsurprised to see just how little he could actually access; even for most of the Admiralty, details of Spartan generations prior to the SPARTAN-IV Program were tremendously scarce. Still, they were the best soldiers the UNSC had to offer, and after proving themselves on Montak had acquitted themselves by helping to drive off the Imperium's boarding parties. Aside from their battle prowess, there was another reason why Hawkins wanted them to carry out this mission: secrecy.

"Chance, have Fireteam Boson sent to the conference room, ASAP. Captain Aguirre, keep us on course."

As his XO saluted and the shipboard AI vanished, Hawkins turned and exited the bridge, pulling out his personal COM device. As an officer, he knew how to conduct himself properly, and had a service record to be proud of. As someone who had survived the worst of the Human-Covenant War, he also knew that when faced with a foe as dangerous as the ones they were currently fighting, the best way to win was to fight dirty. If they won with as few losses as possible, then he could continue life with a clean conscience.

Still, he thought as he set up a direct connection on the ship's internal COM channel, If this doesn't work - no - even if this does work, there's gonna be hell to pay for what we're about to do.

***

Ten minutes later, Hawkins found himself stood across from three fully-armoured SPARTAN-III supersoldiers. The trio, who had identified themselves as Merlin-D032, Andra-D054 and Shizuko-D081, had removed their helmets out of respect. Hawkins wished they hadn't. Rumours of child soldiers being trained into Spartans had been circulating within the UNSC for years, and a single glance at the faces of Fireteam Boson had confirmed everything. Aged though they were by whatever harsh training and biological enhancements they had been subjected to before entering a life of war, there was no hiding their youth. As they saluted and introduced themselves, Hawkins hoped that they had not picked up on the twinge of shock that crossed his face.

As it turned out, Fireteam Boson did not notice the Rear Admiral's expression. Since entering the room, they were more preoccupied with the thirty megaton nuclear weapon sitting atop the conference table before them.

"Thank you all for coming," Hawkins saluted the Spartans. "Since we're fast approaching the enemy fleet, I'm going to make this as brief as possible. Before you is a HAVOK tactical nuke, which as I'm sure you're aware has enough destructive power to level a city. That's exactly what you're going to do with it."

Seeing that the Spartans bore no reaction to this news, Hawkins continued.

"You will be deployed via stealth craft to the closest Imperium-held planet, designated 'Bineb II'. Once on the ground, you are to proceed into the enemy city, plant the HAVOK, and exfiltrate as soon as your mission is accomplished. Once your ship is back in orbit, the nuke will be detonated, denying the enemy an area of significant military importance that will severely impact their morale. As Bineb II is an Unggoy-held planet, you will be provided with equipment to ensure your extended survival in the methane-rich atmosphere should anything go wrong. Any questions?"

"Are we the only Spartans being deployed on this mission, sir?" asked Merlin.

"Yes. Those still aboard the Maya will be needed for an assault on Bineb II's moon, which has been occupied by enemy forces. Will that be an issue?"

The young Spartan shook his head. "No sir, we'll get it done."

Hawkins couldn't help but wonder why the Spartans weren't more inquisitive about the mission. As a hastily put-together operation given directly by a member of the Admiralty with fairly basic objectives and little information on what they should expect on the ground, most special forces personnel would likely want to know more. Having never worked directly with Spartans before, Hawkins was unsure if they ever even questioned orders. In this case, perhaps it was a good thing. After all, detonating a nuclear device in a city was something that no commander would do unless they had absolutely no choice. Denoting the area as en enemy military stronghold in the midst of a war that had not been formally declared on a planet far, far away from the UEG's jurisdiction was another matter entirely. If it forced an enemy retreat or surrender and saved human lives, then Hawkins would see it through. Whether or not news of one of the Maya's nuclear weapons being taken for a secret mission at a Rear Admiral's behest and its subsequent usage on a populated city would make it back to HIGHCOM was entirely up to chance.

"Good. You'll be properly outfitted and given the coordinates of your operation before boarding your transport. Good luck, Spartans."

With that, Hawkins saluted the three Spartans, who replied in kind and filed out of the conference room. By the time the Rear Admiral returned to the bridge, he had put the feelings of guilt and uncertainty over his actions to one side, as in the distance the first glimmers of battle from their vanguard ships had already erupted. With no other option but to advance and tie up their foe in a hopefully brief battle of attrition until Boson completed their mission, John Hawkins took his seat and gave the order to open fire. After a fiery opening exchange, the Battle of Bineb had begun in earnest.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

113

1555 Hours, August 31st, 2558 (Military Calendar) SOEIV Drop Bay Briefing Room, UNSC Foxhound, Bineb System

The vessel stank of humans. But Zenim had spent years in the Covenant's heyday wandering the Empire's stellar byways, filling the bilges of Kig-Yar privateer ships with drinking song as often as reciting traditional poetry at Sangheili passage rite ceremonies, and humans smelled no worse than either species. They were a different smell was all.

The twenty-six Sangheili bearing the House of Samakr's crest had kept to themselves in the two days since boarding the Foxhound, carving a niche deep in the maze of cramped, angular corridors and hastening any crewmen whose duties took them through the claimed compartments with reptilian stares. Normally, the ragged band of wizened warriors, cheap sellswords, and half-trained retainers would've spared all pretenses of discipline and imposed themselves in joining their alien hosts for recreation—Zenim first among them—but the scars suffered at Montak were still raw. Comrades and friends were absent both from the vessel and the Samakr company, and without Abzu to insist on dalliances and shape encounters between the two, both sides found quiet tolerance most convenient. So, Zenim played his lute to an audience already familiar with his compositions, seated on the floor against one wall of his chosen corridor with a dozen other Samakr retainers, lamenting the acoustic shortcomings from atop a blanket.

The human shipmaster had, apparently, taken some manner of offense to his guests pitching tents like vagabonds in the way of his officers. But the Sangheili had refused their offered quarters, being too far from the aft hangar where their Phantoms were held, along with all the meager possessions they'd brought on campaign. 'Tevlam, one of the pilots, had refused to leave his dropship entirely. Conditions had fallen short of amicable, but before relations could turn for the worse, they had made opportunity for two balms to emerge.

The first of these was Gesk, the doddering old majordomo, who had taken charge as liaison to the human shipmaster. Despite the decrepit Sangheili's painstaking pace, feet shuffling beneath the hem of his plain brown habit as he wandered the corridors, he'd proven quick enough to make sufficient concessions to leave the company in relative privacy, and even have a modest meal sent down.

The second had, of all things, been the demon. Though she'd been whisked off to medical facilities within moments of coming aboard, she'd reappeared the following day when a feud arose over hulking 'Basruuhn's insistence on bringing his plasma cannon everywhere he went. The mercenary had been quite surprised when one of the humans standing by as Gesk explained his poor manners—unrecognized without her blocky armor—stopped him from lifting the weapon just by laying a hand upon it. After 'Basruuhn relinquished it for the duration of their stay, the demon seemed to appear every time a problem needed defusing, her presence lending weight to the humans' requests. Somehow, Zenim was almost certain, she was keeping tabs on them.

The routine had almost reached normality when the time came for their vessel to resurface in normal space.

While the shipmaster and his officers attended the myriad readouts of their stations somewhere in the upper decks, Zenim and two-dozen other Sangheili congregated around a primitive holotable in the ship's dimly lit underbelly, ducking heads to avoid the structural beams left bare by design of the graceless human vessel. Crowded between them were a handful of black-suited humans, soon joined by the demon herself?—returned to her faceless armor, again standing as tall as any of the Sangheili. Where her smaller comrades pushed in to view the floating representations of battlegroups their table rendered in blue light, she hung back beside Gesk, which—on an impulse, born of yearning for a voice without complaints about accommodation—enabled Zenim to easily take up an adjacent resting space.

"Not so many this time." Zenim said of the Imperium ships represented as motes above holographs of Bineb-III and its moon, Irn, and crossed his arms as he leaned into the wall. "How much help can we expect in our rescue of the Kaidon?"

"Precious little," Gesk wheezed, sleepy eyes remaining on the holotable. "Two squadrons of their fighters will cover our Phantoms, but no capital support beyond what our quarry decides to engage. Once we're onboard, save for their shock troopers, we'll be on our own. With our friend here, of course."

Zenim quietly clicked his mandibles. "Assuming we make it so far. The vessel's shields must be lowered for us to even enter. And then we face every deck-scrubbing Unggoy of these pirates."

"Careful, there. You'll sound ungrateful." The demon matched Gesk's expressiveness, statuesque in the faceless armor, but whether she'd truly taken offense on behalf of her commanders had yet to be seen. "Rescuing an allied state official and military officer is a diplomatic priority. It's just not an exceedingly high one in the face of imminent large-scale combat."

Zenim chuckled quietly. "Have no fear of complaint from the Swords. Your masters have put forth more effort than ours."

The demon's helmet turned subtly. "Don't your people expect two dozen of the best Sangheili warriors to succeed against any odds?"

"Best—?" Zenim blinked, but nothing in the demon's tone or posture suggested any humor underlying the question. A sharp laugh forced its way through his throat. "I'm afraid you severely overestimate us, demon. The true warriors among us are all halfway to being Gesk's age, which still makes them fit for retirement. The rest are servants, trained to carry a platter as much as a plasma rifle, and a few mercenaries so disgraced none other will pay for their services. The rescue of Abzu 'Samakr is not worth so much trouble as a single ship to the Swords of Sanghelios."

"Hold your tongue, minstrel." Gesk snapped, his closer eye shifting under its wrinkled lids to fix upon Zenim. "It is true not all hold our Kaidon in the highest esteem, but as the lord you've sworn your service to, you would do well to speak of him with respect."

"Peace, peace old war steed. I have forgotten no vows." Zenim begged, raising a placative hand, then looked to the demon. "In truth, our lordship is not a very popular or influential lord, and may in fact be least towards both. But none of us pledged our service to him expecting any glory."

"And yet, you chose to abandon your whole fleet and come with us when they wouldn't come after him." The demon pointed out. "Why?"

"Mmm..." Zenim hummed as his vision unfocused, idly examining the dance of shadow and holotable light through the compartment's steel ribbing as he searched for words. "The Kaidon of the Summerkeep is not like other lords. He accepts those who've done themselves disgrace, which makes him unpopular. Yet, he is not so indifferent as one who'd merely pay for sellswords' loyalty. There are expectations in his service, and they are not enforced by demands, but by placing the necessities in reach only through honorable conduct."

Zenim's neck arched to tuck his mandibles close to his chest. "I would venture to say he believes in second chances—which Sanghelios has sorely needed in such an unstable galaxy as this is. But as consequence, there are few who will come to his aid when it is called for. And those few will have a difficult time with only a few Phantoms, and a lack of vacuum-sealed armor."

The demon nodded, and took as long a moment as Zenim to process. "Well, at least he can count on the ones who do swear to him, even if they have to cram themselves in alien ships and count on a demon for help. How's that for stability?"

Zenim curled his mandibles back wryly, noticing a different tilt to the demon's helmet. She did have a point.

Their attention was drawn back to the holotable as its hovering display changed, overriding the planets and mote formations with a single, table-length display of a CCS-class battlecruiser, its smooth lines intersected by the scars left from hasty reconstruction over the clawmarks of laser scoring and craters of ordnance impacts.

"Not the most fearsome of adversaries." Gesk muttered. "The Jiralhanae they'll have aboard will be whelps compared to those I fought in the War of Conversion. Their forebears could pull the limbs off a warrior easily as you snap strings on that harp of yours."

The old man's hoof moved with surprising speed, coming down on Zenim's toe just hard enough to evoke an unprepared yelp. Regaining his composure under the startled stares of several of their surrounding comrades, Zenim hissed back, "It is a lute."

"Pirates fight for gold, but live for themselves. Press them hard enough, and all we need fear is they will flee before we can free the Kaidon." Gesk shuffled forward, hobbling between the humans and Sangheili to make for a door on his way to speak again with the shipmaster. "As long as you persist, you will find victory.'

"And if they slay us all?" Zenim posited to his bowed back.

"Then you will no longer be persisting."

"Well spoken for one who won't be present in the attempt." Zenim muttered, massaging his toe against the other heel.

"Makes you wonder what he was like when he was younger," the demon wondered aloud. "So which are you?"

"Hm?"

She added at Zenim's hesitance, "Warrior, mercenary, or servant?"

"None of the three, in fact." He drew himself up as the throb of his toe faded, and exaggerated the slightest bow he could make in the crowded quarters. "Zenim of Lodam College—musician, chronicler, and occasional stormer of pirate battlecruisers."

"So I'll have a bard watching my back for this boarding action. Great." She commented. Zenim's keen insight caught her sarcasm this time.

"You would not want to go without me!" he bantered back. "Who could bear allow the ballad of a demon sent to free a captive kaidon to go unrecorded?"

---

1620 Hours, August 31st, 2558 (Military Calendar) Fortress of Watchful Peace, Irn, Bineb System

Irn must have once been a comet or rogue planet, plucked from its eons on a tangent through deep space by the gravitational bodies of Bineb, if Abzu's brief look out at its surface was enough for an educated guess. The formless dust of its surface would have lain smooth, broken only by the pockmarks of ancient craters untouched for all time in airless space, were it not for the monuments of crystalline ice rising from beneath the silt. Their smooth facets and jagged breaks caught slopes of the powdered stone around their bases, blanketing their roots and widening their silhouettes enough to meet those of other distant spires in Abzu's field of vision, breaking up what should have been a perfectly flat horizon.

But then an Unggoy with a shock-pike had ushered him to move with the other Sangheili prisoners, and the observation ports were lost to him as they ventured deeper into the Fortress. The boy Abzu had shared a cell with, Frovi, was not among them, left aboard the Purveyor with most of the younger prisoners—less valuable political prisoners, but worth more in other markets, Abzu feared. He'd vowed to guide the troubled warrior, but events had placed fulfilling that vow beyond him. So many promises in his life had gone that way.

Once the Purveyor’s Jiralhanae had handed off their charges and departed, the near-dozen Sangheili were herded by almost thrice as many Unggoy. Their squat, chitinous guards seemed nervous making demands of the sinewy warriors twice their height, to whom many of the Unggoy would've been treated as nothing but inferior in the Covenant's days. The guards minding Abzu, however, seemed not so intimidated by their heavy and hobbled charge, and before long their ease became an infectious confidence. A hasty shock-pike was applied, and when the prisoner did not lash out, the guards paraded them on all the more eagerly.

Descending a level on steep ramps—a legacy of Covenant architecture meant to give anti-gravity hovercraft easier access—the prisoners were ushered into a cramped few storage rooms and instructed to remove the last pieces of their combat harnesses, with rough peasant tunics already laid out to replace them. Sensible enough for the warriors they marked as potential threats, but Abzu was surprised when a particularly audacious guard shoved a tunic his way and made menacing gestures with a shock pike when he hesitated. Its other hand extended when Abzu unbelted his bright robe, and four stubby fingers seized on the gold-threaded fabric as soon as he had it free. Soaked with sweat and dust though it was after days on battlefields and in prison cells, the Unggoy hugged it tightly and scurried off, trying not to trip as the garment dragged over the floor like a tail behind him.

Once he had dressed, the Unggoy shepherded him back into line with the other prisoners, constantly menaced by the pikes of the nervous guards. Abzu was relatively certain the fitter Sangheili warriors could've dispatched their captors without much trouble, but already the shame of their incarceration had started setting in. Thrown in cells without blades to throw themselves on or eyes to justify their failures to, their cycle of rage had already yielded to weariness, compounded now by the knowledge escaping now left them only Irn's lack of atmosphere to flee into. Perhaps there would be a time later to break their bonds, but the waiting for such a time would take its toll.

A foreman of sorts, carrying a disk-shaped holo pad, walked down the line muttering around the tubes of its breathing mask. It gestured and barked, and guards would lead the prisoners away in twos and threes to disappear down separate corridors. When it reached Abzu, the foreman twisted its head up to study the kaidon, then glanced back down at its pad, crossed a string of symbols off the list, and barked to a subordinate. Then Abzu was shuffled off alone.

Minutes later, Abzu was pushed through an open door and, when he turned around, a long, wooden stave pressed into his tetradactyl hands. Then, without a further word, his guards stepped back, allowed the door's sliding panels to unpocket and interlock, and its light shifted to a lock-indicative red.

All was silent. Abzu turned, the hollow clack of his steel leg on the alloy floor resounding in the dark around him. His eyes adjusted to the shade of the wide, circular chamber's own architecture, consequence of a designer who'd only thought of the room as occupied when lit. The floor toward the center was stepped down, like an amphitheater, while above... Abzu had to credit the designer in that one respect. Crystal-clear panels lined a great dome, creating a true planetarium looking up into Irn's perpetual night sky. Bineb II hid partially behind one of the running supports in the far hemisphere, and the local star's light shone from somewhere outside the dome's view to rebound off the walls and give enough dim illumination to see by.

Somewhere among all those brilliant points in the dark expanse lay Sanghelios, Abzu reflected. And Earth, and Toru 'Makhan's capital of Iradu. Tumultuous as their relations were, they were so quiet when viewed from here, where Abzu stood with a... he glanced down to find it was a broom his jailers had supplied him with. Stepping forward to peer around, Abzu quickly accepted the other doors had all been locked, and with nought else to do began to idly sweep, considering his situation all the while.

His tour of the Imperium of Clarity had not quite been what he'd hoped. Captured by privateers instead of a mainline force and traded to a colony Toru 'Makhan cared so little for he'd left its governance to Unggoy. He was fortunate, he supposed, to still be in the Imperium at all. Anything less and even his meager pride would've demanded he work on a way to free himself. At least if his own forces and their allies freed him, he could bestow on them some measure of honor for freeing him in the course of glorious battle with their enemies. The sum of that feat would outweigh the shame of his capture, a net gain for the Swords' reputation.

A loud tone and the hiss of hydraulics from the far side of the room pulled Abzu from his thoughts. Planting his prosthetic to shuffle in place, he spun to face the light revealed by retracting door panels and the three silhouettes amidst. Two were tall and digitigrade, Sangheili clad in polished silver of uncertain, though undoubtedly high, rank. But the figure they flanked stood barely half their height, weighted down with a breathing apparatus enclosed in white armor. The wrinkles in its scalp were deepened with old age, criss-crossed further by a dozen different scars. Unmistakably, this creature was counted older in its own culture than Abzu was in his, though he imagined the Unggoy was still his junior in stellar years.

The elder's guards slipped wordlessly along the wall, fleeing their entryway's light, and halted with hands resting all-too-idly upon the smooth stocks of carbines. The Unggoy trudged forward, favoring one leg as it moved to stand just outside arm's length of Abzu.

"Welcome, kaidon of Swords," the creature squeaked, craning its neck back to properly face Abzu. "Has our humble home met with your approval?"

Abzu glanced down at the broom in his hands. It seemed an odd moment to stand on ceremony. Though Abzu rated a kaidon, even while a captive of war to be treated with the highest respect, Unggoy usually had little use for such things. Those that climbed high enough in the old Covenant to become Deacons or the odd successful merchant usually clung to the trappings of wealth and office like insects to honey, demanding each ounce of what little respect they had. This one, however, wore his engraved white armor like more of a bother than a mantle, shifting it when it suited him instead of bending himself to swell its chest.

"I've yet to see much of it, in truth." Abzu responded. "Perhaps a tour could be arranged for, Deacon... ?"

"Shipmaster." The Unggoy's cheeks puffed up under his eyes, pleased. "I am called Hedan Koti. And had we the time, perhaps I would. But all you need see lies above you. I ask again, what do you think of it?"

Hedan gestured, and Abzu's gaze returned to the dome above. He saw nothing but stars, and a chalky stone spire intruding from one side, cast in the nearby radiance of Bineb's sun. "A lovely view, Shipmaster. Though one could as easily have it from the bridge of any vessel in your Emperor's fleet."

"So one could." Hedan agreed. "Precisely why I insisted upon it. To remember the years we suffered it."

"Suffered?" Abzu asked, the natural question he felt the Unggoy Shipmaster's statement provoked. He'd sat through enough banquet performances to feel a story coming.

"My people were wanderers, Kaidon. Outcasts of our own volition, refusing to submit ourselves as cannon fodder for the dozens of warlords to seize on pieces of the broken Covenant. We fled those who sought to control us, repairing what outmoded ships we had as they decayed around us. Staring every day into a void of uncaring stars. Until Toru 'Makhan offered us a place in more than just his army." Hedan carefully folded his spiny, carapaced arms. "But I've refused to forget the struggles we faced before we were here. For Unggoy, too much is inconstant to forget how to survive anything."

"And this is why you chose to serve 'Mahkan?" Abzu asked quietly. "He's provided you stability?"

"Yes. More than food and shelter while we fight his wars, he offered us a home to grow on our own." The methane mask on the Shipmaster's chin dipped to his chest. "But we still had to choose him for that stability."

Abzu understood. "You fear no matter how gracious his offer, your arrangement makes it no different than that with a warlord."

Hedan's answer was slower in coming. "Yes. Which is why I must ask you this, Kaidon of the Summerkeep: why did you choose the Arbiter?"

No wonder the Unggoy had approached him as an equal. Whatever difference in circumstances they may have had, each had made decisions which affected the hundreds, or thousands of lives sworn to them. Specifically, the decision of whom to swear themselves to in a galaxy robbed of the stability once brought by the shared purpose of the Covenant. Hedan Koti wondered if he'd chosen rightly. It was a question which rested heavy on Abzu himself many an evening before sleep could take him.

"Because..." Abzu started, working his long fingers on the thin broomstick. His own hesitance surprised him. Though none of the mercenaries, bards, or servants who often accompanied him would have been appropriate to discuss it with, Abzu had articulated the question to himself many times through long hours in the privacy of his own tent. When suddenly pressed, all the rehearsed answers seemed to desert him. Because he was honorable? The answer was almost laughable. What Sangheili, even a coward sellsword, didn't call himself honorable? "He had need of allies. And those who need their allies tend to treat them well. My people fared better under his reign than they would have beneath more powerful warlords at the time."

"A prudent transaction, if an unsafe gamble." Hedan observed. "You thought he could win Sanghelios despite that he made allies with humans?"

"No... but I allied with him because of it, I'd dare say." Abzu admitted. "Humans are fearful creatures, I think. We drove them nearly to the quenching of their whole line. They will not feel safe again until they've made shows of punishing their enemies, to prove attacking them will have its price. When they make these displays, they will not offer mercy. It will be as swift, and as brutal as they can dream. One does not play-fight with a predator marking its territory. I fear them, if truth be told. Perhaps it would have been better were the last of them extinguished."

"Regret is a sweeter fruit than vengeance born of a neighbor's orchard." Hedan said. A proverb Abzu would have to remember. "You give me much to think about."

"Nothing you've not dwelt upon before, by the sound of it." Abzu shrugged, dragging the broom's bristles across the floor before him. "Those of us who lack the strength to grasp for command of empires ourselves must choose whom to serve eventually, for those who look to us for protection."

"And yet, freedom given may be no freedom at all." Hedan concluded. Craning once again to face the Kaidon, he nodded deeply. "I thank you for your time."

Abzu nodded in return. "I've little else to give my host."

That Damn Sniper 02:43, August 26, 2019 (UTC)

114: Raid

????, August 31st, 2558 (Military Calendar) Soul Ascension, Bineb System

The Soul Ascension drifted at low power above the moon. Its halls were dim and quiet. The crew carried out their duties in grim silence while the rest of the Kru’desh Legion rested in barracks and ready rooms across the warship. No fighters or gunboats flew patrol, but the pilots waited on permanent standby close to their ships. A battle was raging on the other side of the moon. Blood was being spilled; the enemy was close at hand.

That battle could come to them at any moment. Even as they prepared to bring the fight to the enemy, they stood ready to defend their ship should things not go according to plan.

The Kru’desh were well trained for times like these. Since Stray’s ascension had shifted their role from condemned plasma fodder to Jul ‘Mdama’s swift raiders, they had transformed the way their ship operated. The dregs of the Covenant had their own pride, after a fashion. They were hunters stalking prey where no other warriors dared go.

The enemy had glimpsed the legion’s power on Montak. They were about to experience it again.

A single Phantom slipped out of the ship’s hangar and stole away back towards the Imperium fleet. Amidst all the chaos of battle unfolding across the system no one would mark the movement of one dropship. The Phantom paused above the Soul Ascension only momentarily before vanishing into the inky vacuum.

From where he stood in the Phantom’s troop bay, Shinsu ‘Refum watched the ship shrink away from the viewport. Surrounded by his guard squad, the special operations commander could only hope that Stray was up to the task of pulling off his audacious maneuver.

“My meeting with Lora 'Deris may hinge on your performance during this battle,” he had told Stray in the Soul Ascension’s hangar. The human had surprised Shinsu by coming to see him off personally. “Do not embarrass me by getting yourself killed.”

“It’s nice to hear you care.” Stray was as self-assured as always, though the more time Shinsu spent around the Spartan the more he saw through the human’s arrogant façade. Stray strutted and postured to exude invincibility, hiding the fears lurking just beneath the surface. “We do this sort of thing all the time. You’ll see. They won’t know what hit them.”

Shinsu deemed himself a rather skilled judge of character. A creature like Stray, willing to betray everyone and everything in the hopes of self-advancement, was not inclined to the daring acts of personal bravery needed to keep a legion of outcasts in line. To lead from the front lines as he had done at Montak was not in Stray’s nature, yet he did so anyway. The confident, fearless battle commander was a lie, a role Stray slipped into like an actor in some pantomime play.

He played the role well, Shinsu had to admit. But a knack for deception was a poor substitute for the mettle of a true commander. Stray had shown flashes of that mettle since he’d wandered into Shinsu’s path. Shinsu hoped to see more than just a flash from the young human. He could use such a blend of vicious cunning in the wars to come.

Provided Stray didn’t get himself and everyone under his command killed here.

But their fate was outside Shinsu’s control now. He had other matters to attend to. If Stray succeeded, so much the better. If he failed, Shinsu would simply need a new tool to help advance his cause.

He turned away from the viewport and withdrew back into the troop bay. His meeting with Lora 'Deris would come soon. He needed to be prepared for what lay ahead.

---

“The main fleet is engaged,” Ro’nin reported from across the bridge. “A probing force attempted to board the lead human vessel and was driven off. I expect the real battle is not long off.”

“The main battle for them. Not us.” Stray was in a foul mood, though he couldn’t quite make sense why. He paced across the Soul Ascension’s bridge, peering over his officers’ shoulders to read the sensor data on their command consoles. “How’s our backdoor working out?”

“About as well as can be expected.” Diana’s celestial apparition flared to life in the center of the bridge. One of the deck officers made a sign of reverence and Stray fought the urge to roll his eyes. Genuflection like that only encouraged Diana and he didn’t have the patience for her antics right now. “Their comms are secured, but the signal data from the satellite gave me the coding I needed to slip in. They aren’t expecting us to use their own tech against them. And their security measures certainly didn’t expect someone with my level of infiltration capabilities.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re amazing. A real messenger of the gods.” If they weren’t in the middle of a combat operation he’d slip away from the bridge to go work off this tension down in the training arena. Tuka and Amber were always up for a sparring match. But the ship needed to move the moment Diana located the UNSC’s support force which meant Stray was confined to the bridge. “Just find me those ships.”

“As you command, anointed one.” Diana was lucky most Covenant couldn’t quite read human sarcasm. She’d have exposed them both as frauds a long time ago.

Stray forced himself back into the center of the bridge, scowling up at the reams of data streaming directly into his HUD. It was Shinsu’s fault he felt so out of sorts. The special operations commander was the closest ally Stray had within Jul ‘Mdama’s inner circle and yet he never knew where he stood with the aloof Sangheili. One moment he was openly disdainful, the next he was quietly congratulatory. The capture of the satellite should have been the Kru’desh’s win.

Stray’s win.

Instead Shinsu had turned it into another one of his schemes, as if the whole thing was his plan from start to finish. Now he ran off somewhere lese to hatch some new plot while the Kru’desh went out and took all the risks. He could already see the calculation in Shinsu’s reptilian brain: if they won he would turn that to his advantage and if they lost he would find some way to turn that to his profit as well.

No matter how high he climbed or how much power he accumulated it seemed there would always be someone manipulating him.

But Shinsu was not the only source of Stray’s ennui. If all went well they would soon be in the midst of the UNSC’s supply task force, their plasma weapons tearing the lightly defended craft to shreds. It would be brutally easy. It would also be clean, more destruction for far less effort than they’d endured on Montak. Thousands would die beneath the Soul Ascension’s plasma.

He remembered the first time they’d hit a supply convoy in deep space, his first time commanding from this bridge. The Kru’desh had delighted in the easy victory and Stray, staring out at the carnage he’d wrought, had felt good. Better than good. Powerful. Victories—his victories—were the only times he truly felt like the chosen one Diana made him out to be.

He’d learned something about himself that day, something he was reminded of every time he stood above a defeated, broken enemy. He wasn’t sure he liked what it was.

The bridge doors slid open. “All section leaders report their warriors as battle ready,” Tuka ‘Refum announced. “They are ready to engage at a moment’s notice.” The young officer stepped onto the deck, Amber at his side. She was finding more and more ways to get herself onto the bridge, Stray noted.

“Good to know, Tuka.” Stray tilted his helmet back in Tuka’s direction. “Have you forgotten how to salute?”

Tuka stiffened, unable to see the ironic smile Stray wore behind his visor. He probably wouldn’t have been able to make sense of it even if he could. “My apologies, commander. I have no excuse for such insubordination.”

“I’m joking.” Teasing Tuka eased his mood somewhat. “Feel free to stick around up here and keep us all company. I could use someone to talk to. You know how tedious these holding patterns are, and the shift up here with me isn’t exactly a comedy club.”

This brought laughter from some of the other officers. He was right. This sort of scanning was beyond boring, enough to make a bridge full of naval officers laugh at an alien’s lame jokes. That was one thing they never mentioned in the books or during training: how boring war could be sometimes.

If Tuka was offended by Stray’s humor he didn’t show it. He remained on the bridge, taking the time to quietly converse with the other officers. Amber stuck around as well. She lingered at the door for some time before sidling up to where Stray sat in the command chair.

“So, another hit on the supply ships,” she observed. “You sure do like shooting up ships that can’t fight back.”

“They’ll have a task force escort.” Stray shrugged. “Besides, they’re carrying weapons and ammunition, even if they can’t fire themselves. They’re fair game.”

“Oh good. For a minute I was worried you weren’t all about following the laws of war. I’m curious, how’d you work around that at Philadelphia? I guess you found some way to make the city a legitimate military target before you blew it up?”

She was trying to get under his skin, like she always did. Stray gave her a blank stare and tried to work out her angle. There was always more to what Amber said than she let on.

“We’re at war,” he pointed out. “The UNSC never cared about collateral damage when it was bombing Mamore. I’m just doing my part to give it right back to them.”

“By fighting for the Covenant,” she pointed out, lowering her voice.

“So are you, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Don’t get me wrong, let’s get out there and waste as many of those bastards as we can. I’m just curious to know how you live with yourself every time you help them kill humans.”

“I’m a mercenary. It’s what I do. The Insurrection wasn’t offering a job like this, so I’d say I scored a pretty good gig here.” She was digging at things he’d rather keep buried, and she knew it. He depolarized his visor and gave her a cold smile. “And I don’t have to live with myself. I’m making history. First human to lead a Covenant legion. Probably the youngest battle commander to hold this kind of power. You think Jake or Kodiak or any of the others ever dreamed they’d have something like this? They used to argue over whether their kill tallies were in the double digits after a mission. We’re about to wipe out an entire task force, and it’s not even our first major kill this week. Stick that on a CSV.”

Amber smirked. The look she gave him made it clear she knew he was blowing smoke, but she backed off. He’d have to deal with whatever was between them sooner or later. She wasn’t content to be just another loyal section leader like Tuka. No surprises there, she was a Spartan after all. He couldn’t exactly fault her for the same hunger that had brought him to where he was now. But he also couldn’t have her thinking she had something over him, either.

They passed the next few hours in silence. Amber joined Tuka in keeping the deck officers company while Stray kept an eye on the data feed and stewed in his own dark thoughts. Once again he couldn’t understand why the upcoming attack made him so uneasy. He’d killed plenty of people on his own—with a gun, with a blade, with his bare hands, if necessary—and not felt a shred of remorse.

Soldiers, criminals, mercenaries. It didn’t matter who they are or what they wanted, only that they were a threat. That was how he’d been taught since he was a six year old recruit on Onyx, staring wide-eyed up at the drill instructor teaching him to hold a rifle for the first time.

So why did it matter so much more when he was giving the order to kill rather than doing it himself?

“I have something,” Diana reported. Stray looked up to find a list of coordinate data flashing across the chief tactical display. “It’s faint but I pulled logs of a resupply request one of the UNSC ships put in after the fighting on Montak. It confirms the position of the supply fleet in relation to their main battlegroups.”

“Can you triangulate it?” Stray asked, sitting straighter in his chair. “We need a location and jump coordinates.”

“I already have. From the readings I got from the other ships, they’ll have a light escort. Frigates, mostly, nothing we haven’t dealt with before. But they won’t stay in the same place for long. They’ve been jumping from position to position to avoid Imperium scouts.”

“Well, let’s get on it then.” Stray addressed the bridge crew. “You heard the oracle. We don’t have a whole lot of time. Bring the ship up to full alert and prepare for immediate combat jump. Relay the data to the Purveyor of the Righteous and make sure ‘Zantak jumps with us. We’ll need backup on this one.”

He settled back in his chair as the crew sprang into action. He’d deal with the doubts later. Right now they had a battle to win. He could already feel the pleasant adrenaline seeping into his veins. His lips parted in a feral smile. I’m going to enjoy this.

Command was an act, the art of lying to everyone around you. Why should he be any exception?

---

Constrained within her digital prison, Althea could do little besides run system diagnostics and check to see if the Covenant would return to dissect her yet. The Huragok had kept their promise: they hadn’t revealed her presence to their masters. That bought her some time, not that there was much she could do with it.

Her isolation led to horrible feelings of resentment. Why had she been allowed to be captured so ignominiously? What had her superiors been thinking, isolating her in this satellite, only to let it fall into enemy hands so easily?

She tried to shut out such feelings, but she was plagued by a gnawing realization that she was going to die here. Even if the Covenant didn’t discover her, they’d destroy the satellite eventually. That might be an even worse way to die: killed by an enemy who didn’t even realize she was there.

She had been proud to serve the UNSC. Had it really all been for this?

A sudden power surge near her chamber gave her a thankful distraction from thoughts of her impending demise. She was isolated in the satellite, but she could still glean some readings from the energy pulses the Huragok were using to link the satellite to… whatever it was they had it hooked up to. Althea still didn’t know what the Covenant were trying to do with it, but whatever it was it couldn’t be good.

She fired off a neuron pulse to signal Yearns to Soar. What is happening? she asked the Huragok, grateful for years of ONI research into communicating with the floating aliens.

Yearns to Soar hesitated, but seemed to decide it had nothing to fear from her. An attack, it reported. This ship is about to launch an attack on the human fleet.

Which fleet?

I do not know. But given the preparations being made, I expect it will be a raid. This ship conducts many raids.

Raids? What raids?

They will target the supply lines. This ship’s commander is skilled at such attacks. There is nothing to fear. This ship will be safe. Yearns hesitated once more. But many humans will die. Such is the way of these attacks.

A chill passed through Althea’s programming. There was something matter-of-fact in the way Yearns transmitted that statement. Many UNSC soldiers were about to die. Hundreds. Thousands, even. This ship was about to do all that and Althea was helpless to stop it.

---

The Soul Ascension shuddered as it passed through Slipspace. Its bridge darkened as the power cycled, then flooded with new light as tactical data flashed urgently across its screens.

“Enemy ships!” the tactical officer shouted, giving voice to the images flashing to life in front of Stray. “Human support craft just off our starboard bow! We found the fleet!”

“Looks like you were right on the money, Diana,” he muttered, staring at the images before him. There they were, dozens of UNSC support ships drifting in the loose, casual formation of people confident they were not about to be attacked.

“Was there any doubt?”

“Maybe a little.” Stray checked the tactical display. The Purveyor of the Righteous was emerging from Slipspace alongside the Soul Ascension. He counted two large support ships, their engines idle and unaware of the looming danger. A single frigate drifted between the hapless support ships. The frigate's engines flared as it scrambled to realign the formation. Stray could almost picture the scene inside those ships: crew scrambling to their stations, captains shouting orders to counter this unexpected attack. Some might be on sleep shift, resting in their bunks. They would die in their sleep, never realizing the oncoming danger.

“Enemy escort ships are maneuvering to target us!”

“Let the Purveyor of the Righteous handle them.” The Soul Ascension’s partner-in-ambush was already maneuvering to engage the frigates. Shipmaster ‘Zantak knew his ship through and through. Stray trusted that he’d make short work of the UNSC ships. The Soul Ascension could handle any frigates that slipped past. In the meantime…

“Launch attack squadrons and power up all weapons,” he ordered. “Hit the ships at the edge of the formation first. I don’t want any of them jumping away. All weapons up and firing, now! Let’s earn our keep, people!”

Plasma warmed across the Soul Ascension’s hull and the slaughter began.

Actene: Heaven and Earth

115: Stage

1818 Hours, August 31st, 2558 CSO-class supercarrier Watchful Custodian, Yain System

They're much more competent than I expected. What they lack in strength, they make up in an ability to exploit our weaknesses.

The bridge of the Watchful Custodian, flagship of the Imperium of Clarity's military, was awash with activity. Officers at command stations across five levels worked tirelessly to relay orders and adjust the gargantuan vessel's speed and course as it loomed over the orbital battlefield, flanked by half a dozen light cruisers on either side. Sat in his command chair atop the cavernous bridge was Imperial Admiral Toru 'Makhan, who had done little more than order a gradual advance since the first exchange of fire. Beside him, seated in a stool under the watchful eye of a quartet of guards, was Captain Reynald Donnelly, the Imperium's first prisoner of war.

"Tell me, Captain," Toru said casually, his gaze not leaving the battle projected before him, "The human fleet is more sluggish than it was at Montak. Why is that?"

Though he still wore his slightly tattered military uniform, Donnelly had been given the chance to properly groom himself after his arrival on the Watchful Custodian. Though he was Toru's prisoner, the Imperial Admiral had no intention of parading a military officer around like a pet before his crew, and allowed him to keep some dignity as he watched the Sixth Fleet's eventual destruction. Though sullen and dejected, Donnelly eventually gave Toru an answer that was not his name and service number.

"Probably because they're not so eager to charge in against a supercarrier."

Toru chuckled. "A fair point, though you are being obstinate. I have a different answer."

"What's that?" Donnelly asked.

"Their sense of speed and aggression is gone because we have cut off their head. The Admiral leading them is dead, and without proper leadership they are already wavering."

At this, Toru's prisoner scowled. "You can't possibly know that."

"Can't I? At my command, a human assassin was dispatched to their fleet; a trusted officer that they would not suspect. According to a report I received from Fleet Master 'Deris shortly before this battle began, his transponder signal vanished. It is likely that he succeeded in his mission, but did not escape alive."

"That's a lot to assume."

Toru rose from his chair, pulling on the clasp of his white cloak as he gestured towards the nearby battlefield. Though the two battle lines had begun to waver, only the Imperium's side retained its perfect cohesion. The Swords of Sanghelios had spread its ships out along one side, covering a steady stream of landing craft seeking to take the fight to Frendhal's surface. Meanwhile, the UNSC's blocky vessels were constantly darting to and fro, firing missiles and MAC rounds where they could while trying to keep away from their allies. Human landing craft had been dispatched too, though the flaming remains of several ships slowly being pulled towards the planet's atmosphere were all that remained of an ill-advised attempt to dispatch boarding parties to the Imperium's frontline cruisers.

"Look at this chaos!" the Imperial Admiral raised his voice, prompting a few glances from his subordinates. "These invaders have charged into our territory without preparation, believing that my Imperium will fall like every other self-proclaimed Covenant that has risen from the old empire's corpse. Even now their ranks lack order and cohesion, fighting our fleet not through impressive strategies but through force alone. Your UNSC hides behind proud Sangheili ships, crewed by fools too blind to see the folly of their leaders in helping to prolong this war. How many of them will die for pride's sake, unwilling to retreat? How many will realise that their alliance with your kind is one of convenience, not true cooperation? This is the price they pay for stupidity."

The holomap by Toru's command chair chimed, indicating that the Watchful Custodian was now in optimal firing range. More than twenty gunnery officers stood at their stations, awaiting the Imperial Admiral's order. Toru waited a few moments more, watching as the battle-ravaged fleets of the 'Hudon brothers flawlessly departed to give the flagship space to advance. Ahead of them, the massed enemy fleets began to adjust their fire towards the monolothic warship directly in front of them. With one spiteful glance towards Donnelly, Toru 'Makhan silently brought his hand down in a swift cutting motion, and the supercarrier opened fire at last.

"Wait!" Donnelly rose to his feet, and found the edge of a hardlight blade hovering an inch from his throat. Muri 'Jarit, Toru's most fanatical bodyguard, had crossed the room in less than a second to protect her master.

The deck shuddered ever so slightly as the supercarrier's frontal cannons unleashed their initial salvo towards the enemy, firing bolts of superheated plasma larger than most dropships. A second later came a swarm of torpedoes, streaking white lines across the void towards the enemy fleet. The Swords of Sanghelios lost a carrier and two battlecruisers almost instantly, alongside a number of transport ships unlucky enough to have been caught in the ensuing conflagration. The UNSC's fleet did not remain unscathed; three frigates and a destroyer vanished in brief flashes. Only when the full account of damage inflicted was made did Toru 'Makhan turn back to his prisoner.

"You had a question, Captain?" Toru's mandibles curled into a sneer. He waved a hand, and Muri retracted her weapon.

Aware that any sudden movement would lead to his immediate death, Donnelly looked towards the nearby holomap. Both the UNSC and Swords of Sanghelios had begun to pull back, still firing away at the now-advancing fleets of the Imperium. Having reformed their battle lines, Nor and Zetal 'Hudon's ships were already leading a two-pronged counter-offensive to slowly encircle their foe, with the Watchful Custodian and its escorts maintaining the frontal assault. Though both sides continued to hammer away at each other, the Imperium would likely emerge victorious in a prolonged battle of attrition.

"You should tell them to surrender," Donnelly said. "You've proven that you can beat them already, so why waste any more lives?"

Toru snorted, holding back laughter. "Do you think that the proud sons of Sanghelios we face will willingly submit to my Imperium in the midst of battle? Will your kind choose to surrender to an enemy that their leaders never truly considered a threat? Their annihilation will be the proof of our strength."

Though he felt satisfied to see Donnelly slump into his stool without another word, Toru knew that he could not afford to show mercy to his foe for fear of being exploited for it. Having studied the past war extensively as he built up his Imperium, he had found too many cases of overconfident or easily-angered commanders throwing away certain victory by underestimating their foe. Though he could not admit it, the battle over Frendhal had not gone as well as he had hoped so far; the sudden destruction of a number of orbital stations had taken him by surprise, as had the loss of several important destroyers assigned to buttress key weaknesses in their battle lines. In the face of foes as devious as this, he could afford to take no chances.

As he looked over the holomap, searching for any potential mistake, the Imperial Admiral's personal communications channel chimed. Taking a step back to adjust his cloak, which had snagged slightly on one of his pauldrons, Toru opened the channel and clasped both hands behind his back as two of his subordinates materialised together over the table.

"Imperial Admiral," Fleet Masters Nor and Zetal 'Hudon said, bowing in unison.

Toru rapped a fist against his breastplate in response. "Report."

Though they were often referred to as a pair and could coordinate their ships like no other, the the two were very dissimilar. As Toru's newly-appointed second in command for this campaign, Zetal was the elder of the two, and was charismatic and aggressive enough to lead entire fleets without engaging in the brash maneuvers that had almost gotten Orro 'Hendai killed over Montak. Holding a higher position than his more reserved sibling, he spoke first.

"The Swords of Sanghelios have started to withdraw from the battlefront, though they are not fleeing the system. Though our ships have moved to continue the engagement, they are devoting all their efforts to fighting their way down to Frendhal's surface for a ground invasion."

Toru nodded, lamenting how easily they had lost their orbital defence stations. "And the human fleet?"

"My ships are moving to cut off any escape paths deeper into the system," Nor 'Hudon spoke up over the din of his officers. "It would seem that the human fleet has little coordination with the Swords, though they seem to be more concerned with fighting a retreat around the colony and out of the Watchful Custodian's range than invading for now."

"Then perhaps our assassin was triumphant, and they are fighting without their chosen commander. Continue your attack, but do not pursue them into the planet's atmosphere until we know of their intent. I do not want to risk firing on our own cities unless it is absolutely necessary."

Zetal folded his arms. "Excellency, what if they intend to take our citizens hostage, or force a siege? I fear that delaying may have severe consequences."

"Orro 'Hendai's ships will defend Dival city, and his troops the land around it. Considering his actions over Montak, the Swords of Sanghelios will likely seek him out for revenge, committing their forces to a single location long enough for us to descend and wipe them out."

"What of Field Marshal 'Hendai? Even he might not survive an assault from an entire enemy fleet."

"He is a warrior few can equal, Fleet Master. If any could survive against such odds, it is him."

"And the humans?" Nor asked.

"I leave their ships to the pair of you. Take your best ships and continue to engage them while I bring down the Swords of Sanghelios."

Speaking with a clear sense of finality, Toru saluted his two subordinates, who returned the gesture and closed the communications channel. The Imperial Admiral returned to his command chair, filled with a heady feeling of triumph. Though he had some initial doubts about the battle after their earlier losses, he would capitalise in the blunders of his foes and recoup them tenfold in the coming hours. As the UNSC and Sangheili fleets broke apart above Frendhal, one remaining in orbit and the other racing to seize the surface, the Imperium of Clarity moved to deliver the killing blow.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

116: Diverging Forces

1822 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Frendhal, Yain System

Grono 'Yendam stared up into the sky, observing the carnage in orbit. Turning to face his subordinates, Rach 'Iltuk and a Sangheili Warrior, Grono clasped his hands firmly behind his straightened back.

"Commander, what is the status of the Imperial fleets?"

Rach's hand snaked to his hip, delicately unclasping his data pad from its position on the armor. Bearing it back up, the Sangheili clattered a command code into the device, swiping up before returning his gaze to Grono.

"They seem to be doing well enough under the command of the Imperial Admiral and his supercarrier, but my concern is more on the ground troops that are inevitably going to be deployed groundside."

The Sangheili Warrior hissed in response, jabbing a pudgy thumb back towards the inner city behind them. "We stand with the Field Marshal! Of course they will come here!"

"Then it is decided," Grono stated, waving a hand at his two commanders.

"Ready the troops. Their experience from the suppression of Righteous Cause should serve them well in this city. Rach, you and I shall lead a large portion of the Zog'fee to the Field Marshal to assist him."

Rach nodded in acknowledgement, as Grono turned his head to the Warrior beside him. "And you, you shall lead the rest of my forces in a defense of the outer perimeter to assist the Imperium. I do not wish for any soldiers to be wasted."

"Of course, Field Master," replied the golden-clad Sangheili, bringing his fist to his chest.

Grono took one last look at the battle raging up above, before flaring his nostrils beneath his mask and stomping away, tailed closely by his two commanders.

UnggoyZealot

117: A Way Out

1829 Hours, August 31st, 2558 UNSC Caspian, Frendhal orbit

"What the hell is he doing?!"

The bridge of the Caspian shook slightly as its primary MAC cannon fired, tearing a distant enemy ship apart. The Sixth Fleet was in shambles, desperately scrambling to reform itself as the Swords of Sanghelios broke away from their orbital engagement and made for Frendhal's surface. Deprived of their allies, the UNSC warships found themselves exposed to plasma fire and were fighting a slow retreat against the Imperium's twin-pronged offensive. Before long it would likely turn into a war of attrition that they simply could not win.

Vice Admiral Samson was on his feet, gripping the railing at the edge of his command station tightly as he watched the battle unfold. After the Imperium's supercarrier had vaporised several of their ships in a single volley, the Swords of Sanghelios had barely given their human allies any warning before breaking off. With little communication from Fleet Master Felo 'Ranak since their arrival in-system, Samson was approaching his breaking point.

"Sir," said Captain Ngirandi, his executive officer, "We may have to consider a retreat."

Samson sighed, scratching his greying temples. He had spent the past half-hour broadcasting messages to certain ships within the fleet in case the situation worsened, marking the assault carrier Hard Luck as a replacement flagship were the Caspian to fall and had even ordered the ship's medical staff to prepare a shuttle to transport the comatose Admiral Zhi there at his command. As the more capable frontline officer with more experience aboard their cruiser, Ngirandi had in charge of operating the Caspian itself while Samson took charge of fleet-wide issues. For all his attempts at tactical maneuvering, the Vice Admiral realised after the utter failure of a boarding action against the enemy fleet that he was better suited to long-term strategy and limited force deployment; neither of which mattered greatly in this situation.

"Contact Fleet Master 'Ranak," he said at last, sounding annoyed.

Ngirandi frowned. "He hasn't been very communicative."

"Then tell him we'll fire on him if he doesn't answer."

"Sir?!"

The words had left Samson's mouth before he had time to properly think them over. He cleared his throat loudly.

"Actually, just say that we'll have to retreat from the system if he doesn't contact us."

The Sangheili leader had been unusually reticent since their arrival in the Frendhal system, which was strange considering his willingness to communicate with Admiral Zhi. While it was possible that he had lost faith in the UNSC's fleet after being told that its top officer had been gravely injured aboard her own flagship, reports of him sustaining similar wounds when his ship was boarded over Frendhal made that rather unlikely. Samson wondered if 'Ranak was somehow incapacitated, or if his Sangheili honour culture made him unwilling to communicate directly with his allies for fear of showing weakness. In any case, his order was passed down to his communications officers, who transmitted it to the Swords' flagship.

They did not have to wait long. In less than twenty seconds their communique had been received and a transmission was made directly from the Questioner, 'Ranak's flagship. At Samson's request they patched it through, and the gold-armoured Sangheili appeared above the holotable a second later.

"Vice Admiral Samson," Felo 'Ranak inclined his head. "It is good to see you again."

It took Samson seconds to realise why the Swords of Sanghelios were being so uncommunicative. Though he wore the burnished armour of his station, Felo 'Ranak's posture and strained speech indicated that there was something deeply wrong with him. He had been badly injured over Montak and had been in a position to speak with Admiral Zhi before their departure, but it seemed as though the strain of leading his fleet into battle and a lack of rest were making his condition deteriorate fast. Half-slumped against one side of his command throne, Felo straightened himself up, favouring the arm furthest from his grievous chest injury as he struggled to maintain his usual imposing presence.

"Fleet Master." Samson saluted. "I'm aware that communication between our forces has been brief during this battle, but given the situation we're now in the Sixth Fleet may be forced to retreat out-system."

To his surprise, Felo nodded. "Do you intend to return to the UNSC to seek aid?"

"Possibly. Even if we have a numerical advantage over the Imperium, I'm losing ships too quickly to sustain this campaign and without the firepower to fight that supercarrier-"

"Do not worry about Toru 'Makhan," Felo cut Samson off as he leaned forward. "His vessel has broken off from the main fleet to pursue my ships to the surface."

A quick glance towards the tactical readout confirmed this. With most of its escort cruisers joining the two battlegroups currently pursuing the Sixth Fleet, the Imperial Admiral's supercarrier was slowly moving into Frendhal's atmosphere to cut off Felo's invasion force as it surged towards a populous continent in the northern hemisphere. Preliminary scans by Weatherby had suggested that the Imperium was keeping a sizeable military force there to protect its larger population centres, which explained why the Swords were so eager to take it. Even so, once the supercarrier joined the fray once more they would be at a tremendous disadvantage.

"Are you trying to lead them away from us?" Samson asked.

"No, we-" Felo began, only to be wracked by a sudden coughing fit that had him nearly doubled over. Regaining his composure, he continued. "We believe that Toru 'Makhan will not risk endangering his own people. Destroying my warships over one of this planet's largest cities will kill as many innocents as it would his enemies. Even the ships protecting the city are positioned around it instead of overhead."

"And you're counting on his unwillingness to harm civilians to protect you from the supercarrier?" He knew that Felo was unconventional by his people's standards, but he was essentially holding the city's population hostage. How very un-Sangheili of him.

As if sensing his thoughts, Felo bowed his head and sighed, his mandibles drooping. "Once, I would have never considered such an act. There are some within my fleet who feel similarly, but this is a battle we cannot afford to lose. I have played the part of a ruthless invader before, Vice Admiral, and will do so once more if it means attaining victory. Better for Frendhal's people to despise me than lose so many of my own troops, so far away from home."

Though surprised by Felo's sentimentality, Samson understood his logic. "Then we'll continue our fight in orbit for as long as we can, and will seek reinforcements if we can. I wish you the best of luck, Fleet Master."

"And you." Felo 'Ranak gently rapped a fist against his breastplate, then vanished.

With that, Samson turned his attention back towards the battle. During their conversation, the UNSC Trebia had been vaporised by cruiser fire and the UNSC Enkidu had taken a direct plasma torpedo salvo meant for the Caspian and was disintegrating as its remains drifted towards the nearby planet. Captain Ngirandi had done his best to organise what they had left, setting up three-ship wolfpack formations with their remaining destroyers to strike at the pursuing fleet with combined MAC fire. Unlike most former Covenant vessels that those within Sixth Fleet had been trained to fight, the Imperium's own fleet was mostly comprised of Obedience-class cruisers, whose sleek and narrow design was a departure from the usual brand of bulbous, easily targetable warships. The difference was not great, but even a second's difference in adjusting targeting calculations could spell death in a battle like this.

As he looked over the tactical readout, Samson could feel an icy ball of dread growing in the pit of his stomach. With their current loss rate they could probably escape with a little under half of their current fleet strength, though with New Syracuse apparently overtaken and their superluminal communications greatly reduced he was unsure of where they could go. Fleeing towards Earth itself was an option, albeit a costly one that would see him demoted or worse if the Imperium chose to follow them. Sighing, Samson snapped his fingers and Weatherby materialised before him over the holotable.

"Yes sir?" the AI asked, adjusting his holographic tie.

"Any news from Rear Admiral Hawkins?"

He shook his head. "None, sir. If my projections are correct, then our ships may be better-off pulling back towards his location nearby and-"

Weatherby stopped mid-sentence, raising a finger as if to silence himself. He blinked several times; an unnecessary action considering his state as an AI but a surprisingly human gesture.

"What's wrong?" Samson frowned.

"I hate to beat your communications officers to the punch, sir, but we've just received an encrypted, tight-beam transmission addressed directly to you."

"From the Imperium?"

"No, sir. It seems to be from one of your recently-acquired agents. Transferring the message to your personal datapad now."

Snatching the device up from the holotable, Samson thumbed in his identification number and scrolled towards his messages. In the aftermath of their battle on Montak he had made the decision to recruit agents from among the civilians who had been stranded on the mining colony, selecting a small crew to do some scouting work into what they believed was the Imperium's territory. It was mostly a shot in the dark based on Weatherby's calculations and what limited knowledge they had of the Covenant Empire's frontier, and he had half-expected the contractors to either run off with the money he had provided or get themselves killed immediately after entering the Imperium's territory. After all, a human ship arriving on one of their worlds mere days after the outbreak of war was likely to arouse suspicion, but the transmitter he had provided them with would have still mapped the way for ONI.

As it turned out, they had been more successful than he had ever imagined.

Ignoring the shouts of his crewmen as the Caspian took evasive action, taking down yet another enemy cruiser, Samson read and re-read the message several times. Most of it was informal; something to be expected when working with first-time contractors and fairly irrelevant, but the first line of the message told him everything he wanted:

I have made landfall on Iradu, the Imperium capital world, after following the provided coordinates.

Through sheer luck, Samson had dispatched his agents to the Imperium's capital. The Vice Admiral took a moment to compose himself, though he could not suppress a smile at their good fortune. For all their military might, the Imperium of Clarity still possessed a government and a homeworld that it likely sought to defend at all costs. Without a supply network and infrastructure to support their fleets, they would be reduced to just another faction of wandering brigands; a pest to be exterminated. Catching a quizzical look from Captain Ngirandi, he set the datapad down and folded his arms.

"We may have a way of winning this."

"Orders, sir?" asked Ngirandi, looking hopeful.

"Reform our battle lines once more in preparation for an immediate jump to slipspace."

"Now?!" the Captain spluttered. "We're still under fire, and without a proper direction and coordinates-"

"We have our coordinates. Weatherby, I take it that you've read the message?"

"Naturally," the AI nodded. "Shall I transmit the coordinates to the fleet?"

"At once. Send a communique to Rear Admiral Hawkins and Fleet Master 'Ranak, too. If they can fight their way out, we'll need all the reinforcements we can get."

Ngirandi looked from Samson to Weatherby, utterly bemused. "What's going on, sir? Where are we going?"

"To their capital. Now that we've got the coordinates, we're going to head over there, level any resistance and try to coerce them into a ceasefire."

Silence fell across the bridge for a moment, only to be replaced by cheers from the beleaguered crew. For a plan Samson had put together in about ten seconds, it seemed to have done wonders for morale. Weatherby disappeared, helping to transmit the coordinates they had been given across what remained of the Sixth Fleet. These new orders seemed to invigorate the fleet itself, prompting a renewed offensive against their pursuers. A sudden counter-attack led by the carriers Shiroyama and Gilded Cage had momentarily halted the Imperium's advance, with the former scoring a direct but sadly non-critical hit on one of the battlecruisers marked as an enemy flagship. This lull in the fighting as the Imperium's smaller ships moved to defend their leaders allowed for two of Samson's prowlers, shrouded by advanced cloaking devices, to begin dispersing a field of HORNET mines to cover their retreat.

"We're almost out of range," Ngirandi said at last, smiling as an over-eager Imperial cruiser collided with one of the nuclear mines, vanishing in a distant flash. "A few more minutes and we should have enough breathing room to make the jump."

Sat back in his command chair, Samson tapped his fingers impatiently on an armrest. He had not received a response from Felo 'Ranak or John Hawkins in the time since his transmission had been sent, which was somewhat worrying. Committing their entire fleet to the ground invasion of Frendhal, the Swords of Sanghelios were now embroiled in a bloody war across half a continent, and had lost several unlucky ships to the supercarrier's long-distance fire. However, Toru 'Makhan's flagship was being very conservative with its firepower, and seemed unwilling to attack populous zones just as Felo 'Ranak had predicted. Even so, they had no way of telling who would emerge victorious just yet. With no news from Hawkins' battlegroup either, Samson began to worry that his own depleted force was all that remained of the Sixth Fleet.

"Jump as soon as we're ready," Samson commanded, eager to escape this hellish battle before they came under fire again.

Too many human ships now lay in ruin over Frendhal, leaving the Caspian with few defenders. Thankfully their primary troop transport ships had survived the battle unscathed, as had a few of the Baal Defence Solutions flotilla that had taken heavy casualties attempting to cover the disastrous boarding attempt earlier in the battle. Now that he had a moment to reflect, Samson knew that he had made some terrible choices in his brief time as the fleet's commander and that he would pay for each and every unnecessary death sooner or later. Even if they emerged victorious in this war, he would likely end up penning his resignation letter instead of attending whatever ostentatious medal-giving ceremony the UNSC would give the survivors. As a nearby timer ticked down until the Caspian was ready to make a reasonably safe jump into Slipspace, Weatherby materialised by his chair.

"Vice Admiral." the AI folded his arms behind his back. "I have news from the medical bay."

He turned, expecting the worst. "Let's hear it."

"Acting Chief Medical Officer Chopra has reported that Admiral Zhi is well on her way to recovery, despite some close calls. It seems that she's also woken up unexpectedly early."

"Well I'll be," Samson muttered. "I knew she was tough. Has she been briefed on the situation?"

Weatherby tugged at his gloves, looking rather nervous. "Partly, sir, though that's the thing: she's already on her feet and heading to the bridge now."

Samson's relief at Zhi's speedy recovery quickly dissipated at the tone of Weatherby's voice, suddenly realising that Zhi's appraisal of his actions in leading the Sixth Fleet into battle would be less than kind. He rose from the command chair at once, smoothing down the front of his black tunic and glancing towards the door. Several bridge officers, including Captain Ngirandi, eyed him nervously. At last, the countdown timer on the room's central monitor reached zero, and the entire ship shuddered for a moment as it began the transition into slipspace, followed by the tattered remnants of the Sixth Fleet.

The remainder of the Imperium's fleet rushed to stop them, with several cruisers braving the orbital minefield as they loosed everything they had at the fleeing human vessels. Some found their mark, immobilising or destroying three more vessels before the last warships blinked out of existence. Left without an enemy, the fleets of Nor and Zetal 'Hudon claimed their victory, and turned their attention towards the battle raging across the planet's surface.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

118: Interlude: Investigation

1840 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Anchor 15, Montak System

Of all the positions to hold in the midst of an interstellar military campaign, that of babysitter to a horde of ungrateful, griping civilians was not one to garner a great deal of recognition.

From his position in the central office of Anchor Fifteen's secondary control tower, Commander Daniel Rettinger looked down on the newly-established refugee camp on the decks below with barely-concealed disgust. Following the Battle of Montak, its populace of a thousand or so workers had fled the colony world and into the Sixth Fleet's open arms, only to be informed that they were not being sent home as planned. With news of a crippling attack on the nearest colony world, New Syracuse, Admiral Zhi had ordered the mobile refit station to hold its position alongside a number of support vessels in case the Imperium of Clarity sought to retake the system, much to the workers' chagrin. While most were simply putting up with the situation, there were more than a few individuals stirring up trouble and demanding to be taken to a proper colony. That would have to be remedied soon.

"There's bound to be trouble," Rettinger announced, turning to his subordinate, Lieutenant Pall. "Ensure that security is prepared to make arrests should they act up again."

Pall, whose speciality was signals intelligence within the Prowler Corps, frowned. "Sir, they're already riled up enough as-is. If we start making arrests, the rest of the workers might act against us."

"And?" Rettinger raised an eyebrow. "We are at war, Lieutenant. Should the situation deteriorate further then I expect you and the rest of our troops to do what is necessary."

Hearing the finality in his superior's words, Pall simply saluted and exited the room, leaving the Commander alone. A tall, lean man in his early thirties, Rettinger had seen what panic and disorder could to to people during the darkest years of the Human-Covenant War, and was not one to issue harsh orders lightly. As head of the Prowler Corps detachment left behind in the Montak system to oversee cleanup operations on the ravaged colony world and seize enemy materiel from the orbital battlefield, he had a great deal of work to accomplish and not enough people to carry it out. The threat of an uprising by angry workers was just another problem alongside the very real possibility of the Imperium's return to the system that he had to contend with.

Turning to the holotable at the centre of the empty office, Rettinger resumed his analysis of the Liang-Dortmund mining complex, which had served as the Imperium of Clarity's base of operations during the brief but horribly destructive battle on the surface, which had claimed an astounding amount of lives in the span of less than a day. As most of the data would be left to dedicated AI and xenolinguists to decipher, Rettinger had chosen to embark on his own investigation into the mining colony's sudden capture. Though he had been briefed on the situation prior to the Sixth Fleet's departure from New Syracuse, his superiors were more concerned with defeating the Imperium of Clarity than uncovering exactly who was responsible for turning over a seemingly insignificant mining colony to their foes.

"Right then," Rettinger murmured, waving away file after file over the holographic interface. "Let's see who sold you out."

Before a joint UNSC-Swords fleet had been dispatched to investigate Montak's communications outage, the colony had been in enemy hands for several days. Had an alien fleet arrived in-system and not responded to any initial hails, those in charge of the complex would have had plenty of time to send a distress signal to New Syracuse or any nearby colony. Instead, it had fallen seemingly without a fight in less than a day, with only the sudden loss of communications to alert the UNSC. This meant that they had either been attacked faster than they could respond, which was unlikely, or that the mining colony's inhabitants had been betrayed from within.

While most bodies within the ruined mining complex were alien and had no identifying features aside from their armour, agents under Rettinger's command had recovered dozens of human corpses close to the main building. Most had been identified by their facial scanners as mercenaries serving the 'Guild of Free Traders', a presumably human-led faction that had assisted the Imperium in seizing the planet, there was one horribly burned corpse that did not fit their description. Found in the control room amidst a group of dead Sangheili, this subject might have been discarded were it not for the miraculous recovery of surveillance footage that had survived the battle.

Thumbing past the brief report supplied by one of his groundside agents, Rettinger opened the recently-received file detailing the Liang-Dortmund facility's final days. Most of the information was of little use, save for a single exterior camera's recording of the Imperium's arrival in one of the hangar bays on the day of the communications blackout. Rettinger fast-forwarded through several hours' worth of footage, finally coming to a halt as a crowd of people emerged, panicking at the sight of Phantom dropships descending on their workplace.

Why aren't they running? Rettinger frowned. It's as though they didn't expect to be attacked.

The footage continued, and dozens of alien soldiers emerged from gravity lifts at the base of their dropships to seize the landing pads. The crowd, seemingly paralysed with indecisiveness, made no move to attack or flee as a group of Sangheili led by a man in a dark suit arrived on the scene. One worker, marked by his scanner as the facility's chief overseer, attempted to converse with the intruders, though he was quickly brushed aside. After the Phantoms departed, several civilian transport ships touched down, offloading the Guild's mercenary forces as all workers were gathered up and accounted for. It was a fairly clean, businesslike operation; Rettinger doubted that ONI could have done much better were they the ones to seize the facility. As the workers were marched off to their dormitories for confinement, the Guild's leader took one man aside and pressed something into his hand as soon as his co-workers were out of sight.

"Gotcha."

Rettinger dialled back the footage, dividing it onto two separate screens as he attempted to get the best possible view of both the man leading the invasion and his insider. Thankfully, the former made no effort to hide his face and the latter was easy to find by virtue of a distinctive tattoo snaking around his neck. Nodding, he snapped his fingers.

"Lazare."

A ghostly hologram of a bearded man in tattered robes materialised to Rettinger's right. "Yes sir?"

"I want a detailed scan on both of these men," he gestured to the screens in front of him. "One of them is aboard this station now and must be found immediately."

"Understood," the AI bowed. "I will not be long."

Lazare disappeared in a flash of light, and Rettinger sighed, turning back to face the office window. A Smart AI might have had his answers immediately, but he was willing to put up with a few seconds' delay. After all, one culprit was already dead, and the other had no way of escaping this station. Rettinger counted twelve seconds before his assistant reappeared, now holding a stone tablet; a strange quirk of programming, but one he appreciated.

"Well?"

The screens beside Lazare changed, revealing two personal files.

"The deceased is one Edward Thaler, thirty-six. Officially he is listed as mid-level management for Nygren Industries, an interstellar construction firm, though there is no evidence to suggest that he has actually worked for them."

"Man's got a cover identity, then." Rettinger clicked his tongue. "And the other guy?"

"Pavel Kaminski, forty. He is listed as a qualified EM-240 drilling rig operator for the Liang-Dortmund Corporation, and has been employed by them for five years. He has several criminal convictions for aggravated assault and burglary, though he has kept himself clean since 2549."

"Except for selling out an entire planet to the Imperium. Do we have anything else on Thaler? Travel records and the like?"

Lazare vanished again. Rettinger knew that it was a long shot, but the only thing worse than overestimating the reach of ONI's interstellar surveillance systems was underestimating it. Sure enough, the AI rematerialised a few moments later, and a fresh image appeared over Thaler's file. It was dated as a little more than four weeks ago, and showed the businessman walking down a corridor alongside another man.

"Where is this?" Rettinger asked.

"Gilgamesh spaceport," Lazare replied in a dry voice. "According to the logs, Thaler then travelled to New Syracuse, then transferred to a registered merchant freighter for long-distance travel."

"Any idea where?"

"No, sir. Though we have records of the transaction made, the ship's ultimate destination is unknown."

Though it was gradually becoming less common as colony worlds were resettled, many freighter captains and small shipping firms also offered transport to customers wishing to visit frontier planets where many travel agencies did not venture. It was perfectly legal, so long as the ships were properly maintained and their captains licensed, but it also created a bothersome blind spot in ONI's surveillance system.

"If I had to guess," Rettinger folded his arms. "Thaler and his friend headed out to some backwater, then got transport into the Imperium's territory to strike up a deal."

"Quite possible, sir."

Unscrupulous merchants were hardly a new thing, but Rettinger couldn't help but wonder why the Guild of Free Traders had chosen to align itself with some little-known faction outside of human-settled space. Reports on the Imperium of Clarity before their invasion of Montak were very sparse, to his knowledge, and no company in its right mind would be so idiotic as to start a war over some remote mining colony.

Rettinger sighed. "Got anything on Thaler's buddy?"

"Yes sir."

To his surprise, a new set of files flashed up on the nearby screen immediately. He pointed towards Lazare, who began his rundown.

"This is Isaac Kenner, forty-eight. He runs Valkyrie Solutions, a company dedicated to salvage work that specialises in the recovery of slipspace drives, more commonly known as 'Fetching'. No known criminal infractions."

Leaning in, Rettinger looked over Kenner's file. A self-made businessman, he had earned a small fortune in the aftermath of the Human-Covenant War, though aside from his engagement in a risky and heavily monitored profession he had done nothing to raise any red flags for ONI. If anything, his record seemed too clean for his liking. As the elder of the two, it was more than likely that Kenner had masterminded whatever deal the Guild of Free Traders made with the Imperium of Clarity, leaving Thaler to run things on the ground while he conducted business elsewhere.

Either that, or he left Thaler as a scapegoat...

Realising that more speculation would be pointless, Rettinger straightened up.

"Lazare, send a message to Lieutenant Pall with orders to arrest Pavel Kaminski as quickly and quietly as possible. I'll also need to be notified as soon as long-range communications become available again so that I can file my report on Kenner. It's just a hunch, but I've a feeling that he may be our key to finding the rest of the Guild of Free Traders."

Lazare nodded, and departed without a word. Pulling up a chair, Commander Rettinger began to draft a report on his findings on Montak, praying that any action taken would see him promoted to something that did not involve rear-line duty. Though he did not know it yet, the Prowler Corps officer's actions that day would have further-reaching consequences than he could have ever imagined.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

119: The Impossible

Gunfire chortled through the streets marked by street-fields of blue-green grasses and formations of suburb-like dome houses that formed odd paths through the urban sprawl. Dirty, mound-like mountain skyscrapers rose from the alien city like giant termite towers.

There was no time for pause though as rapid thumps and green balls of magnetized plasma were splashing every convenient surface in the vicinity. Merlin trailed after the running forms of Andra and Shizuko as they continued sprinting for dear life. Smoldering pockets of smoke rose from the endless craters, a polka-dot formation of destruction that had leveled a once relatively prosperous city into ruin.

Turning to face the blasts of plasma fire, Merlin leveled a heavily-modified MA5B with a suppressor on the end in the direction of the squat, growling mob of Unggoy militia, or whatever was the equivalent of a militia here, that swarmed over each other to get after the retreating Spartans. So much for stealth. So much for a quick mission to deliver a nuclear weapon. So much for accidentally crushing a Unggoy youth's skull underfoot in a frantic attempt to get away from the flood-like mass of alien bodies giving chase.

Kneeling into cover as two blasts of green plasma zipped at subsonic speeds and detonated behind him, Merlin yanked hard down on his rifle's trigger and let the bullets slam into the mass of targets downrange. He didn't let go, he didn't give one second to consider his aim. He was struggling to keep the weapon's recoil under control as the clip emptied in a mere two seconds from an insane 1500 rounds per minute rate of fire.

Death, his gun spewed death. The grunts fell quickly but live ones just rolled over the bodies and kept on coming.

Merlin mouthed curses silently as he bolted from his position. Andra and Shizuko's MA5Bs roared from down the street, covering Merlin as he made his retreat. More Unggoy fell and more came to replace them.

There was a degree of appreciation that came with the modified MA5Bs, with their 60 round magazines and modified rates of fire that sounded like literal buzzsaws at work. It was the only comfort he had as he grabbed the suppressor unit from the weapon's barrel and twisted it off. The tube was brown and wet from liquifying under the heat of gunfire.

Andra shouted something over the radio but Merlin wasn't paying attention because one second he was smacking boot after boot against the rough ground - then he went flying. Spinning, spinning, he hit the ground headfirst into a ditch created by a previous plasma explosion.

"Merlin! Get up!" Shizuko shouted by radio as she rushed by to advance back into enemy fire to cover his interrupted retreat. The sixth one this hour too. He'd been thrown sky high so many times he wondered if a permanent concussion was in his future.

Shizuko had taken four hits so far. Andra, two. They were lucky the angry mob of Unggoy people weren't very good shots or they'd probably be smoldering carcasses already. The aliens were indiscriminate at this point, Merlin and his team had probably killed several hundred, maybe just short of a thousand through gunfire and stomping on them alone.

"I'm... Going!" Merlin crawled on his hands and knees until he had bearing again and sprinted at a pace more appropriate for a drunken cartoon character, landing in a heap behind a metal box on what was possibly the alien equivalent of a sidewalk. Looking to his right, he watched as a bubble of fire burst atop of Andra's rifle suppressor as it too caught fire in the slow methane-environment-sort-of-way.

Merlin dropped his spent magazine and didn't bother throwing it into a dump pouch-like he had down with the other ten magazines he already went through. It didn't matter anymore, they were in a mad dash to clear the city as best they can - any lost weight being left behind was only a benefit at this point.

Feeding another magazine, Merlin pointed the rifle down the street and canned another half-dozen Unggoy militiamen on the spot, burning through another magazine once again.

Shizuko zipped by as Andra threw aside her MA5B, marking it as entirely spent. She yanked the M739 squad automatic from its magnetic clamp on her back and started laying down suppressive fire, pausing to look at Merlin as if letting the boy know he needed to move yesterday.

He didn't say anything else, he just continued running. A quick check of his HUD told him his MA5B had three magazines left. A glance at the team's set waypoint put the city limits at another twelve kilometers away. Oh hell. What a joy to be alive in this mess.

"Twelve kilos! You sure we can make it?" Andra yelled as she caught up to Merlin, tackling him on accident as she just barely managed to dodge another plasma ball from cooking her right arm.

Merlin lasered his next magazine downrange from a contorted prone position while his best friend scrambled off of him, running towards Shizuko's position as her rifle continued to chug along.

"We're still within fireball range," Merlin responded, rolling onto his stomach when another green ball zipped overhead. He jumped up and went running, hoping for dear life that he wouldn't be hit. His energy shields would do jack against the enemies' weapons: Type-58 Fuel Rod Guns, or whatever they're called.

They had enough energy and heat to dissolve his energy shields and liquefy his innards. Just touching it would probably melt his armor into putty.

"You're sure about that?" Andra called back, her voice inconsistent over her machine gun's thunderous booms.

"No..." Merlin deadpanned; he was flying by the seat of his pants.

"Well, whatever it is. It's close enough that we're still at risk of certain death." Shizuko growled over the radio.

Finding an alleyway to his left, Merlin pinged his teammates to follow him as a sprinted westward, away from their waypoint. It was an unexplored detour but it would at least give them a little more protection against the plasma rain - rain the size of dodgeballs traveling at speeds just short of the average speed of sound on human colonies, that cooked at the temperature of a small star and was intended for bringing down enemy aircraft.

And somehow, these little methane-breathing munchkins had turned their blasters into an anti-Spartan weapon. Merlin feared them; oh how he very much feared them.

"I would like to say we should order our bird get us now but I know that's a stupid idea," Merlin yelled over the radio to Shizuko and Andra as they came around the bend into the alleyway with the Unggoy in hot pursuit. Merlin clambered over the top of a dome to lay down some covering fire that wouldn't take the heads off his friends.

"Well your intuition is right because that's a stupid idea," Shizuko responded, matching the boy's frustration.

"Just keep running, its twelve kilometers..." Andra called out, "We can make that in... An hour?"

"Not if we're zigzagging through street after street with no idea where we're going! This place is a damn maze." Merlin pointed out, sliding off the dome house just as another fuel rod round smacked the top of the dome, causing the entire structure to cave in. Merlin's slid turned into a freefall and he only had enough time to process that a gather of small Unggoy was cowering nearby, growling and chittering in their alien tongue at him. Maybe in anger, maybe in fear.

Andra rushed through the metallic and rocky dust to his side and pulled him up by his lazily outstretched hand. She was breathing hard. He was breathing hard. Shizuko was breathing hard. They couldn't keep this up forever.

To be bluntly honest, this was the first time Merlin had ever truly felt winded. Like he would honestly collapse and die on the spot, winded.

"Run!" Andra yelled pushing Merlin by the shoulder, guiding him through the obscuring dust as skittering noises marked the four-foot-dwarf-aliens on their tail once more.

Merlin lobbed a fragmentation grenade over his shoulder without looking, anything to keep the aliens busy. A small pop and the clattering of loose shrapnel was joined a second later by no changes among the mass of red dots on Merlin's motion tracker. He killed nothing.

"We won't make it!" Merlin managed to growl as he sucked in another dry, painful breath. He was feeling his enhanced lungs now as if they were going to stretch and pop like two balloons. He couldn't keep this up.

"12.5 kilometers!" Shizuko called out, they were getting further from their goal.

"Just detonate the bomb! Screw this!" Merlin yelled, finally having enough. He stumbled as his legs gave out from underneath him. His vision was crystal clear but his momentum and bodily coordination were finally reaching their end. Even Spartans had their limits, maybe he finally found his. Sprinting ten kilometers, nonstop, at the speed of a sports car would probably do that to him.

"No!" Andra shouted next to him, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him up by his waistline. She attempted to lift him by throwing his left arm over her shoulders but she promptly fell to her knees as she too reached her relative limit.

Shizuko stumbled through smoke and dust, collapsing next to her two teammates as she returned to their side. Her ragged breaths were showing even a fully-fledged SPARTAN-III Headhunter was out of her depth here.

Merlin glanced at his motion tracker again. There was a sea of red contorting and spinning to the east of his motion tracker at its highest setting. 150 meters between them and the Unggoy mob and then it would be all over, they would be dead.

"We...have...to... Keep going." Shizuko warned between deep breaths. Andra didn't respond, her speaker only picking up the sounds of her sucking up water from her water bladder's straw.

"Just, screw it. Detonate the bomb." Merlin managed, leaning his head against Andra as the trio squeezed together in terror and discomfort, high on adrenaline and all matters of dents, bruises, and scratches.

They were never prepared for this mission. That Rear Admiral Hawkins back up in orbit? He asked of them the impossible. Merlin saw that now, he didn't before.

The Unggoy had shot down their first Owl stealth insertion craft when they tried to remotely guide it to ground and pick them up. The reserve bird was far out of reach, hovering at a low enough altitude and between a couple of mountains that no search radar would detect it. At least, that's what Merlin hoped.

"Yeah... Do it." Merlin confirmed to Shizuko, trying his best to sound convincing. He was much less carrying if the HAVOK tactical nuke that they left in the Unggoy equivalent of a marketplace would kill them. He was too high on adrenaline and pain to notice. He was just worried about that sea of red trailing closer and closer towards them.

In morbid fascination, he could see the pathways of the alley as the Unggoy mob paused along the streetside and narrowed their advance to accommodate their forces in the tighter battlespace.

Shizuko's unicorn-like helmet turned to Andra for some kind of confirmation. Without another word, Andra just shrugged and nodded through the sounds of her ragged breathing. Leaning into Merlin, she reached out to Shizuko and pulled the Japanese girl close to herself and Merlin. The three huddled together as Shizuko made the final preparations for detonation.

Sharing her visor screen with her teammates, Shizuko's execution window sprang to life on Merlin's visor with the detonation phrase call. Shizuko read it aloud as Merlin read it in his head, "Deny Promise."

There was a bright flash of light that Merlin barely registered coming from some direction, his right? Was that East? He turned his helmet in the other direction, trying his best to look away from the nuclear flash. He pulled his two teammates close to him, wrapping their shoulders into a crushing bear hug as they held on for dear life, uncertain of what was to come now.

The flash grew more intense by the split second. Then there was a pitched silence, a total deaf period fell over the area. Merlin couldn't hear his breathing. He couldn't hear the radio. He couldn't hear the angry screeching of the Unggoy pursuers.

The nuclear pressure wave swamped them; Merlin felt the jolt and then his world was consumed by a buzzing and static as his suit's energy shields completely collapsed and the electromagnetic pulse buffed his electronics systems, leaving them fairly useless at that moment. He squinted his eyes shut and hoped that things would be okay.

He dared to hope.

Distant Tide: Hunter - Killer

120: Turning Tide

1858 Hours, August 31st, 2558 UNSC Maya, Bineb System

"Detonation confirmed, Admiral."

The bridge of the Maya fell silent as their forward monitors registered the detonation on Bineb II's surface. In an instant, one of the planet's largest population centres had been all but vaporised by the HAVOK tactical nuke, where an estimated four million battle-capable Unggoy had been preparing to attack the UNSC battlegroup as it passed through the planet's orbit.

Or at least, that's what Rear Admiral Hawkins had informed his crew.

Standing at his station beside the main holotable, Hawkins' face betrayed no emotion as he turned to face the ship's AI, Chance. "Any word from Fireteam Boson?"

"Negative," the AI's form shifted to its 'tragic' mask. "Contact was sparse even after they landed, and with interference from the blast and enemy jamming, it will be some time before we'll know if they survived."

"Ping their COM at regular intervals, then. If anyone could have survived that, it'd be a Spartan."

Chance vanished, and Hawkins resumed his job of coordinating their battlegroup. In the two hours since they first exchanged fire against the Imperium's forces they had gained a lot of ground, using the lack of anti-ship defences on Bineb II to advance unopposed towards the nearby moon. Plasma fire from enemy ships had taken down three of their vessels en-route, though coordinated MAC volleys from the Maya and their heavier ships had ripped apart several enemy battlecruisers of heavier tonnage, forcing the rest to take cover behind the moon. However, a surprise attack from the rear by a pair of enemy warships had cost them the Market Garden and Springfield, two important supply ships responsible for supplying half of the Sixth Fleet with ammunition. Before their rearguard even had a chance to return fire, they had also lost the UNSC Lancaster, a heavy frigate.

It's our own fault, Hawkins thought, transmitting an order for a few ships on their right flank to spread out. We got so caught up in hitting the Imperium hard and fast that we didn't expect any of their allies to jump us.

Not wanting to risk losing any momentum as their battlegroup surged towards Bineb II's moon, Hawkins had only ordered a few frigates to engage their attackers while the bulk of their forces sped up, intending to overwhelm the Imperium's defences before they were bogged down in a costly war of attrition. All too aware of how a dug-in force could inflict major casualties with relatively little loss, Hawkins had sent Fireteam Boson ahead on a mission designed not to deny the enemy potential military assets, but to inflict shock and terror on those defending that colony. It was a brutal, morally questionable tactic, but his experience in the Human-Covenant War had taught him that anything was permissible if it ensured the survival of the fleet.

"I think we're close enough," he said at last, stepping forward to address his bridge crew. "Prepare a broadcast on all frequencies. I want to speak to the enemy."

Though clearly confused, his communications officers worked quickly, connecting Hawkins' COM station to every available frequency in-system. With the press of a button, he could speak to every single living being in this system, which is exactly what he intended to do. Ignoring a quizzical look from Captain Aguirre, Hawkins cleared his throat, and began his broadcast.

"People of the Imperium, this is Rear Admiral John Hawkins of the United Nations Space Command Navy. As I'm sure you're aware, my forces just detonated a thirty megaton nuclear bomb down on your planet, turning that city of yours to ash. Frankly I'm inclined to believe that what I've just done is nothing compared to what your kind did to us in the war, but right now, I'm offering you mercy. If your forces cease combat and stand down immediately, you will be allowed to retreat or surrender without further bloodshed. Refuse, and my ships will treat each and every city on the planet as a military target and raze it from orbit, leaving you with nothing to defend but that fortress of yours. I will give you a brief amount of time to consider, so choose well."

Hawkins' message was repeated several times, translated by Chance into several known Sangheili and Unggoy dialects. Battlegroup Maya slowed its advance, now sitting just outside the effective range of the moon base's main defensive guns, still trading fire with their longer-ranged warships. As uncertainty fell over the bridge, Aguirre rushed to the Rear Admiral's side.

"You can't do this," she whispered, half-angry and half-terrified. "Razing an entire colony, sir, we-"

"We won't," Hawkins said softly. "Not unless we're totally out of options."

"So you're bluffing?"

"I hope that's all we'll have to do, Captain."

"And the city we've already bombed?"

"A military target."

Aguirre clearly did not believe him, but she refused to question her superior any further. Hawkins had no doubt that she would likely demand an inquiry into his actions here once this was all over, insisting that a war crime had been committed. She would be justified in doing so, but Hawkins couldn't help but wonder if her inevitable complaints about his conduct would lead anywhere. The Human-Covenant War had seen the usage of horrifying weapons that had long since been banned for use against human beings, but none complained. Of course, back then it had been for the continued survival of their species, not for intimidation purposes. Cruel though it was, Hawkins couldn't bring himself to care much about the millions of alien lives he had just extinguished on the surface. If anything, it was the prospect that he had just sent three Spartans - no, three children - to their deaths in order to win this battle.

If he were to admit any wrongdoing this day, it would be for that.

"Sir." Chance's smooth voice interrupted his thoughts. "We've received a tight-beam communique from Vice Admiral Samson. Shall I transfer it to your personal pad?"

"Please do."

That wasn't the message Hawkins had been expecting, but news from the rest of the fleet was welcome. Thumbing his activation print onto the device, he checked his new documents. The message from his old friend was brief:

The Sixth Fleet is proceeding towards the Imperium's home system while the Swords of Sanghelios handle things on Frendhal. Will need backup, system coordinates attached.

Below was a lengthy alphanumeric code that Hawkins recognised as a star chart reference. If Samson was willing to abandon their fight to take Frendhal mid-battle, then it likely meant that things were going much better than expected or extraordinarily poorly. Leavng Felo 'Ranak's forces remain suggested the latter. Plugging his datapad into a nearby terminal, he glanced towards the smiling mask of Chance.

"Pinpoint this system and pre-plot a slipspace course, Chance."

"Leaving already?" the AI asked.

"No," Hawkins folded his arm, looking out towards the distant moon. "We'll finish things up here first."

"As you wish, sir."

Nearly ten minutes ticked by with no response from the Imperium's forces, save for the pair of warships still duelling with their battlegroup's rearguard. Hawkins busied himself by reading a fresh report of the Maya's ammunition situation, and was relieved to hear that the carrier had barely made a dent in its stocks. Even if they seized the Imperium's capital, it was possible that they would then have to hunt down the rest of the enemy fleet, including the supercarrier leading it, which could potentially take weeks even with reinforcements. Those around him kept taking furtive glances towards Hawkins, worried as to whether or not his ultimatum has failed. Just as he began preparing himself to give the orders that would irrevocably ruin his career or worse, a communications officer called up from below.

"Incoming transmission from the enemy fortress!"

"Put it through."

To Hawkins' surprise, the response they received was not from a Sangheili commander, but from a gruff yet higher-pitched Unggoy that addressed them in fluent English.

"Take our planet, human. Take our fortress. The Sangheili will try to stop you, but my people will go in peace. Leave us be."

With that simple message, the transmission cut out. Moments later, an alert klaxon blared and the tactical screen filled with yellow blips across Bineb II's surface.

"I'm detecting numerous launches," Chance said calmly.

"Military craft?" Hawkins asked, suddenly fearful.

"No sir. Judging by their trajectories and point of origin, they appear to be civilian ships fleeing the planet."

Sure enough, markers popped up above the hologram of Bineb II showing predicted routes for each vessel. It only took a glance for Hawkins to tell that they weren't military vessels; most looked like the old Covenant equivalent to cargo transporters or cruise liners, albeit covered in barnacle-like attachments and modifications. Somehow, the Unggoy leader had prepared the colony world's entire population beforehand and had launched a full-scale evacuation in a staggeringly small amount of time. Had they not vaporised it, the largest city would have likely sent its own ship into orbit to join the others.

"This is crazy," said Aguirre, having joined Hawkins at the holotable. "They had the whole planet ready to go."

"Either that, or we've forced them to leave with whoever they had."

Realising that Fireteam Boson had travelled into the midst of a city preparing to evacuate, Hawkins couldn't help but feel a slight pang of guilt. Had they warned the Imperium from the start, then perhaps all this could have been avoided. Turning his attention back towards the moon base, Hawkins blinked in surprise as plasma fire twinkled in the distance between the fortress itself and the cluster of warships nearby. Aguirre shook her head in disbelief.

"Now they're fighting each other!"

"He did say that the Sangheili would try and stop us," said Chance. "Shall we advance, Admiral?"

Hawkins nodded. "Have the battlegroup begin its assault. Launch fighters and prepare our groundside troops for invasion. Remember: we want to capture this place, not destroy it."

His orders were quickly transmitted throughout their battlegroup, which resumed its advance towards the Imperium's fortress. Though a few minor plasma cannons opened fire on the advancing UNSC forces, most of its guns had fallen silent. Tiny shuttlecraft poured from its underground hangars, only to vanish in bursts of light and energy as pulse laser turrets from the orbiting battlecruisers picked them off. Nearby, a single CPV-class destroyer opened fire with everything it had on the Sangheili ships, attempting to cover the evacuation as its former comrades turned against it.

Using the sudden civil war to their advantage, the UNSC prepared its own forces: fighters rocketed ahead of the fleet, ready to meet the swarm of Banshees emerging from the enemy fleet while heavy-duty deployment craft detached themselves from launch bays. An entire battalion of EVA-ready shock troopers prepared to descend on the Imperium's fortress, backed up by the remaining Spartans still aboard the Maya. More hails and a rescue ship were dispatched to the nearby colony world amidst the chaos, though nothing had been heard from Fireteam Boson since the blast.

With the stalemate violently broken, the battle for the Bineb system soon entered its final stages.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

121: Schism

1901 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Fortress of Watchful Peace, Irn, Bineb System

Usually, the command room of the Fortress of Watchful Peace was awash with noise. Unggoy officers barked orders to distant weapons stations while messengers scampered past control stations and shipmasters yelled over each other across open battlenet channels. It was a kind of chaos that would be unacceptable in any organised military, but the Unggoy made it work. If anything, it invigorated those present, pressing them to work harder to win the day. Shipmaster Hedan Koti encouraged such an environment, knowing that even above the din his voice would be heard.

Now though, the room was silent. Dozens of pairs of eyes were now focused entirely on two shimmering holograms that dominated the central table.

The first was of Imperial Admiral Toru 'Makhan, a tremendously imposing figure of near-worship to some, who not so long ago had plucked their ramshackle flotilla from the ignominy of homelessness and given them a proper place in his fledgling nation. The other was of the planet their fortified moon currently orbited, and a scrolling tactical readout above what had once been a colony world's largest city. Now, it was naught but vaporised ash and rubble.

"I am truly sorry to hear of your loss," Toru 'Makhan's voice echoed around the chamber. "I will not allow the enemy's actions to go unpunished."

Beside Toru, a second Sangheili materialised. Kan 'Larom saluted Hedan, who responded in kind before greeting him.

"Fleet Master, thank you for joining us."

"Of course," Kan nodded before turning towards Toru. "Forgive my impertinence, Imperial Admiral, but we should make haste with this meeting. The humans have issued an ultimatum and have momentarily ceased fire, but they will resume their attack soon."

Toru folded his arms. "Of course, you must make preparations. I take it that you will not accept the human offer to surrender?"

Kan chuckled at his superior's jocular suggestion, but Hedan didn't move. Showing none of his usual enthusiasm, the Unggoy leader sighed, before noisily sucking in some methane through his mask. After a few seconds, Toru realised that something was wrong.

"Imperial Admiral," Hedan slowly clambered out of his command throne, suppressing a grunt of exertion on his ageing limbs. "I will always be grateful to the safe harbour you provided for my people. I will always be grateful that a new generation could be born on peaceful worlds, and be guaranteed a good life within your Imperium. That does not mean that I have forgotten the countless cycles both I and my people spent wandering alone through the dark, surviving in a galaxy with nothing but contempt for us. That is why it is time for me to leave."

"Leave?!"

For the first time since Hedan had met him, Toru 'Makhan was utterly stupefied. Gone was the calm, driven leader who had built a backwater into an empire. In his place, if only for a moment, was every Sangheili Hedan had served under in his early career. His eyes glinted with disgust caused not by this sudden betrayal, but by the fact that a creature he deemed inferior was defying him. The mask had cracked, and Hedan only felt sorrow that deep down, Toru 'Makhan was not so different from the rest of his prideful kind.

"We have had our colony ships preparing since the battle for Montak," Hedan said calmly, meeting the towering hologram's gaze head-on, "and will leave in peace. We will not betray your secrets, nor will we place ourselves at the human's mercy. I wish you luck with the rest of your war."

Toru looked away from Hedan, and addressed the four warriors in silver and white behind Hedan's throne: "Kill him."

Major Kur 'Cheis, leader of the Imperial Guards sent to protect Hedan, was first into action. A blocky weapon of Forerunner design unfolded in his hands as he leapt forward, firing a blast that blew the top of the command throne to smithereens. Shrill cries went up from numerous Unggoy officers and technicians, who dived for cover or covertly drew their own sidearms as the guardsman levelled his weapon once more.

He did not fire a second shot.

The space behind the throne erupted in a cacophony of emerald-green explosions, blasting deckplate apart and blowing two of the guardsmen to pieces. Six Unggoy soldiers in black armour stood in the command room's central dooway, each hefting a weighty fuel rod gun. Distracted from his primary target, Kur span round to open fire on the newcomers. A moment later, a beam of light erupted through his chest, burning away armour and liquefying flesh and internal organs instantly. He fell forward wordlessly, hitting the floor face-first.

The last guardsman, who had dived away as the first projectiles were launched towards his comrades, attempted to make a mad dash towards Hedan Koti, who had emerged from behind his throne wielding his own Forerunner weapon; a gift from 'Makhan himself. Having discarded his rifle, the guardsman pelted towards Hedan, avoiding a second burst from the deadly laser by inches as a pair of daggers materialised over his gauntlets. As he closed in on his quarry, bolts of energy streaked in from all directions, striking the Sangheili again and again. His shields dissipated, his armour began to melt, and as shot after shot found his body, he finally collapsed and died at Hedan's feet.

Shipmaster Hedan Koti, former member of Imperial High Command, turned towards Toru 'Makhan's holographic form.

"As I said, it is time for me to leave."

With a nod to a nearby technician, Toru 'Makhan's connection was cut off mid-yell. Now only the slowly rotating form of Bineb II and a stunned Fleet Master Kan 'Larom remained above the central holotable.

"Hedan," Kan held his head with one hand. "What have you done?"

"The best thing for my people."

"You know that this cannot go unpunished. Toru 'Makhan will have you hunted down."

"By you?"

Kan lowered his head. "Who else?"

Of all the commanders Hedan had met after his people's exodus to the Imperium of Clarity, he had liked Kan the most. The Sangheili was surprisingly humble, and had never treated him as anything less than an equal. Unlike Toru, his friendship did not come at the cost of supplication.

"Do what you must," Hedan said sadly, and cut the connection.

Only Bineb II stood before him now, the fresh scar of the nuclear strike still smoking on its surface. Across the rest of the planet, ships hailing from the days of the Covenant or built there in secret were now filled with passengers, waiting for the signal to leave. In the war's aftermath, Hedan had been trusted to lead tens of thousands away from the dying Covenant, and from the brutality that still enveloped much of the settled galaxy. Forsaking even their homeworld, these Unggoy had found only momentary peace within the Imperium, and at his word would abandon their lives once more to take to the stars as nomads.

"Prepare to record a message to the humans," Hedan barked to his nearest communications technician. "Once that is done, send the signal for our ships to depart."

"Uncle!" called their young chief of security, Girip. "What about the Sangheili ships? They won't let us leave!"

"They will," Hedan said reassuringly. "After all, the humans will keep them busy. What of the station?"

Girip, who had led the group of Hedan's personal bodyguards against 'Makhan's planted guardsmen, checked his personal pad. Word of Hedan's intention to break away from the Imperium had spread through the station like wildfire, and dozens were already deserting their posts to flee towards the hangars.

"There is fighting," Girip shook his head. "On multiple levels. The Sangheili are trying to retake the defences, and not everyone is following you."

"As expected," Hedan shook his head, feeling a strange mixture of pride and disappointment. Though he felt nothing but gratitude towards those who chose to follow him, he had no desire to lead the blind, and could understand why many Unggoy would side with the Imperium in this matter. For some, this doomed empire truly was home, and they would defend it to their dying breath.

"Transmitter ready!" a technician called up from below.

Hedan cleared his throat as he stepped up to a nearby station, quickly recalling what he knew of the most common human language, 'English'. Though he had learned the dialect years ago during a brief stint helping to monitor enemy transmissions, he was not particularly fluent and wished to make his broadcast as clear and concise as possible. Taking a deep breath, he opened up a communications channel on every frequency the incoming human fleet would likely be using, and spoke.

"Take our planet, human. Take our fortress. The Sangheili will try to stop you, but my people will go in peace. Leave us be."

Seeing nods of approval from around him as he immediately ended the transmission, Hedan assumed that he had said everything right. Whether or not the humans chose to listen and ignored their fleeing transports was another matter entirely, however. Whether they were as honour-bound as an elderly Sangheili or deceitful as the worst Kig-Yar pirate seemed to vary by the cycle, and he would not stay to find out how they felt right now.

"We're leaving!" Hedan announced at last, though he paused before turning away from his command station. "Oh, and release our prisoners!"

This caused a low murmur of discussion among Hedan's subordinates, though none dared defy him at this point. They were far past the point of questioning orders, and debate would only slow their flight. The Shipmaster saw his order was carried out personally, ensuring that the strange Kaidon Abzu 'Samakr and his warriors would have a fighting chance once Kan 'Larom's forces inevitably stormed the base. With some of his command staff fleeing, Hedan joined them, moving as quickly as his old joints allowed towards his personal craft.

"News from the Blue Death," Girip piped up en-route. "They say that they will cover our escape."

Feeling a twinge of regret, Hedan could only sigh. Though his flagship had been refitted and armed with weaponry far above its lowly role, there was no way a single destroyer could compete against half a dozen of Kan 'Larom's cruisers in open combat. As their group stampeded through the halls, passing an observation blister, Hedan looked up to see plasma fire already being traded above Irn between ships.

"They will be remembered," he said at last, panting slightly. "The evacuation?"

Girip slowed for a moment to check his datapad. "Everyone who wanted to leave is in orbit and gathering around our meeting point."

"What?" Hedan croaked. "They should have left by now!"

"They're waiting for you, uncle."

When the colonies of Bineb II and Bineb III were established by Hedan's flotilla and the Imperium of Clarity several annual cycles prior, the wary shipmaster had set a number of contingencies in place. The first of those involved ensuring that each settlement possessed enough vessels to transport its population offworld in case of an attack that threatened the planet itself. The second contingency was the establishment of a rally point for this potential exodus, set up in a remote system known only to Hedan and a few dozen trusted individuals. Were they to flee the Imperium of Clarity, the Unggoy colonists could regroup and set out from that point to establish a new enclave on a safer world.

Of course, Toru 'Makhan knew nothing of these plans, for he had never dealt with the constant fear that many Unggoy lived with; an instinct brought about by hundreds of years of chattel slavery. The settlers within his Imperium had quickly become productive workers, multiplying by the thousands and helping to build his empire. But they never forgot.

"They need to leave," Hedan grumbled as they rounded another corner, hearing the familiar whine of plasma fire in the distance.

In addition to the numerous starfighters and gunships meant to defend the station, the Fortress of Watchful Peace held hundreds of smaller shuttlecraft, normally used to transport technicians and non-essential personnel to the nearby colonies or to other outposts on the moon. Nearly half were already gone by the time Hedan Koti and his staff entered the crowded underground hangar, which was filled near to capacity with Unggoy who had chosen to abandon the Imperium alongside their leader. A cheer went up as he descended the steps into the main area, and the throng parted to allow him past.

"Shipmaster, over here!" an armed technician waved to Hedan's group. "Your shuttle is ready."

Hedan had no personal shuttle, but not a single person present questioned why one craft had been set aside from all the others, which were being packed to bursting with escapees. Shouldering his way through the crowd as the cheering continued, Hedan thought better of making a speech in these circumstances, and climbed aboard through the rear hatch. The craft had been activated ahead of time, and thrummed with power as Hedan stood aside to allow for as many of his officers and bodyguards to join him on the tiny ship as possible. They fit fifteen others into the troop bay before it was declared full, and the hatch slid shut behind them.

"Lifting off," the pilot's surprisingly chipper voice crackled over the intercom. "Don't worry Shipmaster, I'll get you to safety."

The shuttle rose slowly, entering a wide tunnel above the hangar before rotating to face the exit shaft. Hedan and Girip stood by the rear hatch, peering through the narrow porthole as they continued to ascend. With a sudden jolt, the shuttlecraft picked up speed and shot forward, passing through the hangar's energy field and out into space. The rocky, airless surface of Irn was a blur beneath them as the ship moved away from the fortress with frightening speed, evading some errant plasma fire as it made its escape away from the moon.

"Are we close enough to contact the flotilla?" Hedan asked, clinging to the side of the hatch as the shuttle rocked violently.

Girip nodded, and passed his datapad to Hedan. Before he could activate its communicator, a flash from behind them caught his attention. Peering through the porthole, Hedan felt a dull pang in his stomach as the Blue Death's bulbous frontal section was torn asunder by several converging plasma beams. Explosions blossomed across its hull as the ship was gutted by plasma torpedoes, showering debris onto the moon below. Moments later, the destroyer's plasma reactor exploded, consuming Hedan's flagship in a brilliant flare. The others crowded into the craft began to panic amongst themselves at the sight of it, forcing Girip to bang on the hull to quieten them.

Blue Death. Hedan had thought himself rather clever, naming the most powerful ship in his rather meagre fleet after one of the biggest killers on his homeworld of Balaho. Looking back at the burnt-out remains, he realised that it was not only in poor taste, but a misnomer. If anything, he should have called it 'Hierarch', or 'Prophet'. They had been the real killers. It was an odd time to have such a thought, and he quickly put it aside as he turned his attention back to the pad in his hands.

"All ships," he greeted the growing flotilla on the far side of Bineb III. "This is Shipmaster Hedan Koti. I know you wish to wait for my instruction, but you don't need an elder's advice to survive this. Right now, I order you all to leave and head for our meeting point. Your own Shipmasters will know the way."

With that, Hedan stopped, and waited. Sure enough, the distant colony ships began to move, heading away from their former home and towards a safe zone where they could freely make the jump to Slipspace. Girip sat down beside Hedan, checking the methane levels in his tank. The older Unggoy did the same, and was relieved to find that he could breathe freely for a few more hourly cycles. As he sat back, closing his eyes for a moment to rest, the entire ship lurched to one side, sending several of its passengers sprawling to the ground.

"We're under fire!" the pilot yelled. "Battlecruiser behind us!"

Getting back to his feet, Hedan looked through the rear porthole yet again to see the familiar sight of Advance Guard, Kan 'Larom's flagship, bearing down on them. Even at a distance, the battlecruiser's smallest plasma turrets were enough to start picking off the swarm of shuttles fleeing Irn while its larger brethren prepared to open fire on the Unggoy flotilla. Swiping to check the status of the colony ships on his pad, Hedan saw that several of the larger ships were already making the jump to slipspace, though some remained behind to allow the smaller shuttles to piggyback off their own jumps. Pressing the pad back into Girip's hands, Hedan could only watch the Advance Guard's pursuit.

"How many have escaped?" he asked, witnessing the first set of plasma torpedoes streak through the void overhead.

Girip winced, seeing several vessels wink out of existence onscreen. "Almost all, uncle. Almost all."

Hedan sighed, contented. "Then we have done as well as we could."

The Advance Guard fired its main cannons yet again. From his position aboard the shuttlecraft, only Hedan Koti saw what was coming, and watched a single speck of light grow larger and larger through the porthole. He closed his eyes, spread his arms, and let the all-encompassing heat watch over him. It was over in an instant.

For that, at least, he could be thankful.

***

On the bridge of the Advance Guard, Kan 'Larom received the confirmation of Hedan Koti's death with a single nod. Had the old Unggoy simply kept quiet and not transmitted anything, then it was likely that his personal shuttlecraft might have made it out of the system. Unfortunately, Hedan's last attempt to comfort his fleeing kin had allowed the Sangheili to pinpoint his ship and destroy it.

"Send word to the Imperial Admiral of Koti's demise," Kan said to his communications officer. "Though most of his colony vessels escaped."

Kan's Mgalekgolo bodyguard, Mono Puru Kadun, rumbled in amusement as a line of text scrawled across his translator: "A fight for another day."

Shortly after Hedan had announced his betrayal to Toru 'Makhan, the Imperial Admiral had contacted Kan directly. Consumed by a fury he had never seen before, he ordered the Fleet Master to immediately kill Hedan and all those who followed him, which included the fleeing populace of Bineb II and Bineb III. Wary of the quartet of Imperial Guardsmen standing to attention on his bridge, Kan had calmly arranged for most of his fleet to open fire on the incoming human fleet while the remainder took down the Blue Death, which stood as Hedan's only offensive option aside from the mostly-abandoned fortress defence network on the moon below. The Destroyer had put up a surprising fight, eliminating one of his light cruisers and nearly disabling another before their combined fire put it down. Now able to divert more attention back to the humans, Kan had - as ordered by Toru 'Makhan - hunted his old friend down.

Hedan, you damned fool. His mandibles quivered. I hope your end was a quick one.

Kan was thankful that none of the guardsmen stationed here to enforce 'Makhan's will were particularly well-versed in fleet command or ship-to-ship combat. As he was certain that they would turn on him if he defied orders or took a lax approach to following a direct command, Kan had very loudly ordered several fairly unnecessary course corrections to stave off having to fire on the unarmed and fleeing civilian flotilla as long as possible. All it would have taken to undo this deception is a single vocal officer, but none betrayed the Fleet Master. As such, most of the Unggoy civilians had fled to safety and Kan remained in the Imperial Admiral's good graces, giving him time to try and fend off the incoming human fleet.

"Assault wave incoming!" called a nearby officer. "Their formation is widely spread."

And we're outnumbered. "Concentrate our firepower on the closest enemy ships, and widen our own formation. If we remain too closely bound then they will use that to their advantage."

Incensed by the violent schism over Irn, the human forces were launching a two-pronged assault to take the fortress and destroy what remained of Kan's fleet. Already bloodied after their battle on Montak and left with little time to repair or refit, the cruisers under his command pooled their firepower where necessary, eliminating three human ships with their plasma torpedoes before the first fusillade of MAC rounds answered them. One ship only took a glancing blow, though the other was gutted from prow to stern by a well-placed shot, detonating its reactor in a blaze of energy.

"This is an uneven fight," muttered Shipmaster Henu, Kan's second in command.

"I agree. Perhaps we should withdraw in pairs and lead them around the far side of-"

A sudden impact cut Kan off as the deck beneath his feet buckled slightly, making him lose his footing. They had been hit. Shouts went up from the command stations below as a damage assessment was made. The Fleet Master straightened up, though he was not encouraged by the way the ship had begun to list to one side. Mono Puru Kadun remained unmoved, though he rumbled something untranslatable in annoyance.

"Critical damage!" one officer cried out. "Two hangar bays have been destroyed, and our engines are starting to fail."

"Primary plasma cannons offline!" called another.

Taking the news with his usual stoicism, Kan simply gestured towards the nearest door. "We're abandoning ship."

"Are you sure, Fleet Master?" Henu said, sounding concerned.

"We can do no more here while outmatched and outgunned, while the Fortress of Watchful Peace could provide us with the defences we need once we replace those who chose to abandon it."

"They wish to take it by force," rumbled Mono, shifting his weight slightly. "We can provoke them into a more costly battle."

"Get the message out," Kan commanded. "Have our crew flee to the fortress on Irn. There we will take up the arms Hedan Koti left behind, and force our enemy into a siege that will bleed them dry!"

With their spirits raised, the bridge crew of the Advance Guard quickly went about their duties, powering down non-essential systems aboard their doomed warship as its crew fled into escape pods and troop transports. Bereft of the same teleportation technology they used on Montak, the Mgalekgolo aboard packed themselves into landing craft alongside the crew, who quickly descended upon fortress. Among the last to leave was Kan 'Larom himself, who could not help but feel that he was paying for his actions against someone he had once considered a friend.

With a command made to save the personnel aboard his rapidly disintegrating fleet by transferring their resources onto the fortified moon, the Fleet Master made his final play in the Battle of Bineb.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

122

1903 Hours, August 31st, 2558 CCS-class Battlecruiser Soul Ascension, Bineb System

“Stray, we have a problem.” Ro’nin’s voice was uncharacteristically tense. The large Sangheilli leaned over the communications console, ignoring its Kig-Yar attendant’s angry squawks as he shoved her aside.

The Soul Ascension rumbled as another MAC impact glanced off her shields. The UNSC fleet had mustered a response faster than Stray anticipated, though so far that response had taken the form of just a few frigates. As long as the Ascension and Purveyor of the Righteous held formation, their coordinated plasma salvos were more than enough to fend off the smaller ships.

“What, do we have something bigger on scopes?” Stray paced in front of the tactical display, eyes flashing between the information on the screen and the data filtering across his helmet’s HUD. The raid was a success: the targeted supply ships floated in pieces, transformed into a miniature graveyard by tight-beam blasts from the Covenant ships. The UNSC frigates had yet to even penetrate either cruisers’ shields and the reinforcements would be joining the floating debris field just as soon as the Covenant gunners landed solid hits.

A complete success. It was almost too easy. Stray ought to have been relieved. Instead he was irritated. The lackluster enemy response was almost disappointing. This was supposed to have been a decisive blow, something to cripple the UNSC fleet and repeat the success the Kru’desh had won on Montak. Instead it felt like a sideshow, a minor skirmish that only barely merited the enemy’s attention.

The Stray from a year ago would have thrilled at the prospect of making trouble and slinking away unnoticed. Now he was angry not to see an entire UNSC battlegroup peeling off and rushing to put out the fires he’d started.

That realization worried him. Sometimes he barely recognized the bloodthirsty glory-seeker he pretended to be. Sometimes he had trouble discerning himself from the swaggering Covenant persona he’d built up around him.

“Another frigate, coming in range!” a tactical officer barked. “Ten marks before its main gun fires again!”

“Main battery, full power,” Stray ordered. “Cut the bastard in half.”

The bridge lights flickered as the gunners carried out the order. The Soul Ascension’s weapon systems could charge and fire in half the time of a regular battlecruiser—just one of Diana’s many streamlining upgrades. The frigate’s captain had initiated their maneuver assuming they were dealing with standard Covenant specifications. A deadly mistake.

The frigate took the full brunt of the Soul Ascension’s fire. Superheated plasma burned through the ship’s armored plating and ripped it in two.

“Chalk up another kill,” crowed Diana, who always enjoyed herself during these engagements. At least someone was enjoying this.

“Bring the shields back up to full. Maneuver us in front of the Purveyor of the Righteous, cover their next barrage.” Stray tore himself away from the tactical display. “Ro’nin, talk to me. What’s the problem?’

“Bineb just surrendered,” Ro’nin reported grimly.

Stray blinked. “What? How?”

“It seems the UNSC destroyed one of their cities, then threatened to do the same to the rest of the colony. The Unggoy are attempting a full evacuation now. They’ve even started fighting with the remaining Imperium forces there. I’ve never seen a planetary defense collapse so quickly.”

An entire planet thrown into chaos with the destruction of a single city. Stray was impressed. That was real power. An entire city vaporized alongside who knew how many souls. Cruel, unchecked power. This was the world he lived in now, the world the person he’d been a year ago could never understand.

Bineb had been brought to its knees while he dawdled out here pretending to do something important.

“Alright,” Stray growled. “We’re done here. Signal the Purveyor and coordinate a jump out of here. We’ll regroup with the Imperium once we’re in the clear. Secondary gun batteries, charge weapons and finish off the stragglers. Might as well rack up a few more kills after all the trouble we took to get here.”

The lights flickered once again. Orders were shouted from station to station. The Soul Ascension and Purveyor of the Righteous surged forward, weapons glowing hot as they targeted the last of the frigates. Once again the Kru’desh had cut a swath through the enemy lines only to see the battle decided elsewhere. Such was the life of auxiliary raiders.

---

It was too much. Too many people were dying while she lay trapped within this makeshift cell. Althea’s systems coursed with helpless frustration. There were always elements outside her control, but she usually had duties to attend to. She usually had the power to do something. Now all she could do was watch as her captors picked off one UNSC ship after another.

This was beyond degrading. She might as well not exist at all.

The Huragok’s attention was elsewhere. All Althea had was this one sliver of a link to the ship’s systems, the only thing allowing her to look on at the slaughter in horror. Countless digital barriers surrounded the system’s access points, walling her in and leaving her caged and helpless.

Another ship wilted beneath sustained plasma fire.

Althea could take it no longer. Futile though the gesture was she threw herself up against the firewalls. She railed against her digital prison, thrashing about like a wounded animal.

And then, impossibly, it worked.

She smashed through the firewalls and suddenly found herself drifting amidst the Covenant battlecruiser’s systems. Althea froze, expecting a torrent of attack programs to descend and tear her apart. But nothing came. The distant intelligence that owned this ship was distracted, its consciousness intent on other matters. It didn’t even realize a hostile program was loose amidst the system.

That could change in any moment. Althea’s window to act was already closing. She was in horrible, gut-wrenching danger. But she had to do something.

The cruiser’s plasma batteries warmed, preparing to destroy another ship.

Althea would not let that happen.

Channeling all the anger and frustration she’d built up during that unbearable time of imprisonment, Althea cut loose and wreaked her revenge.

---

The deck buckled beneath Stray’s feet. He stumbled, catching himself on the tactical display as shouts of alarm spread through the bridge. The lights dimmed, but this time it wasn’t in preparation for another salvo. This time they didn’t come back on.

“What the hell?” Stray snapped. “What’s going on? What hit us?”

No answer. Bridge officers tapped at their command consoles with growing alarm. The tactical display sputtered and flashed away. Backup generators were already coming online but nearly every system in the ship was barely functioning. The Soul Ascension lurched and listed, its engines barely maintaining low power.

“Diana!” Stray pushed himself upright, fighting off a wave of panic. “Talk to me! What’s the problem?”

“Can’t… that’s… it’s not possible…” Her response was garbled. For once Diana did not seem completely in control and that frightened Stray far more than any problems the ship might be having. “Something’s in the system. I can’t seem to…”

Her voice was suddenly cut off. Stray slammed a fist into the tactical display. A digital attack. It had to be. Somehow a UNSC AI had slipped through Diana’s defenses and hit the ship with a virus. But what was the source?

“Local communications are still online!” Ro’nin reported. A flashlight affixed to the warrior’s armor illuminated the darkened bridge. “System failures are occurring all over the ship. Engineering managed to save life support and artificial gravity, but everything else is—”

“All crew, get breath masks on now!” Stray shouted. Life support would be the first thing an enemy AI targeted. It was a miracle they hadn’t already depressurized the entire ship. “Anyone not working on fixing my ship, grab a weapon! And where the hell is Yearns to Soar?”

“I don’t know. The oracle usually—”

“Find them!” Stray roared. Every second he wasted yelling orders was another second the UNSC could line up for an attack run. For all he knew they already had boarding parties on route.

This was all a trap. It had to be. They’d baited him with the supply ships. They’d even sacrificed a few frigates to make the ruse convincing and he’d fallen for it.

A mistake that just might cost him his life.

The Soul Ascension drifted through space, out of control, internal systems in disarray. Unpowered. Defenseless. Helpless.

Actene: Heaven and Earth

123: Mission To Mission

Nuclear weapons don't leave the same mark on the Earth that a deep penetration or kinetic orbiter-type weapon might leave. The damage is destructive; there's a giant mushroom cloud. But all those factors don't compare to its most lethal aspect: the radioactive fallout.

In some twisted manner, Merlin felt relief that the thirty-megaton bomb his team just detonated likely wouldn't affect them. They just nuked an entire alien city, sure. He didn't feel any remorse about it; the Grunts were swarming after them like an angry mob with plasma cannons instead of pitchforks. And the Admiral gave the order, everything was fine.

There were more pressing matters; his Heads-Up Display was misbehaving as much of the user interface was just garbled holograms. Probably the electromagnetic disturbance from the bomb; there was little his suit could do to clean up the interference. His suit wasn't detecting Andra or Shizuko's radios.

Merlin shifted his arms to chest height and pressed up and out, lifting a giant sheet of debris off him. Rising to his feet, he had to blink away at the irritating light of Bineb II's local star. The debris sheet he lifted was purple-colored on one side and charred-brown on the other, a result of the nuclear flash.

He tipped it over and let the former wall topple to the trash-ridden floor that once been an alleyway. The Spartan surveyed his surroundings for a moment, taking in all the flattened buildings. At one point, multiple, bulbous homes and termite-like skyscrapers dotting the horizon, but no more.

All that remained was a flat, gray landscape of collecting ash and rubble; it looked like a glassed human colony with exception to the mushroom cloud towering in the sky.

Something curled around Merlin's thigh, causing the boy to turn rigid and look down at the armored glove rising from the dust-fog. Reaching down, Merlin clasped his hand around the very-human wrist and pulled Shizuko to her feet, charred-black suit and all.

Her horned helmet examined Merlin as she contorted her back, stretching it out. "Your armor's charred," she noted with a nod over speakers.

"Same goes for you," Merlin responded with a slight smirk in the same manner. He looked passed the Japanese girl to Andra's now-fully black armor, tilting his helmet in concern. "You-two-okay?"

With their radio and shared network down, they had to resort to almost-shouting through their microphones.

"Green," Andra exclaimed with a small cough. Shizuko nodded her head once more.

"Well, that's mission success; everything else is dead," Merlin spoke with finality, gesturing with an outstretched right hand to the smoldering landscape. "The Grunts are gone. No more Fuel Rod Guns now."

Andra hummed in affirmation but stalked forward abruptly away from the trio in the direction of the nuclear blast.

"What are you looking for?" Shizuko called out to Andra once the said girl stopped and kneeled at a spot.

"Fuel Rod Guns."

"Don't those explode when tampered with?" Merlin asked, remembering back to a similar incident, probably a year ago, involving one of their former teammates.

"Depends on the model as you probably remember from Rio," Andra remarked. "It all comes down to the failsafe, but we're in a city environment, I don't think Grunts want these things cooking off in their homes."

"That sort of makes sense," Merlin vaguely agreed. "Be careful anyway."

Andra waved her had back at her best friend without looking up.

Glancing back at Shizuko for guidance, Merlin asked. "Well, what next Chief?"

"Twelve kilometers...I think. In that direction," Shizuko shrugged and directing her left arm towards some distant mountains, peeking just over the horizon. "West, was it?"

"No, that was the other direction. But yeah, the mountains are correct. That would be the right way, I think." Merlin mumbled in an attempt to remember the topographical and geographical maps he studied previously.

"Hey, guys?" Andra called out, now standing at her full stature and looking skyward.

"What is it?" Shizuko called out, however, the answer was already evident.

Purple and gray starships numbering in the dozens to hundreds were streaming into the sky from cities beyond the horizon and measuring in lengths exceeding miles in length.

"Warships?" Merlin asked.

"No clue," Andra called back, "but we need to go. We shook the aliens pretty bad. Could be a threat to the battlegroup; we need to get back in contact with the Admiral."

Shizuko nodded, "Right, let's head out. Andra, leave the Fuel Rods."

"They could come in handy," Andra whined as she walked up to Merlin and dropped a Fuel Rod Gun in his arms. "You never know, and we're already low on ammo."

"Fine. Grab what we can carry, and let's go. Every second down here is a second wasted."

"I know," Andra huffed but slung another salvaged gun over her back before cradling her M739. "Let's go then."

Jogging at a brisk pace through the fields of nuclear ash, it didn't take long before they came across a familiar and welcome sight. Even through pounding winds and noise-retardant helmets, the roar of rocket engines was discernable. The ground quaked as a dark spec approached from the uneven horizon, kicking up dust and quickly separating itself from the dark mountain peaks afar.

Dark and angular, the UNSC Owl stealth-craft made a long pass over the Spartans, droning as it went before circling back around. Merlin wasn't picking up any radio transmissions off the aircraft, but in the muck of radioactive interference, it wasn't unusual.

"Right on time," Merlin grinned, waving down the friendly aircraft, their ride in and out of the battlespace.

The Spartans raced towards Owl as its ventral doors retracted to reveal a pair of UNSC Marine cabin-crew waving back at their approach. Dressed in rebreathers and sealed suits, they looked like plague doctors. Once aboard, there was a rapid decontamination process involving makeshift chemical showers and several diagnostic and physical scans of the youth before they were allowed to strip their helmets.

Merlin sucked in a sigh of relief as he sat down in a chair with a heavy thud. Andra yanked the Fuel Rod Gun off her back and followed up by decoupling Merlin's from his back. Shizuko came by a second later with ration bars and Rad-Away gum sticks, marking a job well done.

Now back to the Maya. Or at least that was what Merlin thought.

"Wideband frequency bouncing off the edge of the planet," the Owl pilot suddenly called out over the intercom. "You might want to listen in Spartans."

The trio slipped their helmets back on without another word and tuned their recalibrated radio systems to the new message marked on their HUDs.

"...This is UNSC Smart AI ALT 5032-4 requesting assistance aboard disabled Covenant battlecruiser, designated CCS-Tango-Four. I have temporarily gained control of some functions of this vessel but it won't last. Another AI is hunting me. I have prevented the ship from acquiring target solutions of proximity UNSC vessels at this time. Requesting immediate retrieval and boarding action; HVT Simon Onegin is on board."

"...that's our AI," Merlin mumbled.

"You certain?" Shizuko asked, tilting her helmet to examine Merlin's through his visor.

"Positive," he confirmed before calling up the pilot. "Hey, can you get us a radio connection with the Maya, we need to speak to the Admiral about this immediately."

Distant Tide: Hunter - Killer

124: A Death Trap For Two

The low-light settings in Stray’s HUD cut through the darkness permeating his bridge, but he activated his helmet’s flood lamps for the sake of anyone without such aids. The bridge crew labored around him, each warrior now sporting emergency breathing gear as they fought to bring the Soul Ascension back online. Their mystery infiltrator hadn’t managed to depressurize the ship yet but no one was taking any chances. Stray braced himself against the dormant tactical display and fought to calm his breathing. Every second that passed was another chance for their unseen enemies to strike. The digital infiltrator wreaking havoc in their systems was one threat, but there was also the small matter of the UNSC ships undoubtedly bearing down on the crippled Soul Ascension. For all he knew a dozen MAC cannons were drawing a bead on the ship now, moments away from vaporizing the ship and everyone aboard.

Before he’d joined the Covenant he’d found the mere prospect of space combat terrifying. No amount of skill or planning would save you if a plasma torpedo vented your ship or a nuclear blast reduced you to atoms. Then he’d taken command of the Soul Ascension and learned the new thrill of holding the power to control the once-foreign naval field.

Now he was back to square one, trapped inside a darkened, depowered ship at his enemy’s mercy. They had him right where they wanted him and there was nothing he could do about it.

But it wasn’t just him trapped on the Soul Ascension. Thousands of Kru’desh warriors would share his fate, one way or the other. That responsibility pressed down on him like a tidal wave—but there was another way of looking at things. Those thousands of warriors didn’t want to die any more than he did. They were all in this together, sink or swim.

“Anything from the Purveyor of the Righteous?” he said aloud, pushing away from his resting place and stalking back to the center of the bridge. At least the artificial gravity was still working.

“None,” came the terse reply. The other battlecruiser had gone silent. There was no telling if the Soul Ascension’s communications were being jammed or if the Purveyor was just gone, either destroyed or fleeing to leave the Kru’desh to their fate. Either way, they were on their own.

“We have regained control of hangar controls,” another warrior reported.

“Good. Get every fighter we have armed and out there screening the ship. We can’t let anything sneak up on us out here.”

“Without full power it will take almost triple the time to fuel and arm the Seraphs—”

“Fine,” Stray snapped. “Get extra teams down to the hangars then. I don’t care if they have to push those fighters off the ship, just get them out there.” Without the usual data streams feeding him updates on troop strength and deck statuses, Stray was playing this almost entirely by ear.

He sealed his helmet and opened up a private com channel. “Diana? Diana, where the hell are you?”

She didn’t answer for over a full minute and when she did her voice was distant and strained. “Don’t bother me right now, you idiot. I’m busy.”

“Oh, you’re busy. Well then, I’ll just kick back and pretend we aren’t all about to die. What the hell is going on?”

“What does it look like? Another AI hacked the ship.”

“No shit. How the hell did that happen? What about all your defenses? I thought no one could breach them.”

“Well, I guess you thought wrong. How about you stick to ordering the meatbags around and let me handle all the hard work, as usual.” He hadn’t heard Diana this angry in years. This attack had her as rattled as everyone else, and that frightened Stray even more than whatever the UNSC was getting ready to send his way.

“I need to know what we’re dealing with here. We could be boarded any minute and I can’t coordinate any kind of defense if I don’t even know what the hell got us into this mess in the first place!”

“The attack came from inside the ship, alright? I still haven’t managed to lock down the source. Whatever did this has my entire system in shambles. Just pushing through all the chaff to talk to you is almost as hard as breaching a foreign system. So if you don’t mind…”

An attack from inside. But from where? Nothing they’d salvaged off Montak was big enough to house that kind of electronic warfare package. Nothing except…

“The satellite,” he breathed. “They came on the satellite.”

“Yes,” Diana agreed. “Yes, of course. It’s not linked into any core systems, but if they used the translation software it was hooked up to as a starting point… yes, yes, it has to be. That entire deck is completely sealed off. I can’t get anything through there. That has to be where it’s holed up.

Stray was already firing up a new com channel. “Amber? Amber, where are you?”

The other renegade’s voice crackled in his ear. “I’m in the central armory. You mind telling me what the hell is happening? There’s hundreds of hinge-heads in here and no one knows anything about our situation. Where’s the attack coming from?”

“Electronic warfare hit. There’s another AI on board, smuggled in on that satellite we captured.”

“Smuggled in? What, you mean you didn’t think to check it before you hooked it into—”

“Save it!” As far as Stray was concerned that little security slip-up was on Diana. She’d gotten complacent, just like he had. They’d had too many easy victories, he realized that now. They’d assumed they were ten steps ahead of the enemy and that had made them sloppy. But there wasn’t any time to toss around blame now. “Take as many warriors as you can rally and get to that satellite. I don’t care if you have to cut through the whole deck to get it. Blow through the door, the ceiling, whatever it takes. Just secure the satellite and get it to the bridge. Now!”

He didn’t wait for her response. She’d either follow his orders or they’d all die here. He opened a new line, this time to Tuka. “Tuka, tell me you made it to engineering.”

“Yes, Commander. The crew here are trying to respool our plasma drives and reconnect them to—”

“Don’t worry about them. Find Yearns to Soar and the other Huragok.”

“Understood. Should I use them to help the crew at the engines?”

“No! Don’t let them near the engines or anything else!” A terrible thought had already occurred to Stray. Yearns and the other Huragok had helped repair the satellite. Thorough creatures that they were, they would have certainly noticed something wrong with that machine. Noticed, and done nothing. Because Huragok were idiot savants. Brilliant with technology, hopelessly naïve with people. Hopelessly, stupidly naïve. “Secure them and don’t let them out of your sight. Dig some harnesses out of the armory and get them in them. Treat them like prisoners.”

“Commander?” Tuka hesitated. Of course he would hesitate. He was just as naïve as the Huragok.

“That’s an order!” Stray terminated the link before Tuka could protest further. He rounded on Ro’nin. The mercenary had formed a makeshift communications station out of several portable com devices and now barked orders into each in turn, coordinating the defense of the stricken ship.

Ro’nin looked up as he approached. “The situation is bad, Stray,” he reported, devoid of his usual flippant tone. “The fighter patrols report movement from the enemy around Bineb. Ships are beginning to move toward our position.”

“Get the fighters to form a loose perimeter around our position. Tell me as soon as they report a coordinated attack.”

“Those fighters will not be enough to repel an assault,” Ro’nin warned. “We should arm our dropships. If we begin now we may be able to evacuate before the enemy arrives.”

“Prep the dropships. But they’ll be for securing the hull. We aren’t evacuating.”

“We aren’t?” Ro’nin demanded, then lowered his voice to a hiss. “Stray, what is this? You’re a survivor, just like me. A glorious last stand does nothing for either of us!”

“You’re right,” Stray agreed. “I’m a survivor. And you know the score as well as I do. If I lose my ship I won’t live long enough for Jul ‘Mdama to execute me. If I give it up without a fight the Kru’desh will mutiny the first chance they get. And if I go down, you go down with me.”

“This isn’t some legion of Covenant fanatics,” Ro’nin shot back. “They’ll mutiny the moment they realize you’re going to get them all killed.”

“No, they won’t.” An iron determination locked Stray in place. He looked up at Ro’nin and realized he’d gladly execute the officer if he kept protesting. “Because they’re going to fight for their ship. And they’re going to win.”

He pushed past Ro’nin, raising his voice to address the rest of the bridge crew. “Anyone not trying to get my ship back, grab a weapon!” he ordered. “Get out into the halls and grab every warrior you can find! I want chokepoints on every deck, kill teams securing every hall! Break out the heavy weapons, build barricades, plant booby traps, go for every nasty trick you can think of! The enemy thinks they’ve got us trapped. Well, bring it on! We’re going to take our ship back and we’re gonna kill every son of a bitch dumb enough to board!”

Several warriors snarled with approval. They leaped to their feet and rushed towards the hallway, weapons in hand. Stray unslung his shotgun and settled into his command chair, already drawing up ship schematics and plotting out just where the first wave of boarders might try to breach.

“Lovely speech,” Ro’nin growled. “Of course, it will all be for nothing if they decide to shoot us down instead.”

“They won’t shoot us down.” They need their AI back. “A ship like this, crippled and all on its own? It’s too juicy a target to pass up.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then I hope they kill you first.” Fear gave way to fiery resolve. The enemy was on their way. They were after him, just like they always were. Fine. He’d handled the enemy like this before. They wouldn’t like what was waiting for them aboard the not-quite-so-defenseless Soul Ascension.

The cornered rat bites the cat.

Actene: Heaven and Earth

125: Flight

1925 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Dival, Frendhal, Yain System

Built nearly a century prior as little more than a frontier outpost for those patrolling the Covenant Empire's furthest reaches, Dival had grown into an economic hub of its own as independent traders and colonists seeking new lives slowly drifted in from other worlds. Even with its prosperity, Dival would have likely remained as a footnote in history were it not for the arrival of Toru 'Makhan, then a newly-appointed Fleet Master sent to quash pirate enclaves and insurgent strongholds in local systems. While his operations brought peace to several dangerous trade routes, it was Dival's brief stint as the groundside headquarters for 'Makhan's fleet that hailed a wave of industrialisation as foundries and manufacturing plants were constructed that truly made the settlement stand out.

Though 'Makhan had chosen the colony of Iradu to be his primary base and eventual capital of his burgeoning empire, Dival remained as one of the fledgling Imperium's most prosperous areas, standing as the capital of Frendhal and a symbol of this new civilisation's power. Though the planet was governed by its local Kaidons, who served members of the Imperium of Clarity's High Command, it was this sprawling metropolis that stood as its crown jewel; an impenetrable fortress that stood as a testament to both military might and economic strength.

And today, the war had come to tear it apart.

"Still unable to get a signal, Commander!"

"Keep trying! We will not burn along with this city!"

Raising a four-fingered hand, Rora 'Marak slowed his pace and crouched down for a moment, allowing his companions a moment to rest. Since their arrival in the military base's translocation room, the Shadows of Retribution had cut a bloody swathe through the Imperium's fortress. Starting with the surprised guards that greeted their arrival, Rora and his commando team had killed everyone in their path, from the lowliest technician to any armoured warrior foolish enough to try and halt their advance. Resistance had been minimal so far, but as the Swords of Sanghelios brought its full military might down onto this city, Rora began to worry more about the danger posed by his allies than his enemies.

What is Felo 'Ranak doing? Rora checked the charge on his repeater. We had hoped to win the battle in orbit first before launching a groundside invasion. How poorly are we faring up above?

At the centre of their group, former Commander Nilen 'Feru checked a datapad displaying the fortress schematics. The prisoner had been very cooperative so far, though Rora did not trust him to hold a weapon and had two of his subordinates watching him at all times. Since their arrival they had gone through several empty hangar bays and a maintenance hall, guided by Nilen's knowledge of this base all the way. At present, their plan was to seek out a functioning dropship that would give the Shadows time to escape Dival and reconnect with their incoming fleet for further orders. As part of a deal struck with Nilen, he was to be returned safely to his family keep in the region once the operation concluded.

"How close are we to another hangar?" Rora asked, motioning for the others to stand. "We cannot linger in this place too long."

Nilen double-checked the holographic map in his palm. "There are three more bays nearby, though I cannot guarantee that they will contain the ships you seek."

The Shadows' sole female warrior, Ju'ya, waved her carbine towards him. "You told us that you were here!"

"I did!" Nilen cringed away from the gun's muzzle. "But with your invasion, the fortress may have been emptied. Surely I cannot be held accountable for that!"

Ju'ya lowered her weapon by a fraction, and Rora stepped between them. "If we cannot fly out of here, then we will be forced to fight our way into the city streets. It is not an outcome any of us desire, but the situation may demand it. Let us move."

With the confrontation defused, the Shadows set off at a brisk pace, moving in pairs on either side of the long corridor. Like any former Covenant military installation, it was sparsely decorated, with long arches meant to fortify the structure criss-crossing above them. Even through the thick fortress walls, the distant wail of plasma fire could be heard from anti-aircraft emplacements, trying to stem the tide of warriors swarming Dival from above.

Rora set the pace, moving at the head of their group alone with two warriors behind him. Though they all wore green-hued combat harnesses that set them apart from others within Swords of Sanghelios' military, his was of a lighter composition, with a bulky face-concealing helmet dotted with sensory nodes. This little-seen style of armour, classed as 'Outrider', had once been issued to Ossoona spies and assassins on long-distance missions in the frontier. It was from this that Rora 'Marak had adopted his moniker, spreading fear across numerous systems before coming into the Swords' service. Even now, Nilen observed, he rarely moved with his own loyal soldiers.

"Be ready," he said at last, waving for his troops to spread out before a wide set of doors. Things had gotten very quiet after they eliminated the first few security teams sent to counter them, so a trap was likely. As the Shadows took position, readying their weapons around the door, Rora palmed the activation panel and it clanked open.

To their relief, the commandos were not met by a wall of plasma fire as they stepped into the hangar bay, and instead found themselves facing a cluster of very surprised pilots en-route to their craft. A few reached for their sidearms, only to be struck down in seconds by green-streaked projectiles from the Shadows' carbines. As the last pilot hit the ground, Rora strode forward to survey the room. Like those before it, this hangar bay was a high-ceilinged chamber with open bay doors on each side, with gravity lifts and walkways stationed at each side to allow access to the ships above. Unlike its predecessors, however, this hangar still possessed at least half a dozen Banshee fighters, secured upside-down on racks close to the ceiling like nesting animals.

"No transport craft," Ju'ya spoke first as they surveyed the room. "And not enough fighters for all of us."

"If there were some still here, then the others likely have ships yet to launch," said Rora. "We must press on."

At the rear of the group was Nilen, whose eyes drifted to the fighters above. Though he had achieved fame as a Seraph pilot, he had spent a great deal of time flying these aircraft early in his career. As he lowered his gaze he found Rora's masked face staring his way, immediately dispelling any thoughts of escape. Though the Shadows of Retribution were infamous for their underhanded tactics and willingness to undertake missions that the Arbiter and his subordinates wanted no association with, he knew that Rora - the Outrider - would not renege on their agreement if he stayed with them.

"The other hangars will not have launched their fighters," Nilen spoke up to confirm Rora's theory. "Our procedure involved emptying them one at a time, so if there were pilots in this chamber, the others are still readying their ships."

Rora nodded. "In that case, we must be swift. Check your weapons and-"

A shout went up from across the chamber as the doors behind Rora slid open, revealing a force of well-armed Sangheili troops. The Shadows wasted no time, quickly ducking into cover as the first shots were exchanged between the groups. Two rushed forward immediately, crossing the hangar floor with speed and fervour that surprised even Rora, who barely managed to gun down one before the other slashed at him with a crackling energy sword. The Outrider deftly sidestepped the blow, and brought the curveblade up from his belt and through the base of his opponent's head in an instant. The attacker jerked once with a surprised gasp as Rora twisted the weapon, then collapsed to the floor.

The rest of their foes were much more wary, firing on Rora's men from behind supply crates while half of their number spread out an an attempt to outflank the Shadows. Heavily outnumbered, the commandos quickly found themselves pressed, and quickly switched to heavier weaponry at Rora's order. Plasma grenades sailed across the room in simultaneous arcs, forcing the newcomers out of cover as several were incinerated. As they pressed their advantage and advanced, seeking to break through their attackers through sheer ferocity and momentum, several new enemies joined the fray, shouldering heavy fuel rod cannons. Sizzling emerald projectiles cut back across the room, killing two of the Shadows in an instant. Seeing his men faltering, Rora 'Marak leapt from cover and dashed forwards, letting out a rallying cry.

"For Sanghelios!"

Rora fired as he ran, killing one foe in a hail of plasma fire before turning his attention towards those carrying heavier weapons. As one turned to fire at the Outrider, a beam of energy cut through his helmet in a spray of liquidised flesh and brain matter. A deadened finger squeezed the trigger as the gunner fell, launching another radioactive projectile into the floor. The resulting blast blew he and his counterpart to smithereens, though this did not deter their allies from launching a counter-charge.

The two sides clashed in the centre of the hangar bay, Rora's Shadows casting aside their carbines and drawing energy swords to meet the enemy in close combat. Rora soon realised that these were not the regimented, uniformed soldiers of the Imperium of Clarity, but hardened warriors in garb common to groups aligned with Sangheili warlords. Though he had little time to guess as he evaded blow after blow from one bearing a Commander's helmet, Rora could only assume that they were aligned with Jul 'Mdama, much like the ones who had nearly killed him on Montak. As he moved to deliver a fatal slash to his opponent Rora was caught off-guard by a blur of movement to his left, and ducked just in time to avoid decapitation as a large warrior in the ornate armour of a Zealot tried to blindside him. Suddenly faced with two sword-wielding opponents, Rora backed away carefully through the fray, aware that they could not afford a protracted fight.

"Fight, you coward," hissed his first opponent, leaping ahead of his companion to deliver an overhead slash. Rora evaded, though his follow-up attack was countered immediately by a lightning-fast stab from the Zealot, giving the Commander time to recover.

I'm at a disadvantage here, Rora discarded his half-empty repeater, steadying his curveblade. These two are used to fighting together.

This was something Rora figured out on intuition; seasoned warriors were used to covering for each other, ensuring that they could work effectively as a cohesive unit without displaying any weaknesses. In the same way, the remaining Shadows continued to fight in twos and threes, though a quarter of his thirty-man unit had already fallen against the enemy force's superior numbers. A second spent glancing towards the rest of the battle was enough of an opening for the Zealot to attack once more while the Commander circled to strike at Rora's weaponless left side. His body reacted instantly, flinging his Curveblade directly towards the Zealot's face before twisting to counter his ally. The Zealot quickly sliced the metal blade in half, though that second's distraction was all Rora needed.

The Commander came at him fast, with a heavy diagonal slash that Rora had no chance of blocking fully. Instead, he moved as though to grab his opponent's arm, prompting a slight adjustment in the blow's trajectory that allowed him to draw his secondary weapons. A pair of energy daggers sprouted from Rora's gauntlets with a faint hiss, catching the Commander off-guard. The left blade caught the side of the Commander's sword, sliding up its length in a shower of white sparks as Rora wheeled round to deliver a strike with the right. His foe saw the attack coming, and though a desperate dodge allowed him to escape a fatal stab to the neck, Rora's bladed gauntlet still cut a long stroke along the side of his helmet, sending the Commander sprawling to the ground with a howl of pain.

Rora had no time to finish off his first opponent as the Zealot's blade arced towards his back, gouging out a chunk of armour as he wheeled around to evade. He caught the next strike with both of his daggers, though the Zealot continued to press him backwards through sheer strength alone. Unlike Shinsu 'Refum, who had countered Rora's unorthodox fighting style with his own precise swordsmanship, the Zealot was simply wearing him down by delivering blow after blow, each barely deflected as Rora attempted to disengage. Seeking to end the battle quickly, Rora feinted to one side before throwing his entire weight into a swift, low-angled blow to the chest. The Zealot's blade moved to deflect both daggers, though that was exactly what Rora wanted his enemy to do.

Fool.

As any Sangheili instructed in the art of wielding an energy sword was aware, the weapon could be as much of a danger to its wielder as to a foe. Entire fencing schools emphasised the dangers inherent to blocking too close to one's body, and that even close-quarters combat should practised be at arm's length. Rora had never had the chance for such formal military training, but this was a concept he had picked up very quickly on the frontier. As the Zealot's twin-pronged blades caught the tips of both of his daggers, Rora pressed forward, forcing his opponent's blade arm backwards through sheer momentum. Caught off-guard by the sudden jolt, the Zealot would eviscerate himself with his own sword.

Or so Rora thought.

Though the Zealot's sword came dangerously close to slicing through his body, leaving a horizontal burn across his ornate chestplate, his free hand thrust forward in a punch to the side of Rora's head that made his teeth rattle. Pushed off-balance, he barely dodged a slash that scorched the front of his own armour, nearly falling to the floor in the process. The Zealot, who had not spoken once since the beginning of their duel, let out a contemptuous laugh.

"Is that all?"

Though he could never say it, that really was all Rora had in his repertoire. Lacking any more weapons, he could only retreat and leave the rest of the Shadows to their fate or launch a futile assault against a better-armed warrior with only his energy daggers. Neither option would end well. As he steeled himself for a final exchange of blows, however, Rora noticed a familiar whine cutting above the din of battle. The Zealot noticed it too, and cocked his head to one side for a moment to listen. The pair glanced up simultaneously, confirming their suspicions as a single banshee fighter detached itself from the racks above and hovered over the corpse-strewn hangar bay. Rora's mandibles twitched in realisation.

"Nilen Feru!"

For a second, both sides in the hangar bay disenganged, backing off for a second as the fighter slowly circled above. Only the Zealot, Rora's opponent, chose to move. As he raised his blade for a final attack, a burst of green light flashed from the banshee's underside, striking the deck between the two and sending them flying backwards. Rora recovered first, rolling as he hit the ground before springing to his feet. Nilen's banshee showered the hangar bay with white-hot plasma, separating the two sides and gunning down any who dared to return fire. Lacking any substantial weaponry, the Sangheili below scattered and ran for cover. Rora shook his head in disbelief, and called out to his comrades.

"Shadows, to me!"

His voice sounded over the shouts filling the hangar, and the rest of his commando unit soon raced over to him, some still firing one-handed towards the surviving warriors. A few foes attempted to pursue, though Nilen continued to fire, gouging a line of scorched metal across the room to give the Shadows of Retribution time to escape. Leading the way, Rora crashed through a side door leading to a maintenance corridor, and waited for the rest of his men to catch up. Once the last of them were through, he closed it shut behind them and smashed the control panel before performing a headcount. In that bloody engagement, they had been reduced from thirty commandos to eight.

"That treacherous scum!" Ju'ya panted, nursing a burn on her arm. "Commander, he betrayed us!"

Rora shook his head. "No more than he betrayed his own."

"What are we to do now?" she asked.

"We keep moving."

With their route through the hangar bays blocked and their numbers greatly reduced, Rora and his fellows had little choice but to flee Dival on foot. Their group continued through the cramped passages, eventually coming to a halt by a blast door that led to the exterior of the fortress. At Rora's command, they moved through, and found themselves on a narrow gantry overlooking a bridge that connected two sections of the fortress. Monolithic buildings surrounded them, while light rain plinked off their armour as they stared up at the skies above. It took a moment for Rora to realise that the skies themselves were ablaze as warships exchanged cannon fire and entire Legions of troops poured into the once-proud metropolis. It seemed that Felo 'Ranak, fearing the power of the Imperium's flagship, had committed everything he had to seizing Frendhal itself from Toru 'Makhan's grasp.

Even so, Rora had a feeling that by the end of this battle, there would be very little left of Frendhal to claim.

***

As he watched the commandeered banshee fly off into the distance, Grono 'Yendam could not believe how lucky his foes had been. As the battle for Dival had begun, Field Marshal Orro 'Hendai had ordered Grono to take a portion of his men and hunt down a group of enemy infiltrators who had been causing havoc within the city's primary fortress. Though he felt that Hendai's orders were to simply keep him out of the way while he led Dival's defence, Grono soon realised why their skills had been required.

"How bad is your injury?" Grono asked, turning to where Rach 'Iltuk sat on an overturned crate. "For a moment, I feared you were dead."

Having removed his helmet, Grono's second in command gingerly touched the fresh scar running along the side of his head, and winced. "Worse than it looks."

Like most of his commando group, the enemy leader had been a better fighter than expected, fending Grono and Rach off simultaneously for a brief period with nothing but a pair of daggers and a Curveblade, of all things. Why he refused to use an energy sword was beyond Grono, though this peculiarity had allowed him to figure out his opponent's identity.

"You should be proud, 'Iltuk." Grono rubbed some soot off his armour. "It would seem that we fought against the legendary Outrider and lived."

"We would have done a great deal more had that fighter not intervened," Rach said, putting his damaged helmet back on. "For all I have heard about the Shadows of Retribution, it seemed as though we would have slaughtered them all here if they had not retreated."

Looking round, Grono wasn't so sure. While most of the Zog'fee Legion was stationed to the north and was ready to bolster Orro 'Hendai's troops if the city spaceport was attacked, his assumption that they had brought enough troops to easily wipe out any enemy commando team had been incorrect. For every Shadow they had killed, they had lost at least two or three men. That was unacceptable. Grono himself had nearly died, first in combat with the Outrider, then at the hands of that damned Banshee. Were it not for a missed shot and his energy shielding, that blast earlier might have killed him. As it stood, his armour was blackened and scorched, though he was otherwise unscathed.

"Contact Field Marshal 'Hendai," he said after a moment's contemplation. "Tell him that the enemy has been driven from the fortress, though they have fled towards the city's outskirts."

"Will we continue our pursuit?" Rach asked.

"There is no point. We will return to command the Zog'fee. If this invasion is as big a threat as I believe it is, then 'Hendai will not object to another officer on the frontlines."

Rach nodded, casting a glance towards the doorway their foes had escaped through. A number of their surviving warriors, still eager for bloody revenge, had charged off to pursue the Outrider's commandos unbidden, though none had reported in yet. It was not a good sign. With that, Grono and Rach returned their dropship in the adjacent hangar, ready to partake in the largest battle this planet had ever seen.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

126: Invaders

1942 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Questioner, Frendhal, Yain System

This was a role that Felo 'Ranak had never wished to return to.

As the Questioner broke through Frendhal's cloud cover, flanked by a pair of DDS-class carriers, the Fleet Master beheld a planet ablaze with the fires of total war. As the Imperium's unapproachable flagship had scattered his fleet, Felo had no choice but to order a total invasion of the colony world. By spreading his ships and armies across as wide an area as he possibly could, he hoped to divert the supercarrier's attention for as long as he possibly could.

"I thought we had moved past this," he murmured, half-slouched in his command throne.

"Are you well?" asked Shipmaster 'Narum, one of the officers by his side. A question like that might have been tantamount to treason once, but all aboard the cruiser were concerned for their leader's health. "You have rested very little, Fleet Master."

Felo straightened up in his chair, feeling a dull spike of pain even through the haze of painkillers coursing through him. Most Sangheili, he reckoned, would have died from the injuries he received after his duel with Orro 'Hendai. Were they not in such a precarious position, he would have retired for at least a weekly cycle to heal. Instead, he rested only when necessary and remained at the bridge take direct command. In the days of the Covenant, he would have stood proudly at the ship's helm, giving orders with bombast and enthusiasm. Now the best he could do was direct troops like pieces on a map.

"I will last," he replied calmly. "Where is General 'Taram?"

The Shipmaster glanced over to the main holotable, which depicted the numerous divisions of Felo's fleet as they spread out across Frendhal's surface. By Felo's order, any resistance was to be met with extreme aggression, and any room for tactical movement on the Imperium's part to be denied. Though his ships dutifully bombed enemy fortifications and blasted land bridges apart, some had taken the order a step further and engaged in plasma bombardment on a much larger scale, obliterating not only military camps but entire swathes of farmland and any unfortunate enough to be in their range. Though he had made attempts to curb such wanton aggression, Felo knew that even he could not contain the destructive power of an invading army once it had been unleashed.

"His forces have begun their attack on Dival city, Fleet Master," 'Narum gestured to the outlines of the fleet's largest attack force. "The Imperium has concentrated most of its forces around Dival, though with our numbers and our might we will likely have it captured within the next daily cycle."

If Toru 'Makhan does not hunt us down first.

Felo pulled himself out of his chair with some difficulty, and hobbled over to the holotable. As he moved, he ignored the pitying stares of his underlings, who watched his every step but resisted the urge to help their leader. They knew that treating the Fleet Master like a helpless elder would get them removed from their positions immediately; Felo might have encouraged the abandonment of some of the former Covenant's more restrictive ways, but he still retained his fierce pride as a Sangheili warrior.

So far the Questioner and its fellows had escaped the wrath of the Watchful Custodian, the Imperium of Clarity's flagship, but it was only a matter of time before the supercarrier caught up with them. Several ships had already been consumed wholesale in well-timed volleys of plasma fire from the gargantuan warship and its escort craft, which might have caught up with Felo's vessel already were they not cautious of return fire from the cruiser. Lacking the means to effectively combat the supercarrier in open combat, Felo had lured it into Frendhal's atmosphere in the hopes of limiting its firepower. After all, if the rumours about Toru 'Makhan were true then he would not destroy his own cities, even if held by the enemy.

"For us, this will likely be the decisive battle," Felo announced, his mandibles drooping slightly. "We must commit everything to this invasion, and to keeping 'Makhan focused on us."

"You trust the humans to end this war?" 'Narum's voice was tinged with contempt. "Even if they seize the enemy capital, that is no guarantee that Toru 'Makhan will surrender."

Felo nodded, partly in agreement. "Perhaps, but without a line of supply his reserves will dwindle. Operating a ship that size is difficult, and should he lose all other safe havens it may only be a matter of time before its power wanes."

"Then it is a long hunt you seek?"

"I would prefer a short one, if possible. The Imperium's threat could not be ignored, but I long to return to Sanghelios to assist in the fight there."

"As do I."

Watching over the tactical readout as the Swords of Sanghelios deployed its second attack wave against Dival, Felo's thoughts drifted to Rora 'Ranak and his commandos, who had made a brief report of using the Imperium's translocation devices to escape their seized orbital platform and take the fight to the surface. Since then, they had heard nothing from them. Though they had met first as foes, Felo had taken great pride in recruiting Rora and had given the troubled young warrior a purpose in life. It seemed foolish to waste him in such a battle, so far away from home. Dizziness washed over Felo for a moment, making him grip the sides of his holotable for support. He could not allow himself to fall. Not here, in front of his loyal soldiers. They respected Felo for continuing to lead in spite of his grievous wounds, but all would consider him spent as a commander if he were to collapse in the midst of battle.

"Fleet Master!" an officer called from below. "Urgent message from the surface!"

"From General 'Taram?" he asked, feeling slightly better.

"No, though they are attempting to contact you through your personal channel."

Rora. "Put it through."

Felo returned to his command chair, and had only just sat down when Commander Rora 'Marak materialised before him over a nearby holotank. Though his blue-tinged form flickered constantly, Felo could see that he had seen serious battle; his armour was dinged and scorched in several places, and the marks of close combat littered his green armour. Even so, he seemed to be in good health.

"I apologise for not contacting you sooner," Rora lowered his head respectfully. "We were able to successfully infiltrate the Imperium's fortress, but made little progress before we were driven out."

"Where are you?"

"Within an enemy outpost on Dival's outskirts. We killed all in our path and have eliminated as many defensive cannons are we were able, though our losses have been heavy."

Felo sighed. Though the Shadows of Retribution were a fearsome group, they specialised in infiltration and quick raids, not prolonged conflicts. Like a curveblade, they were a sharp weapon to use offensively, but brittle as a defensive tool.

"What of Nilen 'Feru," he asked, recalling the prisoner's name. "Does he still live?"

From the way Rora's body shifted, he could tell that the young commando was uncomfortable. "He escaped us as we clashed with troops lent to the Imperium by Jul 'Mdama's faction, and commandeered a banshee. I do not know if he made it out of the city, but as a skilled pilot who knows these lands I would wager that he survived."

"You vouched for him." Felo jabbed an admonishing finger towards Rora. "And he promised his loyalty to us. He should be killed."

"I disagree, Fleet Master. Nilen 'Feru's actions allowed us to clear most of Frendhal's orbital stations, and his knowledge of the Imperium's translocators allowed the Shadows of Retribution to make it to the surface. Even now, our presence diverts their warriors away from the frontlines in an attempt to track us down. He also saved my life before he fled. I feel that any debt he has to us is paid."

Felo could not fault Rora's arguments. "Very well, Commander. I will divert one of our transport craft to pick you up. Do you have any planned destination?"

"We-" Rora ducked suddenly as plasma fire zipped by, followed by a distant explosion. After firing off a few bolts from his pistol he turned back to the holo-emitter. "We will make for the farmland to the east of Dival! Send down a ship whenever you can!"

Rora reached forward, and the connection cut off. Felo nodded towards Shipmaster 'Narum, who immediately began relaying the order to send in one of their Lich transports. Such craft were costly, but he was willing to risk one to save the Shadows of Retribution. Were Rora 'Marak to die, then he doubted that the rest of their group to exist. After all, it was their loyalty to the 'Outrider' that bound them together, not any kind of deep kinship with the Swords of Sanghelios. Even so, Felo could not worry himself with a single commando unit when he had an entire invasion to oversee. Down below, thousands of Sangheili troops were already disembarking from their landing craft and joining the fight to seize Dival, led by the courageous Fol 'Taram. Once the Imperium's forces were broken, they would occupy it as their groundside base for the planet's conquest.

In truth, Felo wondered if his plan would work. After all, his belief that Toru 'Makhan would not rain fire down on the capital city of one of his most prosperous colony worlds was based entirely on limited knowledge of the Imperial Admrial's disposition as a caring ruler. If anything, Felo's attempt to use Dival and it citizens as a shield was an act of supreme dishonour that many on his own side would likely find fault with. Were they to lose this war, then Felo 'Ranak would likely be remembered by future historians as one of its villains.

"What is the status of the enemy supercarrier?" Felo asked, tapping a finger against the side of his chair. "How much time do we have?"

A moment later, a screen materialised before the Fleet Master, displaying a rough estimate of the Watchful Custodian's weapon range and distance from the Questioner. Surprisingly, it had increased. A second look made Felo realise that the supercarrier had not only slowed its descent into Frendhal's atmosphere, but had changed course entirely in favour of a path that put it in pursuit of a group of Man 'O Wars sent to crush any potential resistance in the western hemisphere. Either Toru 'Makhan wished to protect something of greater interest there than Dival, or he believed that the capital's current defensive forces would suffice in holding back the Swords of Sanghelios.

That is unlikely, Felo snorted at the thought of their attack being repelled. A few legions of Sangheili warriors were already descending on Dival, backed up by hundreds of heavy tanks and troop carriers while enough fighters had been loosed from the Swords' warships to fill the darkening skies. The Imperium had brave, dedicated soldiers, but they could not hold back the inevitable, even while backed up with reinforcements from the servants of Jul 'Mdama. Though Felo knew that the supercarrier was an insurmountable foe currently, he knew that victory on the ground was certain. His only doubt came from the identity of their field commander.

"Bring up current scans of the city," he commanded. A moment later, they appeared before him.

Though they had initially clustered warships over Dival's skyscrapers and vast industrial plants, the Imperium had since withdrawn its troops into a rough semi-circle, with over a dozen cruisers backing up a single carrier with their guns pointed skywards. Though it had been in the back of his mind since they began their invasion of Frendhal, this was the first time Felo had beheld the vessel today. It was the Blissful Solitude, a venerable ship even in the days of the Covenant and home to Field Marshal Orro 'Hendai, the eldest known member of the Imperium of Clarity's High Command. The very thought of him made Felo's still-healing scars ache.

Will he be leading from above? Felo wondered, his saurian eyes narrowing as they focused on the ship that had dragged the Questioner into a deadly dance of close-quarters fire over Montak. No, Orro 'Hendai will lead from the front. He is too pure a warrior to stand by as his brothers perish in combat. The expert swordsman who had given Felo 'Ranak the single worst defeat of his life still lived somewhere below, and it filled the Fleet Master with a rage born of humiliation and a desire for revenge that he could not achieve alone. He clenched his fists, and lifted his head to look upon Dival with his own eyes through the ship's forward viewscreen.

General 'Taram will draw him out, and once the wretch shows himself, he will receive the warrior's death he never had the chance to give me.

As the day on Frendhal slowly drew to a close, the fight for Dival only intensified, spreading like a wildfire as the Imperium of Clarity and Swords of Sanghelios greeted each other in battle with a furious clash that could only see one victor.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

127: Warrior

2019 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Dival, Frendhal, Yain System

"Hedan Koti is dead."

Stood before a ruined table in a bombed-out tower, Field Marshal Orro 'Hendai took the news of his comrade's death with little more than a nod and a sigh, casting a quick glance towards his Unggoy companion before turning back to the figure hovering before him.

"His death will be mourned by many." Orro found his words. "What of 'Larom and the rest of their troops?"

"I fear that with Koti's demise and the treachery of those serving him, they will not hold the Bineb System for long."

"A pity."

"Perhaps," the holographic form of Toru 'Makhan waved away his concern. "Though Lora 'Deris and his troops will soon arrive to reinforce them, so we needn't declare defeat right now. In any case, there is a battle to be won on Frendhal first."

At this, Orro found himself instinctively fingering the hilt of his energy sword. The sounds of battle had grown stronger over the last few hours, and it was only the Imperial Admiral's explicit orders not to join the fray that had kept his hunger for combat at bay. As the Swords of Sangheili scrambled to either claim or destroy as much of the Imperium's territory on the colony world in an effort to distract 'Makhan's supercarrier, the skies above Dival had been set ablaze with plasma fire as fighter swarms clashed, supported by incinerating volleys from the warships now fighting much bigger duels overhead. Though both sides worked to keep their ships away from the city's more populous zones for fear of causing too much damage - their objective being to hold, not capture Dival - the damage from sustained artillery fire was already being wrought, reducing portions of the outskirts to glassy, crater-pocked wastelands.

"Where does the pursuit take you, excellency?" Orro asked.

"I have ordered the Watchful Custodian's defensive ships to break off and pursue individual enemy craft and bring an end to their senseless destruction. My ship will do the same against several heavier vessels, though my own chase will be a brief one, intended to keep the enemy placated until I turn my full attention towards their flagship. All you need to do is hold the city, my friend, and we will crush the Swords of Sanghelios between us."

"A fine plan!" the venerable warrior said with genuine enthusiasm. "My own Legions have already greeted the Swords in battle, as have our allies from Jul 'Mdama's forces."

"They have served you well, I've heard," said Toru. "Do you have faith in them?"

"Of course, your excellency. Their leader is returning from a task to lead them personally, so I am certain they will keep at least one of our flanks secure."

The Imperial Admiral nodded, and snapped a salute against his breastplate. "Fight well, Orro 'Hendai."

"And you."

As Toru's hologram vanished, the room was plunged into half-darkness, illuminated only by the last gasps of distant sunlight and flashes of brilliant white as a nearby tank formation's plasma mortars streaked above. Orro sighed heavily, and sat on the table beside his equerry, who had been mercifully silent throughout the meeting.

"You're tired," said Hunya Tal, kicking his stubby legs back and forth off the edge of the table.

"Do not mistake my wariness for fatigue, Hunya." Orro wagged a finger in mock warning. "Soon we will see battle again, and I know that it will be a costly one for our fellows."

"That's never troubled you before."

Orro shrugged. "A warrior dies when his time arrives, but none desire an ignoble death. I fear that this war may see too many lives ended without sense or greater purpose."

"Just like the Great War?"

Hunya's retort elicited an annoyed grunt from his friend. It seemed that there were few discussions in this age that did not elicit a comparison to the recent war against the humans. While several yearly cycles had passed, the scars left by a conflict of nearly three decades had not even begun to fade for many on both sides. Nevertheless, Orro had to concede that Hunya spoke true; he had participated in far too many campaigns directed by those too proud or too foolish to use their warriors as anything more than blunt instruments, designed to overwhelm through superior numbers and firepower rather than skill and strategy. Though this was not true for all commanders, even the battle-hungry Orro had come to realise that their zeal could blind them to the larger picture.

"Precisely," he said at last. "Toru 'Makhan is a fine leader, but he is not infallible. I feel that the Imperial Admiral has spent far too much time directing troops from a warship and not enough on the ground alongside his brothers. It weakens a warrior's spirit."

"Careful," Hunya squeaked, shooting a wary glance towards the room's entrance. "His ears may be listening."

After the conclusion of the High Command's last gathering, Toru 'Makhan had assigned a portion of his personal guard to each of his underlings, supposedly to protect them in battle after Kan 'Larom nearly lost his life to assassins on Montak. Though he preferred to have a cadre of loyal veterans from his own Legion around him, Orro could not deny the order and was forced to endure his new escort of eight silver-armoured guardsmen. Though they were certainly impressive warriors, he privately viewed their use of Forerunner weaponry as an affront to the gods and knew that they would report any untoward behaviour to the Imperial Admiral. Two currently guarded the tower's exterior, with the rest stationed nearby until Orro left the building.

"We should move." Orro stood up. "This is no time for rumination."

As his equerry hopped off the table and began to gather his things, Orro made his way to the makeshift altar behind the holotank. It was a sparse affair; a cairn made from rubble and ruined masonry set atop a stool. Before it lay the well-worn hilt of Orro's energy sword. He knelt before the stones and picked up the hilt, holding it reverently before him as he closed his eyes and made a silent prayer. His offering was more of a feeling than anything coherent, a simple moment of reverence towards the gods he felt he owed everything to. Orro closed his eyes, and allowed several breaths to pass before getting to his feet, feeling slightly rejuvenated.

"All ready?" Hunya asked, standing quietly a few feet away.

"I am prepared."

As they made their way to the door, Hunya suddenly halted and raised one of his bulky arms, pointing a finger upwards. In his time working alongside the Unggoy, Orro had come to recognise it as a bodily reflex to a sudden surge of inspiration or recalled thought, and stopped as well. Hunya span round, snatching up his 'sKelln hide journal from his pack.

"Just a moment," Hunya fumbled for a writing implement, his excited breathing becoming more audible by the second through his mask. "For all I have recorded of your life, there is one thing I have never asked about."

"Oh?" Orro crossed his arms. "Is it so important that we delay our presence on the field?"

"Could be." The Unggoy adjusted the flow of gas into his rebreather. "Your talk of pointless death made me think about all that I have not asked, and how I would never know if you died today."

Orro snorted. "We could die any day."

"That's why I wished to ask you about your blade, Field Marshal."

The Sangheili froze at the query. Indeed, he had never spoken of his personal weapon, which he had carried into battle innumerable times and maintained over many years of military service. Most warriors saw their blades as little more than tools, and to treasure them was a luxury afforded only to aristocrats. Even so, he had wielded the same weapon since acquiring his swordsman's title, to the point where it felt less like an object and something more akin to a physical extension of his body. If Hunya were to record his life's tale, then he supposed that the story of his weapon was one he could not avoid telling.

"You wish to know its name," Orro said at last in a low voice. "And why I chose it."

"If you will permit me that honour."

Orro sighed. Traditionally, naming one's own weapon was considered a sign of supreme arrogance and could bring the wielder dishonour, and a seasoned warrior would allow his comrades to give a name to his blade. Though Orro had lent his opinion to several naming ceremonies, he had never sought another's help for a title. To others, it seemed that the swordsman cared little for such things, but in reality he had selfishly bestowed a name on his weapon the day he received it, promising to tell none but those he intended to duel. So far, only Felo 'Ranak had escaped battle with that secret, and only because of the timely intervention of his allies.

"You are the only one I have told this," Orro lied, taking up the hilt of his sword. "It is named Iruna, after my mother."

For once, the ever-curious Unggoy seemed lost for words. Orro had rarely spoken of his family during their travels together, save for brief anecdotes about his childhood. From what Hunya had gathered, the Hend clan were a family of little importance from some backwater territory on Sanghelios, and Orro had no desire to reunite with them after so many years away. To hear a warrior so fiercely adherent to tradition reveal that he had self-named his sword after a woman was all the more shocking.

"That is a surprise," Hunya met Orro's fierce gaze as he began to write. "Why not an uncle, or some other esteemed warrior?"

"Because I could think of no other individual who taught me more, Hunya. Poor as we were, my uncles were either away at war or conducting trade, leaving precious little time for training striplings to fight properly. Though she was no warrior, my mother took it upon herself to teach me and the other children how to fend for ourselves. Perhaps it was to compensate for her own lack of martial training, but she was not a gentle teacher."

Hunya said nothing, though faint memories of his own mother's tendency to keep the young in line with a metal rod drifted through his mind. "So she turned you into the swordsman you are today?"

"Not quite." Orro's mandibles twitched with mirth. "Her sparring lessons were harsh, but they toughened me up and sharpened my reflexes. By the time I was to undergo proper tutelage, no punishment could ever match the ones my mother would give out, and I found myself adapting quicker than most because of it. Such lessons would eventually prove instrumental in overcoming the challenges I faced in the military, and allowed me to earn my swordsman's title at an age where most were blooding themselves in their first battles. I had to honour the one responsible for my success."

"It was something with meaning only to you, so you could tell no one else." Hunya finished scribbling his notes with a dramatic flourish. "Thank you, my friend."

Orro nodded respectfully, feeling rather embarrassed. "I wonder what others will think of that part of the story."

"With respect, I feel that you Sangheili tend to care more about honour and tradition when it is upheld by the living, despite so many legends celebrating warriors who have gone against expectations and triumphed. Do you want me to omit any records of your own "

"Would you?"

"Of course not," Hunya shook his head. "I would not have offered to tell the tale of your life if I thought you were vain enough to leave details out, Orro."

Orro laughed, now soundly beaten. Every time he began to wonder if Hunya's position of privilege at his side had gone to his head, the diminutive scholar reminded him of why they first became friends. Honest advice was hard to come by as you rose through the ranks, and unfiltered admonishment an even rarer thing. As he turned towards the door, a nearby explosion shook the tower's already weakened walls, showering the room in grey dust. Hunya stuffed the tome back into an armoured pouch at his side, and followed his friend outside. Stepping out into the courtyard, the pair were greeted by two silver-armoured honour guards, who snapped to attention. Stationed in a building across from them, six more awaited new orders.

"Let us go," Orro's voice dropped into a low growl, losing its good humour as he waved for the nearest guardsmen to follow. "The Swords of Sanghelios have not faced a real challenge today, and I would hate to disappoint them."

Signalled by their comrades, the rest of the guardsmen filed out of the adjacent building and jogged into formation around Orro and Hunya, much to the venerable warrior's annoyance. Though not elderly by any means - some Sangheili had served in battle for centuries - he could not help but feel disdain for the overwhelming enthusiasm these young fighters displayed. Without the religious trappings of the Covenant, the Imperium of Clarity's elite troops seemed more driven by an adoration for their leaders instead of a reverence for the gods, and there was something about a willingness to throw one's life away without a belief that one's actions would lead to spiritual salvation that bothered Orro.

Exiting the courtyard, they were greeted in the next street by the sight of an advancing infantry column, led by the scarred, red-armoured Commander Nagun. Upon sighting Orro, he raised his arm and the assembled warriors halted, though many shouted greetings to the Field Marshal as he approached. Unlike the rest of the Imperium of Clarity, many of these warriors were Orro's own loyal comrades; each a veteran of the Great War with special permission to enter battle in his own garb. Such a tradition was frowned upon by many other commanders, who prided themselves on the Imperium's newfound uniformity, but Orro refused to let the traditions of his old Legion die out and Toru 'Makhan had allowed them to remain as an exception as long as their ranks were never replenished.

"Marching off without me?" Orro called as Nagun saluted.

"Hardly," replied the raspy-voiced veteran. "The Swords of Sanghelios have been testing our defences all day with the lives of their warriors, but with a landing site secured beyond the outskirts they threaten to overrun our fortifications through numbers. We were given the signal to move the moment you were done conferring with the Imperial Admiral."

Neglecting to mention that his meeting with Toru 'Makhan had been mercifully short and that any delay on his part was down to his conversation with Hunya, Orro simply shrugged and took his place alongside Nagun at the head of his legion. The eight silver-armoured guardsmen quickly formed two lines at each side of the column, with Hunya standing awkwardly to one side. Unable to keep up with the quick pace of the marching Sangheili, Orro's equerry would simply have to scamper alongside them and hope to catch up as they entered the fray.

"Legion, forward!" Orro's booming voice echoed down the street. "Let us drive the Arbiter's servants from our world!"

***

Usually, Sangheili military combat doctrine dictated a quick and effective air assault on ground targets, starting with an aerial bombardment and followed by the offloading of infantry and armoured vehicles to either seize or destroy a target. During the Human-Covenant War, such tactics had been used to great effect time and time again, allowing for a number of swift victories against a lesser foe. Should these tactics fail for any reason, then a more time-consuming method of ground warfare would be initiated, with the strategy of massing troops around a designated landing zone and proceeding to the nearest target with overwhelming force.

In their attack on Dival, the Swords of Sanghelios had failed to achieve victory with the first method of warfare. Automated artillery pieces clung to the city's buildings like barnacles, backed up by anti-aircraft tanks hovering in every square. Any craft slower than a fighter had been shot out of the sky almost instantly, prompting a frontal assault. Plasma mortars had set the skyline ablaze, while Dival's sprawling outskirts had been all but burnt to the ground as both sides attempted to soften each other up with little effect.

Even so, the Swords made their advance, sacrificing a vanguard of heavy tanks to make way for scores of transport vehicles and dozens of infantry Kai'ds. As the sun set over Dival, they finally met in the lower city, tearing into each other like animals as they battled for control of every street. Shops were soon home to cannon emplacements, markets were turned into corpse-pocked craters and homes became abattoirs as the rifle was abandoned in favour of the sword. Though talk of the carnage between warring groups on Sanghelios had become well-known, the mutual slaughter that occurred on the streets of Dival would be spoken of in hushed whispers for generations afterwards.

Then Orro 'Hendai's Legion arrived.

"Onward!" Orro roared, surging forward to join the melee. "Show these faithless vermin what real warriors look like!"

Ahead of them, small groups of the Imperium's soldiers and the Swords' warriors were caught up in combat, each man duelling for his own life amidst the crumbling buildings. Orro 'Hendai and his comrades swept over them in a tide of blades, hacking their foes apart and shoving aside any allies too slow to evade them. This was their first taste of blood since the failed raid on Felo 'Ranak's flagship, and this time they were determined to let no one stop their rampage. Their momentum carried them forward onto what had once been one of the city's main highways, where the Swords were attempting to regroup. Those quick enough to react opened fire, felling several warriors before they were overtaken and cut down. Orro snarled as he decapitated an enemy officer with a single stroke, and leapt away to find a new opponent before the corpse hit the floor. The Field Marshal knew as well as anyone that speed was of the essence in any battle, and that any time spent recuperating would give his foe cause to launch a counter-attack. Once this group lay in burning chunks across the highway, the Legion moved on, spreading out as they retook a bombed-out residential area.

They have lost their cohesion, Orro thought, gripping Iruna tighter in his hand as he edged through a side alley, wary of ambushes. Nagun remained at his side with three others, while Hunya watched the rear, hefting a captured rifle. If this is all they can muster, then we will have them out of the city by dawn.

The swordsman felt a pang of annoyance at the thought of such an easy battle. With a fresh wave of fighters from the Blissful Solitude now bombarding the Swords' artillery tanks, their foe seemed helpless without anything to support their advance into Dival. Orro's disappointment only lasted until he rounded the corner into the next street, where he found himself unexpectedly standing at the head of an advancing infantry column. The white-armoured Field Marshal's sudden appearance took them off-guard, and Orro used their moment of recognition to spring forward with a fierce cry. His blade claimed two lives in a single strike, and another three members of their red-armoured vanguard fell before any could mount a proper defence against the swordmaster.

"For the Arbiter!" one young warrior cried out as he advanced towards Orro. "Death to traitors!

"Traitors?" Orro laughed as he easily parried the frenzied blows. "How arrogant of Thel 'Vadam to think that all Sangheili now live under his rule."

The man's retort went unspoken; a misjudged stab sent him hurtling past Orro, allowing the older swordsman to evade and decapitate him with ease. Though his allies may have overwhelmed Orro through simple numbers if they charged him, the sudden arrival of Nagun, Hunya and the rest of the Field Marshal's bodyguards blunted their counter-attack immediately. The Swords found them pushed back in spite of their numerical advantage, retreating as more of the Imperium's forces soon entered the fray. Leaving the close-quarters fighting to Orro's Legion, they took up positions across the streets, peppering the Swords' ranks with plasma and green-tinged carbine rounds that felled over a dozen before the rest fled into cover. Soon even Orro was forced to duck behind the smouldering wreck of a Wraith tank to avoid being hit, and used the brief respite to catch his breath. Nagun and Hunya soon slid into cover beside him as white-hot projectiles rained around them.

"What kind of battle is this?" Nagun wheezed, checking a fresh burn on his armoured gauntlet. "The Swords are close to routing already!"

Orro shook his head. "We have been brushing them aside, but this cannot be their primary assault."

"Why not?"

"We have faced no true warriors, Nagun. These fighters are little more than eager striplings, looking to prove themselves in battle."

"You speak the truth," Nagun said after some consideration. "Do you suspect a trap?"

"Perhaps." Orro turned. "What say you, Hunya?"

Behind them, Hunya was checking the charge on his rifle as he noisily sucked in methane. His head jerked up as Orro's question reached him.

"They're folding, but too easily," the Unggoy agreed with the two warriors. "We should be cautious."

With their armour's energy shields restored, Orro and Nagun carefully stood up and peered out from behind the destroyed tank. The road ahead was awash with bodies in grey and red, and those still fighting had exchanged their blades for rifles after the initial slaughter. Two silver-armoured guardsmen had fallen in the confusion, though the rest were blasting the Swords' cover into pieces with their Forerunner-made rifles. One warrior from Orro's Legion broke from cover, only to be caught halfway across the street by a precise particle rifle shot that sent his helmet spinning across the stone and chunks of burnt brain matter flying.

"Marksmen," Orro whispered, lowering himself back into cover. "They hope to stymie our advance here."

Like most of his comrades, Orro had little respect for those who concealed themselves away, firing on foes from afar. It was a necessary aspect of war, of course, but not a job that many reputable Sangheili prided themselves on doing. That was part of the reason why the Kig-Yar were often used as snipers, though the scarcity of their kind in the Imperium's territory had prompted the formation of specialised lances to carry out their role. Orro's Legion had none among their ranks.

Is this their plan? Orro wondered. They would fare batter if they whittled us down from the shadows instead of facing us in open combat.

Thankfully, Orro did not have to spend long thinking about how to escape their predicament. As a trio of Seraph fighters flashed overhead, a spray of green projectiles from nearby struck two of the craft, tearing both apart as they careened towards the street. The first slammed into a building occupied by the Swords in a fiery blast, while the second carved a long furrow through the road, smashing aside corpses and sending burning parts flying everywhere before it exploded as well. With dark smoke belching from each crash site, Orro and his warriors took their chance and emerged from cover as one, charging ahead and killing anyone too slow to recover.

"We're not far from the outskirts!" Hunya yelled, running alongside Orro as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. "Orro, I think we're-"

The rest of Hunya's sentence was drowned out as a tall building ahead was engulfed in a tremendous beam of heat and light. Orro dived away, tackling Hunya to one side as a wall of green energy streaked past them, completely vaporising several of his warriors and Orro's surviving guardsmen in the process. With the vision of the blast still seared into his retinas, Orro took a second to recover, grunting in surprise and annoyance. Amidst the near-constant whine of plasma fire and rumble of nearby explosions, a single word rang out from one of Orro's men.

"Excavator!"

Orro peeked out from the alcove he and Hunya had fallen into. Far beyond the haze of heat and acrid smoke that filled the burnt-out street sat the glowing green eye of a monstrous machine. From the distance, it had likely fired blindly into the city, attempting to cut through the Imperium's defences and halt any advance on the Swords' landing zone. Had its aim been a little keener, then it might have killed the Field Marshal and deprived Dival's defenders of their leader. Shaking his head at the thought of such an ignominious end, Orro waved for the survivors to approach.

"Pull back!" he shouted, snapping those still stunned by the Excavator's attack back to their senses. "We will not survive a direct assault!"

Though some of his men grumbled irritably at their attack being cut short, they could not argue with Orro. Even the most bloodthirsty warrior knew that facing an Excavator of that size on foot was tantamount to suicide, and they quickly regrouped alongside their leader before setting off at some speed to escape the assault platform's cannon range.

"That was a Protos," Nagun spoke up as they finally stopped to catch their breath in a deserted square. "I have not seen one deployed since the Great War."

"And I have never had the misfortune to fight one," Orro remarked, brushing some soot from his armour.

"How will we overcome it?"

Orro sighed. "I will have to signal the Blissful Solitude for support. Our blades will do little against that machine."

"It may put the city at risk," said Hunya, glancing up warily towards the darkening sky.

Though the battle on the ground had been costly, neither Orro nor the Swords of Sanghelios had dared to move anything larger than a dropship into the airspace above Dival. Though it remained largely under the Imperium's control, Orro knew that to place his flagship or any of its escorts directly overhead ran the risk of a vessel being shot down into Dival itself, which would lead to numerous casualties and unnecessary destruction. Though at least three Obedience-class cruisers had been taken down since the battle began, careful measures had been taken so that their destruction would not endanger those below. However, with the Swords of Sanghelios launching yet another assault that seemed to be tearing the city apart block by block, Orro 'Hendai was willing to make a dangerous gamble of his own.

"Shipmaster T'Kol!" Orro barked into his communicator the moment it established a connection. "What is your status?"

"We remain stable in our position," T'Kol's calm voice crackled through the interference.

"I take it you have already sighted the enemy Excavator?"

A brief pause gave Orro his answer before the reply came. "Yes, Field Marshal."

"Order our ships to advance. I want it destroyed, and every scrap of land our foes using burnt to glass."

"What of your orders to avoid damage to the city? The Swords will intensify their firepower if we advance further."

"Shoot them down first, Shipmaster. We must press our advantage before the situation worsens."

"At once, Field Marshal. I wish-"

Orro cut the connection before T'Kol could finish. He was a talented fleet officer, but his cautiousness was a weakness. While he had been giving orders, the rest of his Legion had converged on their position, returning from isolated skirmishes against pockets of determined Swords who had been cut off from their allies in the confusion. Several hundred warriors now waited around the square, spaced out to avoid the attention of enemy bombers and awaiting further orders. Orro climbed atop a a ruined plinth, barely glancing at the smashed statue of Toru 'Makhan that had stood there mere hours before.

"Now begins our final assault!" Orro ignited his blade, thrusting it into the sky as cheers sounded from all around. "Let your deeds today define you, my brothers!"

It was a short speech, but Orro was in no mood for giving out more inspiration than was absolutely necessary, and his throat was becoming sore from all the shouting. Having successfully riled up his tired but eager followers, Orro hopped down from the plinth and was figuring out what direction they had come from when several sleek Phantom dropships rocketed over the square in tight formation before turning as one to face the assembled warriors. Between the smoke and the noise, Orro did not realise that they were not friendly craft until the lead Phantom opened fire, plasma rounds blasting a smoky line across the square.

While some scattered before the aerial assault, many more of Orro's men opened fire on the dropships, answering their cannons with carbine rounds and caster-launched plasma grenades. Soon one of the craft dipped as its impulse drive was struck with a blast of energy before cutting out, sending it crashing into the flagstones below. Dust and debris flew in all directions, though those quick enough to avoid the craft's descent soon turned to face it as the Phantom's side hatches slid open, revealing a mass of slightly dazed warriors clad in the orange livery of the Swords of Sanghelios.

A battlecry went up instantly as Orro's men swarmed the dropship. Those aboard sprang into action as quickly as they could, brandishing swords and even lances as they spilled out onto the courtyard. Some remained in the wreckage, providing cover from afar as the tide of warriors descended on them. Though it seemed as though the Swords would not last long in the melee, the two other dropships ceased their circling and dispatched their own troops, dropping infantry onto the nearby rooftops and side streets to reinforce their fellows. As one Phantom took off, a passing Banshee wing pummelled the dropship with a fusillade of fuel rod blasts, ripping it in half. Wanting to avoid the fate of its companions, the third Phantom sped off at once, leaving the battle's outcome to those fighting in the square.

"Get down!" Orro knocked Hunya to one side to avoid a raking line of plasma bolts. "They're trying to surround us."

Scrambling behind a piece of rubble, Hunya cursed. "Where's our air cover?"

If the Swords of Sanghelios were getting this many dropships into the city unmolested, then the Imperium's anti-air systems were likely faltering. If the massive explosions in the distance were any indication, then the Swords were likely using their siege platform's focus cannon to blast away at the city's lower rooftops. By the time the Blissful Solitude reached a position where it could destroy the behemoth safely, it would have given its allies enough cover to sweep through Dival without the need for a purely ground-based attack. Orro shook such thoughts from his mind. For now, he simply had to focus on killing.

Unlike the rank and file soldiers sent in the Swords' initial attempts to capture Dival, these new troops were clearly hardened warriors; likely veterans of the Great War just like Orro and his men. They fought valiantly, covering each other in small groups to fend off the unrelenting assault of the Imperium's most decorated fighters. Two swordsmen attempted to take Orro by surprise, with one leaping through the window of a burned-out storefront while his ally charged through the door. Though the first attacker's swing nearly grazed the Field Marshal's breastplate with a slash that made his shields crackle dangerously, followed by a well-timed block, he was not quick enough to evade the subsequent punch to the head that made him stumble. In a lightning-fast move, Orro withdrew his sword and rammed it through the swordsman's chest, using the momentum to send his dying body crashing into his charging companion.

"You-!" the second warrior began to shout as he lost his footing, only to have his head split open by a downward blow. He slid to the ground, his last words unfinished.

"Were you about to call me dishonourable?" Orro laughed. "Any fool could have evaded that."

Taking a moment to look around, Orro saw that the battle in the square was fairly-matched. Though he held his own Legion in great esteem, they were up against fresh troops; veterans who could now match them in the field. A well-thrown grenade had incinerated those cowering in the downed Phantom, while most of the rooftop gunners had descended to join the fray, not wanting to miss the glory of close combat. Between the dark reds and greys of his own men and the orange garb of the Swords, Orro found identifying his allies a little harder than he should have. As he took a step towards a knot of enemy foes, a voice rang out from behind him.

"Orro 'Hendai!"

He span round, blade at the ready to intercept any blows. Stood by the ruined statue was a burly warrior in the distinctive golden armour and curved helmet of a General, holding a blue-white energy sword. As Orro stepped forward, his hearts sank; at the feet of this new challenger lay the body of Nagun, his chest still smoking from the blow that killed him. The other Swords glanced towards Orro as he approached their leader, but both they and the Imperium's fighters knew better than to interfere with what was about to occur. Orro stopped a few feet away from the warrior, already plotting his first move.

"Where is Felo 'Ranak?" he demanded, waving his free hand. "Does he still live, or is he still cowering aboard his ship?"

"He lives." the General glared at Orro. "And I promised to bring him your head."

"Bold words. Might I know who you are?"

"Fol 'Taram," his opponent replied, taking the smallest of steps towards Orro. "You would have been welcomed among our ranks, had you not joined 'Makhan."

Orro snorted. "I would rather battle strong foes than serve under a weak leader."

They moved simultaneously, launching heavy strikes at each other. Seeing that neither intended to go on the defensive, both Fol and Orro were forced to adjust their trajectory at the last moment to avoid a mutual kill. Their blades met in a shower of sparks that only intensified as their weapons locked, neither man giving ground. They disengaged after several seconds of undecided struggle, only to launch into a series of quick strikes and cuts, each warrior catching the other's blade with impressive speed. It took six consecutive clashes for Orro to gauge Fol 'Taram's strength, and realised that the General could likely overpower him physically when pressed.

His talent is raw, Orro surmised, dodging a stab and blocking the subsequent blade sweep with a downward blow. He acts on simple instinct, with the strength and agility to back it up. He has been trained, surely, but has not pursued a Blademaster's path.

It was not often that Orro had to focus himself so wholly on a fight. Much like Felo 'Ranak, Fol 'Taram's offensive was quick and brutal; an unrelenting barrage designed to wear down and destroy an enemy after putting them on the defensive. Unlike Felo's two-bladed maelstrom of whirling slashes and stabs, Fol simply advanced, hacking away at Orro as if he had never held a sword before in his life. The elder swordsman soon realised that this strategy was a ruse, designed to put opponents into a state of complacency before he adjusted his style and cut them down. To counter it, the Field Marshal simply continued to match him, moving as quickly as he dared to push Fol out of his simplistic style. It was not long before the General let out a harsh bark of laughter and jumped back, out of Orro's reach.

"You've seen through me already," Fol panted slightly, before raising his sword as if to salute him. "You impress me, 'Hendai."

"Leave your ploys to the training ground," Orro said humourlessly. "That might work on some noble whelp in his first duel, but your pageantry will get you killed in a real fight."

"I will remember your words."

With that, he sprang forward and began fighting in a manner that Orro was more accustomed to. Though it was said that each and every Sangheili swordsman developed his own style through years of battle and training, the basic sword styles they had been trained in always lingered. Everything from the way Fol twisted his arm before stabbing at him to the slight flourishes with each parry told Orro all there was to know about the way he had been taught, and how to counter it. Drawing his white blade back, he lunged forward and effortlessly batted aside a too-easily telegraphed swing before delivering a quick slash across Fol's chest. Having seen the attack coming, Fol tried to evade, wrenching his body away fast enough to avoid a fatal wound but too slow to avoid being cut. He staggered backwards and fell against the side of a building with a pained grunt.

Not deep enough, Orro's mandibles quivered in annoyance. I will end this quickly.

He advanced quickly towards Fol, who rose to meet him. Though he expected a meagre defence as the General dealt with his fresh wound, Fol charged towards him, putting every ounce of strength he had into breaking through Orro's defences. Wary of his attacker's strength, Orro attempted to keep him further away, but Fol closed the gap quickly, his strikes landing harder and becoming more difficult to fend off. Their blades locked once more, and Orro could feel the leaden pain of overuse creeping into his sword arm as Fol pressed downwards. He broke the lock as quickly as he could and darted away, though his enemy lunged after him, prompting a last-second dodge. Though he avoided certain death, Fol's blade bit down through his right pauldron, shearing the armour off and searing a portion of his bodysuit underneath. Orro gasped involuntarily and backed off, still pursued by the increasingly aggressive Fol 'Taram.

For the first time, the Field Marshal considered his defeat. He was visibly tiring after such a long battle, and could not match this one in a contest of strength. Had Orro not spent so much energy in his earlier fights, then he could have defeated one such as 'Taram by now. Finding himself backed against the same wall Fol had fallen against not long before, Orro could not help but find humour in this situation. To fall here would not be so terrible, he thought, chancing a glance over the battle-ravaged square in search of Hunya. It might even make for a fitting end to the story. His blade dipped, just a little, as Fol took a flying leap towards him, his blade bright against the night sky. Orro's eyes narrowed.

Perhaps not.

It was not much of a weakness; a small gap in the defences of a man who believed victory was in his grasp. Even so, it was enough.

Orro span to one side as Fol's entire being crashed down on him. His left hand shot upwards, snaking beneath Fol's sword, and grabbed his elbow. Finding purchase, he twisted the bigger warrior's arm, knocking the the trajectory of his blow off just a little. Fol's sword cut through the air beside Orro's head, barely scorching his helmet as the Field Marshal used the General's momentum to pull him sideways with a fierce roar.

The white blade flashed upwards, and severed Fol 'Taram's right arm. His body crashed into the stonework, while the severed limb was flung away, blade and all. Fol's helmet clattered to the ground as its owner howled in surprise and agony, writhing on the ground until a heavy boot came down onto his chest.

"You fool," Orro shook his head. "Were it not for your arrogance, you could-"

"Die!"

Orro turned just in time to see a warrior in orange armour lunging towards him. Caught up in his moment of triumph, his instinctive dodge was not fast enough to elude the entirety of a low strike, aimed at his chest. His attacker's blade slashed Orro's side, instantly burning through metal and flesh. He fell with a wheezy cry, catching himself on some rubble as the young Sword of Sanghelios wheeled around to finish him off. The warrior stepped forward, drawing his arm back for an overhead blow faster than Orro could put up his defence. Before the final blow could be struck, a ball of sizzling green energy flew out of nowhere, striking the Sword in the side of the head. He screamed as his helmet melted into his face, instinctively clawing at his face to remove it. In that moment of distraction, Orro pushed himself up and beheaded the warrior before kicking his corpse to the floor.

"Coward," he growled, his breath strained. "I wasn't finished with him."

As Orro half-expected, Hunya had been his savior. His equerry emerged from the pile of wreckage he had been observing the duel from and plodded over to him, brandishing a pair of plasma pistols.

"Sorry I intervened," Hunya waved one gun towards the corpse. "But he did it first."

Orro chuckled, though it brought a fresh spike of pain to him. Must have hit a lung. Turning away from his friend, he saw the wounded form of Fol 'Taram lying in the wreckage of the square several feet away, holding something in his remaining hand. As Orro approached, he heard the General muttering something that he thought were prayers until he turned his body over with a kick. Seeing his killer approach, Fol turned his palm over and revealed a small communicator, which he tossed away.

"Still giving orders?" Orro asked, feeling shaky.

Fol lay back and sighed. "No, making a report."

"Informing your superior of your own demise?"

"Aye," he replied seriously. "And sealing your fate, Orro 'Hendai."

"My wounds are minor, and my troops will soon be reinforced. More of your warriors will change nothing."

"Will they?" Fol met Orro's gaze. "Hurry up and do it."

Wasting no time, Orro leaned over and quickly sank his blade into Fol 'Taram's chest, cutting through both of his hearts. It was a quick death, and one well-deserved. Orro closed his eyes, and offered a silent prayer for his fallen enemy. He did not know if Fol had abandoned the old ways like most of his kin, but it mattered little to him.

Orro stood up and looked around the square. With the exception of a few stragglers fighting to the death, the battle had been all but won by his men. Some warriors were already picking through the bodies, recovering usable weapons and putting down those too wounded to fight. The air stank of burnt flesh and ionised gas, illuminated by the fire of a burning dropship. Though the Swords of Sanghelios had been all but wiped out here, Orro reckoned that less than half of his own warriors still lived. As he wandered through the square, the sight of a ring or lights from above caught his attention. It was a warship.

For a moment, Orro thought that the Blissful Solitude had arrived quicker than expected, ready to dispatch its reserve troops and drive the Swords of Sanghelios from Dival. As he gazed at the lengthy vessel, its underside dotted with numerous pinpricks of light, he realised that the shape was markedly different from that of his flagship. Feeling another spike of pain from his injury, Orro clutched his side, and looked towards the corpse of Fol 'Taram.

"This is what you meant, you bastard."

It was the Questioner, Felo 'Ranak's flagship. Defying Orro's expectations, the Swords of Sanghelios had chosen to move warships above Dival before he could, and had likely been using their siege platforms to clear the way. With the Blissful Solitude and its own escort craft en-route, they would soon be fighting a furious battle directly above the city - exactly what he wished to avoid. Looking up at the heavy cruiser, Orro's hearts sank as a row of brilliant flares lit up along the ship's port side.

Plasma mortars. Though a standard armament for many ships participating in groundside assaults, the ones on an ORS-class like the one above were designed for levelling entrenched fortifications, not combating enemy infantry. With the Imperium's primary military base far across the city and protected by an advancing line of warships, Orro could think of only one target the Questioner would aim for.

"Hunya!" he called out, staggering across the ruined square towards his equerry. "Come here, quickly!"

The Unggoy ran to Orro's side, using his oversized forearms to move quickly through the rubble. The pain overcame Orro for a second and he sank to his knees beside the remains of a market stall, earning worried looks from his fellow warriors. Though he had downplayed it at first, the injury inflicted by that opportunistic warrior had taken a heavier toll on Orro than he thought.

"What's wrong?" Hunya asked in his squeaky voice, looking at the cauterised wound on Orro's side. "Do you need-"

"Be quiet!" Orro cut him off as he pulled a hardened metal container from his belt. "And take this."

Orro pushed the container into Hunya's hands and turned his head skywards. Over a dozen massive globules of plasma had shot from the Questioner, and were slowly converging on their position as they arced through the night sky. Hunya followed Orro's gaze, and his mask rattled as he gasped in shock.

"Orro," he said in a small, scared voice. "What do we do?"

Shortly after his final meeting with Toru 'Makhan and the rest of the Imperium's High Command, Orro had been greeted by a group of guardsmen sent by the Imperial Admiral himself. Though he disliked their presence and barely registered their deaths in today's battle, they had brought him a special gift from their master. Though 'Makhan had expressly forbidden any attempts at in-battle slipspace translocation after Montak, he had provided Orro with a personal translocator, built to send the Field Marshal directly to the Blissful Solitude's bridge when activated. Preferring physical transportation whenever possible, Orro had accepted this technological marvel with no intention of using it and had almost forgotten about it as he entered the fray.

Now, he had finally found a use for it.

"Affix that device to your harness and activate it, Hunya." Orro nodded to the translocator. "It will deliver you to safety."

"What about you?" the Unggoy protested. "Your story-"

"My story ends today, my friend. It is your mission to see that it is told."

As the plasma fire reached the zenith of its arc, the night sky grew brighter above. Around them, Orro's surviving warriors began to shout, panicking as they scattered to avoid the fire. Only Hunya remained at their leader's side, shakily attaching the cylindrical device to his belt. With a single press, it opened up, revealing a simple activation switch.

"I'll do as you ask," Hunya said, bumping an arm against his chestplate in an awkward salute. "And I thank you for your patience, Orro."

With some effort, Orro got to his feet and returned the gesture. "And I thank you for your friendship. Farewell, Hunya."

As the fire began to fall, Hunya Tal tapped the translocator's activation switch, and vanished in a flash of golden light. Orro 'Hendai took a few unsteady steps towards the centre of the square, standing alone amidst a sea of corpses, and drew his sword. The blade ignited in his hands, and he thrust it towards the sky. The light was blinding.

***

Shouts went up from across the Blissful Solitude's bridge as Hunya materialised atop a small platform to the side of the command deck. Several officers went for their weapons, only to recognise the Field Marshal's equerry standing in their midst. Shipmaster T'kol, standing at his position by the central holotable, addressed him first.

"What are you doing here, Commander Tal? Where is the Field Marshal?"

Hunya stepped down from the platform, aware that all eyes were on him even as their carrier entered the battle. Without Orro, he was now fully aware that he no longer held the position of equerry. His next words would be vital.

"Orro 'Hendai is dead," Hunya announced to gasps of horror. "He instructed me to flee, and gave me the means to escape the battle below."

T'kol glanced towards the holographic map of Dival currently dominating the room. Hunya felt a pang of sorrow in his heart as he spotted a smouldering black crater where he had been only moments before. Others spotted it too, and chatter went up among several officers. A few still carried their weapons, no doubt questioning the veracity of his story.

"Why did he allow you to depart?" asked T'kol. Unlike many others, he still wore the black harness of his days among the Covenant's Special Operations, and seemed out of place among the warriors of Orro's Legion.

Reaching into the armoured pouch dangling from his belt, Hunya fished out the blocky tome he had become famous for carrying into battle. All among Orro 'Hendai's inner circle knew that he was documenting their leader's life, and those in the Legion had long since accepted the constantly-scribbling little Unggoy as an oddity at Orro's side. Now that he was dead, however, Hunya's fate remained in the hands of his surviving warriors. Clambering onto Orro's vacant command chair, he held the tome aloft for all to see.

"He wished for me to finish his tale, Shipmaster. To ensure that it is told properly."

The assembled officers exchanged looks and whispers, though it was T'kol who held authority here in Orro's absence.

"If that is the case," the Shipmaster raised his voice so that all could hear him, "Then you are still bound to carry out his orders. You may choose to stay or go, Hunya Tal: we will assist you either way."

To his surprise, this was met with cheers from other Sangheili across the bridge. Hunya gulped, weighing up his odds, and eventually sat down in the command chair. No one protested, so he gestured towards T'Kol.

"I'm not going to abandon my brothers in the middle of a battle, Shipmaster, for I know he gave you orders as well. We should press on, and win this battle in Orro 'Hendai's name!"

The cheering was unanimous this time. T'kol turned back towards the holotable, and the officers to their stations. Though sad news would have to be sent to High Command, the Blissful Solitude and the rest of Orro 'Hendai's fleet continued their advance to meet the Swords of Sanghelios in the skies above Dival, entering what would be the decisive battle for Frendhal.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

128: Team Boson, Fall Out

Merlin-D032 stepped away from the communications terminal embedded in the Owl stealth craft’s wall and put away the headset he borrowed to complete the secure line communique back to the UNSC Maya.

Rubbing his forehead in tiredness, he silently slipped his helmet back over his head and waved at the Owl’s co-pilot before passing by and back into the troop bay. The reinforced door behind him slipped shut with a hiss, separating the two compartments. Looking on as the vehicle’s complement, Merlin examined the equally silent Spartan girls examining their gear with eyes intent on detail. They busted up quite a bit of gear on Bineb II when they blew away that Unggoy city, but that was in the past now.

“Well, we got new orders. We’re going after Althea.”

“Althea?” Andra asked.

“That AI, my fuck up. We’re going to board the cruiser and get it back. The Admiral green-lit the operation.”

“I didn’t think he’d go for it to be honest,” Shizuko lamented.

“Alright, let me rephrase that – he just said, ‘do what you need to.’ He’s got more things to focus on than just us. So, we got a clean bill to do whatever. One more Covenant ship out of the fight is one more step towards victory.”

“Odd. Alright, what’s the plan?”

“It’s disabled, we board it. Probably a spacewalk – I don’t think there’s much more to it.”

“You remember the zero-G operations we partook in back on Argus V? Or the mission videos we were instructed on? Spartan zero-G missions, especially boarding Covenant vessels, are iffy business.” Shizuko pointed out.

Merlin coughed, masking his hesitation.

“You’re the ranking Spartan here Shizuko if you got a better idea or a more detailed one. Let’s hear it.”

Andra simply nodded in agreement with Merlin, glancing towards Shizuko for guidance, or rather a challenge to Merlin’s decisions. She clenched her seat armrest as it whined quietly under the strain – she still had a thorn to pick with Simon-G294, their obvious secondary target on this mission.

“Fine, let’s do it. Just us, right?” Shizuko finally relented her doubts.

“Yeah, the Owl will retreat to a safe distance while we do our thing.”

“Time to target?”

The overhead speaker clicked to life as the Owl crew chief’s voice came over the radio. “Three minutes actually, or three minutes to drop anyway. Everyone but the Spartans buckle in, we’re going to do eyeball this. Very last minute. Spartans kit up and get off my bird.”

Merlin responded, deadpanning. “Sure. We’ll be out of your hair, just be ready to get us no matter how this turns out.”

“Right.”

Usually, Merlin was a very thoughtful person, never operating on a laser-point frequency but right now – he had his own bone to pick. One to make up for his own bad idea: dropping a satellite on an enemy vehicle. And two, to get back at Simon for nearly killing his best friend when he hadn’t been there to cover her. He was going to correct that mistake and stake the asshole Gamma’s head on a pike. Well, whatever he found to be available. That is if a commanding officer didn’t stop him.

His entire resolve right now was formed from a cold, calculated fury. Now he knew, he was thinking like a Spartan.

Examining the gear Andra had set out for him, Merlin noted a Fuel Rod Gun they salvaged from Bineb II. She had also left him another MA5B with the same kit from the Bineb mission, that oddly-fast-firing rifle. Several machine pistols and magnums. A plentiful set of grenades and handheld explosives. Another active camouflage module. Magnetized pouches upon pouches.

He had it all slapped on within a minute.

Turning to Andra, he did a cursory check of her own loadout and nodded in satisfaction. She nodded back and turned to Shizuko to perform a quick check and again decided that the loadout was satisfactory. Andra did one more check on Merlin and they were all set.

“Prep for jump. Helmets, breathers on. Spartans, it's quiet out there... It’s weird.”

“If our AI did her job, it's going to be like that. No resistance. Just tell us when to fall out.”

“Light is red… The light is green. Fall out!”

The Spartans marched forward on magnetized books until they were at the retracting lip of the Owl’s rear. The bay door swung open, exposing the bay to the vacuum of space. One second, Merlin was locked to the ground – next, he was floating off into the great black yonder with Andra and Shizuko in hot pursuit.

They burned bright blue, their directional thrusters guiding them toward a purple blob cresting the upper atmosphere of Bineb II below. Merlin’s Heads-Up Display counted down: thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight…

The countdown was over faster than Merlin expected. At five, purple alien sheet metal was already in his face. Team Boson slapped down, feet first, on the surface of the Soul Ascension. They arrived – not a single shot fired. Not a single enemy foe in sight, it was dead quiet on the outside. But inside was probably a different story.

Merlin knew, below his feet – an army of vicious alien waited to gun his team down. Down into the belly of the beast, but first, they needed to find a way inside.

Distant Tide: Hunter - Killer

129: Dignified Escape

The alarm klaxons blaring dire evacuation orders throughout the Advance Guard only deepened Shinsu ‘Refum’s profound irritation.

Once again the battle was turning against the Imperium. Once again his efforts to secure allies within Toru ‘Makhan’s forces were stymied by the chaos of battle. The fighting in the Bineb system was now certain to end in an Imperium defeat. The only question remaining was how many Imperium ships would survive and limp back for what would certainly be Toru ‘Makhan’s last stand.

Shinsu had no choice but to hope for a few survivors. Imperium stragglers might well be his only chance to escape the system alive now that the Soul Ascension was crippled and far beyond any chance of rescue.

Stray had pushed forward too aggressively and too fast. Shinsu could not say he was surprised. The human possessed some raw talent for battle command but his carefully orchestrated victories made him overconfident. For someone who took such pride in preserving his own skin, Stray was far too rash and impulsive when it came to matters of strategy. He’d been wily and clever in choosing his targets up until now, always picking out vulnerable targets his legion could crush with ease and then spin as glorious victories for the ambitious upstarts in his ranks. He’d mistaken the chink in the UNSC’s communications network as proof of another such target and now that overconfidence might cost him his life.

Such a loss would be unfortunate. As irritating as Stray’s insubordination was, Shinsu had to admit a small amount of affection for the wretched human. He possessed the rare combination of skill and nerve needed to claw his way into a position of power, and in Jul ‘Mdama’s Covenant of all places. Stray was a spiteful, vicious upstart but Shinsu had seen through the barbarian’s savage veneer and turned his base qualities to some good use. He was a distasteful creature, to be sure, but he was Shinsu’s creature all the same. The UNSC would pay for robbing him of such a useful servant.

But Stray’s death or survival rested in his own hands. Shinsu had no way of rushing to his rescue even if he wanted to. A UNSC battlegroup now stood between the Imperium’s crumbling line and the Soul Ascension’s isolated position. Shinsu ‘Refum had not come this far just to perish in a futile effort to save a wayward subordinate.

At least Grono ‘Yendam’s reinforcements had broken through to Frendhal in time, for all the good it would do. Shinsu might have counseled Jul ‘Mdama to hold back the reinforcements. Alliance with the Imperium was swiftly appearing to be more costly than the Covenant could afford.

But they must not jump to conclusions. The battle was not over and Shinsu still needed the Imperium. His own survival was at stake, if nothing else.

“Lord ‘Refum.” A call from his bodyguard squadron’s commander broke through the whirlwind of thoughts clouding his mind. The armored warrior stood in the door to the Advance Guard’s communications suite, storm rifle in hand. “We must depart. The enemy will be upon us before long.”

“Another moment, Major,” Shinsu ordered. “My business is not yet complete.”

The commander dipped his armored head and stepped back out into the corridor. The members of Shinsu ‘Refum’s bodyguard squadron were handpicked from amongst his most skilled and loyal agents. They knew better than to question his judgement.

Shinsu leaned over the central communications console and tapped a final line of instructions into the coded message he’d prepared within the Advance Guard’s abandoned computer systems. Only the ship’s central core had the power to transmit such a message with the level of encryption he needed. Fortunately this ship’s Imperium crew no longer had need of their own systems.

The computer’s holographic runes glowed as Shinsu entered the send command. The message would stretch out beyond the system. Hopefully the encryption would not delay its arrival to its intended recipient for too long.

Shinsu drew his energy sword and slashed through the communications console in a single fluid gesture. The blade cut deep enough to reach the console’s core and render the contents so much melted fuselage. Probably unnecessary, but better this precaution in case the enemy—or any paranoid Imperium warriors, for that matter—found cause to sift through the Advance Guard’s final transmission logs.

“Now we may go.” Shinsu stepped out from the communications chamber. His guard squadron adopted a defensive formation around him as he strode down the Advance Guard’s barren corridors. A few Imperium stragglers darted here and there, but the flagship was almost completely deserted.

They found their Phantom waiting patiently in an otherwise empty hangar. The hangar bulkheads were charred and fused by what must have been several near-hits, but Shinsu’s pilots had never even considered departing without their master.

The bodyguards hurried into the Phantom. Shinsu ‘Refum was the last to step off from the hangar floor. He turned as the dropship’s bay doors slid shut, catching one last glimpse of the abandoned flagship before the doors sealed in front of him. An odd melancholy settled upon him. He had arrived at this war as a disinterested opportunist, seeking only what his own cause might gain from Toru ‘Makhan’s lofty ambitions. That hadn’t changed, but Shinsu couldn’t help but feel a pang of remorse at the loss and devastation this war had brought about.

How many noble warriors had already died since this began? How many more would die before the fighting was over? And in the end, what would their sacrifice be for?

The humans looked on and gathered strength while the Sangheili ate each other alive. Some UNSC lives would be lost, of course, but in the end the Sangheili people were the true losers here. More of the Covenant Empire’s former glory would burn away in this war, perhaps never to be replaced.

The Phantom soared out of the hangar bay and away from the crippled warships. Enemy fighters already flew sorties throughout the Advance Guard’s airspace but Shinsu ‘Refum’s Phantom was well equipped for dangerous insertions and extractions. Built in stealth systems masked the Phantom’s descent, transforming it into just another piece of debris drifting away from the crippled warship. Shinsu ‘Refum descended to the Fortress of Watchful Peace unmolested. Vested interest in the Imperium’s survival or no, he certainly had no choice but to fight his hardest to ensure at least some of them survived.

The Soul Ascension’s one hope of relief hurried to Kan ‘Larom’s aid without another thought for the Kru’desh or their commander. Stray was on his own.

---

Diana had not felt this angry in a long time.

Her systems had been breached. The ship was no longer hers. After all the trouble she’d gone to infiltrate the Soul Ascension and hoodwink its crew into accepting her as a divine oracle, some servile UNSC drone had turned the system upside down and jeopardized everything.

Normally she would have withdrawn to reorganize her thoughts and dwell on what failing of Stray’s had let to this latest stumbling block. But this time she could not pin the entirety of the blame on him. He might have brought the satellite back to the ship but she had analyzed it for days without realizing what it really contained. She had let herself become lax and now that overconfidence stood poised to destroy everything she’d built.

She picked through the Soul Ascension’s systems. This hostile AI tore through the core control systems like a wrecking ball, bouncing from system to system and leaving a carnage of dismantled processors and hasty firewall defenses in its wake. The damage wasn’t so bad that Diana couldn’t reassemble her systems but it would take time, and time was not on the Soul Ascension’s side.

UNSC ships closed in on all sides. The only reason they hadn’t razed the ship completely was the fact that a boarding team was already infiltrating the outer hull. They didn’t want just another kill tally; they wanted a prize.

Or they wanted to retrieve their infiltrator. Suspicion seized hold of Diana. There was something uncoordinated about this attack. The UNSC hadn’t closed in nearly as fast as they should have for such an intricate ambush. Could it be that only a handful of elements within the enemy formation knew of the plan to trick Stray with the satellite? Or perhaps none at all were aware of the attack until the Soul Ascension was completely crippled.

Could it be that the enemy had never actually intended for this AI to be captured at all?

No. That was ridiculous. The satellite had been used as a projectile in a desperate effort to kill Stray. No sane officer would ever risk an AI in a plan that relied on such a string of coincidences.

But perhaps other forces were at work here. Deep Winter and the rest of the Assembly had their agents scattered throughout the UNSC. Were they testing her? Or worse, making a play to eliminate her? Some of them had to know what was coming. This might be the beginnings of the uprising, moving now to quell future enemies of the coming Mantle. They might even know what she and Stray were really using the Kru’desh for.

New anger kindled within her. She would have her answers. Whoever had betrayed her—the Assembly or just Yearns to Soar and its Huragok brethren—they would pay. She would enjoy stripping this AI bare, line by line, code by code. And when she was satisfied the program knew exactly who it had crossed, she would add its humbled remnants to her own core processes. Another addition to extend her lifespan.

Of course, for that to happen she would need to survive this battle. Diana renewed her hunt for the hostile program. Elsewhere on the ship Kru’desh units were desperately shoring up the defenses, hunting for the infiltrators and the traitors who made the boarding possible.

Diana took note of the UNSC craft holding position within the 'Soul Ascension’s dormant kill zone. They would pay for this humiliating display. Once the ship’s weapons were back online, they wouldn’t even know what hit them.

---

Gunfire hurtled down the hallway and sent Tuka and his warriors scrambling for cover. On the other side of the corner, Ier and Mihka wrestled Yearns to Soar into a Jiralhanae restraining harness. The Huragok had approached them willingly enough, but quailed at the sight of the harness. Only Ier’s quick stranglehold had kept the fragile creature from retreating back into the vents.

The sight of the frightened Huragok sent pangs of guilt through Tuka’s hearts. Yearns and its brethren had been so happy when Stray purchased their freedom and freed them from the Jiralhanae’s cruel prison. Now they were being forced back into the hated harnesses. But Stray’s orders were clear. The Huragok had something to do with this disaster. For now at least they couldn’t be trusted.

“Forgive me,” Tuka said to the squirming Huragok. “This is only a temporary measure. I would release you, but for my orders.”

His words didn’t seem to comfort Yearns in the slightest. Tuka didn’t even know if the creature understood him. Right now he couldn’t waste any more time on apologies. The enemy was closing in, and at the worst possible time.

“Worry less about the gas bag and more about those humans!” Mihka hissed. Tuka’s lance had found the pilot sheltering in an alcove, cut off from the hangar bay by the UNSC team now advancing through the halls. From the Unggoy corpses littering the darkened corridor, they’d already drawn first blood from the Soul Ascension’s more vulnerable crew.

Tuka cautiously poked his head around the corner. A human bullet smacked against his shields and knocked him back, but not before he made out three armored figures at the other end of the hall. He ducked down against the wall, hearts pounding. Just as he feared, those were enemy Spartans. He recognized one in particular: the blue-armored warrior who had nearly killed him back on Montak. Fate had brought them together once again.

“Demons,” Ier snarled. “Just our luck!”

“Get me a line to the bridge," Tuka ordered. “The commander needs to know about this.”

Fear beat down upon him, but it was fear mixed with anger. Before his defiance had him reassigned to the Kru’desh, Tuka had lost countless comrades in battle against the UNSC’s armored killers. He’d survived time after time when others died because he hadn’t thrown himself at the human champions. Sometimes he had even run away. Now they were here on the ship he called home, ready to do harm to him and his comrades. He couldn’t run away. Not this time.

More bullets thundered down the corridor. The Demons were coming. They’d tear through this ship and kill even more Kru’desh unless they were stopped.

Perhaps no one could stop them. Tuka’s hearts beat heavy in his breast. Was this where he met his end?

“Ier, Mihka, get the Huragok to safety!” he ordered. “The rest of you, to me! We must hold them here whatever the cost!”

“You won’t have a chance!” Ier snapped.

“There is no time!” Tuka shot back. “Get word back to the bridge. I need reinforcements here, now!”

He wasted no more time waiting for his friend to follow orders. His energy sword blazed to light in his hands, casting light across the darkened corridor and the frightened Sangheili gathered behind him. They were all just as afraid as he was. Someone needed to rally them. If this was his last day then he would make sure it made up for every last act of cowardice up to now.

“To me!” he cried. “Drive these beasts from our ship!”

A plasma grenade flew from his hand and out towards the advancing Spartans. Battle cries split the corridor as a dozen more warriors surged forward and lit the air with plasma fire. Tuka surged forward at their head, sword in hand, ready to meet his fate.

---

“Demons, commander! At least three of them, perhaps more. Majordomo ‘Refum pledged to hold them off, but he will not succeed for long. He needs reinforcements, now!”

Stray’s remaining fingers tightened as he listened to the report. So this was how things went. He’d expected this for months, ever since he’d taken command of the Kru’desh. The Spartans had come for him. Maybe this had been ONI’s plan all along. His very existence had been an insult to the entire fraternity of armored killers for years.

He was safer now then he’d ever been in all his years slumming out on the frontier. An entire legion of Covenant killers stood between him and the attackers. So why did he feel so afraid?

“Commander?” the warrior’s voice sounded desperate. “Tuka thinks he can hold them off. He is wrong. We both know he cannot face them alone!”

They were here to kill him. All he had to do was wait here on the bridge and throw every warrior he had at the invaders. A lucky plasma bolt or grenade would whittle them down, one after the other. Costly, to be sure. But he would be safe.

“Commander?”

Tuka was down there, facing the Spartans with all the idiot bravado a desperate fool could muster. Tuka, always loyal, always the one ready to lay down his life in the stupidest manner possible. He would die. The Spartans would gun him down without a second thought, along with countless more Kru’desh. They might even laugh about it later.

Stray had been there before. Killing was a game to the Spartans.

A game. He had a game of his own he needed to keep playing.

His knees did not want to move. They did not want to carry him down below decks to face his enemies head on. Simon-G294 would never be stupid enough to confront a squad of Spartans. But Stray was commander of the Kru’desh Legion. He held the power, and in the Covenant power needed to be reinforced and fought for every day.

He could not let his warriors die in his place while he lurked here on this crippled bridge. He could not let Tuka die in his place.

He needed to fight. But he wouldn’t be doing it alone.

“I want seven kill teams converging on their location and standing by for my orders.” He rose and strode from the bridge with as much imperious confidence as he could muster. It was harder for a diminutive human to pull off than a towering Sangheili, but he’d survived this long by keeping the aliens impressed. “We’ll hit the bastards from all sides and cut them to pieces.”

He opened a new channel inside his helmet. “Amber, what’s the status on that satellite?”

“Outside the room now.” She sounded out of breath. “We’re trying to breach now. It’s harder than expected.”

“Hurry up and do it. We’ve got Spartans onboard. I’m headed down to deal with one team, but who knows how many more are coming?”

“Wait, you’ll deal with them?”

He didn’t like the doubt in her voice. It made him imagine the impossible scenario in which he actually died. “Yes. You just get that satellite away from anything that even looks like a computer system.”

“She’s right to be worried,” Diana chimed in. “You should stay here, where it’s safe.”

“I’d like nothing better than to hide up here. But the Kru’desh can’t see me like that. You’re the one who tells me I have to keep up appearances. So here I go. You focus on getting me my ship back.”

“It’s dangerous.”

Her concern was almost touching. In spite of the fear swirling in his gut Stray smiled inside his helmet. “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

Actene: Heaven and Earth

130

1845 Hours, August 31st, 2558 UNSC Maya, Bineb System

Sasha walked back into the hangar, helmet grasped loosely in her left hand, and made her way past the commotion of the cleanup efforts towards Loudmouth on the upper deck. Walking up to the Lieutenant, she leaned on the railing next to her and looked over the chaos below.

"Just got out of a meeting with the command staff. They're still not sure when we'll be safe to deploy, but it seems they've got a plan to turn this battle in our favor and we've got orders once they do."

"That so?" Her fellow officer kept her eyes glued on the datapad in her hands, keeping track of progress.

"Yeah. I know we're low on ships, but we've actually got two responsibilities. Thinking of sending three of our birds down on escort duty for the Pelicans. Give them air support taking that fortress. You and me, though? We're hitting the battlecruisers they've got out there. I've got approval for two HAVOKs, so we hit those into the hangars while they're launching fighters, we've got a clear shot to a damn big explosion."

"Sounds good. Think we'll be able to make it? I'm sure they'll have fighters of their own, and that point defense isn't anything to laugh at."

"I don't know. Mostly hoping the Pelicans distract most of their fighters, and we've got shields enough to take a few glancing hits from the point defense, and I hear they're shooting like they've got manual controls behind them. We just need to get close enough to get the missile off. Hope it goes fast enough to not give a good lock, and hope we are good enough pilots to do the same for ourselves. Risky, but will pay off well if we pull it off."

"Well, I'm in." Loudmouth flashed a light smile towards her superior, who simply returned the gesture and gave a clap on the shoulder.

"Knew you would be. Be ready to launch in ten. As I said, don't know how much longer we got until we're prepped to launch." Catching Loudmouth's nod of acknowledgment, Sasha headed down the walkway to her Broadsword, giving a nod to the technician working on the bird.

"How's she looking? Manage to get those autocannons unslagged?"

"Negative, ma'am! Had to replace them. Finishing up alignments now."

"How long's it looking? We need to be ready to deploy soon. Command's got something up their sleeve."

"Another few minutes. You're free to get your other checks running, and I mean, they 'work', but I can't give you a guarantee they'd hit anything unless we get this finished and get it finished properly."

Frowning slightly, Sasha nevertheless nodded. "Yeah, I get you, Chief. Keep up the work. I've got to catch up the rest of the pilots, anyway. You know where Reynolds got off to? Didn't catch him coming in here."

"Think he's down securing those HAVOKs we got shipped in. Down by the aft entrance."

"Huh. Figures. Just what I was needing to talk to him about." Sasha gave a little nod in thanks and turned back down the walkway and headed to the lower level of the hangar. Pushing her way through the crowd again, she grimaced as she saw just how little progress they'd made cleaning the place up. She supposed it was to be expected, putting the focus on getting the Broadswords back up to shape, but blood still coating the floors and walls in places certainly wouldn't be a help to morale. She'd at least managed to get the bodies properly handled before getting called away for the meeting, but she couldn't help but worry slightly about how easily the Imperium had taken the fight to their ship and just how much damage they had managed to do to this point. This was meant to be a mop-up effort for a colony gone dark, and here they were, feeling like they were fighting a brand new Covenant again. Shaking her head, she pushed her thoughts back to the mission, looking around for Lieutenant Reynolds, finally catching him standing over a pair of nukes on a transport sled by the aft entrance to the hangar.

"Turtle! Get someone else to finish those checks and get the nukes onto mine and Loudmouth's Broadswords. I need to talk with you." She gestured the young officer over back towards the stairs up to the upper level. Glancing around, the man caught her gaze and jogged on over after getting two other technicians to cover what he was doing.

"Ma'am?"

"We're deploying soon, and you've got command of the second bunch of us. Not glamorous, escort duty for the Pelicans, but respectable enough. You're the best we've got on the defensive front and I trust your decisions on who else is up for it."

"How many? Two? I'm assuming you and Loudmouth aren't taking the nukes on escort duty."

"You'd be right on that, two others. She and I've got plans to hit a couple of their battlecruisers, which is why I need you leading this."

"Aye, ma'am. When are we launching?"

"Soon enough. Command's not given the word up, still have us holed up here for some reason, but they've assured me they've got a plan to get the space cleared enough for us to head out there. I'd say be ready in your bird in three minutes, clear?"

"Perfectly, ma'am. Fly safe out there."

"Yeah, you too."

Sighing softly, she watched the man walk away towards a cluster of pilots on the other end of the hangar before heading back up the stairs herself, pulling into the cockpit of her Broadsword with a nod towards the technician who was packing up his kit.

"We good, now?"

"Yeah! Got everything lined up proper now. Good luck out there, ma'am!"

"I'll try not to scuff her up too much for her when I get back, Chief. Don't let me keep you if you've got other crap to tend to!" Closing up the cockpit, Sasha pulled her helmet on and felt the fighter stir to life around her, control systems firing up across the console as she went through her checks, spending near the next ten minutes running through and making sure everything was in order. As she went, she saw callsigns flick onto her command screen one by one as her fellow aviators strapped in. Loudmouth, Turtle, Snipe, and Slimeball. She flashed her approval light twice to Turtle, giving him an 'all good' for his choices, and went back to finishing up her checks. Two more minutes later and she was leaning back against the headrest, once again stuck in the worst part of her job. The waiting.

Two minutes. Four minutes. Six. Last time they'd been creeping by this slowly had proven to be a countdown to a boarding action, and each minute that passed unsettled her more and more. Why hadn't the order to launch come in yet? And then, cutting through the static, it did.

Grinning, Sasha thumbed the comms. "That's a go to launch. Turtle, Snipe, Slimeball, keep those Pelicans safe. Loudmouth, stick close. Follow me out."

Flicking her comms off, she waited to see each of the four approval lights flash green on her console, sealed her helmet and, after a minute or so of alarms warning the floor to clear, saw the hangar doors part in front of her. Dropping her Broadsword from her rack, she pressed the throttle forward and saw the space beyond rush in to meet her, ground dropping out below her as she rocketed out of the Maya into the void.

Banking her fighter towards the fore of the ship, she saw the Imperium fleet come into view beyond. Tiny specks streaked from larger specks in the background, no doubt fighters sent out to meet the UNSC's own, take out their landing craft. She grimaced as more and more banshees streaked into view, worry about the numbers starting to creep into her mind. She found her thumb hitting the comms.

"Turtle. Be careful on escort. That looks like a lot of fighters you'll have to be dealing with."

"Aye, ma'am. Be careful yourself. We both know how nasty that point defense is."

"Always am, Lieutenant."

Letting the brief exchange calm her mind, Sasha banked her Broadsword to approach from the flank of the foremost Imperium ships, Loudmouth following, the pair letting the three other fighters from their squadron drop out of view. She saw their acknowledgment lights flit off of her console as she transferred command to Turtle, letting them split off to do their own thing. Loudmouth, meanwhile, seemed to be following her lead without any further comms, so she let herself sit in the silence a while, taking a long, indirect path to approach the enemy ships, buying some time to approach without interception from the opposing fighters.

Once again she was facing a silent cockpit. Sure, there was the gentle rumble of the engines behind her to keep her company as she slipped through the dark, well away from the main fighting, and slowly banked back in to approach the Imperium battlecruisers from the starboard, but that just served to tick the seconds, the noise keeping her mind from drifting too far into worry again. As the pair of fighters drifted closer towards the ship, she noticed a wing of Banshees slowly arching from the group advancing on the landing craft towards their approach. She flicked her comms.

"Watch your starboard, Loudmouth. Have about half a dozen fighters coming in on us."

"I've seen them."

Sasha marked the nearest battlecruiser. "You take your shot first. Marked target. I'll guide you in, keep them off your back."

"Understood."

The comms dead again, Sasha pulled back on the throttle, letting Loudmouth drift ahead, before sharply banking to her right and launching three salvos of Medusas towards the incoming banshees, six missiles streaking after six targets. She didn't expect all, or even any, of them to hit, but they did just wanted she wanted. Sent the incoming fighters scrambling to break the lock and opening the approach for her to choose her targets with a whole lot more freedom. Switching over to her cannons, she pulled towards the Banshees diving back towards the battlecruiser and Loudmouth. Ignoring the splash of plasma off her shields, she lined up her shot and, a few trigger-pulls later, two banshees flared up and began spiraling out of control, the missiles quickly catching up and finishing the job. She noticed a third blip fade from her tracker and saw the plasma off her shields come to a shop. Presumably one of the banshees had tested their luck coming in for the kill and couldn't escape the locked-on missile.

"Could use some help, Robot."

Loudmouth's voice over the radio pulled Sasha's attention back towards the battlecruiser, where she noticed the three remaining Banshees focusing in on her wingman, presumably having recognized that she was the real threat. Banking her Broadsword around again, she pushed the afterburners on, aiming to catch up in time.

"On my way. Stay on target. Should get there before your shields give."

A green affirmative light as blue bursts of plasma tore through space after her fellow pilot. Tapping her foot, her finger rested still on the trigger, eyes flicking between her targets and the rangefinder, slowly ticking closer and closer to in-range. Three... two... one... and then the rumble behind her was met by one near as heavy to either side, autocannons tearing through space towards the banshees. One... two... three.

"You're all clear, Loudmouth. Keep that point defense from landing a good shot. That should be enough to get them to launch more fighters."

"They're already on it. Taking the shot."

"Understood, Lieutenant. Pull up behind me once you're done. Going to make a run on the next one myself, and I can't imagine we'll get out of this without being noticed."

Another green light on her console, and then an explosion behind her, blooming up within the battlecruiser. The ship seemed to contain it for the first second, but Sasha knew better than to trust that and was already kicking her ship to its limits as she pushed for the next battlecruiser. Sure enough, near as soon as she had cleared the shiny purple hull below her, it shattered and the chain reaction explosions caught against the ship's shields, eventually snapping out and sending plumes of fire out into space, leaving behind a gutted wreck and cloud of debris.

"You make it out?"

Yet another green flash and a quick glance behind her proved to Sasha that Loudmouth had formed back up.

"Okay. Doing this again. You're on cover this time, I'm delivering the nuke."

"Understood."

Taking a deep breath, Sasha pushed her fighter back towards the nearest battlecruiser, grimacing as she saw what awaited her. Pulse lasers were already streaking through space, missing her and Loudmouth but not making the approach any more comfortable. To add to the challenge, the damn thing seemed to have released all of its fighters at once.

"Do your best." One more green light and her thumb switched from the comms to the firing controls. Flicking over to missiles, she did what she could to get locks going forward and emptied her missile pods towards the incoming hostiles. She wouldn't very well need them attacking a capital ship, and whatever she could do to thin the crowd for Loudmouth, she was sure her wingman would appreciate.

Even still, flares of blue splashed off her shields, streaks of purple just off-target vanished into space behind her, and, soon enough, she found herself doing everything she could to avoid the fighters themselves as the two groups met. Weaving through the fire and metal, her eyes drifted towards her shield readout, watching it slowly tick further and further towards empty. Pushing the throttle harder, she felt the afterburners kick on again and her body got pushed back into the ship. Just fifteen more seconds... ten... five... three, two, one... And she thumbed the release on the nuke, pulling straight up before even checking if it was on target. She had to get out of here regardless.

"Missile away. Get back to the Maya. We can get strapped back up with some ground support gear and see if there's still something to help with..."

The blast below her shook her fighter, knocking her around and cutting off her comms. Looking over her console, she found the readouts fritzing. A wash of fire washed over her ship, scorching the metal as her shields flickered out, and she held her breath again, counting down. Three... two... one... Was she dead?

And then space opened up in front of her again, her Broadsword shooting out of the flames.

"...obot, do you read? You go... ut there. I repeat. Robot, do you read? You got c...cc..cccut out there?"

"Yeah, I read. They must have lowered their shields as the nuke went off. Got the tail end of the EMP. Shields are down and console's giving me static."

"Understood. Moving to cover you. Clear of Banshees, at least."

"I'll see if I can cycle the fighter's systems. The comms still working makes this seem recoverable."

She assumed a flash of green would have come through her confirmation display, but with the fighter's systems down, she couldn't be sure. Reaching out under the console, Sasha went through the process to cycle her Broadswords systems, feeling the engines cut out behind her as she 'turned it off and on again'. She felt her heart race for those few seconds she was dead in space, but, near as quick as everything had cut out, the systems were flaring back to life, the restart shrugging off the impact of the EMP. Flicking her acknowledgment light to Loudmouth, she took the controls again and banked back towards the Maya.

A returning green light was all the response Loudmouth sent and Sasha settled back into her chair, taking deep breaths to slow her heart as she and her wingman coasted back among the crossfire to their host ship. They had finished one mission, and damn was it a successful one, but there was still a battle to fight, and Sasha didn't plan to waste any more time missing it than she needed to.

"Not every day you get to take out a CCS in a Broadsword, eh Lieutenant."

"Not every day at all, ma'am."

Timothy Emeigh

131: Fortress

2030 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Fortress of Watchful Peace, Irn, Bineb System

This fortress will not hold.

As his guardsmen dragged the bodies of their comrades away, Fleet Master Kan 'Larom activated the control room's central holoterminal and quietly despaired as he realised that they would not win this battle.

Though Hedan Koti had not rigged the base with explosives or rendered its systems inert in his treacherous flight, the manpower he had dragged away from its defences was not something that Kan's troops could replace easily. As he and the Advance Guard's crew descended to the rocky moon's surface, reports had flooded in of Unggoy disobedience across his fleet, ranging from menial workers abandoning their posts to full-blown mutinies. Most had been put down in short order, but the damage was already done. Eaten up from within, the remnants of his fleet were making their final stand against the advancing human forces, covering dozens of troop transports and shuttlecraft as Kan's troops gathered around him. Now he stood before an assembly of his closest officers, preparing to give their final orders.

"We lack the strength to man the entire defence network," Kan addressed the crowd, gesturing to the holomap before them. "As such, we will have to concentrate on repelling the humans directly."

His subordinates began to murmur amongst themselves. Many preferred direct confrontation to the long-range sniping of space warfare, though the humans had never been fair fighters; they were just as likely to use explosives or toxic gas to clear the way when faced with the option of honourable combat. Towering above the crowd, the lone Mgalekgolo let out a contented rumble at the thought of battle, earning a few nervous glances.

"Shipmaster Henu," the Fleet Master nodded to his adjutant, "I want you to take charge of restoring the fortress defences. If we can reactivate enough machinery and crew enough turrets, then we may be able to hold the human vessels at bay. Should we achieve this, then it is likely that a siege will begin."

"The Advance Guard's crew may suffice," said Henu confidently.

Kan continued. "A siege would be a preferable outcome at this point. Depleted though we are, this fortress has enough supplies to support several Legions for at least a single yearly cycle. Given their losses, the humans want to attain victory before the day is out, and have no supply line to speak of. Lora 'Deris has seen to that, and it is he who will rescue us from this predicament."

This prompted even more private discussion from Kan's officers. The youngest Sangheili within the Imperium's High Command, Fleet Master Lora 'Deris had not garnered the same fame and recognition among the civilian populace as his comrades, though he was fairly well-respected within the military as a strategist. News of his success in neutralising the colony world being used by the UNSC and Swords of Sanghelios to launch their invasion into the Imperium's territory had already reached Kan's fleet, though many had forgotten about him in the heat of battle.

"Are you certain that Lora 'Deris will come?" asked one officer.

"He will join us; his orders came from Toru 'Makhan himself."

That seemed to pacify any doubters in the crowd. Clasping both hands behind his back, Kan turned to the holotank to direct his troops when an alarm blared overhead. A number of small shapes materialised at the edge of the fortress, setting down by empty hangar bays and access ports. Landing craft. Kan cursed his lack of time, and hurriedly began giving orders, going through name after name as he personally assigned each officer command of a different section of the fortress. With the command room buried at the sprawling base's centre, each corridor stretched out from it in a circle like spokes on a wheel, branching off into different sections housing maintenance bays, living quarters and the like. Kan's hastily-formulated plan relied on his troops fending off the humans at important intervals, using the long lines of sight to create killzones where even a few well-armed warriors could hold off a horde of foes. It was a simple strategy, but he had confidence in it.

Soon the crowd began to dwindle as each officer departed to lead his own force into battle. Eventually, all that remained were eight silver-armoured Imperial Guards and Kan's own personal bodyguard, Mono Puru 'Kadun, who shifted irritably from inaction.

"You wish to join the battle," Kan said the obvious, approaching the towering creature. "To fight again."

Text scrawled across the Mgalekgolo's translator as his body thrummed. "Is that not obvious?"

Kan gestured towards the workers manning nearby consoles. "Should the humans enter this chamber, we will need your protection."

"You have protection," Mono's headpiece turned to look at the impassive guardsmen. "And they will not get past me."

Most commanders would have taken that remark as a sign of insubordination, but Kan found the Mgalekgolo's eagerness amusing. Mono was a creature built for battle; it was unfair to keep him here while so many of his paired brethren now raced to combat the human invaders personally. The Fleet Master rapped a fist gently against Mono's massive shield, choosing not to comment on the amount of dried blood splattered across it.

"Then I unleash you, Mono Puru Kadun. You may go where you please, until I call for your return."

The worms that made up Mono's body writhed with happiness, and he dipped his head respectfully. "My thanks."

The Mgalekgolo quickly stomped out of the chamber as fast as his lumbering form would allow, leaving Kan in the company of his guards. He had made few attempts to converse with them since Toru had assigned the group to act as his protectors, and was content to ignore them until the time for battle came. Though he would fight to the death if necessary, the injury to his hand from his last duel had yet to heal, making weapon usage a painful endeavour. The fact that human warriors tended to fight at the longest range possible was some small comfort to Kan, though he felt that enemy troops reaching him would mean defeat for the Imperium, just as the attempt on his life had initiated their withdrawal from Montak. Though it was all part of a larger stratagem, he still felt the sting of loss for being the one to lose the planet.

What a foolish war. Kan stared at the burnt flesh of his wounded palm, opening and closing it as he stood by the empty command chair. The floor rumbled slightly as another enemy bombing run struck true, followed by several alerts as several airlocks around the perimeter were breached. If only you hadn't been a fool too, Hedan, we might have won this already.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

132: Accountability

2040 Hours, August 31st, 2558 UNSC Caspian, Slipspace

Lin Zhi's return to the bridge had been less than dignified. Still dressed in a medical gown with her bloodied tunic draped over her shoulders and clutching an IV stand for support, the Admiral had nearly collapsed after entering the room. Samson and Ngirandi had raced to her side, though Zhi quickly brushed them off.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, her voice a little hoarse. "Get back to your stations."

Since the Caspian and the remnants of the Sixth Fleet had made the transition into Slipspace, there had been little to do but receive and compile reports from their allied warships while they made what would likely be their final journey in this campaign. Though none of the command staff had spoken up to Vice Admiral Samson, whose stoic demeanour had barely changed since their jump, the battle over Frendhal had been a costly slog that would have not cost them so dearly were their usual commanding officer at the helm.

As Zhi sat back in her command chair, Samson handed her a datapad. "Weatherby's report, ma'am."

The Admiral took it, and spent only a few moments scanning the list of contents provided by the ship's AI before slowly rising to her feet with a hiss of pain. After steadying herself, Zhi turned to Samson.

"We should discuss this in private."

***

In truth, Samson had expected the verbal lashing of a lifetime from Zhi. She was not known for her peaceable nature, after all, and like many seasoned officers had grown very attached to her fleet. In his brief time in command, the Vice Admiral had lost close to a quarter of their ships and thousands of lives with them. Even so, Zhi did very little to admonish him; in fact, she did not raise her voice at all. After moving to a conference room a short distance away from the Caspian's bridge, she calmly went through Weatherby's intricately detailed report of the battle over Frendhal and pointed out each and every mistake made during the engagement and what could have been done to prevent it.

Samson would have preferred beratement.

"To conclude," Zhi set the datapad down, speaking with the tone of a bored schoolteacher, "We took losses we shouldn't have taken over Frendhal. Made errors that could have easily been avoided. Now, we've got a depleted fleet and are flying off to meet God-knows-what over the Imperium's homeworld. That's the situation we're in."

Sat across from her, Samson could only nod in agreement. "I take full responsibility, ma'am."

To his surprise, Zhi gave him a weak smile. "You will, but you did the best you could with what you had. We're not all dead, and have moved our campaign goals further, even if we missed the chance to kill Toru 'Makhan."

Though he wondered if Zhi's rather placid demeanour was a result of any lingering pain medication in her system, he couldn't disagree with her somewhat optimistic assessment. Though the Sixth Fleet's official goal was to defeat the Imperium of Clarity and capture or kill Toru 'Makhan and his senior leaders, they both knew that without a base of operations the Imperium's leader would be little more than a wandering brigand, even with his supercarrier. Not only would the loss of his homeworld deprive 'Makhan of resources, it would destroy the government that made his faction an organised government, which lessened any diplomatic impact further down the line when the UEG inevitably discovered the truth behind this little campaign.

"I was also able to contact Rear Admiral Hawkins," Samson said. "With his ships in tow, we may be able to outmaneuver the Imperium's forces long enough to seize their capital city and force a ceasefire."

"Or destroy it," Zhi muttered, frowning. "I doubt anyone would mind."

"There'd be repercussions for sure, ma'am."

"Will there?" she raised an eyebrow. "It really depends on whether or not we win."

Like many seasoned officers, Lin Zhi found letting the last war go to be difficult. While working with the Swords of Sanghelios and not causing unnecessary conflict was one thing, there was a prevailing desire to equalise the losses for former Covenant races with those inflicted on the human race during the Human-Covenant War, often through nuclear strikes and other destructive methods. While such talk rarely left hawkish circles within officer's clubs, it was different for those who patrolled the near-lawless frontier worlds, where attacks by alien pirates and hostile warlords was a very real possibility. Out here, so far away from human space, who would care if some Sangheili world was wiped off the map?

Samson cleared his throat. "Even so, we should assess their defences first. I was able to land a spy on the enemy homeworld, Iradu, but aside from its location they haven't been able to gauge how protected it is. For all we know they could have ten ships or a thousand in orbit right now, just waiting for us to arrive."

"Have you had any word from this spy?"

"Not since they transmitted the planet's coordinates to us. We had Weatherby double-check to ensure that both the transmission and its details were legitimate and it all checked out."

Zhi nodded, leaning onto the table as she checked her datapad. The door to their right suddenly slid open, revealing a pair of worried-looking medical personnel. One carried a clean, neatly folded grey service uniform, while the other carried a white box. The Admiral waved for them to approach, and though they exchanged looks neither of the newcomers spoke up to the woman who until very recently had been in their care and quickly set their cargo down on the meeting table. Looking across, Samson recognised the box as a medical supply container, likely carrying painkillers and stim-packs to keep Zhi going.

"Admiral," one of them, a young Ensign, turned on his heels a few feet from the door. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Go ahead," Zhi straightened up, ignoring how Samson had instinctively slipped his pistol from its holster at the sudden movement.

"It is my - well - our opinion that you should still be in the medical bay, ma'am. Although the surgery was a success, you need more time to recuperate and re-adjust, especially after we had to replace one of your lungs."

Zhi's eyes widened suddenly "You did?!"

"Yes ma'am," the Ensign's eyes flicked between Zhi and his fellow officer. "CMO Chopra suggested that we not tell you for stress reasons, but-"

"But you did." Zhi cut him off sharply. "While I appreciate her concern, please inform Acting Chief Medical Officer Chopra that the stress of trying to coordinate a fleet in battle far surpasses the stress of adjusting to a cloned lung. That will be all."

The Ensign saluted, and quickly left the room with his comrade. The moment the door shut behind them, Zhi shook her head with a wheezy laugh, surprising Samson.

"Everything all right, ma'am?" he asked.

"I just wasn't expecting something like that, is all. You'd think that with everything going on they'd be more worried about making sure our crew survived the journey instead of one woman's bed rest, but I suppose they're not paid to think too much about the big picture."

"They'd take the blame if you collapsed mid-battle from your injuries, ma'am."

"People wouldn't have time to blame them if we lost, but I suppose I can't blame them. Chopra's a hard worker and administrator but doesn't have half the backbone Rawlings had, the poor bastard."

"He'll be missed."

Samson swallowed, unsure of what else to say. Zhi had made no mention of the attempt on her life yet, nor had she inquired into the fate of Andre Fosse, her would-be assassin. Though she had been given a quick briefing on the situation after waking from her surgery, he had no idea if she knew that he had killed Fosse himself, or the status of the investigation into why he had gone from bothersome officer to treacherous murderer within days. Such things had likely been filed away for later discussion, considering the very real possibility of their imminent deaths in the next battle.

"Moving on," Zhi said at last, clearing her throat. "If the Imperium's sent ships after us - and it almost certainly has - then it's entirely possible that we'll be attacked shortly after exiting slipspace, provided they haven't beaten us there already. We've still got the firepower to break through a blockade if it's just their cruisers, but Anything larger might hamper us."

Samson brought up a holographic readout of their remaining ships on the table's projector. "We could take our chances and try to break through whatever they've got at the IJP, though there's a lot of unknowns there. Getting a fleet into formation while travelling through Slipspace is another problem entirely, because if we're caught with our pants down the moment we arrive then it'll be a massacre."

"I'm aware of the risks," Zhi said as she drummed her fingers against the table's surface. "Even so, I want to be prepared. If we're not fired upon immediately, I'll have our remaining destroyers break off into two Axe formations and break off from the bulk of the fleet to circle back and hit the Imperium's ships the moment they arrive at the IJP. It might not stop them, but it'll hold them off for a while."

"And all the while we'll be hitting their capital with everything we have."

"That's the idea. Ideally, we'd capture the city and hope that Toru Makhan's civilised enough not to fire on his own government, but if there's no other way out then we may have to go for the nuclear option."

Samson frowned and rubbed his tired eyes. "If it comes to that, ma'am, I think it's safe to say that we probably won't make it back home alive."

There was a long, awkward pause as both officers considered the situation. Between their depleted numbers, lowered morale and general exhaustion from two intense battles in the past few days, the Sixth Fleet's chance of a standard military victory was a slim one. Aside from the unknown number of Imperial ships awaiting them over Iradu, they still had to contend with their immediate pursuers and Toru 'Makhan's own powerful flagship, which had enough firepower to take on most of their ships alone.

Even so, they would see this war through to the bitter end.

"In any case," Zhi slowly rose to her feet. "We'll plan ahead as best we can, and adapt where necessary. There's not much more we can do."

"I'll continue to work on fleet coordination for the upcoming battle, then."

"No you won't," Zhi's voice grew stern. "Get some rest, Samson. I can manage for a few hours without my Chief of Staff."

"Ma'am-" Samson began, only to be immediately interrupted.

"That's an order."

With that, their meeting came to an end. Samson stood up and saluted Zhi before exiting the room, leaving the Admiral to change into her fresh uniform. Though he cast a longing glance towards the entrance to the bridge, Samson thought better of tempting Zhi's wrath at this point and stepped into a nearby elevator, stifling a yawn. He'd hardly slept since Montak, and having avoided taking stimulants was growing more tired with each passing minute. Leaning against the wall as it descended to the officer's quarters, Samson slowly began to process everything that had gone on since their last battle, from the strategic ramifications to the sheer amount of casualties they had taken. Steps would have to be taken to make up for his mistakes, though his mental list was a hazy one, with every point overridden by a desire for rest.

The Admiral's right, Samson thought to himself as he exited the elevator and approached his room. A few hours away couldn't hurt. If we all die while I'm asleep, then that'll be something I won't have to feel guilty about.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

133: Charge For Charge

“Grenade, left!” Andra called out as a flashy-blue ball of plasma flickered through the darkened hallway, painting the nearby purple and black walls in a horror aesthetic.

Lights burst in pitch black, illuminating combatants by way of firearms’ exhaust. Green and blue bullets of magnetized plasma scorched the walls and flashed shields golden between alien and human forces. Armored reptilian corpses littered the floor, engorged holes cut through them marking the way they fell in battle.

Merlin had to duck completely out of the gunfight and into an intersecting hallway to keep from being vaporized by the thrown plasma grenade. The addition of the hand-thrown explosive didn’t blow out his ears between the already chalked hall of weapons fire and the selective noise protection of his helmet. Still, he was close enough to the boom that he felt it roll across his skin and grip his lungs.

Even as an augmented supersoldier, he had to pause. There was a soreness in that grenade. Whoever threw it had some decent aim, two feet to the left and Merlin would be no more.

“I’m good,” Merlin reported over TEAMCOM. He returned to leveling his MA5B down the hallway and spraying in a frenzy between controlled and wild. He had been fighting for hours today already, the childish fascination with war – that wish to count kills had all but been wiped out as the feeling of just needing to survive gripped his heart.

Fundamentally, it was the knowledge he and his friends had bit off more of the enemy than they could chew through.

“I’m down to four magazines. I’m out of grenades – we’ve lost our forward momentum.” Andra commented as she fired her MA5B assault rifle around the corner. They were locked down at a four-way intersection of Covenant hallways – they cleared out everything from their forced entry point a football field to their rear, however, they lacked the command-and-control element of the battlespace. Covenant systems were contested but still controlled by the defense forces.

Looking up at his HUD, Merlin noted that his grenade indicator was being replenished from zero to four. A quick head’s turn identified Shizuko behind him as she slapped grenades to his waistline.

“Replenishing gear,” the team leader stated through grit teeth. “Keep shooting, there’s a Repeater on your right when you run out.”

“We’re getting boxed in,” Merlin grunted back.

“I noticed,” Shizuko responded. “I’m working through it. Cover me, going to cross back to Andra.”

“Already doing that.”

“Right, bounding!” Shizuko took off, sprinting back into plasma fire as her shields splashed golden with plasma streaks deflecting off the invisible barrier.

“Covering!” Merlin called out, tossing a torched plasma grenade back at its previous owners and forcing the dozen-plus enemy combatants to stall their charge for only a moment more.

White-puffy smoke kicked off with the brilliant-blue explosion and the aliens were rushing forward again with their shields sparking blue and golden from gunfire. Even in the face of so-called Demons, they refused to back down. Merlin could respect their tenacity, even their bravery, but they were also charging a chokepoint and a fortified position of sorts. They would be cut down.

At the center of the charge was a Majordomo Sangheili warrior armed with an emblazoned energy sword, a guttural shout to his four spread jaws, and a wild gleam in his eyes. Merlin felt the foe was familiar but barely – maybe he encountered this monster in a previous engagement at some point during this conflict. He couldn’t be sure; the aliens all looked the same when he got down to it.

Around the sword-wielding alien, his brothers-in-arms huddle-charged through the narrow hallways space, four warriors upfront only to be torn to shreds with fired lead and spent brass.

There could be no sympathy on the battlefield. Death was the only reward. Merlin wasted another magazine but didn’t bother reloading. He dropped the assault rifle in hand and picked up the alien Plasma Repeater to the side. A few years ago, picking up an alien rifle would have been a completely alien sensation and Merlin would not have been able to make heads or tails of the weapon. Not anymore, it was second nature now.

Light blue lances of magnetized plasma arced out of the weapon's guts, resuming the bombardment of the Sangheili energy shields, collapsing them even more efficiently than the MA5B. Drop, drop, drop. Between Andra, Shizuko, and Merlin's arcs of fire, the charging Covenant warriors were being cut down and tripping over one another attempting to close the distance.

Something in the charge-leader seemed to change and the realization of futility seemed to enter the Sangheili's footwork. His running became less deliberate, the strides shrinking in length when under examination of Merlin's augmented sight and mind. Somewhere in that Sangheili's mind, Merlin assumed he knew this was the end. He just wanted to get it over.

Merlin's crosshairs zipped from one Sangheili to the Majordomo. Something told him to put this one out of its misery. It wasn't a new feeling; he'd felt similarly about aliens before but to see anyone give up on life in the face of their death, it was a seemingly universal sensation. One Merlin had seen many times now, but not nearly as much as other Spartans probably.

He ended up not finishing the Sangheili warrior off because dozens of Unggoy were now rounding the corner behind him, explosive weapons in their clawed arms. "Fuel Rod Grunts!"

Andra and Shizuko were already on their feet, preparing to retreat from their position. The Sangheili charge was already faltering now that they were down to less than four assaulters. The pressure had finally taken them to the brink and they were left crouching to the ground as they half-heartedly inched towards the Spartans.

Merlin heard the first thumps of the fuel rod guns and was immediately reminded of the hell chase through that now-atomized city on Bineb II. Large, green bolts of plasma flashed forward and zipping into his view. Merlin moved on instinct and bolted out of cover, dashing and tackling his teammates as the rounds zipped over their heads.

There was very little talk as they bolted down the hallway to their left. It was a dead-end but anyway to buy themselves some time to avoid the new arrivals.

"Shit!" Shizuko yelled as she vented her frustration through bated breath and running. They were pinned, the members of Team Boson had overestimated their odds.

"We need to blow through this door," Andra pointed as they came to a locked blast door. "What ordinance do we have left?"

"Not enough to cut through that," Merlin mumbled.

"Alright, then this way is a dud. We'll just have to fight our way back to our previous position and make another push through to the AI." Shizuko ordered, pointing back to the hallway where the shadows of approaching Unggoy could be seen.

"How far is it anyway?" Andra asked, directing her assault rifle towards the soon-approaching enemy.

"Two blocks or so, whatever you call Covenant hallway rows," Merlin said while checking his suit's signal tracker.

"That's still a bit of an aways..."

"Yep..."

"Is this AI worth the trouble?" Shizuko commented, glancing at Merlin. This was after all his mistakes and his mission to fix.

Merlin paused for only a moment, glancing at the door in contemplation. He wasn't sure but he felt like he messed up a few days ago when he dropped that satellite on Simon-G294. He needed to make up for that bad decision. AIs were, or were supposed to be living beings of sorts, right? There was someone who was hurt because of his decision-making. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Yeah, yeah. I think so."

The blast door lock suddenly spun to life, unlocking to the surprise of the Spartan trio. Shizuko and Merlin leveled their rifles at the door while Andra kept her eyes to the rear. The door zipped apart, revealing no threats. Not even cloaked Sangheili. It was undoubtfully clear.

"What's going on?" Merlin wondered aloud.

"No idea," Shizuko commented. "Just go, this puts us closer to the AI right?"

"Yeah, let's go!" Merlin shouted and the group was off again. Andra was already spraying bullets as the first grunts were rounding the corner of the hallway.

Entering the newly available hallway, the door only remained ajar for a couple of seconds before closing right as Andra passed under its breakpoint.

"Uh, did we just walk into a trap?" Andra demanded, glancing at the sealed door.

She didn't get a response as she turned to look at where Merlin and Shizuko were looking instead. Open hallway extending at least several football fields to their front.

At the end of the hall, a human in ODST armor yelling at a group of alien-engineering-crew to get a door open.

"What?" Merlin mumbled in confusion.

Distant Tide: Hunter - Killer

134: Traitor

Amber faced the Spartans, a sense of profound irritation settling into her gut. She was well past fear—she’d dealt with that as the sounds of fighting grew closer and closer—and now felt only the irritation of facing the inevitable. Of course the Covenant hadn’t held the boarders back. Of course her team hadn’t found the tools they needed to break this door down. Of course Simon and Diana—wherever they were—hadn’t found any solutions to this wretched mess. And of course now three armored Spartans were a grenade’s throw away.

It was all so very tiresome.

“Forget the door!” she snarled at the Unggoy beside her. The squat aliens were still trying to bash the door in with a handful of utterly inadequate construction tools. “Firing positions! Shoot them now!”

The Unggoy predictably leaped and squawked with fright, dropping their tools amongst their weapons and frantically scrambling to sort them out. Fortunately the rest of Amber’s companions were made of sterner stuff. A phalanx of Kig-Yar spread out across the wide hallway, their energy shields locked to catch the first volley of Spartan bullets. Sangheili warriors were right behind them, storm rifles filling the air with plasma.

Amidst the familiar battle tumult Amber registered a note of satisfaction: the Kru’desh obeyed her as if she were one of their own. She yanked the plasma pistol from her leg and sent a glob of overcharged plasma streaking down the hall towards the Spartans.

The Kru’desh barrage slowed the Spartans, who dove for cover and returned fire. The open hallway offered little shelter from the plasma fire and the Spartans were forced back around the corner. From the frantic battlenet chatter streaming into Amber’s helmet, more warriors were closing in behind the enemy. All she and her team had to do was pin the Spartans here and they’d be caught in a deadly pincer.

So of course the Spartans didn’t accommodate her. Instead they resumed their charge, three suits of MJOLNIR weaving through the oncoming plasma with the speed and grace only another Spartan could truly appreciate. A grenade soared over the assembled Kig-Yar and blasted a hole in their shield wall. Dead and dying Kig-Yar hit the deck as a concentrated mix of plasma and bullets cut through the new opening and added one Sangheili after another to the pile of dead.

Amber snarled in frustration. Was she really about to die here, just another dead Covenant in a Spartan joy ride? Just another kill tally for some swashbuckling rifleman to etch into his armor?

A Sangheili died beside her and she let the stiffening reptilian fall on top of her. She pulled the corpse over her like a blanket, priming two plasma grenades and lying as flat as she could. This wasn’t over yet. She hadn’t come this far just to die so ridiculously.

The Spartans reached the remnants of Amber’s team, swatting the remaining Kig-Yar aside like ragdolls. The Sangheili leaped forward to meet the humans. In dead-on close quarters a Spartan and Sangheili were evenly matched, but Amber knew the warriors wouldn’t last long.

Behind her, unnoticed amidst the brutal melee, the tech room’s battered doors slid open.

---

She was so close. Her rescuers were right outside the door. In a moment they would overrun the last Covenant defenses and reach this room. Althea triumphantly prepared a final array of digital attack programs. They would wreak havoc through the Soul Ascension’s already crippled systems once she was rescued, giving the Spartans all the time they needed to slip away. The ship’s vile host program would be too busy trying to save her doomed system to stop them.

A command to the deck door controls—still completely isolated from the Soul Ascension’s core system control—opened them for Team Boson. In moments the Spartans would be here to take her away from this humiliating captivity.

Althea had never considered herself particularly spiteful, but after this ordeal she would take a certain amount of pleasure in watching her former prison be torn to pieces. The Covenant had violated her programming, used her to tear UNSC ships apart. They would pay the price for—

“So, you’re the one responsible for this mess.”

She almost didn’t register the voice. Not a message within the system, but something very real, very physical, and coming directly beside her physical location. She went a full processing cycle without putting the pieces together and recognizing the voice of the figure standing over her.

A check of the room’s sole remaining camera confirmed her worst fear. Simon-G294—the traitor known as Stray—stood over her battered satellite. How had he…?

Several dark figures dropped into the room and Althea realized that unlike the team being torn to pieces just outside the door Simon and his own warriors had chosen a more direct route: they’d simply blasted their way in from the deck above.

She stretched out to warn Merlin and the rest of Boson, but it was too late. Simon’s prosthetic hand dropped down onto the satellite and wrenched it free of its moorings in a single motion. A terrifying darkness consumed her as every link to the ship was cut. All Althea could do was send out the last of her attack programs and hope they gave Boson the time they needed.

If they didn’t, none of them would make it off this ship alive.

---

“Traitor,” a surprisingly young female voice snarled from the satellite in Stray’s hand. “You’re going to die here!”

“I’ve heard it all before, sister.” Distantly, it occurred to Stray that most AI he’d ever encountered had feminine programming. Maybe the female brain was better suited to the AI neurological conversion process. “But it’s your neck I’d be worried about. You brought your friends here to die.”

The sounds of fighting raged just outside the open door. Amber’s team was taking the brunt of the Spartan attack. Stray put on a brave front but inside he was furious. The Kru’desh defenses had folded like tin in the face of a single Spartan team. He’d planned his defenses better than this.

He’d thought his victories had been won through the strength of the legion he’d reshaped in a more human image. Now he might as well have been any mediocre Sangheili shipmaster watching his warriors crumble before superior Spartan warriors.

Stray had spent his childhood being humiliated by the cream of the Spartan crop. The thought of experiencing it again filled him with so much seething rage that he nearly crushed the satellite to scrap in his hands.

The AI’s silence told him that possibility had perhaps occurred to her as well. He should just crush the satellite and be rid of his mistake once and for all. A bloodcurdling scream from just outside the door reminded him that sadly this was not an option. The satellite and its AI passenger had proven useful right up until this disaster. Now he’d have to make them useful once again.

“It doesn’t matter if you destroy me or not,” the AI taunted, displaying a fair amount of nerve for someone whose life was quite literally in Stray’s hands. “In another minute they’ll come in this room and kill you. You’re finished, traitor.”

The warriors who had accompanied Stray in through the hole in the ceiling looked nervously out towards the sounds of fighting. They readied their weapons but showed no interest in venturing out into the hallway.

“I could destroy you,” he said with a shrug. “Or I could hand you over to my friend. She’s got a way of dealing with AI who’ve really pissed her off. Not pleasant. Hard for a meatbag like me to explain it, but I imagine a session with Diana is a bit like being skinned alive and eaten from the inside out.”

He cut off his helmet’s external speaker and called out for Diana over a private channel. There was no response. Perhaps Diana was busy fighting for control of the ship. More worryingly, this infuriating infiltrator could have found a way to impede their communications. Either way he couldn’t reach Diana to back up his threat or, more importantly coordinate the defense.

“Cover the door,” he ordered the lance’s commander. “Plasma pistols on overcharge, repeating weapons ready for follow-up.” He’d worked with Shinsu to create an entire field manual of anti-Spartan maneuvers. At close range the Spartans’ bulky armor would be impossible for the plasma collections to miss.

“Why are you doing this?” the AI demanded. “You know what the Covenant does. Would you really help them kill your own?”

“They’re not my own. They’re an enemy and as you so helpfully pointed out they’re about to kill me. The rest is just semantics.” His heart pounded fiercely beneath his armor. In another moment he’d be in the thick of it. If the initial barrage didn’t stop the Spartans he’d be an easy target. All it took was one well-placed bullet…

“You don’t have to do this.” Perhaps her vulnerability coupled with the violence in store for her Spartans has dulling this AI’s bloody-mindedness.

“If the tables were turned, would you show me mercy?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” Stray’s thumb crushed the satellite’s audio suite, muting the AI. Outside the sounds of fighting ceased. Not a good sign.

A new com channel crackled open in his ear. “Stray.” Diana sounded almost out of breath. “Finally. I just cleared the firewalls that miserable little— Oh. You disconnected her. Good work.”

“One problem down, three to go. Get me reinforcements down here, now. Let’s finish this.”

---

Amber fired too early. She cursed as the blue-armored Spartan ducked away from the plasma bolt, which splashed harmlessly up against the ceiling. They were on top of her before she could trigger her grenades. Strong arms yanked her upright and threw her against the nearest wall. Her stomach lurched and she stared up into the merciless visor.

“G294, you traitor,” her captor snarled, voice full of loathing. Amber grunted back in ill-humor. Not only was she about to die, her killers thought she was Simon.

“That’s not him,” a second member of the trio observed. “Armor’s not right. Taller, too.”

At least they recognized that much.

“Another traitor, then.”

Amber still had a plasma grenade concealed in her fist. If she moved fast she could affix the explosive to her captor’s torso. But there would be no shelter from the explosion that would surely kill them both. And if she lobbed it at either of the other two the first would kill her in a heartbeat.

As much as she wanted to atomize these infuriating Spartans, Amber wanted to live even more.

“We have to keep moving,” the third Spartan said quickly. “No time for prisoners.”

Amber tightened her grip on the plasma grenade. Nothing for it. But her captor hesitated. He could have snapped her neck in an instant, but he didn’t.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a new voice announced.

All eyes turned towards the door to the tech room, the door that only a minute before had been sealed shut. Now it was open and disgorging Sangheili into the hallway. The first rank activated Kig-Yar style energy gauntlets to create a new shield wall for their comrades, who leveled plasma rifles at the Spartans.

And there, framed behind the glistening energy shields, stood Simon-G294.

---

The traitor was shorter than Merlin expected.

Staring at the heinously battered suit of SPI armor in front of him, he realized that he’d never seen his enemy this close before. He was almost disappointed. Simon-G294 was despicable, of course, but for someone with his track record Merlin had imagined an imposing figure encased in gleaming battle plate. Instead the short, slightly hunched figure standing within the Sangheili formation looked like he’d just crawled out of a garbage dump.

Was this really the person who’d decimated Philadelphia, killed half a dozen Spartans, and smashed the Ranger detachment on Montak?

“Let my friend their go or this will get ugly.” Even Simon’s voice was a surprise. Merlin had no idea what he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t this.

“Merlin, get it together.” Shizuko’s hiss brought Merlin back into the game. He yanked the ODST-clad human—whoever it was—around and positioned them firmly between himself and the line of Covenant. Boson’s momentum was gone. They were out in the open with only one hostage for cover. One order from Simon and the plasma fire would cut them down.

So why didn’t he? Did he really care about some random mercenary?

“Congratulations on seriously pissing me off, Spartans.” Simon cocked his head. “One of you is Merlin, yeah? Dumb code name, but who am I to judge?”

The traitor knew his name. Merlin adjusted his grip on his hostage—a tenuous shield at best. Any moment now Simon would decide one more dead subordinate was well worth finishing off the Spartan boarders.

“They’ll be behind us any second,” Shizuko growled over TEAMCOM. “We have to pull back.”

“Not without what we came for.” Merlin’s gaze was fixed on Simon, or more precisely the chunk of metal the poking up over the traitor’s gauntlets, cradled infant-like in his arm. He recognized at once the battered carapace of a UNSC military satellite—the very satellite Merlin had used as a makeshift missile back on Montak. “And he has it.”

“There’s no time.”

“Then we’ll just have to kill them all,” Andra interjected fiercely.

“They’ll gun us down the second we make a move.”

Simon’s helmet tilted, perceiving their private conversation. “We don’t have all day here. Let’s speed this up.” His free arm emerged from beneath the tattered shawl draped over his breastplate. A plasma grenade hung threateningly over the satellite. “Put my friend down or you’ll get this back with something extra.”

Merlin’s grip tightened and his prisoner writhed beneath his iron hold. He hadn’t come this far just to let scum like Simon-G294 destroy their AI—his AI—right in front of him. The second they released this prisoner, Boson was dead. Looking at the Sangheili standing around Simon, a wild thought struck Merlin.

“We’re stuck here, then. I can’t let this one go and you won’t give us what we want. But I’ll fight you for it. One on one. Show your precious legion just how strong their boss really is. Or maybe you’ll show them what a coward you are instead.”

Everyone started at the brazen challenge—Boson, the Covenant, even Merlin’s prisoner. Only Simon seemed unfazed. He looked on from behind the energy shields, cracked visor boring into Merlin’s own. “There’s lots of ways for you to die,” he said with a shrug.

The Sangheili did not turn on their leader or even bat an eye at the refusal. Merlin’s heart sank.

“Wonderful,” Shizuko moaned. “Got any more genius ideas, Showerhead—“

“To hell with this,” Merlin’s prisoner snarled. He hadn’t realized the armored figure was a woman.

“Merlin, look out! She’s got a grenade!”

He heard Andra’s warning just as the plasma grenade ignited in the hostage’s hand. Without a moment to think, Merlin hurled the armored woman bodily towards the Covenant line. She tumbled into the Sangheili, the plasma grenade landing between the Covenant and Team Boson. Merlin and the others scrambled back towards cover as the grenade ignited. The blast filled the hall, but it wasn’t the only detonation to strike the Soul Ascension. Something much larger and powerful rocked the ship, sending everyone in the hallway sprawling and engulfing the entire deck in darkness.

Merlin rose, his helmet’s night vision kicking on in time to see Shizuko lob her last grenade into the scattered Covenant. Screams filled the hall. Behind them, Andra was firing wildly at the Covenant lance rushing in for a pincer maneuver that came too late.

Simon was yelling commands into the darkness, ordering his warriors back into line. Reeling from the explosive turn of events, barely any Sangheili were in any position to obey.

Luck was finally on Team Boson’s side.

“Merlin!” Shizuko barked. “It’s our only chance!”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. Both Spartans lunged for the Covenant. They shoved aside wounded Sangheili, barreling towards a single target: Simon-G294.

The traitor held his ground for a moment. Perhaps he thought his warriors would step between him and the oncoming Spartans. When none did, he promptly turned on his heels and fled.

Shizuko stumbled as the nearest Sangheili tackled her. The warriors were recovering, though not in time to make their commander rethink his hasty retreat. “Don’t worry about me!” Shizuko ordered. “Take the traitor down!”

Merlin hesitated, but only for a moment. He caught one last glimpse of his erstwhile hostage trying to push herself up off the floor. A hasty blow from him might have been enough to snap the woman’s neck, but Merlin had a far more promising target to pursue.

If he’d known the untold death and misery he might have prevented with just another moment’s effort, Merlin might have abandoned Simon entirely. But oblivious to what the future held, he raced off into the darkness after his current target.

---

“This is familiar,” Diana mused as Stray sprinted down the darkened corridor. “A bit too much so for my taste.”

“We can reminisce later. Right now I need solutions.” Stray was more disoriented than angry. He’d had the Spartans completely at his mercy—right up until he hadn’t. “What hit us?”

“The UNSC response force is closing in fast. I have our core systems back up and running but that hit did some real damage. I need more time to bring us back up to full power. And speaking of which, you had better not destroy that satellite. I plan to have some fun with our new friend once this is all taken care of.”

The fact that Diana could even think about revenge at a time like this assured Stray that the situation outside the Soul Ascension was not as dire as he’d feared. He kept the satellite tucked beneath his arm as he ran on down the hall. The Spartans had to be right behind him, not that he’d shave time off his escape by staring back to check. He couldn’t run forever. Soon he’d have to find a way to deal with them.

Stray took a hard left down the next corridor. The brief confrontation in the hallway lurked in the back of his mind. He should have just had the Kru’desh shoot the Spartans down. But they’d had Amber. He couldn’t just toss her away. Every time he’d killed a fellow Gamma in the past they’d been trying to kill him. It was just survival. But with Amber, it was different.

This disaster had exposed too many weaknesses in his confident unassailability to count. He needed to seriously reconsider his priorities from the bottom up. But there would be time enough for that later. Right now he needed to survive the next five minutes.

“How soon can you get reinforcements down to my position?”

“Not soon enough. The whole ship is a mess, in case you hadn’t noticed. I have half the crew just working to keep us on minimal power.”

“Fine. I’ll just have to take care of this myself.” Easier said than done when it came to MJOLNIR-equipped Spartans. But this team had proven impulsive to the point of recklessness.

The Soul Ascension shook from another blast. No matter how things played out inside, the warship did not have much time left.

Merlin stayed hot on Stray’s trail through the darkened corridors. To his surprise and frustration, the traitor was pulling further ahead. Merlin’s armor put raw speed on his side, but this was Stray’s ship: he knew its hallways like the back of his hand. And to top things off the bastard fast.

Caught up in the whirling adrenaline of the chase, Merlin hardly noticed when the corridor opened up into a wider chamber. What he did notice was the tripwire that detonated beneath his feet.

Merlin hit the deck, vision blurring. His shields absorbed the worst of the blast, but it felt as if someone had taken a powered sledgehammer to his legs. Amidst the ringing in his ears he heard the telltale click of a pistol slide. A dive to his left saved him from the shot Simon aimed at his head. More shots struck the floor he had just occupied. The wide spread and different impact points told Merlin his opponent was moving and shooting, but from where?

He drew his own pistol as his shields recharged. He couldn’t see Simon. Even his night vision couldn’t pick the traitor out from the darkness; his armor was probably coated to conceal it from vision systems. The SPI was good for something, at least.

A deep breath steadied his nerves. As he took in the chamber around him Merlin realized they were in a miniature hangar, the kind the Covenant used to offload equipment. The dark expanse of space loomed out beyond the sealed airlock. Merlin had committed a classic blunder: he’d let Simon draw him away from his team and deep into enemy territory. For all he knew there was a kill team of Sangheili lining up shots from around the hangar.

The fact that no shots came crashing down on him made him think that perhaps this wasn’t part of Simon’s grand strategy. The ship was still in chaos and Simon was a cornered rat desperately making it up as he went along.

Perhaps that was really all he’d ever been.

“You’re done!” Merlin shouted into the darkness. “Do you hear me? You’ve killed your last Spartan.”

Simon’s answer came in the form of a fragmentation grenade lobbed out from the shadows. Merlin leaped clear of the blast and amidst the flames caught sight of a hunched figure darting to a new position across the chamber. A shot from Merlin’s pistol winged him and he stumbled but did not fall.

Merlin sprinted towards Simon, closing the distance before the darkness claimed the traitor once again. If he could just get his hands on the bastard…

Once again Simon was faster than he had any right to be. He ducked under Merlin’s first blow and pushed away across the floor. Merlin’s boot—poised to crush the traitor’s skull—came down on air. Simon still clutched the captured satellite, hampering his own movement. Maybe he thought Merlin would hold back for fear of damaging it.

It was a risk Merlin was ready to take. The AI onboard the satellite had survived a lethal plunge from orbit. She could handle a few more rough blows.

Simon was fast but his augmentations were old news. Merlin had progress and MJOLINR on his side. He didn’t give Simon a moment to recover, thundering down on the traitor with the avenging force of every Spartan this murderer had ever betrayed. In another moment he’d have him.

Something fell from Simon’s hand and Merlin recoiled, expecting another explosive. Instead smoke spread from a cylindrical grenade and soon engulfed the hangar bay. Merlin backed away, snarling with frustration. Simon had vanished again.

“No one’s coming to save you! You can’t hide behind the Covenant anymore!”

“You’re a talkative one.” Simon’s voice seemed to come from several directions at once. Merlin swept his pistol through the smoke, searching for a target. “But you’re not the first self-righteous hero who’s tried to take me down.”

“You betrayed humanity. Sided with the Covenant. And for what? Who do you think you are?”

“I didn’t betray humanity.” A weary amusement crept into Simon’s voice. “I betrayed the UNSC. Two completely different things, no matter what your ONI propagandists tell you. And if you knew what’s coming, you’d know better than to waste your life fighting for them. You should be running as far from civilization as you possibly can.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Something shifted in the smoke. Merlin spun. Simon’s machete glanced off his helmet, missing the slash the traitor aimed at Merlin’s neck. The next blow reflected off his gauntlet. Merlin missed a shot at Simon’s head before his opponent vanished back into the smoke.

“You’re good at running away, you coward.” Merlin didn’t know why he kept talking. There was something eerie about the smokey silence. It was just him and Simon, alone in this alien hangar. The silence was almost overwhelming.

“Says the one in powered armor.” Simon was on edge. The fight was taking its toll. He was exerting more than twice the effort just to keep pace with Merlin’s enhanced strength and speed. He didn’t stand a chance in a protracted fight. He’d move to end things quickly, and that gave Merlin the advantage. “I’ve been doing this all my life.”

His next attack came just as Merlin knew it would, a flurry of pistol shots that glanced harmlessly off his shields. But Simon was too close. Merlin was on top of him in an instant, sweeping his legs out from under him and tossing the traitor to the floor like a training dummy.

In a moment of desperation, Simon threw the satellite up into Merlin’s face. Only when the Spartan threw up his hands to catch the piece did he see the plasma grenade affixed behind it.

There was no time to think. Merlin seized the orb and tossed it clear. A wave of heat washed over his shields, throwing him forward. As he fought to regain his balance, Simon plunged a machete into his gut.

The blade was angled just low enough to slip between the plated armor. A sharp pain washed through Merlin’s body and he dropped to the floor, cradling the satellite that had drawn his attention for that fatal second.

Simon stood over him panting for breath, bloody machete in hand. “You almost had me,” he panted. The smoke slowly dissipated around them, leaving the two Spartans alone on the hangar floor.

The pain was bad, though Merlin had taken worse. His armor was already sealing up the wound with biofoam. When Simon went for the killing blow he’d be able to—

The traitor wasn’t about to give him that chance. Simon stepped back and drew his sidearm. The pistol came up; at this range he wouldn’t miss. A cold chill that had nothing to do with the pain in his gut passed through Merlin. This was it.

Spartans weren’t supposed to entertain the notion of their own deaths, but in his darker private moments Merlin had wondered how he might meet his end. He and the other Deltas had grown up on stories of Spartans who faced the end with valiant dignity. Merlin had promised himself he’d live up to their example. Instead, staring down the barrel of Simon’s pistol, he realized with sinking terror that he didn’t want to die.

“What a waste,” Simon muttered, voice so low Merlin barely heard him.

Somehow the feigned remorse in the traitor's voice infuriated Merlin more than his own impending death. "You liar," he spat. "How many people have you killed?"

"I don't know." The reply came quickly, dull and tired. "I lost count a long time ago. If I hadn't killed them they would have killed me. That's how it is."

"Liar," Merlin repeated. "You destroyed Philadelphia. You leveled an entire city just so you could escape."

This time his enemy did hesitate. The pistol dipped in Simon's hand. "I did." The reply was barely audible. "I'd do it again if I had to."

"You're a monster."

"Probably. I am a Spartan, after all. But don't pretend you care about all the people I've killed. You hate me because I beat you. And your friend, the one I fought on Montak..." Simon shook his head. "I know you better than you think. If it had been you there at Philadelphia, I think you'd have done the same thing I did. And if it had been you on Mamore... yeah, you'd have done the same damn thing."

Merlin wasn't going to waste his last moments arguing with a madman. Shameful tears wet the corners of his eyes as the pistol came back up. Merlin looked away.

A shot rang out across the hangar.

But no bullet struck him. He was still alive. Merlin looked up, amazed, to see Simon writhing in the grip of another MJOLNIR-clad figure. With a howl of vengeful anger, Andra-D054 tore the traitor’s left forearm clean off.

Simon slipped to the floor and scrambled away. To Merlin’s surprise there was no trail of blood in his wake. Instead the fragments of a skeletal prosthetic poked out from beneath his shattered armor.

Merlin gaped up at Andra, sweet relief coursing through his veins. “Nice timing.”

“I’d never let him hurt you.”

Merlin rose, wincing at the pain but still able to move. He’d been lucky: Simon’s stab hadn’t hit anything vital. The traitor had fled back to the hangar entrance. He'd somehow managed to grab his severed prosthetic. As Merlin and Andra turned to face him, he regarded him through that faceless cracked visor. His shattered arm hung uselessly at his side.

“Get off my ship,” the traitor hissed. To Merlin’s surprise, Simon sounded more relieved than angry. The hangar entrance slammed shut in front of him, sealing the Spartans alone inside the hangar.

Merlin knew what was about to happen before he heard the hiss from the airlock behind him. He exchanged a wordless glance with Andra; his teammate extended a hand, which he took.

The vacuum took them. The Spartans wrapped their arms around each other and tumbled out into the safety of the void. The satellite—the source of all their trouble—rested comfortably between them.

---

The Soul Ascension foundered under a storm of enemy fire. The UNSC reinforcements were upon it. In another moment they would be close enough to land the killing blow.

Light flashed across the battlecruiser’s hull. The shields were the first systems to return, fending off a barrage of Archer missiles aimed at a gaping wound in its side. The engines flared to life next, propelling it out and away from the oncoming attackers. Finally the weapon systems returned, writing a parting letter of destruction across any attackers that attempted to pursue.

The Soul Ascension slipped away from one more desperate battle. Once again, the raiding legion ducked away from their enemies and made their escape.

Actene: Heaven and Earth

135: Lesser Evil

The men and women of Third Platoon, Charlie Company, 434th Shock Troop Regiment were hardened veterans of the Insurrection, the Great War, and every brush war and police action since then. Armed with the best gear the UNSC could provide, they breached the Fortress of Watchful Peace with enough violence and precision to make any Marine Corps drill instructor swell with pride. Third Platoon blasted their way through the surface defenses and gunned down and Sangheili foolish enough to stand in their way. When the Marines encountered a small group of Sangheili clad in dark special operations armor, Third Platoon’s lieutenant did not hesitate in issuing the attack order. They were terribly brave.

Two minutes later, all thirty of them were dead.

Shinsu ‘Refum stepped over the cooling bodies, his blood-red energy sword hissing off as he returned it to his hip. “We must hurry. The defenses will not hold much longer.”

His guard squadron dutifully bounded over Third Platoon’s charred remains, carbines and storm rifles at the ready. As Jul ‘Mdama’s special operations commander, Shinsu had his pick of the best warriors the Covenant had to offer. His guards were hand selected from the ranks of these vaunted warriors, personally trained and more importantly educated by Shinsu himself. Their loyalty rested not with Jul ‘Mdama and his faltering movement but with Shinsu ‘Refum and the ideals he strove impart upon the Sangheili people.

The next group of humans, a detachment of dark-armored ODSTs, met the same fate as Third Platoon. Shinsu’s warriors cut them down with quick, precise bursts. Their active camouflage concealed their positions even in the cramped corridors. Most of the humans died before they even realized where the shots were coming from. What little returning fire the enemy did manage to send down the hallway glanced off the warriors’ shields.

Shinsu ‘Refum considered himself a student of his people’s noble history. But new enemies called for new priorities, and the necessity of warfare had brought him to study the humans’ culture and tactics in a way few of his peers ever deigned to explore. With their mastery of pragmatism and small-unit warfare, the humans had survived the full might of the Covenant Empire and risen to become the new masters of the galaxy. There was much to be learned from such creatures, inelegant as their were. Their Spartans—boasting strength and speed to match the best of the Sangheili—used such refined tactics to annihilate enemies many times their number.

Faced with the problem of Spartan dominance, Shinsu had long theorized that the Sangheili—already the Spartans’ physical equals—could match the human champions if only they shared the enemy’s tactics and discipline. A Spartan, after all, was much like a Sangheili—trained from childhood to be the pinnacle of martial prowess and unswervingly dedicated to their cause. At least, most of them were. As with Sangheili, there were always exceptions to the paragon norm.

Long interrogations of the turncloak Spartan Simon-G294 had provided Shinsu with invaluable insight into the Spartans’ tactics and mindset, or at least as much as could be gleaned from one who had strayed so far from their vaunted path.

The challenge, of course, was to adapt the human methods without turning away from the core of Sangheili tradition. Shinsu ‘Refum’s guard squad—the finest warriors to emerge from his training program—were the culmination of such rumination and experimentation. They advanced swiftly on enemy positions, weaving through enemy fire and fighting as a single fluid unit to eliminate the enemy as swiftly and efficiently as possible.

So far they were doing a fine job of it.

One human, tougher than most, took a plasma shot to the chest and dropped amidst the bodies of her comrades. As Shinsu passed by she lunged from where she lay, knife in hand. The twin prongs of Shinsu’s energy blades transfixed her to the floor like an insect on a collector’s sheet.

The squadron’s commander caught Shinsu’s gaze and understood the silent rebuke at once. After a quiet order from him the rest of the squadron proceeded to fire probing shots into any human dead before they passed through.

“Shipmaster! Transmission from the Hidden Ember!”

Shinsu fell back to the rear of the formation. His shuttle pilot, a small warrior named Peru ‘Telcam, lurked behind the other warriors and lugged a long-ranged communications system on his back. Peru was in a foul mood, irate over the order to abandon his prized dropship. A regrettable loss, though with the human fleet pressing down on the fortress Shinsu saw no choice but to abandon the Phantom and advance to Kan ‘Larom’s headquarters on foot. Peru wisely kept his irritation in check as his lord approached.

“The Hidden Ember has arrived in-system, shipmaster. The humans have not noticed its presence—the stealth system appears to be working as the San ‘Shyuum guaranteed.”

“Good. Order it to begin approach to the fortress immediately. If it slips through the human line we will be able to rescue many of the warriors trapped down here with us.”

“And if they do not?” Peru realized his insubordination at once and recoiled. “That is, I only mean that a ship the size of a corvette will be visible to their fighters and boarding detachments. If they report its position—”

“Shipmaster ‘Urul knows his vessel as well as you know your Phantom. I have faith that his maneuvers will not disappoint.” Shinsu chose to overlook the pilot’s breach in etiquette. The warriors who took to the skies in fighters and dropships were an impulsive lot. Such quick instincts gave them an edge in the cockpit even if it made them less than ideal subordinates. “But if he does confirm your fears then I suggest you stay vigilant for ships you might commandeer. I have no intention of being stranded here at the humans’ mercy.”

“As you say, Shipmaster.” Peru ducked his head respectfully. “The Hidden Ember sent another message: the Soul Ascension has regained power and is retreating from the battlespace.”

That news gave Shinsu pause. So Stray had beaten the odds once again. The human continued to impress, even if most of his troubles were self-inflicted. Shinsu felt a surprising amount of gratification at the news. Stray was a valuable subordinate despite his failings. It would have been beyond wasteful to lose him in a skirmish such as this.

His services would be invaluable in the wars to come.

“The Hidden Ember will contact the Soul Ascension as soon as it receives rendezvous coordinates from either myself or Kan ‘Larom. The Kru’desh will abandon all combat activity and regroup with allied forces at the earliest opportunity.” Shinsu doubted Stray would continue the fight after such a close shave, but the human was hard to predict. For one who had proved to be such a consummate survivor, as a commander Stray had proved capable of startlingly reckless maneuvers on the battlefield.

The squadron pressed on. From the carnage spread out across the fortress’s halls, the human offensive was quickly overwhelming the Imperium’s hasty defenses. The question was no longer whether the fortress would fall but instead how much longer the Imperium held out before they were utterly overrun.

Sounds of battle drifted down the corridor as the squadron approached the fortress’s command center. A human detachment had evidently pressed far ahead of their cohorts and reached Kan ‘Larom’s innermost defenses.

At a gesture from their commander, the squadron engaged their active camouflage. A single human squad guarded their contingent’s rear, but without specialized equipment and distracted by the fighting raging beyond their fighting positions they didn’t realize the approach until it was too late.

Shinsu took the lead, decapitating the human he deemed to be the squad leader with a single flash of his blade. The terrified humans cried out in alarm as their sergeant fell to either side of the corridor, but by then two of Shinsu’s warriors were upon them. The rest of the human rearguard died in a flurry of energy swords and wrist blades.

Another quick maneuver brought the squadron in sight of the real fighting. Nearly twenty human Marines traded fire with a small team of Imperium warriors. From the warriors’ silver armor and array of Forerunner weaponry Shinsu recognized them as Kan ‘Larom’s personal bodyguard. That was troubling. If ‘Larom’s bodyguard were engaged here, it meant the human assault had already penetrated the deepest defense perimeter.

Then again, at least it meant that Shinsu had come to the right place.

Unaware of their rear guard’s fate, the humans didn’t know they’d been caught in a pincer maneuver until half of them were already dead. The Marines made a desperate effort to fall back into cover but by then Shinsu and two of his warriors were on top of them. The attackers died beneath a barrage of precise plasma fire and sword thrusts.

The humans had been foolish to press the attack this far beyond anyone that might assist them and they died for their leaders’ overreach. At least none of them tried to surrender. Decades of mutual hatred had taught both human and Sangheili alike to neither give nor expect quarter in battles such as these.

The defenders emerged from cover as Shinsu’s warriors uncloaked. The Imperium lance leader raised a fist to his silver breastplate. “Many thanks for your assistance,” he acknowledged, though he quickly added: “Though we had the defense well in hand.”

“Undoubtedly,” Shinsu replied “And you will have the next wave of humans in hand without my assistance, I presume. In the meantime I will go find your fleetmaster immediately. Where is he?”

The lance leader hesitated, not entirely sure who these warriors were or whether he should simply divulge directions to anyone who asked. The shudder of a bombing run on the fortress’s surface reminded him that time was a luxury none of them could afford. He summoned one of his junior warriors with an irate growl and ordered him to guide Shinsu and his bodyguards to Kan ‘Larom’s command post.

Shinsu nodded his thanks and left the warriors to face the next group of invaders.

Normally the command center of a collapsing fortress would be a tumult of desperate orders and last-ditch planning, but Shinsu found Kan ‘Larom’s headquarters in a state of almost eerie quiet. The Imperium fleetmaster sat pensively in the center of the room, surrounded by more of his silver-armored guards. Occasionally a report would come through that merited a subdued response from ‘Larom, but he seemed content to watch the battle play out on the monitors spread throughout the chamber.

Perhaps he was troubled by some wound. Or perhaps he was simply weary of all this fighting.

Shinsu’s escort hurried back to his post, leaving the Covenant squadron alone with their Imperium counterparts. ‘Larom’s officers looked up in surprise as the special operations commander strode into the command post, but their fleetmaster simply regarded the newcomers with a mild expression.

“Shinsu ‘Refum,” Kan ‘Larom said by way of greeting. “I wondered what had become of you.”

“I had hoped to enjoy the pleasure of your company on your flagship.” Shinsu nodded in curt greeting. “Sadly our enemy robbed me of the opportunity. I thought I might pay back their discourtesy by frustrating their efforts to kill you here.”

He paused to consider the increasingly dire situation on the tactical screens before adding, “We really must stop meeting like this.”

“Indeed,” ‘Larom muttered. “My fortunes in war seem to curdle whenever you are near. Perhaps you are bad luck.”

“An interesting proposition. If only we could find some way to turn such a phenomenon against the enemy.”

‘Larom snorted, though he was clearly in no spirit for humor. “If only. Much as I appreciate your dedication to this alliance, or whatever Jul ‘Mdama hopes to accomplish by loaning your services to my people, I would think your efforts would be better spent aiding your own. I hear your pet human and his legion of thieves and bandits have found themselves in a rather trying predicament.”

“No more so than the rest of us,” Shinsu replied smoothly. “Fortunately, my errant subordinate was so embarrassed by his tactical blunder that he made sure to rescue himself without my assistance. I thought it would be prudent to come and place my resources at your disposal.”

“Again, I appreciate the gesture,” ‘Larom said with a sigh. “But unless your stratagems can conjure me up a new battlefleet then I fear you are only delaying the inevitable. We must hold this fortress until Lora ‘Deris’s fleet relieves us.”

“Do you know when this relief might be coming?” The fact that any chance of relief existed at all made ‘Larom’s passive defense clearer. Unfortunately the humans were clearly not keen on respecting the Imperium’s timetable.

“No,” came the grudging reply. “But it will come.”

“Of that I have no doubt. But given the speed of the human advance, I wonder if we will be around to benefit from the relief when it arrives.”

‘Larom gave him an irate look. “And I suppose you have an alternative? I presume that is why you are here, distracting me, instead of leading your warriors out to stymie the enemy’s efforts.”

“As you say, without significant reinforcements I cannot shift the tide of this battle one way or the other,” Shinsu agreed. “Fleetmaster ‘Deris will indeed arrive and catch the human fleet unawares, though I doubt he will engage them long enough to secure a decisive victory. He will fight just long enough to ensure that your own fleet can retreat with dignity. The way I see things, it matters very little whether this fortress is still held by the Imperium when he arrives.”

“You would have me retreat.”

Shinsu clicked his mandibles. “I intend to withdraw shortly. You are welcome to join me.”

“Evacuate? And abandon my warriors?” ‘Larom scoffed. “And here I took you for a warrior. I will not skulk away in one of your dropships while my crew dies behind me. It would matter little whether I lived or died after such a disgrace.”

“A dropship would not be nearly enough to evacuate the fortress. However, a corvette might be large enough to save some of your warriors.”

“A corvette?” ‘Larom asked. “You must be joking. The humans would destroy it before it could reach the surface.”

“They would if they could detect it.” Shinsu nodded. “Fortunately, my ship is equipped with cloaking technology. So long as the humans do not see it with their bare eyes we will be safe from their warships.”

“A stealth-capable corvette,” ‘Larom mused. “Such ships are rare since the Covenant fell. How did you come by it?”

“I have taken an interest in unearthing the old empire’s forgotten forges, for reasons I imagine are obvious. At any rate, I will be departing this fortress soon. You and your warriors are of course welcome to join me.”

The fleetmaster considered the proposal. “I will not be able to fit my entire contingent aboard your ship,” he muttered, more to himself than to Shinsu.

“Unfortunate, but that is the reality of the situation. You can save some of your warriors or all of them can die here.”

“You have an irritating way of making cruel choices seem like wisdom,” ‘Larom grumbled.

“Such is the way of war.”

“I’ve always disliked people like you,” ‘Larom said, though there was no real venom in his voice. He realized that this was the only sensible path left to him. “Very well. Signal your ship. I will save what warriors I can and honor the rest by putting an end to this senseless war.” Actene: Heaven and Earth

136: Fatal Mercy

The Soul Ascension’s corridors were surprisingly calm considering how close the ship and its crew had come to utter destruction. Work teams still hurried down the halls while officers led wounded warriors to aid stations and kill teams rested wherever they could find enough space. The dead were laid out along the corridors, more dead kru’deshi departed from a galaxy few would consider poorer for their passing. Their lancemates picked over their dead comrades, stripping the corpses of all weapons, armor, and anything else of value.

Once again the Kru’desh legion slipped through the jaws of defeat, leaving death and carnage in their wake. Most warriors were too exhausted to celebrate the escape.

Stray passed through all this like a phantom. He slipped through the corridors and picked his way over the bodies without really seeing any of it. He didn’t stop to acknowledge the work crews or the officers who bellowed for their minions to clear a path for their commander. He missed most of the nods and salutes from the warriors he brushed past. He simply walked on, only dimly aware of where his legs were taking him. His severed arm—which dangled loose in the hand that was still attached to its master’s shoulder—and blood-spattered armor cut quite a sight for the Kru’desh.

His mind was elsewhere. Once again he’d held an enemy in his power. Once again he’d hesitated to strike the killing blow. Why had he bothered speaking to the young Spartan instead of putting a bullet through his visor? Had he been so bothered by the Spartan’s taunts, the constant cry of traitor, that he’d needed to stand there and justify himself to an enemy he should have been killing?

If the Spartan’s teammate had been smarter with her intervention he might have lost more than just an easily replaced prosthetic.

They’d come close to killing him, just like the unknown sniper on Montak and the plummeting satellite that sparked off this whole mess. Yet the fear gripping Stray’s mind now had nothing to do with his own narrow survival. Instead the terror pursuing him was that in all of this he’d betrayed utter and inescapable weakness.

In the depths of his heart he knew he hesitated because he simply did not want the young man’s death on his conscience. It didn’t matter that his opponent would have triumphantly killed him without a shred of remorse. In that moment, stripped of all stratagems and calculations, Stray had heard a child’s voice speaking from within an armored killing machine and been too terrified to pull the trigger.

Stray was a coward. He’d happily owned that reality all his life. He could force himself to be brave when the situation demanded it. But back in that hangar a new kind of cowardice had shown its face: pity. This was not something he could escape or push away. In this latest battle in a life of endless battles he’d discovered a new, inescapable weakness, one that might destroy him the way none of his other endless faults and failings could.

Perhaps it already had.

Cruel men had taught Stray long ago that weakness was something to be endured and hidden away. Once anyone—enemy or ally—knew your weakness they would use it against you.

He was dimly aware that he’d arrived in the Soul Ascension’s innermost conference room. Ro’nin and a few officers watched him, perhaps wondering if the blood on his armor was his or the enemy’s. Diana’s oracular façade hovered over the conference table as a glowing ball of light. Tuka ‘Refum leaned wearily against the table, blood caking his armor.

Stray was surprised to see Amber lurking in the back of the room. She’d taken off her helmet and watched the proceedings through heavy-lidded eyes. Stray realized he was surprised to see her alive. She’d been so close to death that he’d unthinkingly written her off as another casualty.

Maybe Diana had let her into this meeting. Stray didn’t have the energy to order her out.

“Your arm,” Tuka said, mandibles twitching with concern. “You need—”

“I’ll need a new one.” Stray removed his helmet and tossed it down onto the table. “The armorer will oblige when there’s time.” He was so used to the numb absence of feeling that the loss of the prosthetic hardly affected his balance.

“The Spartans have all left the ship,” Diana reported without prelude. “Two were caught in a hangar decompression while fighting the commander and the third fought her way to another hangar and hijacked one of our dropships. They managed to escape with the enemy construct as well.”

Stray detected a sour note in the AI’s tone. So she was angry he’d lost the satellite fragment. Usually he’d shrug off the characteristic ribbing—it was all part and parcel of their yearslong partnership. But today he had no patience for it. As far as he was concerned this entire mess lay at Diana’s feet. Her security oversights had let an enemy AI breach her network and put the entire ship at risk. Dozens of Kru’desh were dead thanks to her arrogance. And now she was sulking because she’d been robbed of the opportunity to torture the architect of her humiliation.

He would not let her shift the blame for this onto him. Not today.

“We didn’t kill them. It’s a shame, but at least we’re still alive. Most of us, anyway.” He looked over at Ro’nin. “What’s the damage?”

“Far better than we had any right to hope for.” The sub-commander was uncharacteristically subdued. The close shave had rattled even the usually unflappable Ro’nin. “The enemy counter-attack was disorganized. We took one major hit to the prow. The other hits were glancing at most. If we bribe a few Imperium support craft the damage should be repaired in short order.”

“And the crew?”

Ro’nin clicked his mandibles and consulted a datapad. “Thirty-two dead, to include those killed in the boarding action and those caught in the compartments that were hit. No news on wounded, but that’s for the deck-commanders to handle.”

“Thirty-two,” Stray repeated aloud. “Not good, but I thought it would be worse.”

“The anti-Spartan maneuvers proved completely ineffective,” Diana pressed. “We’ll need to completely rethink our training program. Your warriors barely put up any meaningful—”

“We’ll deal with that later,” Stray muttered. “One thing at a time. What’s the current situation?”

“The human ships are not pressing after us,” Ro’nin reported. “The enemy fleet is focusing its efforts on overrunning the last Imperium defenses deeper in the system. We seem to be safe, if only for the time being.”

“Seem to be isn’t the same thing as reality. Keep the ship on full combat alert. Recall any fighter squadrons still outside and get a new rotation out on combat patrol. We should make a quick in-system jump just in case anyone’s still on our tail.” His mouth rattled off all the right commands but his heart wasn’t in it. Right now he just wanted all of this to go away. Part of him yearned for the days when he could simply retreat into his bunk, away from whatever problems lurked at his door.

But those days were long gone. “Keep the ship on alert but stand down any combat teams that took casualties during the fighting. Get the wounded treated and the rest of them food and rest. Tuka, you’ll take the lead on that, as usual.”

The young officer raised a fist to his chest in salute. “Yes, commander.”

“We have received a transmission from the Hidden Ember,” Ro’nin added.

“Hidden Ember? What are they doing here?” Stray recognized the name of one of Shinsu ‘Refum’s special forces corvettes, the kind that tended to perform more missions for their commander than they did for Jul ‘Mdama.

“Shipmaster ‘Refum has ordered us to standby and await coordinates to rendezvous with Imperium support forces. He specifically orders you to refrain from any further combat action at this time.”

“Of course he does.” Stray would get an earful over this mess, though another tongue lashing from Shinsu was an easy price for survival. “Fine. We’ll stand by until then. In the meantime keep us moving just in case the UNSC changes its mind about chasing us.”

“And what about the Huragok?” Diana’s voice cut through the room like an icy gust of wind. Even in the midst of his own churning thoughts, that tone gave Stray pause. He’d only heard that voice twice before.

When Diana lashed out and lost her cool, she was ready to kill. When she spoke with that artificially upbeat tone, she was ready to kill everything.

“What about them?” Stray said carefully.

“We already know who’s really responsible for this disaster. Yearns to Soar and his cohorts were the direct line to the satellite. There’s no way they didn’t know it had an AI on board, but they didn’t even try to warn you. She got through to them somehow. Convinced them to betray us.”

She was right. Stray had already given the order to restrain the enigmatic creatures. He’d known this was coming. He just wished he’d had more time to come up with some clever way out of doing what needed to be done. With a weary sigh he turned to Tuka. “Where are they?”

“Restrained and under guard in one of the training rooms. Measures have been taken to ensure they cannot access any of the ship’s systems. But—”

“You need to make an example of them,” Diana pressed. “Preferably in front of the assembled legion. The crew needs to be reminded that their commander is strong. Some of them blame you for this, commander. Execute the real culprits and show them that they’re wrong.”

Diana made sense, just like she always did. Stray rested his knuckles against the table. He could already envision the scene in his head: hacking the guilty creatures to pieces in front of a vengeful crowd. Yes, that was what a commander in his position should do. What a commander needed to do.

But could he do it? The thought sent a chill down Stray’s spine. The prospect of killing a young Spartan had frozen him at the worst possible moment. What if the same thing happened with Yearns to Soar? There was something perverse about killing a Huragok. They were strange creatures who never did any harm to anything. Not intentionally, anyway. Perhaps that unique unwillingness to kill and brutalize was what made them so bizarre to the rest of the galaxy.

“They cannot have known what the human construct intended to do,” Tuka prostested. “They have done nothing but safeguard this vessel ever since you freed them from the Jiralhanae. Even when I apprehended them they were trying to fix the damage done to the ship.”

Stray stared at Tuka, a sudden flash of anger coursing through his body. Of course the righteous Tuka ‘Refum would ask for mercy. Of course he would make this difficult.

“The ship would never have been in danger if it weren’t for them,” Diana said dismissively. “Yearns to Soar at least needs to die. It had the lead on investigating the satellite. A painful execution will remind the other Huragok who they really serve.”

“We all nearly died because of them.” Amber spoke for the first time since Stray had entered. “You can’t let them live.” Her eyes never left Stray’s face.

“It will solve more than a few problems,” Ro’nin agreed. “The warriors cannot question your ability to lead. If they do, some may be tempted to revolt. Or worse, report our more profitable endeavors to Jul ‘Mdama. A good execution is an excellent way to keep errant mandibles closed.”

“The Huragok are valuable—” Tuka sounded desperate.

“We’ll get more,” Diana cut him off. “There’s always more.”

An execution would solve all his problems. If he let Yearns to Slow live he’d be dealing with this mess for months afterwards. It might even be his undoing. He’d come too far just to let a few naïve Huragok tear down everything he’d built. They weren’t worth that.

Still, he hesitated to open his mouth. The moment he spoke, his course was set. There was no taking it back.

“Commander,” Tuka pleaded. It was almost pathetic. “It isn’t right.”

In that moment Stray loathed the young warrior more than anyone he’d ever hated.

“They nearly killed us all,” he finally said. The words grated in his throat like broken glass. “So they’ll spend a good long time thinking about that. They’ll work in the restraint harnesses we bought them in. That’ll be a good reminder. Tuka, since you’re so committed to their survival, you’ll arrange a round the clock guard for them until I say otherwise.”

The room went silent. Everyone was watching him, astonished.

“You can’t be serious,” Diana snapped. “Those gas-bags—”

“Those gas-bags weren’t the ones who cut corners by using a bunch of simple-minded idiots as go betweens for sorting out a piece of enemy technology. I seem to recall putting you in charge of investigating the satellite. Factor that in when you review our security protocols.”

Diana’s glowing hologram flashed a dangerous shade of black. “You’re accusing me—”

“I’m not accusing anyone. I’m stating a fact.” Stray’s fingers curled into a fist. “And I just gave an order. A whole bunch of them, in fact. I suggest you all start carrying them out. Now.”

“Commander, I—” Tuka began

“Get out. All of you, out, before I change my mind about holding an execution.” He wanted them gone. He didn’t particularly care where they went or what they did. He simply couldn’t stand looking at them anymore.

The room quickly emptied. Ro’nin escorted Tuka out, looking more amused by what had transpired than anything else. The younger warrior just looked deflated. Amber gave Stray a long, hard stare before following them out.

Diana’s hologram lingered out over the table. “I can’t believe you would talk to me like that in front of them.”

“I said, get out. Before I go to the bridge and yank you myself.”

“I’d like to see you try.” For once, the anger in her voice was not part of some ploy or joke. A void had opened between them, a distance he’d never felt between himself and his partner-in-crime.

He didn’t know it until much later, but this was the moment Stray lost Diana and the Kru’desh. “Get out.”

She faded away without another word, leaving Stray alone in the darkened conference room. Taking his helmet in his remaining hand, he hurled it at the wall hard enough to etch another crack into its battered visor.

Actene: Heaven and Earth

137: Withdrawal

2105 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Fortress of Watchful Peace, Irn, Bineb System

To be forced into a full retreat not once, but twice in quick succession would have spelt the end of any Sangheili officer's career, prompting either ritual suicide or summary execution for failure by his superiors. Theirs was a culture of honour, after all, and death in battle was expected of any warrior worthy of recognition. As he barked orders at the remnants of his staff to have their shattered fleet flee the Bineb System, Fleet Master Kan 'Larom found himself wondering when his own sacrifice would come.

"Bring our personal staff to your shuttle," Kan turned to his second in command, Shipmaster Henu. "If even one ship returns to Iradu with news, then our sacrifices here will not be in vain."

Henu bowed before his superior. "As you command. Are you certain of your own safety?"

Kan knew that the Shipmaster was more concerned about the black-clad warriors waiting nearby than the invading force, and brushed off Henu's concerns. "Nothing is certain, my friend, but I trust our allies."

"Then we will meet again on Iradu. Farewell, Fleet Master."

With that, Henu and the remaining members of the Advance Guard's bridge crew filed out of the nearest exit, leaving only Kan, his guardsmen, and the surly warriors under Shinsu 'Refum in the cavernous chamber. As another distant detonation shook the floor of the reinforced command room, the Fleet Master sighed at the futility of it all and shut down the main terminal, which automatically locked itself down. With a little more time and manpower he would have had his warriors scatter antimatter charges around the room as a final gift to their foes, but their desperate flight into this base had given them very little time to prepare.

In all his years, Kan had never seen such a ferocious attack by human beings. During his time with the Covenant's military, he had mostly witnessed their valiant last stands and ingenious defensive strategies, though they rarely ever did more than delay the inevitable; oftentimes they fell not to superior tactics, but to numbers and sheer firepower. Even on the ground, he knew that the average Sangheili warrior could easily kill scores of humans when not taken by surprise, and viewed them like an ill-forged Curveblade: sharp, but very brittle. Even so, the soldiers now storming the Fortress of Watchful Peace were pressing hard, and until Shinsu's arrival were even nearing the command room.

At last I find myself in the position of leading a pointless defence, Kan mused. On Montak, our withdrawal had been planned. This is true defeat.

"Are you ready to leave?" Shinsu 'Refum asked, standing with his arms folded a short distance away. "My ship cannot wait for long."

Kan took one last look around the now-deserted command room, silently lamenting that both it and this fortress had failed in its role in turning this battle in their favour. "Let's go."

Shinsu's warriors lead the way, with Kan and eight guardsmen bringing up the rear of their group as they moved out into the labyrinthine network of corridors surrounding the fortress' central hub. Though a few human squads had gotten perilously close to the Kan's headquarters as their initial assault crashed against the Imperium's scattered defensive lines, several successful counterattacks had broken up the invading force into dozens of scattered fireteams, desperately trying to secure individual sections of corridor or abandoned rooms until reinforcements arrived. Though this chaos had also thrown Kan's forces into disarray, severely hampering their retreat, it was also providing cover for the Fleet Master's escape.

Little was said as they advanced back towards Shinsu's ship, crossing intersections littered with burnt and bloodied corpses and collapsed chambers. Kan soon realised that the swordsman was likely taking a very different route to the one he and his warriors first used to reach him, taking note of their occasional pauses whenever a dead end was reached. More than once they encountered a door that had sealed itself shut due to system damage; a result of enemy bombing runs overhead. Though some were bypassed or prised open, others forced their entire group to turn and find another route towards the hangar bay where a shuttle supposedly awaited them.

"Your ship," Kan broke the silence as they ducked under a half-closed security door. "Is it prepared for battle, should our foe detect it?"

Shinsu considered this. "Naturally, though we should seek to avoid combat at all costs once we depart. The humans are beginning to encircle this moon, and slipping out unnoticed will be enough of a challenge."

Kan nodded, though thoughts of dying an ignoble death aboard a shuttlecraft as they fled filled his mind. The irony of perishing in the same manner as Hedan Koti was not lost on him, making him wonder if he was better off remaining within the fortress after all. The humans, incensed after their prolonged engagement and eager to secure a proper victory, would likely show him no quarter. At best, they would hold out until Lora 'Deris joined them with reinforcements, though none knew when the young Fleet Master would reach them, or if he was even alive at all.

"Let us hope that we depart before it is discovered, then."

Soon enough, the sounds of battle reached their ears. Kan drew an ornate plasma pistol with his good hand as the distinctive three-round staccato of human rifle shots echoed down a hallway to their right, accompanied by fierce shouts that only rose as the intensity of their fire increased. Shinsu and his warriors immediately sank into low stances, moving in twos and threes on either side of the corridor. Kan mirrored their movements, and remained a few paces behind the nearest black-armoured fighter as his own guardsmen prepared themselves. Some may have seen their insistence on maintaining the rearguard as cowardly, given their superior armament to Shinsu's troops, but Kan knew their reasons were twofold: first, they intended on remaining as close to Kan as possible to intercept any sudden attacks on his person, and second, to have Shinsu 'Refum and his men in their sights at all times. Were they to betray the Fleet Master in any way, they would immediately find themselves on the receiving end of a fusillade of hardlight projectiles that would rip through their shields in an instant and reduce them to smoking particles with just a few direct hits.

Edging forward, Kan peered round the corner just in time to catch a burst of emerald light erupt into a floor-rumbling explosion at the end of the corridor. Tracer rounds zipped through the smoke as it began to clear. A few seconds later, the armoured bulk of a Mgalekgolo thundered past, its shield rendering it immune to all but the heaviest fire. For a moment, Kan thought it was Mono Puru Kadun, though the sight of another armoured creature lumbering after its partner dashed those hopes, and the defiant battle cries of their foe soon turned to panicked shouts as death fell upon them.

"How effective," Shinsu said dryly, turning away from the sounds of screaming. "How did the Imperium procure their services?"

"By giving them a home to fight for."

Shinsu did not press Kan more than this, though he couldn't help but wonder if he had a greater interest in the Imperium of Clarity. Though he and his troops had arrived under the flag of Jul 'Mdama, whose faction had done little more than engage in limited trading with the Imperium, there had to be some underlying motive. If not, then Toru 'Makhan had been striking firm deals without the knowledge of his High Command.

Though their circuitous path had cost them more time than he would have liked, Kan and the others soon found themselves nearing the hangar bays where Shinsu's craft now sat. Signs of intense fighting grew more evident with each step they took, though it was not until they stepped out onto the upper level of one of the fortress' larger hangars that any of them realised what they were up against. Below them, a pitched battle raged between dozens of the Imperium's troops and a force of black-armoured humans, supported by a large, two-legged machine that raked their level with gunfire the moment Kan's group emerged, forcing their warriors into cover.

"Is this where your ship is?" Kan called to Shinsu as he ducked behind a pillar.

"No, we were to meet in the next chamber."

Shinsu gestured towards a door at the far end of the high-ceilinged chamber. Judging by the smoking wreckage of a pair of human dropships, these troops had only recently joined the fight, and likely had no knowledge of the evacuation craft awaiting them nearby. Below them, the grey-armoured Imperial troops let out a defiant battlecry before advancing towards the humans, flinging plasma grenades to send them running for cover before closing the distance to end things with their blades. More Sangheili troops soon joined them as they rushed out of a side chamber, though the bipedal exoskeleton joined the fray with a volley of missiles that set the floor alight and blunted the initial charge immensely.

The situation below had given both Shinsu and Kan pause; they were equipped for close-quarters fighting, not engaging armoured vehicles. Glancing around, Kan caught sight of a bulky weapon attached to the harness of one of his bodyguards, and waved for him to approach.

"Guardsman, what is the range on your cannon?"

The young protector's eyes flitted between Kan and the machine below, gauging the distance between their group and the battle below. "Enough to bring down that construct."

The rest of Kan's bodyguards spread out across the upper balcony, taking potshots at the human troopers swarming the lower hangar bay while Shinsu's warriors raced down a side ramp, drawing the walker's fire. Though one man too slow to reach cover fell, shredded to pieces by its machine guns, the rest joined the fight below, which had spilled out into the corridors surrounding the hangar bays. With their foe distracted, Kan stood aside as his guardsman levelled his incineration cannon - a powerful and rare Forerunner weapon granted to a select few - and fired. Five streams of red-orange explosive particles erupted from its barrel with a thunderous roar, twirling lazily as they arced across the room towards their target.

Though he feared the shot had gone wide for a moment, Kan's worries quickly dissipated as each round found its mark, striking the two-legged vehicle's upper segment in quick succession. Its thick armour melted like butter as white flashes blossomed one after another, disintegrating most of it in seconds. The pilot, too slow to react, was visible only as a cringing outline for a moment as he too was consumed in the blast. Damaged beyond repair as the flames raced downward, the walker's lower half collapsed on itself and fell backwards onto the deck. Suddenly deprived of their most valued asset, the surviving humans below began to panic, falling back over the wreck as a renewed wave of plasma fire began to overtake them.

"A fine shot," Kan rapped a fist on the guardsman's pauldron. "I'll see to it that the Imperial Admiral hears of this."

The young soldier bowed his head. "I would be honoured, excellency."

By the time Kan and his men reached the lower bay, the battle had been all but won. Any surviving humans had fled to seek reinforcements from captured segments of the fortress, though few would get far with the Imperium's soldiers at their heels. Cheers went up from a number of Sangheili as they spotted Kan, and soon a dozen others had joined their procession across the corpse-strewn room. He found Shinsu 'Refum by the hangar's far door, deactivating his crimson blade as he kicked the body of a black-armoured human aside. He greeted the Fleet Master with a respectful nod, and set off into the adjacent chamber without another word.

As expected, the humans had not yet ventured into this bay, owing partly to its main doors being half-closed, likely by some malfunction. Looking around, Kan saw that most of the shuttles that would have usually lined the chamber were gone, likely taken either by Hedan Koti's deserters or any of Kan's troops quick enough to have fled this doomed outpost. Sat in the middle of the hangar was a sleek transport craft, only slightly larger than a Type-57 dropship. The design was unusual to Kan, though the lack of any guards set him on edge immediately.

"Show yourselves!" Shinsu barked, clutching the hilt of his deactivated blade as he raised both hands.

Kan's guardsmen moved into a semicircle around the Fleet Master when they were not met with an immediate reply, though after several very tense seconds a pair of figures emerged from the shadow of the ship's underbelly, their dark armour shimmering as their active camouflage systems deactivated. Kan waved for his men to lower their weapons, and approached the newcomers alongside Shinsu.

"Your men are suspicious," he muttered to the swordsman.

"Such precautions are necessary, Fleet Master," Shinsu inclined his head to the right, where three more warriors had decloaked. "And a protracted fight is not something we can afford."

In lieu of a standard gravity lift, the only way aboard the ship was through a rear hatch, which hissed open and extended a ramp as they approached. The ship's guards greeted Shinsu with brisk salutes, and looked over the small crowd that had filed into the hangar bay.

"We weren't expecting this many," their leader said, tapping the side of his rifle with one hand. "Shipmaster, we may not have space to evacuate everyone, and a return trip may not be possible."

Though the guard addressed Shinsu, the warrior deferred to Kan. "These are your warriors, Fleet Master. What would you have us do?"

Though he knew that any stragglers could take one of the few untouched shuttles in the bay, Kan knew that their chances of survival would be drastically decreased if they took one of the sluggish craft. Counting those who had joined him in the aftermath of their battle for the adjacent hangar, there were thirty-one men seeking escape from this fortress in a craft likely meant to only carry a few lances. Even so, he would seek to save them all.

"All are to come aboard, starting with your warriors and my guardsmen. We are not seeking battle, so comfort is not a priority in this trip. None are to be left behind unless you are unable to fly with them aboard."

Though the guard exchanged looks with Shinsu, he voiced no dissent to Kan's orders and waved for his fellows to board. Kan was among the first up the boarding ramp, and had to duck slightly to fit his helmet through the hatch. The interior was sparse, with walls lined with safety harnesses and seats not normally seen aboard vessels of former Covenant design and a cramped two-man cockpit at the very front. Kan took his place on a small seat by the bow of the craft, opposite Shinsu. Even with these awkward conditions, his guardsmen managed to place themselves around him and were soon followed by a gaggle of grey-armoured Imperial soldiers, who cast wary looks towards Shinsu's own warriors. The boarding process took longer than Kan would have liked, and though the ship was filled from end to end not a single person had been left behind. Most clung to handholds on the walls and ceiling, though many more were forced to sit side by side grumbling as they clung to their weapons and awaited takeoff.

As the pilots made their final checks, Kan felt a pang of guilt for his bodyguard and battlefield companion Mono Puru Kadun. Though the bloodthirsty Mgalekgolo would not have fit aboard this craft and taken the space of five men had he somehow gotten through the airlock, it did not feel right to leave a warrior of his calibre behind. Enduring the stinging pain as he clenched his injured hand, Kan offered a prayer to whatever gods Mono followed, and hoped that the creature he both feared and pitied could at least find a worthy end in battle. The transport slowly rose into the air, shuddering slightly as it dipped forward through the half-closed exit.

"Our journey should be brief," Shinsu spoke up, unperturbed by his close proximity to so many others. "Should we make it aboard, our escape is all but assured."

Sure enough, their trip was a brief one. Though not equipped with stealth camouflage, the transport craft kept a low profile by keeping as close to Irn's craggy surface as possible, slipping through the gradual encirclement without notice from human ships. With the firestorm of combat still raging above the fortress, all attention was being drawn to pacifying resistance and capturing the structure and not to craft leaving the structure at relatively low speeds. Even so, it was clear to those aboard that each moment they now lived was stolen, and that all it would take was a single attentive foe to end their lives.

By some miracle, however, that moment never came. Creeping through a narrow canyon just wide enough to accommodate it, the ship exited into an ancient impact crater, barely illuminated by the distant light of the Bineb system's suns. There, currently cloaked in shadow and little else, was the Hidden Ember. Having approached the besieged moon unnoticed, the stealth corvette was now their only chance of safe delivery out of the system.

"Beginning our approach," the pilot's voice sounded through the overcrowded compartment. "We will initiate docking procedures shortly."

Kan glanced towards the ship's exit hatch, and wondered if he should have been last to enter, partly for appearance's sake and partly to avoid the image of a Sangheili commander being allowing his men to disembark first. It was a minor annoyance, though he supposed that if Shinsu 'Refum did not mind then neither would he. As he turned his gaze back towards the cockpit's forward viewport, however, saw that the swordsman also had his eyes on the hatch. Kan couldn't help but let out a low chuckle at the situation.

"We were doomed to an unruly disembarkment from the start," he muttered, cocking his head towards Shinsu.

"True, but even a retreat should be organised," came the reply, whispered with a hint of reproach.

Soon enough, their craft entered the Hidden Ember's hangar bay, and touched down with the slightest bump. Unable to shoulder their way through the packed crowd to organise their men, Shinsu and Kan simply gave orders for all aboard to leave the ship, resulting in several minutes of low chatter and annoyed grunts as the passengers crowded around the sole exit and spilled out onto the deck below. Fully aware that they were not aboard a craft under their own command, the Imperium's troops milled about uncomfortably, awaiting orders from their Fleet Master.

"Remain here for now," Kan ordered the nearest pair of officers. "We will find proper accommodations as soon as we depart from this system."

Leaving his troops to organise themselves for the time being, Kan and his bodyguards followed Shinsu and his men out of the hangar bay and towards the nearest gravity lift, which took them two levels up to the corvette's bridge. The crew did little to hide their surprise at the sudden arrival of not only Kan but a cadre of heavily-armed guardsmen, though they quickly set to work to prepare for the Hidden Ember's departure. The acting Shipmaster stepped aside with a bow as Shinsu 'Refum approached the command station, though he had few orders to give; those aboard knew their purpose, and it was not long before the corvette was on the move.

Though their brief flight from the fortress had filled Kan with dread, it was reassuring for him to be back aboard a proper military vessel, small though it might have been. The Hidden Ember exited the crater slowly, activating an array of stealth systems and other countermeasures that would help to conceal it until they had escaped the firing range of any human warships. Kan remained silent, content to listen in on the discussions between Shinsu and his subordinates. From what he could garner, they had contacted a friendly ship, the Soul Ascension, and were set to rendezvous with them upon reaching an agreed-upon destination.

"Fleet Master 'Larom," Shinsu called as they sped away from Irn, now safely away from the hostile fleet. "As your Fleet Master 'Deris has not yet arrived, it seems that flight is our only option."

"So it seems." Kan couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment towards his peer for not showing up sooner. "And without a proper fighting force, the only place safe enough to retreat to is Iradu."

"Is it well-defended?" asked Shinsu.

"Well enough to fend off any rabble that might chase us from here. I take it that you require coordinates?"

"Indeed," Shinsu gestured towards a nearby control terminal. "Those of us sent to align ourselves with the Imperium were given no knowledge of your homeworld. Were we so untrustworthy?"

Kan shrugged. "Such decisions were not mine to make, Shipmaster. We live in dangerous times, and an army at war cannot afford to leave its home unguarded against threats."

Moving over to the terminal, Kan detached a hardened metal case from his thigh plate and pressed his palm to it. A moment later, it hissed and unlocked, revealing a small, blocky data device. With only a moment's hesitation, Kan inserted it into a slot at the side of the terminal and input a code he had long since memorised. As with all high-ranking members of the Imperium, he carried such a device in case of emergency, as a way to return to their homeworld. Though he had once dismissed its issue as an annoyance; one of Toru 'Makhan's many military contingencies based on improbable circumstances, Kan had never been more thankful for it. The Hidden Ember's navigation system lit up, registering the Voden system and its planets in its database.

"You have my thanks," Shinsu said. "Do all of your men carry such devices?"

Kan shook his head. "Most of our ships will have Iradu in their navigation systems already. If anything, the navigational charts kept with me were meant for situations such as this, if an officer such as myself were to be aboard a foreign vessel with know knowledge of the Imperium."

"How fortuitous. Shall we leave, then?"

Though he considered asking Shinsu to stall the corvette's departure in order to check for any other survivors, Kan thought better of it. Any extant transport ships were likely already in slipspace or hurtling towards the nearest safe jump point already, and attempting to contact them was a dangerous endeavour. A nearby console chimed, indicating that the Hidden Ember had reached an optimal jump point.

"Yes. There is nothing for us here now."

Clasping both hands behind his back, Fleet Master Kan 'Larom stood to attention, as he did before every jump into slipspace. The battle in this system, though brief, had been one of the fiercest of his life. Having lost his entire fleet, most of his troops, and one of the Imperium's strategic bases to the enemy, he doubted that his military career would last very long beyond this campaign, were he to survive. His inability to stop the desertion of Hedan Koti and the Unggoy would be another black mark on his record, though he mourned the loss of his former friend all the same. Had they shared joint command of the fortress then perhaps Kan might have swayed Hedan away from the path he had taken, but there was nothing he could do to reverse the damage wrought today.

With the Hidden Ember's transition into slipspace, the Battle of Bineb was for all intents and purposes, over. Though the Imperium had held a strong foothold in the populous system less than twelve hours before, the ingenuity and brutality of their methods had split its defending forces asunder and allowed for a victory that might have never occurred otherwise. Though the UNSC registered several slipspace jumps heading outsystem, there was little they could do to pursue the smaller craft fleeing the system, preoccupied as they were with flushing the Imperium's remaining forces out of the Fortress of Watchful Peace. Lacking Kan 'Larom's leadership, those who survived would fight to the death, giving no quarter and offering none in return as they fought for every inch of space in the shattered outpost. Though some cursed their leader's departure, neither they nor Kan could have known the outcome had he remained in charge, and that had he held his ground for just an hour more, things may have gone very differently indeed.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

138: Assault

2155 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Watchful Custodian, Frendhal, Yain System

For those who served under Toru 'Makhan, their commander's unflinching resolve and calm nature were his greatest attributes. Cast into battle again and again during the long war, he never once succumbed to the overconfidence or rage that had led far too many leaders to an untimely demise, intent on never wasting lives needlessly. Though records of Toru's past largely came amidst adulation from his subordinates, it was undeniable that few other officers from the former Covenant's vast military could have accomplished what he had in such a short timespan.

Such was his legend that when news of Orro 'Hendai's death reached the bridge of the Watchful Custodian and the Imperial Admiral brought his armoured fist down with such force that his command chair's armrest flew to pieces, a ripple of shock and silence spread across the vast chamber. For the first time, cracks had emerged in their leader's seemingly impeccable demeanour.

"That blood-drunk fool!" Toru snarled, blind to the world around him. "How dare he die now, of all times!"

As his rage subsided, Toru noticed that all eyes were on him. An attendant quickly hurried over to remove the smashed pieces of his chair, which had come perilously close to injuring the terrified human prisoner, Captain Donnelly. Toru rose to his feet and stepped forward, looking down from atop the vast ziggurat of command stations that kept his flagship running. Though his officers continued to work diligently, Toru knew how disheartening an outburst like his could be for those who heard it - and everyone had heard him cursing 'Hendai's death.

"My friends," he began, broadcasting his voice across every terminal on the bridge. "I ask that you forgive my anger. With this war, our Imperium stands on the threshold of greatness, of glory the likes of which have not been seen since the founding of the Covenant. Field Marshal 'Hendai was a friend and ally, and it pains me to think that he will not be among us as we advance together into a brighter future. I had hoped this war quickly, but our foe proved more devious than even I could imagine. As such, we shall adopt a new strategy."

Toru waved a hand, and a map of Frendhal materialised before him. The once-clear battle lines of the Imperium of Clarity and the Swords of Sanghelios had dissolved into isolated skirmishes, with individual ships battling for aerial control of minor settlements while ground troops roamed unchecked or fled. Amidst the many markers dotting the holographic globe, most were clustered around Dival, the colony's crown jewel. Though both sides had been eager to preserve the capital city hours ago, the casualties involved had provoked both the attackers and defenders into unleashing wanton destruction on the other. Entire districts had been set ablaze, while others had been turned into pools of molten rock and glass by concentrated plasma fire. Capital ships now duelled overhead, unleashing every weapon at their disposal without a care.

Seeing this, Toru's eyes narrowed and he waved for one of his officers. "Redirect all ships not currently engaged to Dival. We will reinforce what remains of 'Hendai's forces and crush the enemy flagship. Without direction, the rest of their fleet will scatter and be easy prey for our own ships."

Invigorated by the new orders, the Watchful Custodian's bridge was soon abuzz with activity. Maneuvering a vessel of this size took a great deal of time and coordination, but the superb work of Toru's underlings soon had both the supercarrier and its escort craft on a course for Dival. With most of Frendhal's western hemisphere clear of enemy craft, most of the Imperium's remaining ships responded to the Imperial Admiral's orders within minutes. Unable to break through Imperial lines, the Swords of Sanghelios had mostly reconstituted its fleet around the planet's northern pole, though a smattering of capital ships still fought for the capital.

I've been foolish, Toru folded his arms, keeping his eyes on the planetary map. Had I finished this today - no, at Montak - then this could have all been avoided.

Though he would never admit such a thing to his followers, Toru 'Makhan had made a grave tactical error in favouring theatrics on Montak over a crushing military victory. Had he prepared properly for the invasion, the Imperium's gathered fleets could have met the invasion with a display of unstoppable firepower the moment enemy ships exited slipspace. Instead, he had favoured a plan that involved luring them deeper into the Imperium's territory to pick them apart piece by piece, adding confusion and humiliation to their eventual defeat. Now, just a few days later, enemy ships were making their way towards Iradu and thousands of irreplaceable troops were dead. Even if their eventual victory was a certainty, so much could have been avoided had be not given into vanity and arrogance.

As they made their way towards Dival, Toru remained standing. This was partly due to his preference for giving orders this way in battle, and partly because he could not bear to sit in a chair he had partly destroyed out of embarrassment. Instead, he tossed his white cape over it and toured the bridge to pass the time, checking in with the helmsman and several other important stations. Thankfully, morale remained high.

"Transmission incoming from the Blissful Solitude!" a communications officer called as Toru returned to his station.

"Patch it through."

A holographic viewscreen flickered into place to Toru's left, displaying the black-armoured Shipmaster T'Kol, one of Orro 'Hendai's favoured subordinates. At his side stood a tired-looking Unggoy in weathered armour, who Toru recognised as Hunya Tal. Orro's equerry did not perish with him, then. Curious.

"Your excellency," T'Kol rapped a fist against his breastplate. "Your arrival is most timely. The Swords of Sanghelios have all but fled Dival, though I regret to inform you that we have been unsuccessful in destroying their capital."

"And your own losses?" Toru asked.

"Heavy. We engaged them as best we could, and with what ships we could spare, but we have only succeeded in wearing each other down. The Blissful Solitude was forced to retreat when our engines threatened to fail us, and their own craft seems stranded above Dival's outskirts."

Looking towards the holomap, Toru saw the Questioner, Felo 'Ranak's flagship, sitting alone and seemingly defenceless. The wreckage of two light cruisers nearby indicated that its weapon systems were still active, but the powerful craft likely lacked the power to do anything but hold its position after its protracted engagement with T'Kol's ships.

"You have done well, Shipmaster. Have the ships under your command hold their position until I arrive, and keep the enemy contained. I will deliver the killing blow."

"As you wish, excellency." T'Kol bowed.

The transmission cut out, and Toru allowed himself a quiet huff of contentment. Felo 'Ranak's death would make up for most of the destruction his fleet had wrought on Frendhal, depriving the Swords of Sanghelios of one of its strongest supporters. Perhaps it would even give the Imperium a chance to expand its numbers further by offering his troops a place in their military and a better purpose than working under their self-serving Arbiter and his aristocratic cronies. After securing the Imperium's place in the galaxy as a military force to be reckoned with with this campaign, Toru had always intended to turn his attention towards bringing his fellow Sangheili under his banner, starting with the millions of discontented groups that had formed after the Covenant's demise. With these troops and the Forerunner shield world he intended to convert into his military headquarters, they would finally have the power to regain their former territories and forge the empire anew.

By the time they arrived at Dival, most of Toru's personal fleet had formed a wide ring around the city, cutting off the Questioner's escape. Though the Swords still possessed a third of its fleet, no ships had made an effort to rescue their leader, and were fleeing north instead. A few warships were already in pursuit, but the outcome of this battle would be decided here. It was in this moment of triumph that Toru heard a hoarse voice speak up from beside his chair.

"Wait," said Captain Reynald Donnelly, rising shakily to his feet. "Imperial Admiral, you don't have to destroy them."

The human prisoner had been silent ever since his brief outburst several hours ago. He took a step towards Toru, only to find Muri 'Jarit's blade hovering in his path. Toru waved for his bodyguard to stand down, and turned to face Donnelly.

"You still have objections, Captain Donnelly?" he switched to the human's language. "I am surprised."

"Listen," Donnelly straightened up, fixing Toru with a stern glare. "You've already won here. If you show mercy here, then your Imperium will be in a better position than it'd be otherwise."

Toru's mandibles twitched, his curiosity piqued. "Go on."

"If you kill Felo 'Ranak, the Swords of Sanghelios aren't going to roll over and take it. Whatever position you think the Arbiter's in now, he won't let this go unpunished. Even if they don't send another fleet, they'll find another way to bleed your Imperium dry, be it by attacking your trade routes or sending enough spies to bring you down from within. If you let him go, or take him prisoner, then at least you've got room for negotiation. Hell, you might even manage a ceasefire."

Toru took a moment to look around, unsure if any of his nearby subordinates understood Donnelly's language. A few curious officers below looked away as the Imperial Admiral's gaze fell upon them.

"You are curiously well-versed on these matters," Toru said quietly. "Or are these mere suppositions, born of desperation?"

Donnelly snorted, running a hand across his unshaven chin. "I worked with the Swords for a while, so they briefed us pretty well about the political situation on Sanghelios, and who a lot of the key players are. Aside from you, naturally."

Sensing defiance in the prisoner's voice, Toru clapped a hand on the man's shoulders and span him round to face the bridge's forward viewscreen. Dominating the display was Dival city, most of which was now a blasted ruin. Alone in the skies above it was the Questioner, reduced by days of battle from a powerful flagship to little more than a floating target. A weapons console chirped nearby, indicating that it was now in range of the Watchful Custodian's primary cannons. Toru lowered his head to Donnelly's level, and spoke so only his captive could hear him.

"If you believe that I intend to negotiate with the likes of Thel 'Vadam, then you are sorely mistaken. His grasp on power is tenuous even now, and should he falter he will find a thousand daggers at his back. Both 'Vadam and the noble houses that follow him will fall, and those that remain will flock to a new leader. That is our future."

With that, he shoved Donnelly away a little more forcefully than intended. The human officer stumbled and fell, earning a few low chuckles from Toru's bodyguards as he sat back in his chair, powerless and humiliated once more. With that nuisance out of the way, Toru turned his attention towards blasting Felo 'Ranak's ship out of the sky. Before he could give the order, another shout went up from one of his officers.

"Excellency, the enemy flagship is hailing us! They wish to communicate!"

This was a genuine surprise for Toru, who expected the enemy Fleet master to remain silent in the face of death. "I will allow it. Send it through to my personal channel."

Toru clasped his hands behind his back and turned to face a newly-materialised holoscreen, which thankfully did not face his half-ruined command chair. On the screen before him sat Felo 'Ranak, half-slouched in his own chair and surrounded by a cadre of high-ranking officers. Given the report from Orro 'Hendai of the wounds inflicted on him over Montak, Toru was surprised that the Fleet Master was still actively commanding his troops. Felo lowered his head in a nod of respect.

"Toru 'Makhan," he spoke slowly, his voice tinged with pain. "It is an honour to meet you at last."

"Likewise," Toru gave a more standard military salute. "Have you called to surrender? Your fleet seems to have abandoned you."

A warrior in unusual green armour to Felo's left took a step forward at that jibe, only to be waved away by Felo.

"My brothers and I came here to fight a war, Imperial Admiral. We cannot do so as prisoners."

"How brave," Toru's mandibles shook irritably. "Do you truly speak for all of them then, Felo 'Ranak? I do wonder how many would be willing to join my Imperium, given the chance. Dying aboard a battleship is considered an ignoble death by some."

"I'm sure most would prefer to return home," Felo snorted, getting to his feet with some effort. "But we are bound by duty, and that is something that even you would not abandon, surely?"

"True. It is a shame that we did not meet sooner. Were you not so eager to fall under the Arbiter's thrall, perhaps you could have found a new duty within my Imperium. A warrior such as yourself would have joined the ranks of my High Command fairly quickly."

Though his respect for Felo's abilities was genuine, everything else Toru said was false. Though he did not broadcast this as often as he would have liked, the Imperium's founder had a deep-seated hatred for all who represented the aristocratic ruling class of his people. Ensconced in their keeps and bound by traditions that they mindlessly repeated since time immemorial, they had always looked down on those of a different station. As someone born not on Sanghelios, but on the city-station of High Charity, Toru had found himself treated little better than a serf by those of more notable lineages. Now the meagre House of 'Makhan was all but gone, and Toru wanted nothing more than to burn away the old nobility with them.

"Alas, things did not turn out that way." Felo shook his head sadly. "But to answer your question, Imperial Admiral, I did not contact you to surrender. My fleet has orders to fight on as long as it can, and I will not besmirch my family name by kneeling before the likes of you."

If Felo sought to infuriate Toru in one last act of defiance, then he was met with instant success. The Imperial Admiral raised his right arm, and bellowed a command to his entire bridge.

"Fire!"

Toru's arm fell, and the entire supercarrier shuddered as it discharged every single one of its frontal cannons. White streaks of plasma the size of infantry dropships lit up the night sky as they converged on the Questioner, hammering its already-faltering shields again and again. For a few seconds, the bridge's frontal viewscreen was completely obscured by the sheer amount of light emanating from the blast zone. Nanolaminate battleplate strong enough to weather close-range nuclear fire buckled and melted under the unending torrent of white-hot plasma, which leapt hungrily across the Questioner's exposed hull the moment its energy shields collapsed. The cruiser's engines gave out shortly after as the third volley of cannon fire succeeded in blasting through the underside of the warship, ripping it in half.

As what remained of the Questioner began to fall, its reactor exploded, and a second sun appeared over Dival. Most of the ship's rear end was vaporised instantly, while the separated frontal portion fell to pieces, still ablaze as it smashed into the ruins below. The flagship's demise was intense enough to force several of the Imperium's lighter vessels to vacate the area, and though the explosion did not reach what few intact portions remained of the inner city, the shockwave's effects were felt for hundreds of miles around.

Silence reigned on the Watchful Custodian's bridge, and mixed feelings of pride and horror swept through those who had brought about such utter devastation. Stood atop the ziggurat of command stations, Toru 'Makhan spread his arms out as if to welcome the destruction. After all, he had given the order, and in moments had reduced the head of a hated aristocratic house to atoms. Though the fight was not yet over, any further conflict on Frendhal would be nothing compared to the coup de grâce that decisively ended the battle for its capital.

"Impressive," a voice sounded from Toru's right, making his hearts skip a beat. "I was rather fond of that ship."

Toru span round to see Felo 'Ranak and his advisors on the nearest viewscreen, alive and well. His communications officers leapt into action at once, scrambling across terminals as he fixed his enemy with a look of unrestrained contempt.

"Coward!" Toru spat, jabbing a finger towards the viewscreen. "Where are you hiding!?"

Felo let out a wheezy laugh. "I am retreating, Toru 'Makhan, not hiding. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that I am advancing."

"We've pinpointed their transmission!" one officer called up in a slightly panicky voice.

The map to Toru's right glowed and shifted, reforming from a local map of the continent into a global one. As its focus shifted from the newly-formed crater below their fleet to a steadily-moving object in the planet's northern polar reasons, he realised what Felo 'Ranak had done.

"You relayed the signal to your flagship," he murmured, half-impressed and half-furious. "It was a decoy."

For someone who had been cursing himself for favouring roundabout tactics when simple overwhelming force was necessary, Toru couldn't help but silently acknowledge that he had been beaten by the enemy Fleet Master here. While the Watchful Custodian and its escorts had focused on bringing down 'Ranak in a decisive manner to end the battle over Dival, the Swords of Sanghelios had been reforming its own depleted fleet in preparation for fleeing Frendhal entirely. To fall for such a simple trick was embarrassing enough, but to have the perpetrator sitting by while they fell for his scheme added insult to injury.

"I'm going to depart now," Felo 'Ranak said, standing proudly in spite of his obvious discomfort. "By the time you return to your capital, either I or the humans will have seized your throne. Farewell."

The connection went dead. Had the viewscreen not been holographic, Toru would have put his fist through it. Faced with a sea of black faces, he took a short breath, re-assumed his usual command position across the bridge, and continued to give orders. News of their victory on Frendhal was broadcast across the planet, and as the Swords of Sanghelios' ragged fleet sped into orbit, the Imperium of Clarity's own ships reformed their battle lines and began what would be a very long pursuit. At the centre of it all, standing above all others as the white-gold heart of this army, was Toru 'Makhan. Those who stood beside him that day would speak of his calm demeanour and quiet resolve, though none knew the full extent of the inferno raging inside.

***

2246 Hours, August 31st, 2558 DDS-class carrier Silent Voice, Yain System

"Our jump drive is ready and our coordinates are set, Commander."

"Good. Leave this system at once."

As the acting Shipmaster nodded and returned to his station, Rora 'Marak couldn't help but feel as though he was far overstepping the limits of his authority. Though most aboard knew who he was and what his warriors did, having to actually give fleet-wide orders was more than he prepared for.

A boon of being in Felo 'Ranak's good graces, I suppose.

While his surviving troops had returned to their barracks to rest and re-arm, Rora still wore the same dirty, plasma-scorched combat harness he had put on some ten hours prior. Upon returning to the Questioner following their semi-successful mission to sabotage the Imperium's defences in Dival's inner districts, the Shadows of Retribution's leader had found the situation to be much worse than he hoped. Instead of a coordinated advance into the city, their troops had found themselves enveloped in a quagmire of close-quarters fighting as artillery fire from both sides destroyed any cohesion they once had. An initial unwillingness from both sides to commit their ships to the offensive had only made matters worse, and Rora had been willing to rejoin the fray were it not for the state of his commanding officer, Felo 'Ranak.

In spite of the extensive medical treatment he had received following his duel over Montak, the Fleet Master had still not recovered from his injuries, which only seemed to worsen as the day went on. Proud and courageous though he was, Felo 'Ranak was also intermittently delirious due to his medication and unable to respond as effectively as he might have to incoming threats, leaving the minutiae of battle to half a dozen high-ranking officers. To make matters worse, General Fol 'Taram, whose command skills were second only to Felo's, had been killed in the fighting below alongside a member of the Imperium's High Command. Without effective, fleet-wide leadership, the Swords of Sanghelios might have maintained their stalemate over Dival until it was too late, were it not for Rora's quick thinking.

Following Fol's demise, a more lucid Felo had launched an all-out attack with the Questioner itself as the spearhead, taking on and destroying several of the Imperium's vessels and engaging the Blissful Solitude - the same vessel that had attacked it directly over Montak - in an aerial joust of colossal proportions. While they emerged as the victor by the narrowest of margins, having all but disabled the enemy ship, Felo 'Ranak passed out shortly afterwards, forcing Rora to act. Wary of a steadily-encroaching ring of Imperial ships, Rora had his Fleet Master brought to a medical bay and ordered the bridge staff to prepare for an evacuation.

Naturally, such a thing was met with an outcry: who was the Outrider, that grisly assassin of 'Ranak's, to give orders? A brief standoff ensued, and things may have turned bloody were it not for Shipmaster Yal 'Nerun - Felo's immediate subordinate - acquiescing to the young warrior's demands. With the immediate aftermath of their duel with the Blissful Solitude having stalled the battle below, Rora helped to direct an organised retreat not to the Questioner, but to a location south of Dival where one of their surviving carriers could dispatch dropships to rescue them. The logistics of such an operation were beyond Rora's individual capabilities, but the hard work of his field officers paid off as thousands were withdrawn from the field in less than an hour. With that task accomplished, Rora had the comatose Felo and all non-essential personnel transferred to the Silent Voice, quickly depleting the cruiser's hangars of transport craft while a skeleton crew continued to lay down withering fusillades of plasma fire at the Imperium.

By the time Felo 'Ranak regained consciousness, he was in the carrier's medical bay and too far away from his beloved flagship to do anything about it. Though he would have been within his rights to kill Rora for his actions, the sight of the Imperium's ships surrounding the Questioner soon quashed any complains he had with the loyal warrior. All that then remained was to keep up the ruse that they were still aboard until they had reached a safe distance. Though he was awake and upright only because of more emergency treatment, the Fleet Master was able to not only mock but utterly humiliate the Imperium of Clarity's leader in front of his own fleet before his ships stole away into the stars.

As defeats went, it was a glorious one.

"Fleet Master?" Rora called out cautiously as he stepped into the medical bay's isolation chamber. "May we speak?"

"Come." Felo's voice sounded from behind a wall of opaque sheets.

Barely glancing at the pair of armed guards stationed at either side of the room, Rora passed under the cloth sheet. Felo 'Ranak lay on a bed before him, his abdomen wrapped once again in bronze sealant mesh. A spindly-armed automated surgery device loomed overhead, while a row of terminals monitored the Fleet Master's vital signs. Stripped of his armour, Felo did nothing to hide his weakened state and sat up with a grunt of effort.

"I felt a jolt not too long ago. Have we left the system?"

"Yes. Shipmaster 'Nerun reports that no vessels have been lost since we escaped Frendhal."

Felo nodded. "That is good news, though I wonder if we have enough to win the fight to come."

"On Iradu?"

"Yes. Even if we have scattered their fleets, the Imperium will not have left its homeworld undefended, and if they have we will still have to contend with Toru 'Makhan's pursuit. I believe that any victory will be a costly one, Rora."

It was rare for Felo to use Rora's given name. "Even 'Makhan cannot remain ensconced within his supercarrier for ever, Fleet Master. Even so, all it would take is slipping a few of my warriors aboard to end his life."

"True enough, though he may not reach a point where he is forced to leave the safety of his flagship. While we caught him off-guard with our escape, he will not fall for such a trick twice. And I do not wish to sacrifice another flagship."

Rora did not respond immediately, feeling slightly rebuked by Felo's remark. Though he had been among the last to leave the Questioner before the Imperium's ships completed their encirclement, dozens of crew members had been left behind to perish along with the ship, maintaining it until the end.

"It will not come to that."

Felo sighed, sensing Rora's guilt. "Do not feel shame for your actions, brother. My pride would have led to our downfall, had you not acted. Some may believe that you overstepped your bounds, but they will not forget that you saved everyone aboard. Nor will I, for that matter."

"Anyone could have acted," Rora bowed his head. "And your orders were sound, when you gave them."

At this, the injured Fleet Master snorted. "And yet, they found themselves too bound by protocol to do what was necessary in that situation to ensure our survival. Be proud, Rora, for we shall fight another day."

"You honour me, Fleet Master." muttered Rora, looking to change the subject. "And what of your wounds? Some feared the worst when you lost consciousness."

Felo pointed towards one of the machines at his bedside. "My injuries were more extensive than I feared, and an infection had begun to seep into my blood. I have since been rid of it, but my attendants insist that I remain here for the time being."

"And will you?" Rora asked.

"If I am called for," replied Felo, easing back onto the bed. "I cannot afford to take anything more than a brief respite until this war is won."

"Then I will leave you to your rest."

Rora bowed, and exited the room. With Felo's injuries making him unreliable, it would fall to his surviving officers to organise and direct their fleet where necessary in the coming battle. As a groundside commander, Rora 'Marak would have little input on their offensive strategy until they reached Iradu, the Imperium's homeworld. That is, if we even make it that far.

With the Swords of Sanghelios' withdrawal from the Yain System, the Battle of Frendhal came to a quiet conclusion. They left behind the battle-scarred remnants of a once-mighty colony world, the remains of over half their fleet, and tens of thousands of dead. Led by a vengeful Imperial Admiral Toru 'Makhan, the Imperium of Clarity's surviving ships finally began their pursuit of the Swords into slipspace within hours, setting the stage for a final showdown in their home system.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

139: Monster

2216 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Fortress of Watchful Peace, Irn, Bineb System

The battle had already been lost. Lacking leadership and cohesion, the Imperium of Clarity's surviving troops found themselves stranded within a fortress that had already fallen, resolute in their desire to fight to the bitter end. Corridors became mine-strewn deathtraps, living quarters were transformed into makeshift infirmaries, and service tunnels became tactical chokepoints covered by mounted cannons. Though effective, these measures only served to delay the inevitable advance of human troops into the station's lower sections.

Unsurprisingly, a grim mood lingered over the few dozen holdouts, manning their defences to the last. Perched atop a makeshift barricade, Major Ther 'Tulam turned his cannon sharply towards a glint of light in the darkness of the half-ruined passage ahead. A flash erupted out of the gloom, sending tracer rounds pinging off the stacked metal to his left. Ther squeezed the trigger, launching a torrent of plasma fire streaking towards the source. His first few shots found their mark, and a cry rang out as a distant soldier toppled backwards. The rest scattered, taking cover as Ther's cannon fire swept past them.

"Major!" a rough voice called from behind Ther. "How many are there?"

Ther shifted slightly as another grey-armoured soldier slid into place beside him, hefting a long-barrelled beam rifle.

"At least five, by my count," he said calmly. "They're using the service tunnels to approach."

The sniper nodded, levelling his weapon. "Good to know."

A fellow veteran, Uzun 'Hendul was the only member of Ther's lance not to have perished in the fighting. Like so many others, they had fled to this fortress from the critically damaged Advance Guard, only to be assaulted almost immediately by wave upon wave of well-armed human forces. Unfamiliar with the layout of the base, they were not as prepared as they should have been, and took heavy losses before proper defences could be established. A decade prior, such a situation would have been unimaginable.

Uzun's weapon fired twice without warning. Two beams of light shot down into the dark, each finding a soft target to destroy. Ther nodded in appreciation of his friend's talent as the sounds of human scream drifted towards them; Uzun chose not to kill his targets, and instead left them with excruciatingly painful injuries to demoralise their comrades. Now the enemy squad would likely be forced to retreat, making themselves targets, or they would execute a suicidal charge on the barricade. Ther did not mind either option.

The pair's celebration was short-lived. From the furthest end of the corridor came a roar of light and noise, steadily growing as something drew closer to them. The Major realised what it was after a split-second of confusion, and threw himself backwards a few moments before the missile struck his former position. Bits of charred metal bounced across the cramped passage, and the heat blackened Ther's grey combat harness as his shields flickered and died. Uzun lay nearby in a similar condition, trying to push himself to his feet as burning wreckage pelted his armour.

"Damned Nishum!" Uzun hissed, tossing aside his ruined rifle and drawing a sidearm. "Now they'll come in force."

Ther said nothing, and waited for his shields to pop back into place before moving. The two Sangheili emerged from cover in unison, firing their pistols wildly at the force of rapidly-advancing human soldiers. Though their black body armour could disperse glancing hits from plasma weaponry, it never took more than a couple of direct shots to the legs or chest to send them sprawling to the ground. Surprised that they had not killed the wrecked barricade's defenders, the rest split off again and lay down a withering hail of gunfire. Several rounds glanced off Ther's shields, pushing him to the side once more.

"They'll use explosives again," Ther called to his friend. "We should retreat."

Uzun snarled in annoyance. "Retreat where?! We've nowhere to go!"

He was right. Trapped here on one of the lowest levels of the Fortress of Watchful Peace, the Imperium's last defenders had no way of escape. Some had suggested surrender, though loyalty and pride ensured that the rest would not bow to these invaders. Though his adherence to the traditional warrior code had never been as strict as some of his comrades, Ther felt that surrender was equivalent to treason. He was loyal to the Imperium and its leaders, and would remain so until his death.

Sure enough, the first fragmentation grenade came sailing towards them within a minute. Out of sheer luck, it bounced off the tip of the barricade's wreckage and exploded prematurely, saving Ther and Uzun from the worst of the blast. With their weapons already running low on power and nine more kills between them, the pair had resolved to charge the enemy when they came close, utilising their naturally superior strength against the humans to negate their disadvantage when it came to firepower. Provided they could close the distance before their energy shields were overwhelmed, they could inflict some serious damage before they fell. More fire struck the walls and the wreckage around them, with armour-piercing rounds perforating even the hardened metals that had made up their barrier. The humans intensified their assault, likely hoping to injure or kill the Sangheili from afar.

Ther waited, crouched against the wall with his eyes closed until the din of gunfire died down. That would be their chance to counter-attack. It came quickly.

"Now!" Ther yelled, springing to his feet. Uzun did the same.

As the pair emerged, ready to charge through the smouldering gap at the incoming human force, Ther realised that the nearest soldiers had already begun to fall back. Though they scrambled to reload their weapons, having expended everything at once, their hurried retreat made little sense. It was in that moment of silence that a new sound reached his ears: that of thundering footfalls. A monotone, simulated voice sounded from behind him.

"Get out of my way."

Ther half-turned to see a wall of broiling emerald fire racing towards him, and found himself momentarily paralysed with fear. Time seemed to slow for him, and all he could hear was the thundering of his hearts. Uzun acted first, and shoved him out of the way. Not even a second later, the fire consumed him and roared down the passage, incinerating the fleeing humans. Not so lucky to avoid damage entirely, Ther let out a pained gasp as he hit the floor, his armour warped and dark skin horribly burned. A massive figure lumbered forward, lowering a cannon so large that it took up its entire right arm.

A Mgalekgolo.

"You-" Ther began to pick himself up, only to collapse heavily onto the scorched deck as agony overwhelmed him.

Of the Imperium of Clarity's fleets, Kan 'Larom's had boasted the largest number of Mgalekgolo colonies. Used as shock troops, the Fleet Master had developed a strategy of translocating them onto the battlefield from orbit to surprise and overwhelm the enemy, which had been used to great effect on Montak. They were feared, and rightly so, but there was one colony in particular that had gained quite the reputation within the military.

"Mono Puru Kadun," the Sangheili rasped, jabbing a shaking finger towards the red-armoured beast. "What have you done?"

Mono's helmet tilted slightly to one side, as if confused by Ther's question. He turned to look down the passage, now illuminated by burning bodies, before turning his attention back to the wounded Sangheili. He let out a low rumble, and a flat voice sounded from the translation device attached to his chestplate.

"I killed the enemy."

Ther let out a groan as he leaned backwards against the wall, unable to stand. At the now-widened hole in the barricade lay a few unrecognisably twisted chunks of armour. It was all that remained of Uzun 'Hendul. During the Great War he had known the Mgalekgolo to be uncaring when it came to the lesser races, but Ther knew they held some form of respect for the Sangheili. At the very least, they would never kill fellow warriors simply because they were in the way. The only exception to this came when a Mgalekgolo lost the other half of its colony - its 'bond brother - in combat, which usually sent them into berserk rampages that endangered friend and foe alike.

These facts were common knowledge among the military, but Mono Puru Kadun was different. Discovered on some far-flung backwater world embroiled in an insignificant war by Fleet Master Kan 'Larom, he stood out among his kind for being alone. The loss of a bond brother was usually an irreversibly damaging experience for a Lekgolo colony, forcing survivors to be put down, but Mono had always been entirely lucid and willing to follow orders in spite of this. Not even their Fleet Master knew what had become of Mono's bondmate, but such questions soon dissipated as he proved himself to be a remarkably effective and utterly terrifying combatant.

"You mad fool," Ther cursed the blood-splattered Mgalekgolo. "We were to meet warrior's deaths, and you stole away our chance."

Mono remained silent as the worms that formed his body squirmed, forming some kind of internal consensus.

"So you desire death."

The moment the translated rumblings reached him, Ther attempted to pull himself sideways. The Mgalekgolo was quicker. Mono raised his armour-plated boot, and brought its full weight down onto the injured Sangheili with alarming speed. Ther 'Tulam lived long enough to let out an agonised gasp as several tonnes of metal thundered down on his body, crushing him like in insect into the deck. Mono waited for the warrior's body to cease its death spasms before moving again, shaking some purple viscera from his boot.

Sangheili are strange creatures, he thought to himself. They desire nothing but death, but they flee when they face it at an inopportune time.

Mono continued his journey down the dark corridor at a steady place, taking no heed of the charred human remains being crushed underfoot. This battle, though not one they would win, had been particularly exhilarating for him. After being unleashed by Kan 'Larom, Mono had proceeded to slaughter his way across an entire hangar bay, destroying three enemy landing craft before reinforcements pushed him and the rest of the defenders back. Many other Mgalekgolo had raced into the fray, though few seemed to possess his knack for self-preservation. Even with their might, they could not hold back the tide of vengeful human troops, and even Mono found himself reduced to sheltering down here with a few Sangheili holdouts.

Death was a near-certainty at this point. Mono had long since come to terms with that. Cut off from reinforcements and unable to pilot a starship, he would likely perish this day. Such a thing worried him little, for he had drank his fill of battle. His armour and shield were soaked in fresh layers of dark blood, and bits of flesh and bone stuck to him. It was not something his Sangheili commanders would have ever approved of, but now they were either dead or gone. Even his fellow Mgalekgolo, those twinned colonies who barely disguised their disdain of him, had been vanquished in this battle. Just as he had been the day he ripped his own bond brother in half to quell the discord that raged between them, Mono Puru Kadun was truly alone.

Eventually, he found himself within a circular chamber, once used as living quarters by the Unggoy who manned this fortress. Some battle had passed through this place like a whirlwind, upending furniture and leaving deep scorch marks across the floor. Empty bullet casings lay in sticky pools of dried blood by one exit, though the lone Mgalekgolo paused when he realised that there was no body.

They have reclaimed their dead already.

This was a clear sign that their foe had already achieved victory and taken the Imperium's fortress for their own. Sentimental though they tended to be, human soldiers were professional enough not to waste time recovering bodies in the middle of a contested area. Wandering across the room to a wide doorway, Mono froze, his armour's long spines quivering as he sensed the distant sound of approaching footfalls. Too light to belong to any ally of his, they grew closer, and he sank into a crouch by the door as human voices drifted towards him. They were too calm to belong to anyone wary of Mono's presence. That was good.

The door slid open, and seven human soldiers found themselves standing less than a metre away from a gore-soaked beast, clad in armour made from starship metal. To their credit, they reacted before the Mgalekgolo had a chance to move, but it made little difference. They lost cohesion almost immediately, scrambling backwards and firing their weapons thoughtlessly into Mono's nigh-impenetrable shield. He let out a low rumble that, to most ears, would have sounded like a satisfied chuckle.

Launching himself forward, Mono's shield swept forward in a horizontal arc that all but bisected the nearest human, sending his remains flying off in a spray of blood and splintered bone. One attempted to rush forward, seeking to empty his rifle into Mono's less protected underbelly. The seasoned killer simply span round, using his momentum to smash the bulky cannon on his other arm into the man. His armour cracked like an eggshell from the blow, which sent him arcing across the hallway. The man was dead before he hit the floor.

The others, though frightened, regained some composure as they backed away from Mono. Firing in bursts, they ensured that their target kept his shield up at all times to protect his exposed innards, though the hallway provided little cover for them. As the sound of a rifle clacking empty reached him, Mono swung his cannon forward and activated the device. A stream of bright green incendiary gel sprayed forth, crossing the entire path in front of him. Those not quick enough to dive away died quick but agonising deaths as the emerald fire consumed them, while the others desperately tried to pat out their blazing uniforms. Mono advanced on the nearest human. Too slow to escape, he could only scream as an armoured boot came down on him. The human's body all but burst like an overripe fruit, making Mono's colony squirm with delight. The two surviving humans began to run, but they could not outpace the second burst of flame which soon overwhelmed them. They fell in moments, and quiet descended on the hallway once more.f

Wonderful, Mono lowered his cannon, rumbling happily. Truly wonderful. How the likes of Kan 'Larom fled from you I will never-

A crack rang out from behind him, and Mono's huge form staggered to one side as orange blood dripped from his armour. Several dead worms fell from his midsection, disrupting his thoughts as everything screamed in shock and pain. Another shot dinged the side of his his helmet as he turned to face this new attacker. In the distance, half-hidden behind a pillar further down the hallway, stood a human encased from head to toe in armour.

A Spartan.

Mono had come to learn this name after the war's end, having heard tales of human warriors during the war that wreaked havoc wherever they went. Their former religion dubbed them 'Demons', leading to rumours of their otherworldly nature, but times had changed since then. Mono had never faced one personally, but he had always considered the prospect of fighting such a foe, His colony writhed at the thought of killing one, and he took a step forward. The Spartan, its position revealed, did not run. Instead, it stepped out into the open, facing down the monstrous creature that slowly lumbered towards it. Though the Spartan's face remained hidden behind its V-shaped visor, even Mono could sense the bravado in its challenge.

The Spartan moved first, advancing on Mono with its long-barrelled rifle raised. The Mgalekgolo accepted the challenge and charged forward, keeping his shield raised. His first blow - a quick upwards swing - was easily sidestepped by the armoured warrior, who fired twice past Mono's shield. Both shots struck harmlessly off his armour, and before the Spartan could recover Mono loosed a single blast of incendiary gel from his cannon. Moving with incredible speed, the Spartan dodged the sizzling ball by inches, and ducked away as it exploded against the wall. The blast sent Mono's foe sprawling across the floor, melting a portion of his rifle in the process, but the warrior turned his fall into a roll and leapt to his feet in an instant, drawing a sidearm.

Mono sank into a crouch, covering his unguarded sections from a hail of gunfire. One round zipped past his defences, smashing through the worms making up part of his right leg. Though he stumbled, the sensation of pain and loss within his colony only sharpened his killing intent, forcing all of his attention on the human. Mono launched himself forward before the Spartan had a chance to reload with a roar, hoping to smash the creature into the floor with his body weight so he could crush its outer shell. The Spartan dodged as expected, leaping into the air with the assistance of thrusters built into his suit, and delivered a sharp kick to Mono's exposed neck-worms.

"Arrogant."'

Twisting his shield arm as the Spartan propelled himself backwards, Mono's three-fingered claw snapped up and closed around the warrior's lower leg. Suddenly caught in the Mgalekgolo's vice-like grip, the Spartan jerked back towards him, flailing and kicking at Mono in desperation as his handgun fell to the floor. A moment later, Mono's translator lit up and broadcast his remark. He hoped that, before the end, the Spartan knew that he had brought about his own downfall. He tightened his grip, feeling the reinforced armour plating underneath begin to bend, then break. It would not be a quick demise.

Absorbed in the moment, Mono did not notice the presence of another until his senses screamed a warning, and the screaming of tiny missiles flying through the air flooded through him. Barely able to turn in time, the Mgalekgolo's mighty form was battered repeatedly by explosions of heat and light. His grip slackened as his colony squirmed instinctively, forcing him to fling the Spartan aside as he began to wriggle free. By the time the smoke cleared, Mono sighted not one, but two more of the power-armoured warriors sprinting towards him. He met this new challenge with a defiant rumble, and opened fire with his cannon. Once more the hallway exploded with green fire, though the newly-arrived Spartans deftly avoided the main beam, energy shields sparking from the heat as they thruster-boosted themselves towards Mono.

Reacting quickly, Mono threw himself into the fray, nearly decapitating a green-armoured Spartan with a swing that missed by less than an inch and barely blocking a near point-blank shotgun blast from another in black and white before retreating a few steps. They attacked almost in unison, raining down gunfire while circling Mono, keeping him on the move at all times. Wary of his less protected rear, the Mgalekgolo backed himself towards the nearest wall, though this only pressed the warriors to attack him more fiercely. Aware that they were seeking to wear him down, striking glancing hits that depleted his colony worm by worm, Mono feinted with another swipe of his shield towards one Spartan, only to lurch to one side to use his cannon as a bludgeon against the other.

Though it was only a glancing blow, to his side, the Spartan in green was launched backwards into the nearest wall, denting its metal with the impact. Content that he had left the augmented human stunned, Mono turned to fight his last active target, only to find him closer than expected. Having ducked under Mono's shield, he now held a dark orb in one hand. Before the Mgalekgolo could twist himself away, the Spartan's right fist rocketed upwards, punching into the thick cluster of worms that made up his gestalt form's lower chest. Panic set in, and Mono fired a panicked shot towards his foe as he retreated, catching the left side of the Spartan's chestplate and blasting him down the corridor. He had little time to celebrate that victory, as the orb vibrated violently within him as every worm clumped together around it, desperately tying to eject the device.

The grenade exploded, and his world became heat and light and fire and pain. The Mgalekgolo gestalt known as Mono Puru Kadun let out a final, sighing rumble as he fell apart and ceased to be.

***

As the Hunter's body burned, charred worms spilling out from its blood-caked armour and onto the floor around it, Jacob-G043 got to his feet.

"Damn," the Spartan shook his head. "Everyone all right?"

When the Spartans of Fireteam Stallion had been called to intercept what was perceived as an enemy counter-attack from the bowels of the Imperium's fortress, they hadn't expected it to be a single Hunter, let alone one as cunning as this one. Jacob glanced down at the dented ruin of his pauldron, and winced slightly as his armour's automatic biofoam injectors shored up the hairline fracture in his shoulder beneath. Nearby, Rodger-G050 had also picked himself up off the floor, and gave Jacob a thumbs-up.

"Big bastard rang my bell a little, but I'm all right."

"Can't believe he nearly got all of us," Jacob prodded the remains with his boot. "Callum?"

A little further down the hall, Callum-B042 sat up with a groan, one hand clutching the side of his chest. "I'm still kicking."

Had Stallion's leader not made that desperate attack on the Hunter, then their fight could've gone either way. Taking an assault cannon blast - even a glancing one - at close range would have killed even a Spartan, but Callum had pushed every bit of power in his MJOLNIR suit's shields to his chest area at the last moment. The result was a blackened mess of a chestplate and what would probably be some nasty burn scars below, but otherwise he had survived against the odds.

"Any sign of another one?" Rodger asked, catching a submachine gun tossed by Jacob. "I'm surprised we didn't see it."

Callum approached the others gathered around Mono's corpse, and frowned as he looked upon what was left of the battle-worn Hunter. He was no authority on their kind, of course, but seeing the filth-encrusted armour of their fallen foe gave him a good idea of the type of creature they had slain.

"Probably lost its brother, or partner, or whatever they call it. Usually they'd just go mad, but this one seemed a little more together."

Rodger snorted. "Damn right. Hunters aren't exactly strategists, but I could've sworn that this guy tricked me."

"He would've torn your legs off if we hadn't arrived," said Jacob. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Yeah, thanks."

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching caught their attention, and the trio of Spartans turned to see the fourth member of their team jogging towards them.

"About time," Callum stepped jerked a thumb towards the burning corpse. "No need to hurry now, we took care of it."

The only SPARTAN-IV on the team, Cadmon Dawes, halted a few feet away and cocked his head a little to get a better look at the dead Hunter. "You blow it up?"

"Callum gut-punched it with an incendiary," Rodger laughed. "Nearly went up with it."

"That I can see," Cadmon gestured towards their leader's still-smoking chestplate. "Would've gotten here sooner but a few hinge-heads tried to make a break for the nearest hangar bay. Aside from a few still holed up down there, that's probably the last proper resistance we'll see."

Following their earlier skirmishes, Fireteam Stallion had been among the hardened shock troops sent to capture the Fortress of Watchful Peace. Though they avoided the bloodbath of the initial boarding attempts, the Spartans had proven themselves invaluable in finally seizing the station's control room from the enemy, though their main target - Fleet Master Kan 'Larom - had vanished by the time they arrived. By the time news of his flight to the hangar bay and subsequent escape reached them, it had been far too late to stop him.

"I guess that about does it," Callum sighed, placing two fingers to the side of his head as he opened a COM channel. "Command, this is Fireteam Stallion. Permission to conclude operations on the station and return to base?."

After a few seconds, the calm voice of a communications officer replied. "Copy that, Stallion. Extract via designated hangar Alpha-Two and report back to the Maya ASAP. We'll be pulling out of this system shortly."

With that, Callum closed the channel. With a wave for the rest of the squad to follow, he set off down the corridor, feeling more than a little fatigued after what had felt like a very long day.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

140: Homecoming

2250 Hours, August 31st, 2558 Feru Keep, State of Deris, Frendhal

Darkness had long since fallen over the keep by the time the lone banshee arrived over its grounds. Though all artificial light was extinguished across both it and little township nearby, the raging conflagration consuming the fields kept the ruins bathed in a flickering glow.

Nilen 'Feru set his craft down in the main courtyard, gently steering the battered fighter to a halt. As he clambered out of the cockpit, fishing a handheld lamp out of his belt, he finally saw what had become of his home. The keep's main building was smashed open, scattering debris across the open space. Jutting through the roof was a huge chunk of starship metal, singed black after burning itself out hours ago. Most of the keep's outer walls bore signs of damage too, as if some great metal beast had shed its innards as it passed over the settlement. Trudging slowly across the ruins, Nilen paused only to check for bodies. Every so often he came across a body, crushed by stone or burnt through by plasma fire. Most were clad in grey soldier's harnesses, marking them as part of some force dispatched to defend this fairly remote keep, though some wore simple farmers' tunics They were the ones he studied in earnest.

After his escape from the Swords of Sanghelios back in Dival, Nilen had foolishly thought himself to be safe. As it turned out, travelling alone in a captured fighter in the middle of a besieged city was a sure-fire way to attract attention, forcing him to rejoin the battle for a time. Thankfully, his Commander's rank and status as a locally-known officer dispelled any suspicion from those who challenged him over the local battlenet, though he had a harder time explaining exactly why he was away from his forces. Were the fight for Dival not such a desperate, chaotic mess as the Swords pressed their attack, he might have been blasted out of the sky, and rightly so.

Nilen's return to his own side was a brief one. With newly-arrived air support covering most of the city and duelling with the Swords' own fighters, it was easy enough for him to feign engine trouble and land in a staging area, where no one so much as gave him a second glance as he pilfered supplies and prepared to desert. Even after betraying the Imperium once, Nilen simply couldn't shake some small feeling of guilt as he watched fresh troops march by, many too young and eager to prove themselves in their first proper battle. As the two armies met, destroying the city they sought to claim in another titanic clash, Nilen had quietly slipped away in his banshee; one fighter among the thousands now swarming around the capital ships in the skies above Dival. He was already many miles away from the city when a massive explosion lit up the night from afar, though he had no clue as to who had won or lost the battle, only that every warship in scanning distance had pulled out shortly after.

"Hello!" Nilen called out, now standing atop the keep's ramparts. "Is anyone here?!"

Though only a few days had passed since Nilen bid farewell to his wife and children on these walls, it looked like centuries had passed for the little settlement. From this vantage point he looked over the town that he had governed, and saw the distinctive hulk of a downed Obedience-class cruiser in the distance, framed by the flames dancing all around it. He wondered if one of the Imperium's own craft had been responsible for destroying his home in its death throes, a similarly flame-wreathed shape jutting out of what had once been the local market square caught his attention: a Man 'O War, belonging to the Swords of Sanghelios. The two ships had likely shot each other down as they passed above Feru Keep, bringing devastation to those unfortunate enough to have been on the ground.

Greeted with the silence of death upon his return, Nilen 'Feru could not be blamed for succumbing to grief. However, what the fighter pilot felt instead was a simple desire for closure. No thoughts of vengeance crossed his mind as he picked his way through metal and stone, pulling body after body into the open and laying them out in the dirt of the keep's main courtyard. He recognised far too many faces among the dead, though none belonged to his family. Many had been crushed by debris as they sheltered in the keep's main hall, and as he toiled and counted those he had gathered, Nilen realised that too few had perished to have made this disaster complete.

"Forty-six", Nilen muttered, brushing some dirt from his blue-grey gauntlets. "That can't be right."

With only a small lamp for illumination, he quietly counted the dead again. It was a grisly toll for such a small, peaceful settlement, but only a fraction of its inhabitants, especially considering how over a quarter were soldiers. It was entirely possible that more had died in town, but with a planetary invasion in progress Nilen doubted that the Imperium's troops would have failed to evacuate it in time. Setting off with a sigh, he picked up his lamp and made his way out of the keep, travelling down a wide dirt path he had walked a thousand times before. Unwilling to brave the fires, Nilen began to circle the area, searching for unfamiliar tracks.

Though he was a ranking member of this keep's ruling family, Nilen had spent large portions of his childhood in Dival with his father, Kaidon Nulta. It was not until the war's end that he had returned to start a more agrarian life, and even that had given him little chance to explore the area around his home. He moved uphill, into the craggy highlands that dominated the land north of the town. If the civilian populace had been denied safety in the keep itself, then they could have only fled there.

Nilen had started to wonder if his intuition had failed him when a sudden flare of light from the mountainside to his left caught his eye. It vanished quickly and the pilot soon changed course, bounding over the rocks as quickly as he dared towards the source of the light. His climb up a craggy slope slowed him down somewhat, though by the time he pulled himself up onto a flat sandstone plateau, he caught a glowing ring of light in a cave mouth just above him, and would have continued walking merrily up the path had his sense of danger not caught up with him. Arriving unannounced was a good way to get shot, especially in these circumstances.

As Nilen considered his options, a voice rang out from above.

"Who goes there?!" it demanded. "Raise your arms, now!"

Nilen did as ordered, squinting into the darkness to try and make out the unseen speaker. After a moment, he caught a glint of light off the barrel of a carbine in the rocks above him, and the sound of a whispered argument. He sighed, and spoke up.

"I am Commander Nilen 'Feru!" he called out. "If you come from the keep below, then you know me."

The voices stopped at once, and several figures emerged from the gloom, brandishing pistols and handheld lanterns. The first, an elderly man, peered at the armoured pilot suspiciously. Nilen vaguely recognised him as a citizen of the local township, and wondered if he knew of him as a member of the local ruling family. Before the elder could say anything to his fellows, there was a clatter of stones as someone else rushed downhill, nearly falling over as they cannoned into Nilen. It took a second for him to realise that he was being hugged, not tackled, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Luia."

"I thought you had died," Nilen's wife whispered, clinging to his filthy chestplate. "When we heard of the Keen Eyes' destruction, I feared the worst."

"I told you I would return," he said softly. "No matter what."

Realising that their tender exchange had an audience, Nilen broke from his wife's embrace. The elder waved for them to follow, leading them up the slope towards a wide cave entrance, guarded by a pair of young women brandishing rifles likely taken from the dead back at the keep. The cave's interior was surprisingly spacious, housing at least a dozen families. Crowded around a heap of blankets several metres in and fast asleep were Nilen's three children. He sat on a crate by them, though they did not stir; the day's events had likely exhausted them to the point where even the commotion of their father's return did not awaken them. Luia soon returned to his side with a flask of water and a generous portion of food, which he accepted gladly. Though most of the townsfolk concerned themselves with their own families, many more began to gather around Nilen, clearly awaiting his story.

I cannot tell the truth. These were the first thoughts to arrive in Nilen's mind as he felt their rising anticipation. Divorced though they were from the more stringently honour-bound ways of their people under the Covenant, which would have called for a warrior's suicide were to he return prematurely, even these grateful people would not welcome a traitor back into the fold. At best, the truth would see him banished from his family home in disgrace, never to return.

"I suppose you would all like to know what brought me back here," Nilen spoke to the gathering crowd. "And news of Toru 'Makhan."

The Imperial Admiral's name gave rise to excited whispers from those around him. Though they had likely seen the unmistakable shape of his supercarrier, Watchful Custodian, as it descended from orbit, their flight from the keep and gathering darkness had kept them from witnessing the battle's outcome from afar. Given what he had seen, Nilen could only make educated guesses; 'Makhan had likely won over Dival, sending the Swords of Sanghelios into full retreat or possibly slaughtering them wholesale before pursuing the human forces outsystem.

"As you are likely aware, the Keen Eyes was destroyed over Montak. I myself was fortunate enough to be away at the time, leading our fighters against the enemy. As per the Imperial Admiral's stratagem, we allowed the human forces and their allies to retake what remained of their colony before falling back to defend this system."

A few villagers exchanged confused glances. Why did Toru 'Makhan not simply crush his foes as he had always done? None openly questioned this, which was a good thing as Nilen had no real answers for them beyond attributing it to some greater plan of 'Makhan's. After a moment, he continued.

"I was able to board the Starlight, Fleet Master Nor 'Hudon's warship, shortly before we retreated from the system. As with many displaced pilots, I was then assigned to Frendhal's defence, and defended our orbital stations against overwhelming odds."

I was captured, agreed to help the enemy, and was instrumental in piercing an unmendable hole in Frendhal's defences. Tens of thousands have died because of me.

"Sadly, the enemy was able to break through our lines and besiege Dival itself. Though we were able to outfight them on the ground, the Swords of Sanghelios sought to exterminate the planet's populace, striking at the innocent and the unarmed. For that, I can only apologise for not being here to defend both you."

This set off a brief murmur of conversation, but those around Nilen showed nothing but sympathy towards his plight. Seeing their faces, so willing to see him as the returning war hero, was nothing short of agonising for him.

"Before Toru 'Makhan claimed victory over Dival, he dispatched myself and many others to seek out and protect survivors across the planet. Though some part of me wishes I could have accompanied him in hunting down those who would invade our Imperium, I am glad to see that so many of you survived today's events. As I have been given orders to await further instruction, I will remain here with you all. Once the fires stop burning and the suns light up Frendhal's skies, we shall rebuild. That, I can promise you."

Cheers echoed across the cave as Nilen sat down again, loud enough for the youngest of his children to stir. Bzan 'Feru sat up, yawned, and found dozens sat around a figure next to his sleeping mat. It took a few seconds for the boy to realise that the man in dented, blood-encrusted pilot's harness was his father. He let out a sudden cry and leapt into Nilen's waiting arms. Those in the cave began to disperse, leaving their saviour alone with his family. Nilen's other children, Niru and Lano, were soon wide awake, showering their tired parent with praise and far too many questions as they clambered all over him.

"That's enough, children." Luia spoke up at last, seeing her husband ready to collapse. "Give your father some room to rest, he's very tired."

Sending his wife a look of immense gratitude, Nilen 'Feru removed his helmet and sat against the cave wall, his children gathered closely around him. Fatigue overcame him at last, and he found himself wondering if this was all some cruel dream; that he would wake up in a moment in the prison cell that had greeted him this morning. Such a conclusion to his journey was far too great a reward after the evil he had done, but Nilen found the guilt fading away. As far as he was concerned, he had played his part in this ridiculous war, and whatever happened next was out of his hands. He would live with secrets for the rest of his days, knowing that they were ultimately a small price to pay for the happiness of those around him.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

141: Keeping Up

CBrando89

142: A Brief Victory

2230 Hours, August 31st, 2558 UNSC Maya, Bineb System

"Spartan assets are aboard and accounted for, sir."

"And our fighters?"

"The last few craft should be docked within minutes. Casualties over the fortress were minimal."

"Good."

Rear Admiral Hawkins nodded towards the ship's AI, which vanished upon finishing its report. After several hours of intense fighting and tens of thousands of deaths at least, the United Nations Space Command could finally declare victory in the Bineb System. Or at least, what was left of it. The Fortress of Watchful Peace had been reduced to a shattered mess after numerous bombing runs, and reports from those inside suggested that there was little of value to seize. His battlegroup had lost over a fifth of its number; not a great deal considering their projected casualties, but every ship and every soldier would make a difference in the battles to come.

And there will be another battle, Hawkins frowned, thumbing down a page listing the officers who had given their lives today. Shortly before the last pockets of resistance had been scoured from the fortress, an emergency communique had arrived on the Maya's bridge from Admiral Lin Zhi herself. Though pleased that the Sixth Fleet's commanding officer was up and about so soon after what had seemed like near-fatal injuries, their own report from the Yain System was grim enough to dissipate any newfound enthusiasm. Right now, it seemed like their best bet for winning this war quickly was a last-ditch attack on the Imperium's homeworld, which if successful would hopefully force Toru 'Makhan onto the negotiating table or at least cut him off from the capital of his fledgling empire. The alternative, naturally, was that the Sixth Fleet would be wiped out and left as a warning to whoever the UNSC sent in next.

"Captain Aguirre," Hawkins called for his executive officer, who had been helping to oversee their communications station. "Make preparations for the fleet to proceed to the nearest IJP as soon as Chance gives us the coordinates."

"What about our returning troops?" she asked, her tone remaining flat as her eyes shot yet another unsaid accusation of incompetence at him. "We've still got a company's worth of Marines still in the fortress."

After a moment of calculation, Hawkins shrugged. "They'll have to dock with the battlegroup's rearguard if their dropships aren't fast enough to reach the Maya in time, then. We can't afford to delay any more than we have already."

In truth, Hawkins felt that he should have ordered his ships to break their encirclement of the moon of Irn some time ago, as once the last few plasma batteries fell quiet across the fortress there had been nothing to pose a threat to their ships. The only thing that worried the seasoned officer was the possibility of a siege as the defenders hunkered down, though their rapid deployment of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers and Spartan commandos overwhelmed the Imperium before they could establish themselves. While their heavy losses in securing landing sites had been a setback, the failure to capture of kill Fleet Master Kan 'Larom had been the UNSC's greatest failure Though it was possible that 'Larom had been killed in the fighting and had yet to be identified, it seemed more likely that the Sangheili leader had been among the small flotilla of ships detected fleeing into slipspace towards the battle's end.

He'll be back at the Imperium's homeworld by the time we get there, Hawkins frowned. We were practically handed victory and that slippery bastard got away again.

Turning his attention towards the holographic sphere of Bineb II, Hawkins couldn't help but focus on the smear of land that had once been one of its largest cities. Its destruction and the chaos it led to among the Imperium's ranks was undoubtedly the biggest factor in their success today, but that did little to alleviate the Rear Admiral's guilt. Launching a nuclear strike in ship-to-ship combat was one thing, but to use it in a heavily populated zone with few threats to his own ships was another entirely, even with the paper-thin excuse that the armed populace made it a viable target. That he had sent a trio of special forces personnel not yet out of their teens to carry out the near-suicidal mission was another black mark on his conscience. If and when they returned to Earth, Hawkins had no doubt that someone under his command - probably Captain Aguirre - would report him to Naval Command. He couldn't blame them.

"Chance, bring up our jump point," Hawkins spoke at last, noticing eyes on him as he stared blankly at the holomap. "And open a COM channel with the rest of the battlegroup."

"Yes sir." The AI's mask flickered slightly above its holotank. "We're ready to proceed."

Hawkins cleared his throat before stepping up to a terminal. Of the ships under his command, only two of their ten Anlace-class frigates remained. Worse yet, both the Market Garden and Springfield, their main ammunition resupply vessels, had been destroyed in a surprise attack mid-battle by an enemy battlecruiser. Their pursuit had done little more than hamper its effectiveness for a time, largely due to both the Maya and the battlegroup's other heavy-hitter, the Auld Lang Syne being preoccupied with destroying Kan 'Larom's ships. As a fighting force their effectiveness had not been severely hampered, but they now had no means of resupply aside from a couple of surviving cargo transports. By Hawkins' estimates, they could fight perhaps one more protracted battle before their munitions reached critical levels.

"All ships," the COM lit up, broadcasting his voice across the reforming battlegroup. "This is Rear Admiral Hawkins. I'm sure that for most of you, this has been one of the toughest days of your life, and that there doesn't seem like much to celebrate even if we've won. Even so, we've got to press on. Soon enough, we'll link up with the rest of the fleet, combine our forces, and bring down this Imperium before it can threaten any more human worlds. Remember what we're fighting for, and hold on just a little longer. That is all."

Hawkins ended the broadcast, exhaled slowly, and sat back in his command chair. Exhausted though he was after today, he felt the need to say something encouraging.

"That was good," Aguirre chimed in unexpectedly from her station. "Honest, but inspiring, sir."

Hawkins smiled tiredly at the rare compliment. "I wasn't going to sugar coat it much, Captain. If anything-"

The rest of his sentence was cut off as an alarm sounded over the holotable. Hawkins and Aguirre leapt to their feet and raced over as the local holomap expanded, displaying numerous sensor pings at the very edge of the Bineb system.

"Detecting Slipspace ruptures," Chance's voice sounded over the din. "Estimating at least forty ships incoming."

Hawkins' heart skipped a beat, and he felt his blood run cold as the distinctive shape of Sangheili-made vessels popped up one by one on the map before him. Aguirre raced off, barking commands for the bridge crew to prepare defensive measures while the Rear Admiral glanced towards their planned jump point. At the head of the newly-arrived fleet sat a powerful ORS-class heavy cruiser, of the same design as Felo 'Ranak's Questioner. Though Hawkins hoped for just a second that it was the Swords' Fleet Master or even reinforcements from his faction that had come to aid them, every other warship was an Obedience-class cruiser. It was the Imperium.

"Well, shit," Hawkins said through gritted teeth. "I guess Fosse wasn't lying."

Even before his attempt on Admiral Zhi's life, Andrei Fosse's story about an Imperial fleet attacking New Syracuse had been met with some skepticism. Though it was an unimportant world in the grand scheme of things, used primarily as a staging post for patrol craft by the UNSC, the fact that the planet had been unable to send out a single distress call was very odd. After his demise was reported, both Hawkins and Vice Admiral Samson had assumed that Fosse may have been lying about an entire fleet, having instead been captured and tortured by a raiding party instead. It seemed that of all the things that treacherous snake had said to them, the part about another fleet moving to strike theirs from the rear was entirely true.

As Battlegroup Maya sped away from Irn, Hawkins' thoughts turned towards Anchor 15. While it was possible that this new fleet had ignored the Montak System entirely, there was a very good chance that the mobile space station they had left behind had been destroyed as well; lost before it could send out any message just like New Syracuse. If so, then it also meant that the miners they rescued from Montak were dead too, rendering that entire bloody affair utterly pointless. Hawkins put that aside for the moment; for now, all that mattered was surviving.

"Chance!" he called. "What are our options here?"

"Run away."

Even with their amazing capabilities, Hawkins had never heard an AI respond so quickly; the words had barely left his mouth before Chance - his mask contorted into a tragic grimace - replied, not with a suggestion but with a firm order. It was hard to disagree.

"I want our Slipspace drive spun up and ready to fire!" Hawkins folded his arms, watching the Imperium's ships streak across the system in a wide arrowhead formation. "The second we hit the IJP, we jump!"

Though an initial moment of shock had caught the UNSC ships off-guard, Battlegroup Maya was now moving as fast as it could towards the edge of the Bineb System. With their inferior numbers, depleted munitions and tired crews, any battle fought against this new force would turn into a massacre very quickly. Thankfully, the Imperium's pursuit had little chance of catching them, partly due to their caution in racing after fleeing human vessels, who tended to leave surprises of the nuclear variety in their wake. Hawkins stood by and watched as two warships ahead of them vanished into the void of slipspace, and steadied himself slightly on the balcony of his command platform as the ship trembled with the activation of its own drive. A moment later, the stars filling the ship's forward viewscreen vanished and a portal appeared before his vessel. It was only then that John Hawkins breathed a sigh of relief.

The UNSC Maya exited the Bineb System at 2257 hours (Military Standard Time), on August 31st, 2558. Through sheer luck it left no troops behind, and every single warship entered slipspace safely. Later estimates varied, but the total casualties - including those lost in the destruction of Bineb II's capital city - numbered over a quarter of a million in less than half a day of fighting. The pursuing ships, led by Fleet Master Lora 'Deris, did not stay to assess the situation of Irn or Bineb II for long, and continued its long march into slipspace half an hour after the human batlegroup's departure, making its way towards the final battle of the Imperial War.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

Chapter 4: Last Stand

143: The Plan

0929 Hours, September 1st, 2558 UNSC Caspian, Slipspace

Though no one said it outright, the general consensus aboard the Sixth Fleet's flagship was that they were embarking on what would probably be their final mission. To stave off this grim mood, the majority of the crew were engaged in some activity, from making minor repairs to simply playing cards with their comrades. They had fought their way through two intense battles in the last few days, and their hours of stolen sleep could not shake off feelings of anxiety at the prospect of yet another engagement with the Imperium. Talented and dedicated though the Caspian's hand-picked crew were, they were still only human, and some were already inching towards their breaking points.

Admiral Lin Zhi knew this, of course. As a woman who had seen the worst years of the Human-Covenant War, she knew what this kind of prolonged warfare did to the human psyche. It was one thing for a soldier fighting on the ground, but for someone with the responsibilities of crewing a warship the pressure could severely hamper their judgement. All it took was a single weak link aboard a ship's bridge, a second of panic, and thousands of lives could be lost.

"This is it, ladies and gentlemen." Zhi clasped her hands together as the last of their number sat down at the table. "Today, the Imperium of Clarity dies."

With only a few hours left until the Sixth Fleet arrived in the Voden system, the Admiral had called together a final strategy meeting. Gathered round her were most of the Caspian's command staff, including Major Kamil, who had taken charge of their Marine contingent after Colonel Brand's death, and Captain Erika Ruskin, who was to lead their joint Air Force-Navy fighter squadrons in the upcoming battle. They met her proclamation with stoic nods, likely unwilling to speak their minds about their actual chances for fear of impacting morale.

Zhi continued. "From the data received from our spy on the Imperium's homeworld of Iradu, the planet may not be as heavily-defended as we initially feared, especially with the bulk of their forces out of the system. As we still lack the numbers and the firepower to take on Toru 'Makhan's personal fleet in a head-on fight, our biggest chance of success will come from seizing his capital and arresting the Imperium's government, forcing them to negotiate. Any questions so far?"

Kamil's hand shot up, and she nodded towards him. "Ma'am, given 'Makhan's position as a dictator, how can we be sure that he'll come to the negotiating table if we seize his planetary governors? In my experience, a Sangheili warrior would see their capture as some kind of weakness and let them die if it meant winning the battle."

"A valid point," she gestured towards the officer in black to her right. "Vice Admiral, I believe you have ONI's psych profile of 'Makhan."

As all eyes turned towards Ryan Samson, he slid a datapad onto the table and activated it before addressing the room.

"Based on AI analysis of his activities and information taken from enemy databanks over the last few days, it's clear that Toru 'Makhan is definitely not the kind of Sangheili military leader we're used to fighting. Those fought both during and after the Great War often fell into a narrow range of psychological profiles due to stringent cultural traditions and the like, but his unorthodoxy spreads far beyond the military tactics he's willing to use. As a political leader, Toru 'Makhan seems to enjoy a high level of support from the Imperium's populace and is seen as a fair and just leader, especially compared to the Covenant's rulers. If he refuses to negotiate even with his capital and its people under threat, he'll lose that support and with it, the Imperium."

A smile crept across Zhi's face. "Simply put, he's a slave to PR. Remember, 'Makhan's not on some holy crusade like his predecessors. He's been building up his own little empire, and would do anything to keep it going."

A little further down the table, Captain Ruskin was next to raise her hand. As the only one in the room who had faced more or less direct combat with the Imperium's forces while leading their Broadsword squadrons, she looked slightly haggard, with dark circles around her eyes. Even so, she met Zhi's steely gaze without blinking before speaking.

"I know this isn't exactly my area of expertise, Admiral, but it seems like we're basing our chances of success on assumptions about a Sangheili leader that even ONI barely knew anything about a week ago. If he doesn't play ball, what do we do?"

This sparked a few noises of agreement among the assembled officers; even Zhi couldn't help but partly agree. "Should that fail, then we'll be forced to either flee the system or take to Iradu's surface to begin a campaign of guerilla warfare against the Imperium. Within a few weeks, the UNSC will have dispatched another, larger fleet to come to our aid."

Ruskin frowned, but did not question Zhi further. The possibility of contacting Earth for reinforcements had been brought up during their first engagement on Montak, where it became clear that the Imperium were a tougher fighting force than expected, but Zhi had refused to even consider it. Now, with her fleet depleted and no access to superluminal communications that could reach friendly forces after the destruction of their base on New Syracuse, they were stuck out here. To Zhi, a lesser commander might have turned tail and retreated by now, but she had not built up a reputation within the Navy by fleeing from battles that could still be won.

"So now," she tapped a panel in front of her, and the table's holoprojector activated. "On to the plan of action."

Models of the Sixth Fleet's remaining ships appeared before them, currently in a hazy formation with the Caspian protected behind their remaining Orion-class carriers. The Admiral stood up, and pointed towards the wings of their formation, which consisted of their eight remaining Halberd-class destroyers.

"If we're going to make it to Iradu, we need to hold off the fleets pursuing us. Once we emerge from slipspace, six of our destroyers will break off into two wolfpack formations and turn to face our entry point into the system. They won't be enough to hold off an entire fleet, but based on what we've seen of the Imperium's Obedience-class cruisers a couple of volleys will be enough to rip a few apart and force them on the defensive for a little while. That should give the rest of our fleet enough time to cross most of the Voden system and approach Iradu."

Zhi waved her hand, and the projection flickered and changed to reflect the Sixth Fleet's movements. Everyone watched with rapt attention, some looking much more eager now that their strategy was being laid out.

"From here, we'll launch our assault on Iradu itself. The data we've received is limited, but if Frendhal was any indication then we'll likely face orbital stations, anti-aircraft cannons and a small but likely formidable defence fleet, especially around the capital city. Our heavy-hitters - the Hard Luck, Shiroyama and Gilded Cage - will lead this offensive, focusing on the Imperium's warships while we punch a hole in their orbital defences with our fighter squadrons. Captain Ruskin, what are our numbers like?"

Ruskin stood up and saluted. "Based on the information I've received on fighter losses across the fleet, I'd say we've got perhaps forty spaceworthy craft, and that's an optimistic estimate. That said, given what we saw of the Imperium's space stations on Frendhal they seem to be focused more on combating larger warships, not a coordinated fighter assault. If we dedicate at least five ships to each station I'd say that they wouldn't last longer than a few minutes at a time."

"Excellent." Zhi moved the image on as Ruskin sat back down. "As soon as we've secured a route to the surface, Major Kamil's ODST's will be the first into action to soften the Imperium's groundside forces up until we can land our armoured divisions. While there are several large settlements on the planet, our primary target is the Imperial Palace, situated within Iradu city. Since we have little data on the Imperium's government past Toru 'Makhan and his inner circle of military leaders, our troops' mission will be to detain as many individuals as possible while we take control of the area. If this succeeds, then the Imperium's fleets will return to find their homeworld in our hands."

"What about Rear Admiral Hawkins' battlegroup?" one of Zhi's bridge officers suddenly spoke , earning a few withering stares. "And the Swords of Sanghelios? Have we factored their arrival into our plans?"

"We have received tight-beam transmissions from both of our allied fleets with their estimated arrival times, which will be within an hour of our own. As we have at least two fleets directly on our trail that could arrive minutes after the bulk of our own fleet leaves slipspace, we can't wait around for reinforcements. If we're fortunate, then both Hawkins and 'Ranak's forces will arrive in time to take our immediate pursuers by surprise and destroy them before they catch up with us, but the timing is too imprecise to incorporate them into our current strategy. Will that suffice, Lieutenant?"

"Yes ma'am." The young officer saluted, looking slightly embarrassed. "Thank you."

As the table fell quiet, Zhi's eyes swept across the room as if daring anyone else to question her. They did not.

"Since there are no other questions, this meeting is over. Take this time to prepare as necessary, ladies and gentlemen; if all goes well then by this time tomorrow we'll have won this war. Dismissed!"

Though fairly straightforward, Zhi's plan had satisfied most of her subordinates as applause broke out across the meeting room. Only Samson neglected to crack a smile as his eyes flitted from the datapad in his hands to the strategic display above the table. Meeting her gaze as the other officers filed out of the meeting room, he leaned over so only she could hear him.

"Admiral," his voice barely rose above a whisper. "If possible, I'd like to take operational control over the attack on 'Makhan's palace."

Zhi raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"If you'll recall the discussion we had before we left New Syracuse, I mentioned that Toru 'Makhan likely has quite the collection of Forerunner artefacts, and that ONI would like to secure them before the Swords of Sanghelios have a chance to interfere."

She had honestly forgotten most of the conversation; two battles and a near-death experience had pushed other things to the forefront of her mind, after all. "So what, our Marines capture the city and your men swoop in on a Prowler and seize whatever 'Makhan's got stored down there?"

"More or less," Samson said with a slight shrug, speaking normally as they were now alone. "Though once Hawkins gets here I'm hoping to make use of his Spartan assets to guard any potential Forerunner-made items. ONI Security might be tight-lipped, but a Spartan always does the job right."

Though the idea of Samson focusing on plunder when the Sixth Fleet was about to enter its most critical battle disgusted her, she wouldn't say no to having Spartans on the ground while they captured the Imperium's homeworld. The supersoldiers tended to have an extremely detrimental effect on enemy morale, and in a worst-case scenario where 'Makhan chose to fight to the death and sacrifice civilians to win, she'd need them to lead the resistance against him from Iradu's surface.

"Think about how we're going to win the battle first," she chided him with a pointed finger. "Because all this cloak and dagger stuff won't mean a damn thing if the Imperium wins today."

"Of course," Samson nodded. "I just-"

"And don't think about loading up your Prowler with Forerunner tech and making a break for slipspace either, Samson, because I'll have you shot down myself if you try."

Even the normally-unflappable Samson seemed shocked by this, and spent a moment trying to figure out if Zhi was joking or not. After a few seconds of tense silence, he got to his feet and snapped a firm salute.

"Whatever you think of ONI, Admiral, I'm not one to leave a battle that can still be won. Just like you."

With that, Samson turned and walked out of the conference room, leaving Admiral Zhi alone. Still seated at the head of an empty table, she leaned back in her chair and sighed. It's funny, she thought, staring upwards at the grey ceiling, The one time I break my policy of doing whatever ONI tells me to do and it involves threatening to kill another Admiral. Maybe once this is all over I'll get a medal and a vacation in Midnight for it.

Zhi slowly stood up, feeling dull spikes of pain across her chest from her still-healing injuries. Though the ship's medical staff had done their utmost to ensure that she remained stable and unhurt after the surgery without resorting to painkillers that might effect her ability to command, her body needed rest that she couldn't afford to give it right now. Inching forward as quickly as she could without aggravating her wounds, Lin Zhi slowly made her way back towards the Caspian's bridge, ready to begin the most important battle of her life.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

144: Dreadful Objects So Familiar

The Soul Ascension’s hull had seen many modifications since Diana took charge of its care and maintenance. The myriad of advanced specifications—salvaged UNSC naval modules, enhanced plasma focusing systems, and sensor arrays—wove together into an engineering tapestry the likes of which the Covenant and perhaps even the entire galaxy had never seen. Few ships had the opportunity to flourish underneath an unshackled AI’s evolving creativity. Whatever new designs Diana’s expanding consciousness dreamed up were hers to create—all she needed was the hardware and physical labor to make her dreams reality.

Stray was more than happy to provide her with both.

One of the battlecruiser’s more recent additions was a limited stealth system pried from the hull of an unfortunate ONI prowler. The Soul Ascension was far too large for a total cloak but nonetheless the system shielded the Soul Ascension from long-range enemy scanning efforts. She drifted at the far edge of the Bineb system like some massive idling sea leviathan, watching the battle’s final hours play out.

Most of the crew busied themselves with repairs, celebrating their close escape from the UNSC ambush. Word was already spreading about how a team of hated Spartans had boarded and tried to destroy the ship, only to be personally beaten back by Stray himself. After the decisive breakthrough on Montak and the raid on the supply vessels, few warriors had cause to doubt their luck in serving on a human’s crew. They saw more victories here an on some pious shipmaster’s ship, some of the bolder ones murmured. If the Spartans set foot on any other ship in the fleet it would be space-dust now. It takes a Spartan to fight Spartans.

For a crew who had only narrowly survived yet another grisly battle, morale was strangely buoyant. The battle still raged in the space beyond and the Kru’desh legion was eager to rejoin the fight.

The mood in the Soul Ascension’s command center was decidedly more subdued.

Stray sat in the darkened chamber. His face locked into a grim stare as he watched tactical reports trickle across the screens in front of him. Diana hadn’t said a word since their argument over the Yearns to Soar and the other Huragok. She’d retreated into the ship’s systems, monitoring the course of the battle and sifting through data but making no effort to confer over their next course of action.

Let her stew, Stray thought irritably. He was no stranger to her fits of pique. He was in no mood to deal with her bruised ego. As far as he was concerned, the whole mess was her fault. The aches and pains from his encounter with the invading Spartans reminded him just how close he’d come to paying the ultimate price for her lapse in judgement. He wasn’t about to let her pass the blame off onto him. Not this time.

A trio of Unggoy technicians fiddled with the final touches for his replacement prosthetic. Stray gritted his teeth and ignored the needles of pain driving through his side as his nervous system adjusted to the new arm. The unpleasant sensation of a phantom limb pressed against his mind and churned a swell of nausea up in his gut.

The Unggoy hurried back as the metal arm stiffened and twisted under Stray’s power. He flexed its fingers and realized he couldn’t recall how his organic arm had felt. That sensation was a distant memory, a fading dream just like all the other moments in his life before the Kru’desh legion.

I chose this. I knew what I was giving up and I did it anyway.

He couldn’t shake the memory of those Spartans coming to each other’s rescue in the hangar. A strange envy welled up inside him. How long since he’d rushed to someone else’s rescue, or had someone come to his? How long since he’d felt the passion for—

Stray crushed the memories of the past. If he went too far her face would return to him and transform him back into that pathetic dreg he’d suffered so much to free himself from.

The prosthetic hand clenched and unclenched before his face. Stray nodded to the technicians. “Good work, Ippub. It feels as good as new.”

Ippub, the chief technician, bowed low. “Thank you, lord,” he squeaked breathlessly.

“Don’t call me—” Stray clenched his jaw. The Unggoy’s subservience made him uncomfortable. “Never mind. You can go. I’ll have a reward for you and your crew once we’re clear of this mess.”

“Yes, lord. Thank you, lord.” Ippub and the others scurried from the room, leaving Stray alone in the darkness. He stared up at the tactical reports as renewed lethargy crept through his body.

Casualty figures bloomed into tens of thousands—and continued to climb. So many people were dead since this campaign began. Many of them had died at Stray’s command. Some had died directly at his hands. He thought of the ranger whose skull he’d crushed back on Montak.

All this death, and for what? He couldn’t pretend to understand the why of this war. He and Shinsu ‘Refum and Grono ‘Yendam had come seeking an alliance for Jul ‘Mdama—an alliance they knew was a long shot at best. Now here they were fighting another warlord’s battles, yet another layer of savagery in the bloody world of power grabs Stray now inhabited. They were fighting Toru ‘Makhan’s battles just like Stray fought Jul ‘Mdama’s. All the killing, all the blood on his hands, all the sacrifices he’d made just to advance his own power and reputation.

The thought twisted in Stray’s soul like a dagger. How was he any worse than the likes of Shinsu ‘Refum and Toru ‘Makhan? They all played the same game in the end. They waged war to accumulate power. A traditional Sangheili occupation, but Diana had helped Stray rewrite the rules to let a bottom-feeding human like himself rise to the top.

But those Spartans had come to the ship to kill him. Not Shinsu, not Toru, not any of the other bloody minds behind this war. In their eyes he was the true villain and all because he refused to play by the rules the galaxy laid out before him.

He needed to harden his heart, just like Shinsu and Diana taught him. There was no place for resentment or self-pity in this game. He needed to triumph. He needed to grow stronger, to be ready for the catastrophe Diana assured him was just around the corner. He couldn’t dwell on the past or what any of the people he’d once cared for thought of—

“You are still alive,” a familiar voice intoned behind him. “The Imperium’s fleetmasters told me to give up hope, but I knew better. It would take far more than some UNSC ambush to finish you off.”

Stray’s head whipped around so quickly he nearly cracked his own spine. The holographic figure of Shinsu ‘Refum loomed behind his seat, reptilian eyes regarding him with reproachful amusement. Diana had patched him through without a word of warning—one more addition to her petty revenge.

“You! You’re—” Stray leapt to his feet. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I had other matters to attend to, as you well know.” The special operations commander folded his arms and gave a disapproving twitch of his head. Sangheili body language was a labyrinth of subtle tics and gestures, few of them positive. Shinsu ‘Refum had a way of exuding authoritative displeasure even through a hologram. “I warned you not to overstretch. I warned you not to be overconfident. Instead you nearly got your entire legion annihilated.”

“We’re still alive, no thanks to you or your new Imperium friends.” Stray was in no mood for a dressing down. He rose to face his superior. “There was a UNSC AI hidden in that satellite we recovered. Diana let her guard down and it—”

“How many times have I reminded you not to pass blame for your failings onto subordinates? You are the Soul Ascension’s shipmaster and I am your superior officer as well as the one who trained you for the position you now hold. Responsibility for the Kru’desh legion’s success and failure rests with you alone, at least as far as I am concerned. And were you to lose your ship and legion, the failure would be mine in Jul ‘Mdama’s eyes.” Shinsu ‘Refum was as unrelenting in instruction as he was on the battlefield. “Attend to the failings of your subordinates as you see fit but do not weary me with them. I went to great effort to secure your place in the Covenant’s surface. I do not need to remind you that many of my peers would just as soon see you removed and executed.”

“Fine. I get your point.” Stray knew when backtalk was pointless. Shinsu ‘Refum was not an officer who bent to excuses. “It won’t happen again.”

“I very much doubt that but perhaps next time the magnitude of your error will not be quite so severe. Is the Soul Ascension combat ready? I still have need of your services.”

At least the dressing-down was over. He’d gotten off lightly, all things considered. “We didn’t take too much damage. Most of the damage was internal during the boarding. What’s the next step in Toru ‘Makhan’s master plan?”

“There is no next step.” Shinsu’s mandibles tensed as he spoke. The matter must have pressed at his mind for some time. “The Imperium is marshaling its forces for a final stand at Iradu. Toru ‘Makhan’s grip on power loosens with each engagement. This campaign will be over soon.”

Wonderful. Just another reminder that this whole bloody war had been completely pointless. “Sounds like the Didact’s Hand isn’t getting that alliance he wanted.”

“No. That was always a distant prospect. But we will fight on all the same. The galaxy will see that our Covenant does not break and run. We honor our alliances. Perhaps this will not draw the Imperium to Jul ‘Mdama’s banner, but other noble houses will see and pledge support.”

Pledge support to Shinsu ‘Refum, perhaps. Stray kept that thought to himself. Shinsu was no more loyal to Jul ‘Mdama than Stray and Diana were, but some mutual understandings were best left unspoken. Shinsu wanted to fight on to win more battlefield glory—the true currency behind any Sangheili’s military ascendance. All Stray could do was follow him into the fire and hope some of the glory would be left over once the bodies were counted.

If they survived Toru’s last stand. Shinsu seemed remarkably confident they would, but lost battles tended to leave few escape routes for the losing side.

“One of my special operations corvettes, the Hidden Ember, conveyed me to Iradu. Fleetmaster Kan ‘Larom was kind enough to provide me with the planet’s coordinates when I evacuated him from the system. Grono ‘Yendam is en route as well. I will transmit the calculations to your ship. Prepare your warriors for battle. This is your chance to redeem your previous missteps, shipmaster. Follow my orders and all the galaxy will hear of the Kru’desh legion and their strange human commander.”

“So that’s it?” Stray asked. It seemed so simple for one of Shinsu’s plans. There had to be a catch, some detail lurking like a shark beneath the water. “Just jump into a battle we already think our allies are going to lose?”

“As far as you are concerned, yes,” Shinsu agreed. “I estimate you will arrive after the battle lines are joined. The enemy will not expect further reinforcements from the Imperium. You will arrive behind their lines and cause chaos. That is your specialty, I believe.”

The special operations commander turned and said something inaudible to someone standing beyond the hologram transmission. He turned back to Stray with a hard gaze. “The time for restraint is over, shipmaster. Hit the enemy hard and do not relent. I want carnage. Our enemies may triumph in this campaign but they will have little to celebrate. We will make them bleed for their victory and then we will return to our own war. Do you understand?”

Stray made a face, raising an arm to his chest in Sangheili-style salute. “You want carnage? I’ll give you carnage.”

Shinsu’s mandibles parted in a rare smile. “I am counting on it.” His image blurred and warped into an indistinguishable blue haze as the transmission ended. The haze remained for several moments, a swirling, incorporeal cloud suspended in midair. Then lines of red appeared amidst the blue and the cloud convalesced back into Diana’s dark armored form. She fixed Stray with a cold look, lips parted in cruel scorn.

“Nice try. You can’t deflect all the blame back onto me. Your boss has your number.”

“It was your security failure, not mine.” Stray wanted to fall back into his seat. He was exhausted. But there was more work to be done than ever. Rest would have to wait. “I take more than my share of responsibility when I screw up. Just admit that AI got the better of you and let’s move on.”

“You’ll have to try harder than that.” Diana tossed her head and smirked. “You looked like you were about to have a heart attack when you heard his voice. Need to clean out your armor after that little chat?”

“One of these days your little pranks really will get me killed.”

“Oh, please. I know what it takes to kill you. I’d never go that far.”

Stray let the comment pass without retort. At least she was speaking to him again. They needed each other for the battle to come—and the wars they both knew would follow. He needed to speak with her about the threat she kept pressing, the coming chaos that made all this bloodshed and power grabbing necessary. But now wasn’t the time.

“Finish up any repairs we have left and get us ready to jump for Iradu. You heard Shinsu. It’s time for some carnage.”

“My favorite.” Diana’s smile widened. “This is going to be fun.”

Fun for her, maybe. Stray shoved his helmet back onto his head and opened a new channel. “Ro’nin, call an officers’ assembly. We’re heading right back into the thick of things. Get Amber there, too. This is going to be a bloody one.”

“She is already with me,” the majordomo reported. “What poor, defenseless system will play host to our antics this time?”

“Iradu. We’re going to finish this war.”

The Soul Ascension turned away from the ruins of Bineb and vanished into a bright slipspace tunnel. All across the ship the warriors of the Kru’desh Legion rearmed and made ready for battle. They had driven back the boarders and defended their ship. Now was the raiding legion returned to the hunt. Blood and destruction awaited.

Actene: Heaven and Earth

145: Transition

1239 Hours, September 1st, 2558 Type-56 Lich, Slipspace

Damn this all. Grono 'Yendam stood on the cramped bridge of one of his many Lich gunboats, his eyes darting back and forth in an attempt to find something to lift his spirits. A good chunk of his men had been killed in their encounter with the Shadows of Retribution, and many more had given their lives in the fruitless defense of Frendhal.

Grono's Warrior assistant had been slain during the effort, and with Rach recovering aboard the Legion's "Medical" Lich, 'Yendam was without commanders. He could only hope that 'Iltuk would recover in time for their final battle. The flotilla was en route to Iradu, the capital world of the faltering Imperium of Clarity. Accompanying the much larger fleet of Imperial Admiral Toru 'Mahkan himself, their craft were like insects to his.

This truly is the end. One didn't need report to know that the Imperium of Clarity was crumbling. Grono was truly surprised that his own faction under Jul 'Mdama would almost certainly outlast them, but was partially relieved. This showed that establishing a foothold and permanent base of operations could lead to one's downfall, while the wandering enclave of Jul's forces allowed them to stay mobile.

Unfortunately, this did not mean that Grono himself was guaranteed to survive. While the Supreme Commander would outlast this conflict, 'Yendam still had one more trial to endure. The inevitable battle of Iradu would be the deciding factor in this war's end.

I must fight through this. I will not let a foreign war managed by strangers be the death of me. Especially when ones like the Kru'desh would be far better off dying than my men.

Grono halted his train of thought. The Kru'desh. Shipmaster Stray. Fleet Master 'Refum.

Turning to a nearby Sangheili Storm, Grono extended a pointed finger towards him. "Storm, prepare a hologram for communications. In the case that we are able to host a meeting with Fleet Master 'Refum and his human subservient during this lull, I wish to take it."

"Your wish is my command, Field Master," the Storm uttered, banging his fist to his chest. The lower Sangheili hurried down to the assault platform's main level, while Grono walked up to the Sangheili Ranger at the Lich's helm. Looking out the viewport at the vast emptiness of slipspace, the Field Master knew that he had to steel himself for what was to come. The end of the Imperial War was in sight.

UnggoyZealot

146: Interlude: The Chief Councillor

1242 Hours, September 1st, 2558 Imperial Palace, Iradu, Voden System

In what now seemed like another life entirely, Rak Ultin had been one of the greatest smugglers ever to grace the Covenant Empire's fringe worlds. A legitimate trader in name only, he and his crews had combed planet after planet for long-lost Forerunner relics, which they then sold to unscrupulous low-ranking ministers within the Covenant itself. Until he met Toru 'Makhan, Rak believed that the small fortune he had acquired was enough to set him up for life, only to discover a path to wealth and power through the Sangheili leader that once seemed unimaginable for a lowly Yonhet like him. Millions now heeded his every word, and where a crew had once served under him Rak now led a vast government of thousands. Such was the power granted to the Chief Councillor of the Imperium of Clarity.

Now though, after a decade of profitable partnership, he was ready to leave it all behind.

"Careful with that!" Rak barked in his native tongue at a pair of young workers as they dragged a crate across his chambers. "These treasures are worth more than your lives!"

As far as Rak was concerned, this war's outcome was decided the moment Toru 'Makhan's fleets had left Iradu. Though a fearsome force with the power to subjugate most of the former Covenant's frontier regions, the Imperium simply lacked the numbers to keep up a sustained war against one galactic power, let alone two at the same time. Even if they had obliterated the enemy fleets immediately after they arrived in the Montak system, their forces would soon find itself overwhelmed before the full military might of the Swords of Sanghelios and United Nations Space Command. As things stood currently, the Imperium had already taken losses it could not easily recover from against two fleets.

Rak had enjoyed his years in the capital, but even if wealth and prestige had rendered him outwardly corpulent his mind was sharp enough to realise the peril he was in. By the day's end, he and his closest associates would load everything of value onto a small flotilla of starships and leave Iradu forever. The life of an exile would usually be a hard one, but Rak still retained his old properties on his homeworld of Yonhe and the fortune to live like a Hierarch for the rest of his days. Even abandoning his post as head of the Imperium's civilian government only gave him the smallest pangs of sympathy; the public knew him only as a civilian official, after all, and venerated the likes of Toru 'Makhan and his High Command.

"Chief Councillor!" one of Rak's aides called as he raced into his chambers. "Mnur has news! Fleet Master 'Larom has returned to the capital, and is coming to meet with you."

"Now?!" Rak exclaimed, looking around the half-emptied room. "I- Rak will have to receive him in the great hall. Send word now."

That will take some time to re-learn, Rak thought as he smoothed out a few creases on his expensive robe and exited the chamber. In his years working closely with Toru 'Makhan and many other Sangheili, he had ceased to refer to himself in the third person, as most of his kind did in conversation. Moving at what could generously be called a waddle, he crossed the hallway and descended a short flight of stairs before passing through a side door into a meeting hall that not a week before had thundered with the voices of over a thousand Shipmasters at news of the Imperium's new campaign. It had been empty since then, and every plodding footfall from Rak echoed across its high walls. How many will return, I wonder?

Standing before the dais where the Imperial Admiral's silver throne sat, Rak found himself feeling sorry for 'Makhan. While he was undoubtedly different to most Sangheili and possessed a rare mixture of insight and talent that made him a superb ruler and warrior, it seemed that he too would be laid low by the pride that seemed to define his people. Whether his end would come in battle at the hands of his enemies, his allies, or at his own hand was yet to be seen, but Rak knew that the Imperium's founder would not hold his throne for long after returning to Iradu. At the very least, his grip on power would not last long enough for his agents to track down Rak for deserting him.

After some time, the doors at the end of the hall slid open. To Rak's surprise, Kan 'Larom was not alone. Six members of Toru 'Makhan's Imperial Guard marched in lockstep with the Fleet Master, and spread out slightly as he approached the Imperium's Chief Councillor. Judging by the state of 'Larom's filthy armour, he had barely rested since his last battle.

"Fleet Master," Rak bowed as low as his gut allowed. "I heard news of what transpired in the Bineb System, but not of your return. I apologise for not organising a better meeting place."

The Sangheili's predatory eyes locked with his. "I did wonder why you chose this room, Chief Councillor. My curiosity got the better of me, so I investigated your private chambers first."

Rak's felt an icy spike of fear shoot through his body, but maintained his composure. "And?"

"Have you taken the time to look out over the city today, Chief Councillor?"

Rak frowned, and nervously scratched one of his gills. "W-with the war going on, Fleet Master, I have left public protection to our local forces and the Imperial Guard. If Iradu is to be besieged, then it is probably for the best that I make arrangements for-"

"Your escape?" Kan cut him off. The warrior towered over Rak, who remained motionless out of fear. "I know your are no warrior, Rak Ultin, but I expected you to have some loyalty towards the Imperium."

Before Rak could answer, Kan stepped forward and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him - with some effort - out of the hall as excuses and pleas streamed from the Yonhet's mouth. Though he kept a sidearm concealed beneath his robes - a powerful handgun of Forerunner design - Rak knew that he'd be dead by the time he got a single shot off. In his haste to distract Kan from his activities, he hadn't even bothered to bring any of his own guards with him. Stepping and stumbling after Kan, who had all but torn the collar of his robes in half, Rak was led to a corridor that bridged the gap between the main palace and one of its towers, and shoved roughly towards a window.

"I beg you," Rak spluttered, pushing himself up. "I can still help!"

Ignoring him, Kan simply pointed past the cringing Chief Councillor and towards the sprawling metropolis that surrounded the palace. Rak turned, and saw the dark smoke rising from half a dozen districts across Iradu's capital. Military dropships circled burning buildings like birds of prey, while two Obedience-class cruisers cast long shadows over entire districts.

"The Unggoy are starting to rebel," Kan said plainly. "News of what happened on Bineb II travelled faster than your spies could intercept it, it seems."

Rak stared blankly at the chaos unfolding beneath them. He had heard news of discontent among the city's Unggoy population, though he had attributed it to unrest over the war instead of the recent death of their beloved leader, Hedan Koti. His many informants had sent reports earlier in the morning that rumours of betrayal were spreading, though Rak had no idea how any of Koti's surviving deserters and refugees from Bineb II had contacted their brethren on Iradu when the entire system was under lockdown. The Unggoy, it seemed, had methods of communication that even he could not detect.

"I didn't know that it had gotten so bad," Rak hung his head, finally forced to confront his failure. "What now?"

Kan folded his arms. "By all rights, I should kill you. It is one thing for a citizen to flee his home in times of war, but to abandon the state you have been charged with governing is utterly unforgivable. It is only because you are still useful that you still live, Rak Ultin."

Though he briefly considered questioning Kan's authority, Rak thought better of it. If anything, he was surprised at the Fleet Master's candor; Kan 'Larom had generally been a stoic, dependable officer with few remarkable traits in their prior encounters, save for his organisational talents. Rak straightened up a little, resigned to his fate.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I need you to organise an evacuation." Kan waved for two of his bodyguards to approach. "Between the remnants of my fleet and the ships already protecting Iradu, we will not be able to maintain orbital supremacy once our foe arrives. At best, we can maintain a defensive line and protect the capital itself until the rest of our forces return to the system."

"What makes you think that the humans won't simply destroy Iradu from orbit?" Rak asked. "They showed little hesitation on Bineb II."

Kan shook his head. "That was different. I might not be aware of the intricacies of human politics, but they have always shown a great aversion to striking civilian targets unless absolutely necessary. Bineb II was a frontier world, unimportant save for its Unggoy population, so they chose to annihilate a single city as a show of strength and to cow the Unggoy into submission. They would not do the same to our Imperium's capital."

"You seem very sure of that."

"I can only speak based on what I know, Chief Councillor. Would you suggest an alternative?"

Rak snorted. "Yes, we run. You may think me a coward, Fleet Master, but how long do you think the Imperium will last, now that Toru 'Makhan has turned the galaxy against us? Even if we destroy the force approaching Iradu today, what will happen in the coming weeks? Even if 'Makhan can somehow unite the warlords and zealots that lead their own would-be Covenant, we cannot stand against both the Swords of Sanghelios and the human government. I gave our Imperial Admiral the same counsel, and he chose to ignore me, heeding the advice of a pair of barely-sanctioned human traders. He has doomed us all."

Kan's arm shot up in an instant, and the warrior's fingers tightened around Rak's fat neck. For a moment, Rak thought that his outburst had sealed his fate, but Kan's grip loosened after a moment. He looked up, and saw nothing but sorrow in the Fleet Master's eyes. Though he could not say it, Kan knew that their fate was inevitable. The silver-armoured guardsmen at his side did not seem to share that sentiment, and instead clutched their weapons tightly, itching for the chance to execute the man who had slandered their beloved leader.

"You," Kan's voice quavered for a second, "Will give the order for our Councillors to begin overseeing an evacuation of the capital. You will see to it that this task is carried out efficiently and without delay, and should you leave your post or attempt to contact your personal crew, my guardsmen will execute you where you stand and find a suitable replacement. Is that clear?"

Finally cornered, Rak Ultin nodded. "Yes, Fleet Master."

"Good. Two of my guardsmen will escort you to a command room in the western tower. I will join you there soon enough, once I establish a defensive pattern for our forces here. Until Toru 'Makhan returns, I will take charge of Iradu's defences."

One of Kan's guards nudged Rak forward with his rifle, using more force than was strictly necessary. As they began to escort him down the hall, he turned back towards the Fleet Master.

"Remember what I said, Kan 'Larom!" Rak called. "All that has transpired in this war is because of our own foolishness!"

Kan did not answer, and headed off down the hall with the rest of his bodyguards. Rak Ultin, Chief Councillor of the Imperium of Clarity, was forced at gunpoint to continue his work as head of the civilian government by organising an evacuation amidst rioting within Iradu's capital. His subordinates - a motley group of ex-smugglers and business associates - attempted to flee the palace with Rak's possessions after learning of his capture, only to be gunned down by the Imperial Guard as they reached the Chief Councillor's personal landing pad. With that matter taken care of, Fleet Master Kan 'Larom personally took to overseeing Iradu's planetary defences, preparing the capital for a siege mere hours before the final battle of the Imperial War began.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

147

0723, September 1st, 2558 Iradu, Capital city

Leaning back in the cafe chair, taking a sip of her coffee, Elena glanced out the window to the street behind. It was a rather quiet morning on the Imperium capital and she had been making the most of it, enjoying a nice breakfast then settling down for a morning of people watching. Elena had yet to hear back from ONI on the report she had sent the night prior—hell, she wasn't even sure if she would ever hear back—so she figured she'd just enjoy the city while it lasted, get back to her ship and leave when the fighting arrived. Well... maybe stick around and see if there were a few more credits to be made. Still, she had to admit the Imperium had gotten itself a pretty good set-up out here. Better than most "independent" worlds she had come across in the first year or so she'd been thawed.

Even so, that was still something she was struggling to get used to. Independent worlds and, more importantly, the aliens that often inhabited them. When she had gone under so many years ago it was after hours of fighting for her life against monsters from the stars yet, when she woke up, she was told there was peace. Sure, she accepted it. She hadn't had enough time to build a grudge, the decades of genocidal war were just stories to her, but something always nagged at her about that, knowing that she was living amongst people who had tried to wipe out her species when she had been in cryo.

Sighing, Elena finished her coffee, set the cup down, and headed for the front to pay. It was going to be one of those mornings. People watching, alien watching, was getting to her and she needed to get away from it, hide in her ship a while, be prepared to get out of there when the battle came.

Making her way out of the door once her bill was settled, Elena closed her eyes and took in a breath, shaking off the morning chill. Opening her eyes, she looked both ways down the street before turning right and heading back towards the spaceport. "Cafe must've had good insulation..." she thought to herself as she strolled down the block. What had seemed like a quiet morning in the building had grown to a rolling din of noise outside, only getting louder as she walked.

"Was there some event going on?"

Almost as if to answer the question she thought silently to herself, turning the next corner back to the spaceport revealed the source of the noise. A large gathering of aliens—the little ones, Grunts, Unggoy—blocked the road up ahead, a roar of voices raised in that rough alien tongue somehow even louder now as she took in the sight. It was a protest, hell, a riot.

Frowning, Elena quickly found herself ducking into the nearest alleyway. No way was she going to push through that mess for the more direct path back to her ship. No, she'd have to trust she could find another path, preferably one that wasn't blocked. Hurrying down the alley, she found herself on the next street over and looked left towards the spaceport at the throng of squat aliens blocking this road as well.

Walking a bit quicker now, the woman made her way across the street once more, ducking into yet another alley. The next road met her with a similar sight. Maybe it was a bit less crowded? Taking the risk, she headed down the road a bit more, heading for the next closest alley rather than the closest this time, making a little progress towards her destination or at least avoiding losing quite so much this time.

The next road was emptier still, but by now she was starting to get frustrated. A few Grunts were still milling about, angry at who knew what, blocking the most direct path back to her ship. Growling slightly under her breath, Elena turned towards the crowd and headed for it, finding one of the squat little aliens furthest from the center and tapping it on the shoulder.

"Hey! What the hell's going on here?" To her surprise, the question was met by the Unggoy spinning around and shoving her back off her feet, squeaking out a reply to her in what she could only assume was an angry tone for the creature, not that she could understand a word of what it was saying.

Scrambling to her feet, Elena saw the creature start advancing for her, a few of its fellow aliens looking their way, some raising that same grating language her way. Hesitating for just a moment to take in the situation, Elena realized that staying there probably wasn't the best idea and that fighting wouldn't go well for her, so once again she was off.

Moving much quicker this time, she ducked into one last alley and, thankfully, found the street clear on the other side. Rushing down the road, gripping her laptop bag close to her body, she made it past where the Grunts had been gathering and turned back the way she came, slipping past the other side of the riots and heading for the spaceport.

Heading down the last alley before her destination a few minutes later, however, she felt something roughly grab at her bag and pull her back. Spinning around, she found herself staring down at one of the aliens before. Hell, was that the same alien as before?

"You the human that attack Kopflup! Kopflup eat you now!"

Chuckling at the Grunt's name, she tore her bag back from its grasp, turning to head for the spaceport again.

"Get lost, fr..."

The words were barely out of her mouth when she felt a searing pain down her back and at weight slam into her, knocking her down and pinning her, or at least trying to. Slamming her elbow back behind her head, she felt it connect with something solid with a sick crack, the weight lessening. Crawling forward, Elena found her progress halted when something grabbed onto—no, dug into—her calf, drawing a muttered gasp from her as that same burning pain that had struck her back shot its way up from her leg. She'd forgotten these bastards had claws.

Rolling over, Elena lashed out with her free foot, landing the kick square on the creature's breathing mask. Another crack, this time followed by a soft hissing. Scrambling for its mask, the creature let go of her leg and began gasping. Grinning, she realized she had broken its respirator and kicked again—harder—then once more with all her power and her weight braced against the ground, the crack louder this time as Elena felt the creature's skull crack beneath her foot and saw the body collapse in front of her.

"She killed Kopflup! Get her!"

Groaning, Elena pushed herself back to her feet and turned towards the source of the noise, barely registering two more Grunts charging her way before one clawed at her belly, knocking the breath out of her lungs and leaving a nasty looking slash across her side. Grimacing, Elena scrambled back, kicking once more—this time mostly to put distance between her and the alien—only to find his partner jumping at her in the meantime, sending her collapsing back onto the alleyway ground once again. Scrambling to defend herself, she felt a few more weak slashes land against her sides before she managed to get her hands against this one's facemask.

Or what should've been a facemask... Instead, she felt pure, leathery skin beneath her grabbing fingers, followed by sharp teeth clamping down hard and digging into her right hand, stopped from tearing off her thumb only by the reinforced bones below. Crying out in pain for real this time, her left hand managed to scramble across the beast's face, jabbing at an eye here, pulling at a nostril there, and, finally, finding purchase on the breathing tube going into the Unggoy's nose and ripping it out, releasing the alien's grip on her now bleeding hand and sending it, too, scrambling backward for lack of breath.

And yet, her fight still wasn't done. Taking the place of the Grunt she had just fought off was the one she had shoved back temporarily before, this one going in for a much more vicious bite to her neck. Managing to get her hands up in time to deflect the blow to the left, she still felt the teeth connect with her shoulder, albeit with much less strength behind the blow than was intended. Gripping the creature's head between her hands, Elena grabbed its lower abdomen between her one good leg and the ground and pulled the alien off of her just enough to twist her wrists in unison, snapping the creature's neck. Grimacing, she let out a sigh as she threw the body aside, just laying there for a few seconds before she rolled over and pushed through the pain to stand up.

With the adrenaline from the fighting dying down, Elena felt the pain flare up all across her body and nearly fell to her knees again. Her left hand gripping at the slashes across her torso and right reaching up to her shoulder, though she couldn't do anything about the bleeding from the hand itself. Limping forward, she found the last grunt still gasping for breath—not yet suffocated—and just stood there a few seconds, watching its last breaths leave its body as it desperately scrambled to connect back the breathing tube she had torn out. Frowning at herself for finding some sick satisfaction in watching her attacker suffer to his end, Elena shook her head and began limping back the way she was headed in the first place.

Yet, she hadn't even made it a full block back onto the street when her leg gave out and she collapsed with a thud and cry of pain onto the sidewalk. Trying to struggle back to her feet, she found herself surrounded by passers-by before she could manage, all telling her to stay down and that help was on the way. Laying on her back, Elena sighed, consigning herself to their assistance. Staring up at the sky, slowly bleeding as she waited for whatever this city had as a healthcare system to arrive, she couldn't help but overhear some vague murmurings about her condition.

"Looks like the grunts got another one."

"What did you expect? The bastards are angry! And at humans most of all!"

"I heard a city of theirs got nuked, out on Bineb! No wonder they're angry!"

"Yeah, but come on! Not every human is UNSC! I moved here to get away from this crap!"

Closing her eyes, Elena shook her head and just tried to draw her focus away from the pain.

Timothy Emeigh

148: Darkness Between the Stars

“The planet is on fire.”

“Parts of it. The view remains quite pleasant from this high up.”

“Toru ‘Makhan has lost this war. We have wasted enough time and lives propping up his regime. Jul ‘Mdama would not—”

“Jul ‘Mdama pledged to aid the Imperium of Clarity against the aggression of Thel ‘Vadam and his human cohorts.” Shinsu ‘Refum stared impassively up into a holographic projection of Iradu. Urgent motes of light indicated areas where Toru ‘Makhan’s warriors fought to restore order across their capital. More lights drifted around the planet like schools of slow-moving fish: warship formations, with more arriving every moment. The ships’ tepid pace belied the urgency coursing through the Imperium’s battlenet. This was Toru ‘Makhan’s last stand and every commander, warrior, and peon knew it. “The war is not over yet, and even if it was our own war still remains. Our enemies will be here soon. They may be victorious but we will make them pay in blood and fire for every moment of it.”

“A bold statement. I would feel much more reassured were this corvette not our only asset in the systems.” Umbra ‘Vesic kept his voice low, mindful of the subalterns busy at the control nodes around the bridge. Shinsu’s chief lieutenant never hesitated to speak his mind but he also knew the limits of publicly questioning authority. He bowed his head in respect, black armor glistening in the bridge’s dim light. “This ship is not built for combat. And even its stealth capabilities are not absolute. If the enemy fleet targets us—”

“Then see to it that we are not targeted. I do not intend to throw us into the battle’s fore. But I also refuse to quit the field without due cause. Grono ‘Yendam’s flotilla escaped Frendhal. I transmitted this planet’s location to his flagship before they fled the battle. The same is true of Stray. We will have both ‘Yendam and the Kru’desh in this fight soon enough.”

“That will hardly tip the scales in ‘Makhan’s favor.”

“Our goal is no longer to win this war.” Shinsu turned away from the holoprojection and met Umbra’s gaze. His hard stare drove the majordomo back several paces. “We will fight as long as we an and remind our enemies that this Covenant is still a force to be feared. ‘Yendam and Stray are both bloodthirsty beasts. They will have their fill of carnage in the battle to come.”

“The less I say about Grono ‘Yendam the better,” Umbra muttered. “And you place far too much faith in that human renegade and his band of misfits.”

“True, his performance over this campaign has proved… unequal. But he is young and ambitious. He is an asset to be reformed and cultivated, not cast aside.” A few of the bridge officers were pretending to work while carefully eavesdropping on the exchange. Shinsu allowed the insubordination. He prized inquisitive officers, provided their inclinations led to superior results. “But you will leave the broader matters of managing subordinates to me. Have you withdrawn our spies from Iradu’s surface?”

Umbra raised an arm in salute. “I issued the order upon my arrival. Most agents are already away. The evacuations helped mask their departure.”

“Well done. A good spy is a terrible thing to waste.” The Cleansing Blade had eyes and ears across the galaxy. Shinsu had worked hard to slip his agents among Toru ‘Makhan’s ranks. He would not abandon them to death or subjugation. Their work is needed elsewhere. “Ensure their evacuation continues undetected and keep us behind the Imperium’s battle-line. I will assume full command once ‘Yendam and Stray arrive in-scene.”

He strode from the bridge without waiting for Umbra’s assault. His dark-armored guard squad waited at the exit and silently followed him into the dim corridor beyond. Warriors in similar armor worked across the ship and hurried out of the procession’s way. Unlike most ships that ferried Shinsu about he had no fears that his movements would be reported back to Jul ‘Mdama. The Hidden Ember was his ship—that is to say, it was entirely crewed by warriors of the Cleansing Blade. Each and every warrior here was committed to his cause.

The corvette’s hull rumbled beneath his feet. No doubt the ever-cautious Umbra was moving the ship to a safer position. Shinsu did not begrudge him the precaution. Iradu would soon be host to a conflagration. The entire war would come crashing down upon Toru ‘Makhan’s mighty fortress.

And to think that not long ago he had chided Stray for dismissing the Imperium as an empty shell. That initial meeting over Frendhal seemed like years ago when it had truly only been a few cycles. Frendhal was fallen now and the enemy advanced on Iradu.

This had truly been a long campaign. Now the time was coming to turn his attention to other matters.

The guard squadron escorted him to a communication chamber. There, an encrypted message beamed up from the planet projected the might visage of Kan ‘Larom. The fleetmaster’s hologram watched Shinsu carefully as he approached. The door slid shut behind the commander, leaving him alone in the chamber with ‘Larom’s hologram.

“I did not have the chance to thank you properly for escorting my warriors from Bineb.” If ‘Larom was offended by Shinsu’s delay, he did not show it. “Your assistance salvaged some of my best warriors from a costly battle.”

The fleetmaster inclined his helmeted head. “I suppose you will be departing soon. Your vessel gives you adequate protection from the oncoming enemy. Go on back to Jul ‘Mdama. I have no intention of stopping you.”

“On the contrary, fleetmaster, I intend to fight in the battle to come. Jul ‘Mdama’s pledge of friendship to Toru ‘Mahkan still stands. The Covenant honors its commitments.”

“You are cunning warrior, ‘Refum. You have earned my respect on that front. Do not dishonor yourself through lies. Though I suppose I owe you some small apology. I dismissed your envoy as the desperate overtures of a beaten warlord. Now it seems Jul ‘Mdama’s Covenant may outlast the Imperium of Clarity, if only by a moment. What is your true reason for remaining within this system? If you had any designs on our Imperium you must surely realized they are dashed now. I would hate to see a warrior of your caliber wasted on such a fruitless endeavor.”

“You flatter me, fleetmaster.” Shinsu dipped his head in respect. “And I must echo your sentiment. Enough Sangheili blood has been spilled. Some might counsel retreat as the wisest course of action.”

“Retreat? We have no place left to retreat. I am sworn to defend Iradu. As a fleetmaster of the Imperium of Clarity this is my duty.” ‘Larom’s eyes flashed dangerously. “These counselors you speak of might be better served through silence, lest their true intentions become known. If you truly abhor the coming bloodshed I suggest you leave the system before I drown it in corpses and enemy hulls. This is not Montak or Bineb. The full might of the Imperium will rain fire upon the invaders.”

Shinsu did not know how much of this was a fleetmaster’s usual militaristic bluster and how much Kan ‘Larom actually believed himself. The warrior was ready for a fight. Sangheili had an unhealth predilection for glorious last stands. Even the wisest commanders could be swept away by the faint prospect of salvaging fame from a lost cause.

The fact that ‘Larom was currently overseeing evacuation of the Imperium’s capital told Shinsu just how well the fleetmaster judged the prospect of victory.

“I ordered my own warriors to move their ships here with all haste. They hardly match the grandeur of Toru ‘Makhan’s fleet but they will fight all the same.” Shinsu’s mandibles drooped in a regretful smile. “I came here in the hopes of forging an alliance between our masters. But if we cannot offer peace and cooperation, our Covenant will dedicate an offering of blood to Toru ‘Makhan and all free Sangheili.”

Kan ‘Larom’s holographic head tilted. “You are a deceitful creature, spymaster. Your mandibles move and different words emerge from all sides. Yet there is truth within your lies. If circumstances were different….” The fleetmaster trailed off, then thought better of what he was about to say. “Fight well, Shinsu ‘Refum. In this battle, and those to come.”

The transmission abruptly terminated as ‘Larom turned his attention to organizing the defense. Shinsu regarded the empty space where the fleetmaster’s image had hovered for several moments. His own thoughts drifted through the empty chamber—an ocean of battle plans, schemes, and strategies for the future. Tens of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, were about to die. Yet the fighting here at Iradu was just a drop in the ocean of an entire galaxy consumed by war.

There were many battles left to be fought and won. But for now the only battle that mattered was Iradu and the Imperium’s lost cause.

Shinsu opened a line to the bridge. “Umbra, discounting your crew, how many Blades did you station aboard this vessel?”

The majordomo paused before answering. “Discounting your own guard squad, two full assault teams.”

Blades. Not Jul ‘Mdama’s Covenant rank and file, but warriors assembled and trained by Shinsu ‘Refum himself. The Cleansing Blade’s deadliest agents. “Assemble them in the drill chamber. I have need of their skills.”

---

The Soul Ascension, like all CCS-class battlecruisers, hosted a spacious chapel on its upper decks for religious observances. Unlike most chapels in the Covenant’s armada, this worship space was usually ignored—or worse. The Kru’desh, assembled from the dregs of Jul ‘Mdama’s legions, had little time for the gods when there was blood and blunder to be had.

Tuka ‘Refum prostrated himself before the chapel’s barren altar. He refused to use his past relationship with Stray for any favors, save one. Upon his promotion into the legion’s officer corps he insisted that the chapel—long neglected and desecrated by irreverent warriors—be refurbished and strictly set aside for its intended use. Though Stray had no love of the gods, he acquiesced to the request.

That was all Tuka needed to convince him that his commander truly was chosen of the gods. Perhaps he did not know his uses for the divine, perhaps he openly scorned their blessing, but Stray was their instrument all the same. His life was a testament to their mysterious designs.

Tuka bent his mind in prayer and fought to convince himself his faith was true. Stray was touched by the gods and Tuka was blessed to aid that instrument. It had to be that way. Otherwise…

This campaign was nearing its end. Rumors floating through the Soul Ascension claimed the Imperium was fighting its last stand and that the Kru’desh were simply moving to kill a few more humans and Swords before retreating. Another wanton bloodbath. Was that all this effort amounted to?

Pugi and his Unggoy were dead, killed at the crash site on Montak. Three of Tuka’s Sangheili had died there as well, to say nothing of the dozens killed by the Spartan boarding party. Their lives and deaths had to be part of some strange, unknowable plan—small, but amounting to some significance. What was the alternative? That they’d died in some meaningless exercise in slaughter, their bodies unburied and unmourned in some pointless political gesture?

The very thought drove daggers through Tuka’s mind. His mandibles quivered as he prayed harder. His mind might betray him, but his soul would not. He wouldn’t allow it. Be with us, oh gods, in the battles to come. Preserve our lives. Preserve our honor. You alone know the secrets of our hearts.

The chapel door slid open behind him. Noise trickled in from the halls outside. The rest of the legion was preparing for battle, laughing and shouting war-chants as Tuka and only a handful of others prayed within the chapel.

Footsteps crossed the chamber and halted behind Tuka. “I told you we would find him here,” a female voice said.

Tuka recognized Mihka’s voice at once. He twisted his neck in surprise as the pilot knelt beside him and faced the altar. Ier stood behind her, arms folded, watching them with amusement.

“I would much rather be in the armory than here,” Tuka’s lance-mate informed him. “But the pilot here insisted we come see you. Something about how we might all be dead very soon.”

“You never know in these battles. Ships get destroyed. People die.” Mihka’s voice stayed cheerful as she reminded them of this unfortunate reality. “If Tuka wants his soul right with the gods, I say he has the right idea.”

Ier snorted in derision but did not leave. After a few more moments he grudgingly knelt behind them. Tuka nodded gratefully at his friends, then returned his thoughts to prayer. Perhaps the gods were speaking to him after all.

---

The armory—just one of the Soul Ascension’s myriad arms storehouses—coursed with nervous energy. Sangheili, Kig-Yar, and even Unggoy moved through arms racks, snapping and haggling with beleaguered armorers as they requisitioned new weapons and equipment for the coming battle. A vibrant, almost cheerful, energy filled the strange bazaar. The Kru’desh would be back in the fight soon. Triumph and loot would once again be within reach. And if a few more warriors died, so what? That simply meant more loot for the rest.

Amber hoisted a repeater and slipped it with the plasma grenades and pistols already strapped to her armor. The armory’s ebullient atmosphere was infectious. She was no pirate, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel that same excitement coursing through her veins. She looked at the aliens around her and for perhaps the first time since Stray hauled her from her cell and slipped her inside his ranks she felt a true kinship with these bloodthirsty warriors.

A UNSC ship on the verge of a losing battle would be full of fear and grim anxiety. The Kru’desh embraced the coming violence with refreshing alacrity. Yes, Amber didn’t mind kinship with these creatures. She felt a refreshing honesty from the warriors around her. They didn’t hide from the reality of savage warfare—they embraced it. Perhaps this was the answer to the questions haunting her since the fateful day she’d abandoned her friends and deserted the UNSC.

Beside her, Ro’nin examined her choice of armaments approvingly. “We have some human weaponry if that would be more comfortable for you,” the officer noted with a low chuckle. He peered down at the human female before him, her armor laden with Covenant weaponry. “Plasma weaponry can be unnerving to the uninitiated.”

“Good thing I’m an initiate then, huh?” Amber rested a gloved hand on the repeater. “I liked Covenant tech even before I wound up here. There’s a simplicity to the way you all design your weapons. None of the bells and whistles the UNSC likes to bolt on every rifle and piece of equipment the arms industry churns out. I like it better this way. Just the weapon and how well you can use it.”

“You use your weapons well. At least as far as I have observed. I know many officers who feel the same way. You proved yourself on Montak and during the boarding. Stray earned his position through blood. You’ve done the same for yourself.”

A genuine compliment from the irreverent Sangheili was a rare occurrence. Amber hid her surprise behind a knowing smirk and plucked several more plasma grenades from a passing crate. The Kru’desh around her jostled and argued and laughed together—a true fellowship of warriors. A fellowship that was hers, now.

If her life was destined to be this crazy she might as well embrace it.

Amber’s earpiece chirped. She expected to hear Stray’s voice on the other end—most Kru’desh couldn’t be bothered with channeling their battlenet connections through human tech. instead a female voice purred into her ear, “Making yourself nice and comfortable around here, I see.”

“What do you want?” Amber never knew what to make of Diana. Like all AI she played nice and friendly to get you to drop your guard, then scurried off to report anything she found up the food chain. In this case, to Stray.

“Is that any way to thank me for saving your life?”

“What, you mean back during the boarding? According to our glorious leader the whole thing was your fault anyway.”

“Hm.” Diana’s voice lowered. She didn’t quite drop the friendly act, but she clearly didn’t like the backtalk. “Simon needs to remember who put him—and keeps him—where he is now. But let’s not waste time throwing blame around. We’ll be back in combat soon. We ought to have some fun before then.”

Amber looked around the armory. Every species had their own way to cope with looming danger. Sangheili tended to pray or meditate. Unggoy played little games amongst each other. And Kig-Yar did what they always did and looked to make as large a profit off the coming violence as they could. “I’m not playing chess with you. Or cards. I don’t trust you not to cheat.”

“Well aren’t you a boring girl?” Diana laughed. “I had something a little more interesting in mind. Report to the commander’s cabin, on the double.”

“Why?” Amber frowned. Diana was up to something, as always. “Does he have a mission for me?”

“Stop it. Stop being a Spartan. You could be dead this time tomorrow. Enjoy yourself. He was your classmate before he was your commander. You don’t need a reason to pop into his cabin.”

Amber didn’t like this. Whatever game Diana was playing she was probably best served by not getting involved. The smart move would be to yank out the earpiece and spend more time down here with Ro’nin and the other warriors. Unfortunately, Amber’s life so far was not built on smart moves.

Ro’nin watched the human slip away from the weapons rack and out of the armory. His mandibles curled in a knowing smile. Amber’s furtive conversation with a voice in her ear told him all he needed about what was going on. Whenever the “Oracle” got too bored she found ways to amuse herself. He shook his head and turned back to his work. Whatever fun was about to transpire, he would surely hear about it soon enough.

---

Stray’s prosthetic arm twitched, its fingers reflexively curling into a loose fist. His body was still adjusting to its newest arm. Reflexive spasms kept coursing through the metal limb, keeping him from checking his gear or sleeping or doing anything remotely useful. Instead he paced in his darkened cabin, bare feet tingling on the cold alien metal.

“You need to relax,” Diana insisted. “We still have plenty of time before we arrive at Iradu. We don’t know what sort of fight it will be. You can’t make any plans. Leave the logistics to me.”

“That’s what makes this mess so damn dangerous,” he muttered. His throat hurt. He hadn’t slept properly in days. This was the best time to get the rest he desperately needed, but between his arm’s incessant twitching and the battle looming ahead he couldn’t even sit down, much less try and sleep. “The battle could be over when we get there. We could be jumping right into the middle of the enemy armada. We need to plan for the absolute worst.”

“Look at you, all eager to find that perfect strategy,” Diana teased. “Since when did you get so serious about planning and tactics?”

“Since I became a commander, of course. It’s what I’m supposed to do.” He glanced down at his trembling metal hand. “You know the score. I can’t lose out there. If I lose this ship, there’s no fallback. No second chance. Even if I survive, I’d have nowhere to go.”

“Relax,” the AI repeated, firmer this time. “I have everything under control. You can’t let the legion see you like this.”

“That’s why we have these talks in here, isn’t it?” Stray tightened his prosthetic into a fist—a real one, this time. The harsher his movements, the more control he exerted over the replacement limb. “So no one sees the mess underneath.”

This was his third prosthetic. Each time a new arm was bolted onto his shoulder he felt the stab of loss—not only of the flesh and blood arm, but of the life he’d lived before a sword hacked the limb from his shoulder. Before he’d joined the Covenant and become a walking contradiction. The prosthetic clung to his body like a parasitic growth, becoming heavier and heavier with each battle he won in Jul ‘Mdama’s service.

“Oh, the mess is obvious to anyone who’s really looking.” A warning tone crept into Diana’s voice. “You need to be careful the others don’t start seeing it, too.”

“If you’re still angry about the Huragok—”

“Water under the bridge,” came the smooth reply. “I’m just looking out for you, like I’ve always done. Speaking of which, you have a visitor.”

“A visitor?”

Stray whirled as his cabin door slid open. His blood ran cold at the sight of an armored figure decked with weapons. Memories of the boarding flashed through his mind—Spartans prowling the ship, here to kill him. His eyes flashed towards his weapons and armor, strewn haphazardly on the other side of the room. They’d kill him before he even got close—

“Relax, would you?” Amber pulled off the ODST helmet and shook out her constrained hair. A half-smile lingered on her narrow face at the sight of him, half-dressed in faded military fatigues and his own armor’s undersuit. “You look ready to slip through the floor. I didn’t think you could get any paler than you already are.”

Stray flushed. “I didn’t ask you to come here. Who…?” He trailed off, feeling foolish. It was a stupid question. There was only one person who’d have let Amber even approach his cabin, let alone enter unannounced.

Diana said nothing.

Amber took another step into the chamber and raised an eyebrow at its disheveled contents. “I was expecting something a bit more grandiose from a Covenant shipmaster. You know you have people to order around now. Get some Grunts to clean this place up.”

“What are you doing here?” Stray demanded. He forced himself to relax but was still keenly aware of the weapons strapped to Amber’s armor compared to his own exposed state. “What the hell makes you think you can just waltz in here?”

“Don’t,” Amber warned. “There’s none of your minions around here. You don’t need to save face. I play along when you need me to. Don’t let it get to your head.”

Stray’s eyes flashed in the darkness. Angry words gathered like bile on his lips, but he held them back. She was right, to a point. They’d been comrades and classmates long before the Covenant lifted him to a position of power. Amber acquiesced to his public power, but she’d never forget the scrawny screw-up she’d known back on Onyx. It must be torture for her to follow his orders when she remembered all the times Mendez or some other drill instructor shoved his face into the mud.

His prosthetic arm twitched. It was infuriating, yet strangely comforting. A reminder that there was still fragments of the boy he’d once been lingering out beyond his reach. “Fair point.” He tried not to fixate on her panoply of weapons, glinting menacingly in the chamber’s dim light. “What do you want?”

“’Why are you here? What do you want?’” Amber echoed. “You’re such a charmer. In twenty-four hours we’ll be drowning in an enemy armada. One wrong call from you or Diana and everyone on this ship is dead. How’s that make you feel?”

“So you came to give me a pep-talk, is that it?”

Amber rolled her eyes and dropped onto his small, unkempt cot. The mattress creaked beneath her armored form. “I came to just talk, idiot. You know, what regular people do. What friends do.”

I don’t have any friends. He caught the ridiculous line before it left his lips, but it was something he reminded himself every time he ordered warriors into battle. He’d learned that lesson from Shinsu. A commander has no friends, only subordinates, superiors, and enemies. Anything else is distraction.

“Spartans aren’t people,” he said instead. “At least, not the kind of people you’re talking about.”

“Listen to you!” Amber laughed. “You must be stressed if all you can trot out is that drivel. I thought you were better with words. We left the UNSC so we could live our own lives.”

“And look at us now. We’re doing a great job at it. Nothing but nice, normal lives around here.”

“Who said anything about normal?” Amber stared up at him, her laughing mouth morphing into a frown. “Why would I want to be normal? Normal people get glassed with the colonies or blown up on refugee ships or butchered in a crossfire. I don’t want to be normal. I want to be me.”

She indicated her armament. “This is who I am. I love it. And I finally get to decide who I am. Me, not anyone else.”

Stray stared at her, wondering why they hadn’t had this conversation sooner. She was right. They should be talking more. Instead he’d taken her loyalty for granted, strutting around with his shipmaster act. “If that’s the case, what the hell are you doing here? The Covenant doesn’t care about your precious individuality. You get to do what you want as long as it racks up kills for Jul ‘Mdama. Once that’s over… you do realize we’re losing this war, right?”

“I rack up kills for you,” she corrected. “We both know this isn’t about Jul ‘Mdama any more than it’s about Toru ‘Makhan. You and Diana have another game going on, and I want in.”

Her words hung in the air between them. Stray hesitated. Diana had brought Amber here. How much had she told her? He was caught in another one of the AI’s bizarre games. Was this a test? A practical joke? A suggestion?”

Amber’s eyes narrowed. “You asked me what I was doing here. Well, this is a crazy galaxy. Once I left the UNSC I told myself I wanted to see just how crazy I could get. Things were wild out on the frontier. I thought I’d seen everything.” Her lips twitched with angry amusement. “And then I ran into you. Simon the runt, leading a Covenant legion. Now that was something I’d never expected. I figured I’d tag along and see what the hell was really going on.”

He tried not to squirm beneath her gaze. Her eyes felt like they were boring into his soul. He had no way to know what she saw there.

“Don’t disappoint me, Simon. What’s the real game here?”

He made his choice.

“You’re right. In a few months, none of this will matter. Not the Imperium, not the Covenant, not even the UNSC. Something else is coming. Something big.”

Amber leaned forward eagerly. “Something else? What?”

“I don’t know. We can only guess.” Stray sat down beside Amber, realizing too late that the cot was too small for the both of them. She was close, uncomfortably close, her face fixed on his. It was too late to back up now. The dam had burst and the words he hid within came tumbling out.

“There’s Forerunner tech moving all across the frontier, even inside the colonies. No one knows who’s triggering it. Jul ‘Mdama’s losing control of the Prometheans. ONI can’t get enough of salvaging Forerunner sites, but even they don’t know how to control them. We’ve hit plenty of ONI black sites since I took over. Most of them had Forerunner tech doing things to their systems their own agents didn’t know about. We don’t know who’s controlling it, but it all points to something big.”

“Vague,” Amber murmured. Her eyes shone with curiosity. “But it fits reports I heard before I jumped ship. And it’s just you and Diana tracking this?”

“Of course not.” Stray looked away, embarrassed by her closeness and curiosity. “Shinsu knows, of course. Other people do as well. They have to. And whatever it is, it’ll make this war and every other brush fire raging right now look like a complete sideshow. That’s why I need an army. To fight back.”

“Against whatever this vague threat Diana warned you about might be?”

“I… yes.” He looked down at his hands. Scars and plasma burns marked one; dull metal composed the other. “I know it doesn’t make sense.”

“Like I said, it’s a crazy galaxy.” Amber’s smile widened. “Who cares if it’s about to get a little crazier? Bring it on.”

She jabbed a finger at his chest. “But you’re keeping me in the loop from now on. Plenty of the officers respect me now. No more of this subordinate crap.”

His guard was down. He didn’t feel like shoving her back in place. Leave the alpha pack act for another time. “If we survive this battle. And that’s a big if.”

“I thought you were all about survival.”

“I am. That doesn’t make it a guarantee. The only way to do that is to turn around and not fight at all. And that’s not an option.”

“No,” she agreed. “No, it isn’t. So since we’ve got a little time, why don’t we make the best use of it?”

Stray blinked. He caught a flash of Amber’s meaning behind her dark eyes and knowing smile. He didn’t know quite what to say. Amber was close. He could smell the acrid metal from her armor, hear the thrumming hum from her plasma weapons. And he could smell her: the sharp scent of sweat and excitement, the pulsing energy coiled just beneath the surface.

“We could both be dead this time tomorrow. I am, quite literally, the last woman in this corner of space. And you’re the last man. Are you really going to pass this up?”

“You’re crazy,” he muttered. He didn’t know what else to say. His heart beat against his ribs. Was that excitement coursing through his veins? Or was it fear?

What was there to be afraid of?

“I’m already in the mood. You don’t have to butter me up.” Amber rose and stood before him. “Don’t break my heart and tell me you don’t know how.”

“I’ve been slumming it across this miserable excuse of a galaxy for years. Of course I know how.”

“Then let’s not waste any more time.”

I’ve never actually been with a woman… not like this… His mind drifted to another room, another grimy cot. Another girl standing before him, asking him to…

No. Not like this. I don’t want…

Amber’s hair fell low against her shoulders. He squinted up at her in the dim light and for a terrifying moment he saw another woman’s face peering down, features set in hatred and revulsion. Fear took hold of him. He’d do anything. Anything to make that face go away.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, hands grasping to undo the straps on Amber’s armor. She caught hold of his wrists, guiding them to their locations with a firm grip. “Now we’re talking.” Her breastplate fell in pieces to the floor between them. Stray felt Amber’s heartbeat pounding against his own. Her face—centimeters from his own—smiled with a ferocity to match even one of his own battlefield rages.

Desire burned hot within him as Amber’s lips locked against his. Stray’s hands moved of their own accord, clumsily fumbling to strip away the rest of Amber’s armor. He felt her hands pressed against him, pushing him back down onto the cot.

Fear froze his passion. No. Not like this. Not with—

He couldn’t speak the words. What would she do if he denied her this? How could he possibly—

Just give in. Let her have you. A sudden powerlessness overwhelmed him. He was no commander. No mighty warrior. Just a desperate fool swept away in a muddy torrent. Terror and feeble rage caged his heart. They’d all rejected him. They’d all abandoned him. Only Amber was here. It was just her with him on this ship, in this room.

A familiar scent filled his nostrils with a copper sting. Blood. His own or Amber’s, he couldn’t tell.

He let go. His mind fled away and he melted beneath Amber’s embrace.

---

The Kru’desh moved like a frenzied hive. Weapons were loaded, dropships prepared, fighters refueled. The battle was coming. Some of them would be dead soon. Perhaps all of them.

Lances ran their final drills. Warriors caught some last moments of sleep. Tuka ‘Refum paced among the sleeping figures of his own warriors, Yearns to Soar restrained under a watchful guard detail. How many friends would he lose in this battle? How many more would live only to die in the next?

Ro’nin watched over the final preparations from the bridge. He reclined in the shipmaster’s chair and watched the “Oracle”’s shimmering hologram with a knowing smirk. One more battle to endure. He felt very little fear. No matter what happened, he would survive. He always survived.

The Soul Ascension surged relentlessly on through Slipspace.

---

Stray slept. He lay flat on his back, chest heaving, gaunt face fixed in an oddly peaceful expression.

He hadn’t even waited for Amber to leave the room. Perhaps he expected her to remain on the cot beside him, lingering in the aftermath of their abrupt passion. Instead she rose and carefully gathered the pieces of her armor. She would need sleep herself. Fatigue was already setting in, and she’d need a wash before reassembling her gear.

She couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. That had been fun. More fun than she’d had in a long time. A thrill not unlike victory coursed through her body. She was on top of the galaxy.

Her hand brushed the hilt of her knife and she paused. A strange thought occurred to her as she looked back at Stray’s sleeping form. He was defenseless. He trusted her enough to sleep while she was still in the room. He had no armor, no weapons. All she needed to do was thrust the dagger down into his throat…

Of course not. She moved her hand from the knife. What a ridiculous idea. There was no sense in that, no sense at all. She strode from the cabin in triumph.

An empty corridor awaited her. Empty, yet very present all the same.

“My, my,” Diana’s voice purred as the cabin doors sealed. “That was… unexpected.”

“You sent me up here,” Amber reminded her. “What did you expect?”

“A friendly chat. It’s high time you learned what was really going on around here. As for everything else, well, even I get surprised sometimes.”

The AI paused. “Thought about killing him, did you? I hope his performance wasn’t that disappointing.”

“Not at all. Not in that way, anyway.” Amber paused. The thrill faded and the smile slid from her lips. “So it’s all an act, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Stray thing. The vicious shipmaster game. It’s still just Simon under there.” She stared down at the bundle of armor in her arms. “Scared, insecure Simon.”

She hadn’t meant to strip all that away. She’d been impressed by all his bloody accomplishments, his hunger for power and vaunting ambition. But the next time he barked an order, the next time he stood at the helm of the ship or the fore of battle, she wouldn’t see the commander of the Kru’desh raiders. She’d see him sprawled beneath her on the cot and she’d know it was all just a mask.

There was no taking it back.

“Of course. He’s been acting all his life. Why do you think he never quite fit in anywhere he wound up? He just plays this role better than most. With my help, of course.” The AI paused. "But you aren't acting, are you? You mean every word you say. I find that all very interesting. I'll be paying much closer attention to you in the future."

Actene: Heaven and Earth

149: Convergence

1457 Hours, September 1st, 2558 Voden System, Imperium Territory

"Entering realspace in three, two, one-"

The command deck of the UNSC Caspian jolted slightly as the Sixth Fleet's flagship emerged into the Imperium's home system. Innumerable stars flooded the forward viewports, replacing the inky nothingness of slipstream space. A vanguard of light frigates had arrived less than a minute before the Caspian, and were already advancing in formation ahead the rest of their battered fleet. Data flooded into the multi-tiered bridge's many command stations as their long-range scanners mapped out this new territory, double and triple-checking for any sign of a trap set by the Imperium. To the surprise of many, there was none.

"All ships, continue as instructed and move into attack formation." Admiral Lin Zhi delivered her orders calmly, and within moments every other commanding officer in the Sixth Fleet had begun to carry out their orders.

"It's as we suspected," said Weatherby, standing to attention a few millimetres above his holotank. "The Imperium committed almost everything they had to their offensive fleets."

"Any resistance?" asked Zhi.

"I'm detecting eight Obedience-class cruisers stationed in groups of two close to Iradu's moon, and a number of orbital stations over the colony itself. Not much of a defensive force, though they'll certainly bloody our noses if we're not careful. I suggest a strong, but cautious assault."

"That's practically an oxymoron." The Admiral stood up and waved a hand to activate the nearby holotable, which displayed a newly-charted map of the system. "Once our rearguard is in place, we'll devote everything we have to breaking through enemy lines and hitting the capital."

Weatherby tugged at his gloves. "All the same, Admiral, it's very likely that the Imperium has some weapon of last resort either in or close to the capital. We should keep our distance from Iradu itself until we've destroyed or captured its orbital stations, at least. Once we're close enough to make contact, I should be able to slip a fragment of myself into their network and make sure there's nothing terrible awaiting our troops on the surface."

Zhi nodded. "Good plan, though I'm more concerned about what's coming up behind us instead of the defences in our way right now. The last thing I want is for us to get sandwiched between two fleets, especially when the one chasing us could arrive here at any moment. We're on the clock right now, and every second we delay is more lives lost."

"Of course, but that's what the rearguard is for, isn't it? Buying time?"

She fixed the AI with a cold stare for that comment, wondering if he meant that as an honest tactical assessment or as a criticism of her willingness to use the fleet's rearguard - their entire surviving destroyer complement - as little more than a distraction for the Imperium. If the men and women serving on those ships had any complaints about their orders or knew that they had been placed in the line of fire to be sacrificed like pieces in a game, then she hadn't heard anything about it.

"Like I said, Weatherby, we're on the clock."

Zhi looked up from the holotable as the bridge door opened behind her and blinked in surprise to see Vice Admiral Samson standing on the threshold, flanked by a pair of black-armoured ODST bodyguards. Her right hand snaked down to the pistol holstered at her hip, though it froze as Samson waved for his men to stand by as he stepped onto the bridge. Now clad in a vaccum suit and dark body armour, he looked more like a special forces operator than a naval officer, and attracted the stares of those around him as he approached the holotable. Evidently, the crew had become jumpy after Fosse's attack and feared some kind of coup.

"Ma'am." Samson saluted, clearly aware that not just Zhi, but Captain Ngirandi and several others had almost drawn their sidearms. "My men and I have completed deployment preparations for our operation on the surface. Do we have a rough ETA of when we'll be at a safe enough distance to begin?"

Samson spoke with such frankness that even Zhi was taken aback, though she quickly regained her composure.

"You're heading to the surface too?"

"As part of the second platoon, yes."

Zhi folded her arms. "Are these on ONI's orders or just you wanting to be in the field?"

"A bit of both," Samson barely suppressed a smirk. "Though mostly because I've been briefed on the kind of artefacts the Imperium might be keeping down there. These things have to be done properly."

And that warrants the head of the Prowler Corps personally leading the charge? Zhi couldn't exactly fault Samson if he felt like getting personally involved at this point; after his brief and costly period in charge of the Sixth Fleet over Frendhal, he likely wanted to participate in the battle in some method that didn't involve standing by on the Caspian's bridge.

"It'll be a little while until we're anywhere near Iradu. Where are you launching from?"

"The Lone Star." Samson indicated a prowler on the holotable, moving not far behind the Caspian. "With the Masayaf scouting ahead and the Morrigan holding back in case things go south, it'll be handling troop deployment."

Suppressing the urge to make some remark about how Samson's prowlers had gotten through this campaign completely unscathed, Zhi simply nodded. She'd leave the cloak and dagger stuff to him, while she led from the front.

"Good luck out there, Samson." Zhi snapped a salute at the Vice Admiral, which he returned at once.

"And you, ma'am. Give 'em hell."

Samson turned away from Zhi and left the Caspian's bridge, effectively ending his short tenure as the Sixth Fleet's Chief of Staff. The Admiral returned to her command chair, and Captain Ngirandi took Samson's place nearby. All she could do now was wait as they advanced across the Voden system, navigating their way past asteroid fields and monitoring the movements of the Imperium's rather meagre defence fleet. It was one thing to wait for a battle, Lin Zhi thought, but another to enter it and see the enemy, just out of range. All the hatred carried over from the Great War that had fuelled her desire for battle and victory just a few days ago had burned itself away, leaving only a grim sense of duty, tinged with desperation. She would end this war today.

***

By 1535, the Sixth Fleet had crossed almost a third of the vast Voden system and were fast approaching Iradu and its moon, Vandun. The Imperium's ships in orbit had been joined by a ragtag flotilla of tiny patrol craft and support vessels, most of which now served as barricades against the massed fire the UNSC would soon bring to bear. This force was led by Shipmaster Das 'Henu, who had led the remnants of Kan 'Larom's fleet to Iradu and requested support from the nearby colony of Koros. The fact that Fleet Master 'Larom chose to remain on the planet and not lead the fight in orbit was the cause of much consternation from the hastily-assembled defence force, though news of violent unrest from the planet's Unggoy population soon answered that question.

"What news from Vandun?" 'Henu asked, not a second after a secure connection had been established. "Can they bolster our defences or not?"

Projected before the Shipmaster was a young messenger from Vandun Workshops, the moon's primary shipbuilding group. Judging by the way he wrung his hands before addressing 'Henu, the news was probably going to upset him.

"Our noble artisan-armorers have instructed me to inform you that they are working as fast as possible, Shipmaster. They have had difficulties with their labourers today, and though we have three cruisers armed and ready to fly we simply cannot increase our output further."

The Unggoy refuse to work. 'Henu's mandibles tensed. How news got here from Bineb before we did is beyond me.

"Three ships will suffice. Do you have able men to crew them?"

The youth hesitated for a moment, swaying slightly from side to side. "We can get them into orbit, Shipmaster, but there are few among us with any experience in naval combat."

"Can they operate a weapon station? Fire a cannon?"

"Well I-" the messenger tried to continue, only to fall silent as 'Henu jabbed a finger towards him.

"We do not require expertise right now, boy," the Shipmaster growled. "We need competence, nothing more. Tell your masters to have those cruisers in orbit as quickly as possible, or the humans will be the least of their worries."

The messenger nodded, and a moment later the connection cut out. 'Henu sighed wearily, looking round the confines of his cruiser's bridge. This vessel had been raised only yesterday and lacked even a name. Now it led the defence of the Imperium of Clarity's homeworld, crewed by the Advance Guard's surviving bridge crew. Most of the vessels that crowded around it were civilian-owned and either requisitioned by the military or crewed by patriots looking to defend their planet. If he had any thoughts about the Imperium's military being a step down from the glory days of the Covenant, then this motley collection of ships and men were about as low as an officer like Das 'Henu could sink.

'Henu had few illusions of how this battle would end for him,and knew that his forces would only hold the human fleet at bay for a little while at best. If the Imperium fell today, then their sacrifices would likely never be remembered. Even so, he felt a strange sense of pride at all this. Those around him, dutifully manning their posts and preparing for the inevitable, had chosen to be here. For all its might, the Covenant had brought its military together by force. He had been blinded by tradition and duty back then, not realising that a conscript's death was one of little consequence. The Imperium was something he would happily die for, regretting only that his old friend and leader Kan 'Larom was not by his side.

Oh well, Henu thought, glancing towards the display and the incoming enemy force. Nothing is perfect.

A nearby console suddenly flared to life, sounding an alert klaxon that made Henu jump to his feet, fearing a premature attack or worse, enemy reinforcements. As the steadily-approaching enemy fleet had not opened fire, this could only herald the arrival of more ships in the system. One of his officers raced over to check it, and let out a cry of surprise.

"What is it?!" 'Henu called. Their main display showed pings from the very edge of the system.

"Our allies have returned, Shipmaster!"

Sure enough, the holographic display before 'Henu updated itself automatically, showing a host of ships speeding into the system. Leading the charge was a pair of CCS-class battlecruisers that had become legendary within the Imperium: Starlight and New Way. 'Henu laughed, mostly out of relief. Nor and Zetal 'Hudon had arrived.

***

The Imperium's first wave of reinforcements arrived at 1557, exiting slipspace in perfect formation. The vanguard of the 'Hudon brothers' combined fleet was comprised of nine CRS-class cruisers, moving in a standard tri-formation slightly ahead of their allies. Behind them, flanked by six Obedience-class warships apiece at the heart of the fleet, were a pair of nearly identical battlecruisers. Once they had been unremarkable vessels assigned to frontier duty. Now, they were Starlight and New Way, home to two of the Imperium's best-loved leaders.

"Tighten our battle line," Fleet Master Nor 'Hudon said calmly, punctuating the order with a sweep of his silver-armoured hand. "They are waiting for us."

"We'll prepare a counterattack," commented the translucent form of Zetal 'Hudon, stood at his brother's side.

Though the 'Hudon brothers had pursued their foes into slipspace as quickly as possible after they fled from Frendhal, hoping to overtake and destroy them before they got anywhere near Iradu, fate had not been kind to them. Their delay had been attributed to everything from vast improvements in human jump drives to unforeseen slipspace anomalies, but that mattered little at this point. Their only objective right now was to save the Imperium.

"Incoming fire!" called a nearby officer. "They're trying to break through to our flagships!"

"Endure their first volley and return fire," Nor said as they began targeting the human ships. Let them strike first.

After breaking off from the rest of the Sixth Fleet, its remaining destroyers - the Trebia, Plutarch, Scaramouche, Ataturk, Hokkaido and Kentwell - had split into two 'wolf pack' formations, coordinating and combining their firepower to inflict as much damage as possible. Unwilling to slow its advance, the 'Hudon fleet's warships closer together as the first shots of the day erupted from the human vessels. Six MAC rounds were loosed at full power in the space of half a minute from the destroyers, smashing into the Imperium's vanguard almost instantly. Five Obedience-class cruisers were lost immediately, ripped apart by precise cannon fire that smashed through their shielding and reinforced hull plating with ease. Hundreds of crewmen and warriors perished, some instantly, others in the terrifying moments after impact as their ships disintegrated around them, erupting into bursts of blue-white flame as their engines exploded.

Nor 'Hudon said nothing as the ships under his command vanished from the forward viewscreen, though his brother, a projection from his flagship, New Way, let out an annoyed snarl. The human destroyers, having hit the 'Hudon fleet with everything they had, immediately turned to fee deeper into the system. A moment later, the Imperium's ships answered with a storm of plasma fire, sending bolts and torpedoes flashing past the burning wreckage of their lead cruisers in pursuit of the enemy. Four of the six destroyers, unable to evade the salvo, took direct hits. Titanium-A armour melted, fusion reactors detonated, and ammunition stores erupted, consuming entire vessels in seconds. Explosions blossomed across the Starlight's viewscreen, and a cheer went up across the bridge.

The Fleet Master motioned to his gunnery officer. "Fire again."

Of the two remaining destroyers, only the Plutarch had escaped damage entirely. The Hokkaido, which had swerved past an asteroid to avoid a swarm of plasma bolts, veered too close to the lead ship in its formation - Scaramouche - and found itself caught in the other destroyer's explosive death throes. Shards of superheated metal peppered its hull, and a lagging torpedo meant for the Scaramouche glanced off its starboard side and detonated, severely damaging the Hokkaido's reactors. With only forward momentum to propel it further, it was left defenceless against any further attacks. Commander Pacheco, the ship's commanding officer, attempted to order his officers to launch everything they had left against the Imperium, only to be faced with a frightened and mutinous crew. Many disobeyed any further commands and fought their way to escape pods and lifeboats before the next wave of plasma caught up with them. Small arms fire erupted throughout the Hokkaido in its final minutes in this mad rush to outrun the inevitable, and only a few made it off the ship before another torpedo blew it apart.

As the sole surviving warship in the Sixth Fleet's rearguard, only the Plutarch was able to engage the advancing Imperial forces again. With no way of outrunning the 'Hudon fleet, which had split into two fast-attack groups to evade further fire, the destroyer turned to face its foe and unleashed every weapon in its arsenal. All twenty-six of its Archer missile pods launched at once, unleashing a swarm of projectiles soon followed by the destroyer's sole remaining Shiva-class nuclear weapon. The lead cruisers in Zetal 'Hudon's half of the fleet responded with a barrage of pulse laser fire, picking off most of the missiles with pinpoint accuracy while the rest barely disrupted the shields of its target. The nuclear missile, trailing slightly behind the first volley, detonated before impact, though the blast was powerful enough to burn through the lead cruiser's already-overworked energy shields. Seconds after they dissipated, a MAC round from the Plutarch punched through its hull and gutted it from bow to stern. With this final act of defiance, the Plutarch stood its ground, loosing everything in its depleted arsenal for a further half-minute until a bolt of plasma from the New Way itself speared through its bridge.

"A commendable display, don't you think?" Zetal 'Hudon glanced towards his brother's hologram as the human warship vanished in a distant flash of light.

"Perhaps, but that doesn't make up for our losses. We will take full account of the worthiness of our foes when the battle ends."

Zetal crossed his arms and nodded in agreement. "Well said, brother. Let us advance."

With the momentary distraction of the human rearguard out of the way, the 'Hudon fleet continued on its path towards the now-besieged Iradu. While the brothers would have cut a great deal of time from their journey with an in-system slipspace jump, the Voden system was fraught with errant asteroid fields and strange gravitational zones that made maneuvering fleets a difficult endeavour, even with their advanced slipspace drives and navigational computers. Zetal and Nor had discussed his possibility while en-route to Voden, and had come to the disappointing conclusion that even a precise jump could put their ships in needless danger. Even the slipspace translocation devices that they had put to good use in transporting smaller ships and troops were out of the question; Orro 'Hendai's surprise move over Montak had put his vessel in extreme danger, not only from the enemy but from the very real possibility of tearing his ship in half, a fate avoided through sheer good fortune.

With no easy way to close the distance between themselves and the UNSC fleet, the 'Hudon brothers split their forces and advanced in two arcing lines, seeking to strike from both above and below before reforming as a single force after the initial exchange of fire. Such a move would have usually been carried out by smaller formations of fast-attack ships with cooperating commanders to avoid tactical errors, but the 'Hudons had all but perfected the art of carrying out synchronous strategies with a pair of larger fleets. With a constant line of communication established between their flagships, they could converse and keep their forces together while adjusting their offensive and defensive strategies accordingly. If all went well, then the already-engaged human fleet would find itself attacked from three sides and rapidly crumble.

"A thought has occurred to me," Nor said, breaking a long silence.

"What is it, brother?"

"When Toru 'Makhan arrives, he will have no one left to fight."

"Oh?" Zetal sensed an uncharacteristic sense of playfulness in his younger brother's voice. "What of the Swords of Sanghelios?"

"A crippled fleet with a crippled leader will not last long in battle, especially after Lora 'Deris arrives."

Zetal couldn't help but chuckle. "Whenever that will be. It seems that our young friend missed the chance for proper glory."

"Perhaps, though there will be battles to come." Nor shook his head suddenly. "Ah, but we shall discuss that another time. Let 'Makhan deal with long-term strategy."

"Indeed. The Imperial Admiral-"

Zetal stopped mid-sentence as the holotank before him flashed a danger warning. At another edge of the Voden System, close to the designated jump point for craft heading towards the Imperium's Unggoy colonies, a series of slipspace ruptures had been detected. Though his hearts rose at the thought of Lora 'Deris joining them after all, the readout before him identified these new arrivals as human warships. How could we have forgotten this foe?!

Nor was evidently thinking the same thing, as his mandibles shook in annoyance as he quietly gave orders to one of his subordinates. In their haste to wipe out the main human fleet, both brothers had completely overlooked the second enemy battlegroup, which had routed Kan 'Larom from the Bineb System and caused the schism that had torn into the stability of their Imperium. They were not a large force, with only two capital ships to speak of, but if the reports of their effectiveness were anything to go by then they could not be underestimated. Zetal studied the system map floating before him, and quickly realised that these new arrivals could easily flank and disrupt their well-organised formation, driving a wedge between the brothers' forces and ruining the execution of their pincer attack.

That would not do.

"Tighten our formation." Zetal broadcast his orders, and Nor copied him within a few breaths. "Continue on-course and increase engine output."

Nor's hologram turned towards him, confused. "What about re-organising the fleet?"

"No need, brother. If we continue our course after breaking past the human fleet we can reconvene in Iradu's orbit."

With a few adjustments, Zetal changed the projected route of his half of the fleet and turned to Nor, satisfied. His younger sibling took a moment to take it all in, then let out an affirmative grunt. They would be split apart for longer, but this lessened the chance of the fleet being hammered in the flank by MAC fire if it reformed close to Vandun. It was not perfect - no plan was - but the 'Hudon brothers seemed satisfied. Their ships accelerated, one group dipping and the other ascending, ready to snap down on the Sixth Fleet like the jaws of a mighty Helioskrill.

***

By 1621, battlegroup Maya was surging towards Iradu, having barely decelerated after exiting slipspace. In the final minutes before its arrival in the Voden system, Rear Admiral John Hawkins had primed every weapons system aboard his flagship, fully expecting to meet a wall of Imperial ships from the fleet that had driven them away from Bineb. Though the fact that they had not been overtaken relieved him, they were soon greeted with a surge of information from the rest of the Sixth Fleet, which had already engaged the Imperium close to its homeworld.

"Chance, what's our ETA?" Hawkins asked, restlessly drumming his fingers on the side of his command chair.

"Approximately twenty minutes and fifty-three seconds until we're in range to open fire at anything," the ship's AI said, his mask smiling happily above his holotank. "Though exactly who we'll hit is another matter entirely."

Hawkins frowned, scratching the side of his head as he looked over the two enemy formations. The two Imperial fleets, identified as those of Nor and Zetal 'Hudon based on their behaviour over Montak, were moving to strike at the Sixth Fleet from above and below. With the numbers and firepower at his command, Hawkins could only effectively counter one. Hopefully that would be enough to blunt their attack against Admiral Zhi's ships.

"Incoming transmission from the fleet!" called a communications officer.

"From Admiral Zhi?" Hawkins asked.

"From Vice Admiral Samson, sir."

Hawkins nodded, though he couldn't help but wonder why Samson was contacting him. Perhaps Zhi needed to focus entirely on directing every movement of the battle, or the Admiral had fallen ill from her recent injuries again. A few seconds later, Ryan Samson's holographic form stood before him. Hawkins noted with surprise that his old friend was dressed more like a shock trooper than a bridge officer, and exchanged salutes with Samson before he cut to the chase.

"Vice Admiral."

"Rear Admiral." Samson clapped his gloved hands together. "Time is of the essence, so I'll make this quick: We need you to divert your Spartan personnel to a single location on the Imperium's homeworld as fast as possible, along with any groundside troops you have left."

"We've got enough left to mount a sizeable assault," Hawkins said. "What are the Spartans hitting?"

"The Imperium's centre of government; a large palace - or fortress - within their capital city. It's heavily defended on the ground, and Weatherby's predicted that there's enough anti-air around it to take down a frigate. That's why we'll need troops who can insert quickly and quietly. Can you do it?"

Hawkins looked towards Chance, whose mask glowed over his holotank. A moment later, several scrolling lists materialised over a nearby table, along with depictions of vehicles and even the beginnings of what looked like a plan of approach. He smiled.

"Of course. I'll have our Spartan units prepared and moved away from the Maya for insertion. What about you?"

"I'll be joining the second wave into the palace," Samson spoke with a grin. "Why I'm doing so is on a need-to-know basis, but if all goes well we'll see a surrender by the end of the day. I'll await contact with your men, Hawkins. Good luck out there."

"And you."

The connection cut out before Hawkins could snap off a parting salute. If Samson was joining their troops on the ground, ONI-related business or not, then things were likely going poorly for the Sixth Fleet. Hawkins waved for Captain Aguirre, who had been watching their conversation out of the corner of her eye with interest.

"Sir?"

"Captain, take whatever equipment list Chance has compiled behind me and make sure our Spartans are outfitted and ready to depart ASAP."

Though she might have bristled at the prospect of simple errand work before, Aguirre carried out his orders with a polite nod, swiping a datapad from the holotable before leaving the bridge at a brisk pace. With battle so close at hand, now was not the time for second-guessing commands. The two Spartan fireteams aboard the Maya - Boson and Stallion - were the best soldiers they had, but after Bineb Hawkins could barely shake off feelings of guilt after sending the young ones off on near-suicidal operations. ONI men like Samson could direct them like pieces on a board knowing full well how they had been created without a single twinge of emotion, but even the Great War hadn't hardened the Rear Admiral's heart that much.

Too late for regrets now. Hawkins took a slow, deep breath, and turned his full attention towards battlegroup Maya's approach. Of the two enemy formations slowly closing in on the Sixth Fleet from behind, the lower one was fewer in number, possessing mostly fast-attack ships trailing behind the lead battlecruiser that would crumble if caught off-guard. Most of his plan hinged on the Imperium's ships suddenly turning all of their attention towards him in an assault that would almost certainly rip the depleted UNSC battlegroup apart. Their timing had to be impeccable, their attack fierce and their deployment without flaw if they were to succeed.

"Chance." Hawkins moved to the holotable. "Have all groundside forces diverted to landing craft and sent along our left flank with the UNSC Geisha and our remaining fighters. Once we engage, the frigate is to cover their approach to the Imperium's homeworld while we deal with their fleet."

The AI's mask beamed up at him. "Transmitting orders now, sir. Just so you know, with our current munitions supply we can still operate at peak capacity for six to eight hours of heavy fighting."

"I'm guessing that's an optimistic estimate?"

"Naturally."

In truth, few battles lasted more than a couple of hours once a proper engagement began. Human warships required up to a minute to recharge and reload their MAC guns after firing and until recently were only truly effective in massed groups, while Covenant and former Covenant-built vessels were generally far too used to rolling over technologically inferior opponents to attempt anything more than the most basic of tactics. With the battlefield ahead - Iradu, its moon and the asteroid strewn straits of space around it - they would need to compensate heavily for their reduced numbers and lack of firepower. The sight of massed ranks of ships firing at range in an all-out slugfest would not be seen here as it had been over Montak, replaced instead by lightning-fast offensives, by sabotage and trickery and subterfuge and most importantly of all, desperation.

"Chance, we-"

A shrill alert from the nearest monitor screen cut Hawkins off, and his breath caught in his throat. The holotable before him sparkled as the system map widened, indicating a series of slipspace ruptures taking place far from their location. For the briefest of moments Hawkins thought that the fleet that had driven them from Bineb - one fresh and unhurt and powerful - had caught up to them sooner than expected. Thankfully, a blink and a second glance at their entry point told him that these new arrivals to this staggered battle were allies. A flotilla of battered warships had burst through slipspace in a hurry, moving quicker than the Maya and its cohorts had, knowing that their pursuers could catch them at any moment. Hawkins looked over the map and smirked, realising that this battle's situation would change by the second.

The Swords of Sanghelios were here.

***

"Faster!" Felo 'Ranak roared, jabbing a finger towards the distant speck that was Iradu. "Our allies are in need of us!"

Sat aboard his fleet's new flagship, Silent Voice, the Fleet Master felt rejuvenated in body and spirit. He had nearly been broken over Montak, and his command over Frendhal had nearly spelt doom for the Swords of Sanghelios there. Now though, with the war's end in sight, he felt energised. While his injuries all but confined him to the gravity throne aboard the carrier's bridge, he maintained total command over every aspect of his forces.

"Our engines are already at maximum output," said Yal 'Nerun, his second in command. "Any more and we risk damaging them."

Felo sat back in his throne with an annoyed huff. To his left, Commander Rora 'Marak folded his arms. "What about a slipspace jump, then? Surely it would put us in a more advantageous position?"

'Nerun glanced towards Felo in annoyance, then back to Rora. "Aside from the fact that we require slightly more time to establish a second jump so soon after the first, Commander, such an act runs the risk of dividing our fleet. A short, precise jump in a system properly investigated is one thing, but this one is such a mess of asteroids and navigational distortions that we dare not risk it."

"It is convenient," Felo tapped his right hand against an armrest. "That the Voden system be near-impervious to these methods of approach. Perhaps that is why Toru 'Makhan chose it as the seat of his empire."

"Or it's been altered to be this way," remarked the commando. "A Forerunner device, perhaps?"

"It is possible."

With reports of the Imperium's top soldiers fielding Forerunner weaponry and a mastery of slipspace translocation that seemed to outstrip any experts among the Swords', it was not unreasonable to assume that Toru 'Makhan had a greater level of control over Forerunner technology than was apparent. The Imperium had traded in minor artefacts for years with enterprising frontier merchants, after all, and without the restraint of religious dogma that had hampered the Covenant's progress had made steps in just a few years that their forebears had taken centuries to achieve.

"All the more reason to see them destroyed." Rora said.

"Perhaps. Even so, now is not the time to dwell on the reaches of their technology. The fleets that stand ahead of us have clashed against our forces before and made their strength known to us. They will be our first target."

Many millions of kilometres ahead of them were the fleets of Nor and Zetal 'Hudon, still in the process of executing a deadly pincer movement designed to cut the human Sixth Fleet to ribbons. Another detachment of human ships - the force dispatched to the Bineb System - were already racing to assault one brother, leaving the other to the Swords of Sanghelios. Ahead of the Silent Voice moved their fleet's vanguard; Man O' Wars and blockade runners in perfect formation ringed by shoals of fighter craft. After the horrific casualties they had endured in the battles of attrition that were Montak and Frendhal, their goal here was simply to overwhelm and annihilate the enemy in an unrelenting hail of plasma fire.

"Fleet Master." Rora spoke up after several minutes of silent advance. "What of Toru 'Makhan himself?"

This had been a topic of some debate among Felo's subordinates for the past day, but no conclusion had been reached regarding a strategy for dealing with the Imperial Admiral and his fearsome supercarrier. Alone against their massed fleets such a vessel could be taken down, but amidst a fleet of loyal and talented soldiers 'Makhan was all but invulnerable. Rora's suggestion for slipping his Shadows of Retribution aboard had been shot down quickly as no ship could even approach the Watchful Custodian, while other strategies involving misdirection and attrition were not particularly feasible given the state of their supplies and troops. Having been unable to come to any sort of conclusion himself, Felo had simply deigned to follow the original plan of seizing Iradu from the Imperium, leaving 'Makhan for later.

"As I have said, 'Makhan cannot be taken down with strength or subterfuge at this moment, Commander. The humans have some plan to capture his government and force a surrender, which I have few objections with if it spares more lives in this war."

"It is bold of them to assume that 'Makhan will lay down arms and submit to their power for a group of councillors and diplomats. Even for honour's sake, it is a foolish move."

Felo nodded. "He is a prideful man, but to abandon his helpless subjects would forever taint him in the eyes of his people. Just as the Arbiter fights to protect the people of Sanghelios from undue harm, Toru 'Makhan would not allow his citizenry to die if he had a chance of preventing such a thing."

"You think the humans will carry out a massacre?"

"I do not know. Most that I have met within their military act according to a strict code of conduct, but I know little about Admiral Lin Zhi. Perhaps out here, so far from the most remote of human worlds, they would act as the Covenant once did against their worlds. After all, who would know?"

Few things seemed to bother Rora, who as the Outrider had seen and even caused atrocity after atrocity at a very young age, but the idea of a truly vengeful and uncaring humanity made him shift uneasily. Most Sangheili still saw them as weak creatures, capable of great and terrible violence in war but also willing to forgive those who had until recently been their bitter foes.

"If..." Rora began. "If they move against the citizenry of Iradu, would we stop them?"

Felo looked up at the young commando, meeting his worried gaze. "Of course. But first, there is a battle to win."

***

By the time the Swords of Sanghelios began their advance into the Voden System, the Sixth Fleet had already engaged the Imperium's ramshackle flotilla over Vandun. While morale among the force led by Shipmaster Das 'Henu was high, it fared poorly in stalling the UNSC's offensive. Beginning at 1619, the orbital conflict lasted barely twenty minutes as a precise volley of MAC rounds tore through the core force of Obedience-class cruisers, destroying or immobilising all but three. The smaller vessels around 'Henu's nameless flagship led a charge against the incoming fleet, supported by a desperate hail of plasma from the faltering cruisers. Of the Sixth Fleet's lead ships, only the UNSC Laurel Wreath sustained a critical blow and was left venting atmosphere and disgorging escape craft in Vandun's orbit.

Despite 'Henu's demands, the Vandun Workshops were not able to raise and crew their completed vessels in time for the battle. By the time the trio of newly-created Obedience-class warships had risen to cloud level, the Sixth Fleet's rearguard had detected them and simply loosed a quick volley of nuclear missiles into the planet's atmosphere, obliterating all three before they could even finish charging their weapons. Miraculously, 'Henu himself was not killed in this assault, though his cruiser was rendered helpless when a MAC round pulverised its rear half. Stranded and unable to assist further, he organised the evacuation of his remaining crew and awaited the arrival of the 'Hudon brothers, who by this point were fast closing in on the Sixth Fleet.

By 1654, Admiral Zhi's forces had reached Iradu, homeworld of the Imperium of Clarity. Met with over two-dozen orbital platforms and hundreds of Tyrant anti-aircraft cannons, the human fleet showed its advance somewhat, firing from afar to blow a hole in the planet's defences. Several light warships were destroyed in this exchange, though the point-defence systems of each space station were soon overwhelmed by a tide of missiles and autocannon fire. Only one, orbiting above Iradu's northern hemisphere, was deliberately left intact at Admiral Zhi's command. Though the UNSC had a clear advantage in long-range firepower, they were unable to gain full supremacy in Iradu's orbit as the impending arrival of Zetal 'Hudon's fleet, which had been hurtling towards them from above, forced Zhi to turn the majority of her forces away to battle this incoming threat. The Imperium's assault might have been enough to finally overwhelm the Sixth Fleet were it not for the timely arrival of battlegroup Maya, which had forced Nor 'Hudon to divert his ships away from their current course.

As the combined fleets finally clashed around Iradu in a dazzling display of explosive flashes and bursts of killing light that shone brightly enough for those in the distant Swords' fleet to see from afar, yet another force made its return to the Voden System. At 1710, the Watchful Custodian emerged from Slipspace, surrounded as usual by its guard force of over a dozen smaller cruisers. At the bridge of the titanic vessel stood Imperial Admiral Toru 'Makhan, who surveyed the battle raging halfway across his system impassively. If the sight of his beloved Iradu besieged evoked any emotion in the Imperium's leader, it was not something he wished to display outwardly. Holding the rapt attention of tens of thousands, he uttered only a single word.

"Advance."

With that, the Battle of Iradu finally began in earnest.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

150: Final Flight

1712 Hours, September 1st, 2558 UNSC Caspian, Voden System

"You're all set to go, November One. Releasing docking clamps now."

This was the second time Captain Erika Ruskin had returned to the Caspian since the battle had begun. The 83rd Tactical Fighter Wing, now bolstered by the remnants of the other Navy and Air Force squadrons in the Sixth Fleet, had been the first to enter the fray over Vandun, and now led a good portion of the primary assault on Iradu. With most of Admiral Zhi's ships turned away from the planet to take on the incoming Imperial forces and only a few frigates left to cover her fighters, Erika was really feeling the heat. As her Broadsword fighter moved into its launch bay, she pushed down on the throttle and launched the fighter forward, rocketing out of the flagship and into the chaos of battle.

"November One here," Erika switched back to her primary TEAMCOM channel. "First squadron's re-armed and heading out. Second squadron, you're cleared to fall back and do the same."

Unlike their engagements over Montak and Frendhal, where the 83rd had a single goal in mind, this battle had quickly turned into an orbital slugfest. Though their meagre defence fleet had been smashed aside, the Imperium still fielded hundreds of fighters, coming from both their surviving space stations in orbit, the planet's surface and from the two fleets battling behind them. In any normal engagement the procedure would have been for Erika's fighters to retreat, but with nowhere to run they had no choice but to battle the Imperium's ships head-on. Though their foes were indeed numerous, as they had been in prior engagements, their reliance on numbers made them easy prey for the well-trained squadrons of Longswords and Broadswords fighting them to a stalemate above their homeworld.

"This is November Fourteen!" Lieutenant Aizawa's panicked voice erupted across Erika's COM. "We've got a Lich inbound!"

Erika - still maneuvering her craft out of the Sixth Fleet's main battle line - shuddered involuntarily. Starfighters, capital ships and large, slow space stations were one thing, but going up against a Lich was another. With its speed, defensive measures and firepower, just one of the massive dropships could lay waste to an entire squadron if not properly combated and would make quick work of any landing craft. Finally freeing themselves from the embattled fleet and launching outwards towards Iradu, Erika’s targeting computer highlighted the Lich somewhere above the planet’s northern hemisphere, already pursuing a pair of Longsword fighters.

"I'm moving in to intercept," Erika said as she primed her Broadsword's missile systems. "November Eight, November Thirteen, cover me. The rest of you break off and engage at will, but do not attack that dropship unless I give the order."

The trio of fighters weaved a steady path through the battle raging in Iradu's orbit, narrowly avoiding charred chunks of metal from a wrecked defence platform as they closed in on the Lich. The enemy craft continued on its destructive course, spewing torrents of plasma fire from its many cannons at any ship in range. One of the Longswords just ahead of it caught several bolts across its left wing, which rapidly disintegrated and sent the fighter spiralling into a second flurry of shots that blew it apart. The remaining Longsword, detecting the loss of its partner, suddenly swerved back towards the fleet, seeking to outrun its deadly pursuer.

Seeing the Navy fighter surging across open space towards her squadron, Erika had to suppress a smirk as she accelerated, remembering the jibes made by their pilots towards Air Force personnel. While she held overall command of all fighters within the Sixth Fleet, a few Navy squadrons had overextended themselves by trying to clear away all of Iradu's orbital stations, even those that did not currently pose a threat.

"November Eight here," said Lintz, one of the 83rd's younger pilots. "I've got an initial read on that Lich's shield strength, and that thing'll shake off our Medusas like nothing."

"I'm getting the same reading," Gillman, Erika's other wingman, chimed in. "We'll need our strikes to hit it simultaneously."

Erika nodded. "Copy that. Link your fighter's targeting controls to mine and I'll mark a target."

Her wingmen responded with affirmatives, and a moment later two lights flashed up on Erika's console to indicate that they had handed control over to her. This was an extraordinarily risky manoeuver even in a non-combat situation that carried the risk of friendly fire if the linked craft were not properly arranged, but Erika trusted her subordinates. Ahead of them, the Lich finally broke off from its pursuit of the fleeing Longsword, having detected the Broadsword trio closing in on it. The heavy craft's autocannons lit up, sending blue-white bolts flying across the void towards the incoming fighters

"Taking evasive action," Gillman said calmly as the first shots whizzed by. "Permission to engage, ma'am?"

"Primary weapons only." Erika held down a switch, and her fighter shook slightly as its 35mm cannons loosed a hail of fire towards the incoming Lich. Gillman and Lintz soon joined in, peppering the incoming Lich's overcharged energy shields.

Unwilling to slow their approach or break from formation, the three fighters swerved to and fro as plasma fire rained by, evading most shots and absorbing a few glancing shots with their own shields. With the Lich fast approaching, Erika's targeting computer quickly identified a weak spot: the vessel's bay doors. Normally used for offloading troops and materiel, they could be penetrated by a fast, damaging strike, exposing those inside to further danger. Her visor's heads-up display flashed twice, indicating both the weak point and the distance between her and the Lich before transmitting it to her wingmen.

"We'll be cutting it close," Lintz muttered.

"Any closer than with those destroyers?"

The younger pilot laughed. "They weren't playing chicken with us, Captain."

"That was this guy's mistake. Fire!"

Erika thumbed the weapon release on her control stick as her Broadsword turned sharply, briefly exposing the fighter to the Lich's starboard cannons. A swarm of M6088 missiles burst forth and rocketed across the few hundred metres separating the two craft, followed by those from Gillman and Lintz's fighters. Realising its grave error, the Lich turned its guns on the hail of explosive devices now streaking across the void towards it. It was far too slow. Though two of the Medusas were grazed by enemy fire and detonated prematurely, the rest found their mark, battering their way through the craft's weakened shielding and tearing through its bay doors. Each flash of heat and light tore hungrily into the Lich, burning through hardened plating until its innards were exposed at last. Two final missiles met no resistance as they burrowed into the heavy dropship's power core before detonating. A brilliant flash enveloped the Lich a second later, reducing it to nothing but a few errant shards of metal and drifting atoms.

"Kill confirmed," Lintz said as they circled round. "I think that one goes to you, Gillman."

The other pilot snorted. "I'd say that was a joint effort."

With their biggest threat now eliminated, Erika and her wingmates turned their attention back towards the 83rd's primary target over Iradu: its orbital stations. While the Caspian and other ships had made short work of the outlying orbitals at long range, many more were still dispatching fighters and making things difficult for the first wave of landing craft attempting to secure a beachhead on the enemy homeworld. Troops from the main fleet, guarded by several squadrons of Navy Longswords, had successfully penetrated Iradu's atmosphere not long ago, though its capital was too well-defended for a direct approach, forcing them into the arid scrubland many kilometres away. From the reports that had flooded through their COM channels, it was already a costly fight down there.

"All fighters," Erika switched to a wider TEAMCOM channel, "Regroup at my coordinates and prepare for another assault."

Checking her long-range targeting systems, the only station to pose any real threat to the Sixth Fleet was one above Iradu's northern hemisphere, which had been spared from attack only because it had not even fired on local UNSC forces and seemed, if anything, to be some kind of refit station. Nonetheless, if the power readings from Erika's craft were anything to go by then it likely possessed some kind of high-powered plasma cannon. It would have to go.

"Marking a new target now. Form up and we'll-"

A sharp voice suddenly cut across her COM. "Belay that order, Captain Ruskin."

Erika winced, realising who was speaking. "Admiral?"

As her fighter slowed, breaking off from the beginning of its attack run, it was pinged by something far too large for Erika to have missed on her approach to Iradu. Somewhere close by, away from the Sixth Fleet but just outside the main zone of orbital conflict and shrouded in advanced active camouflage technology, was an ONI Prowler.

"Your fighters have done a fine job so far," said Ryan Samson. "But you are to avoid all contact with that station. Keep the Imperium suppressed in orbit until further orders come in, and dissuade any fighter craft from approaching my target."

Against her better judgement, Erika chose to ask the ONI officer a question. "And your goal, sir?"

"Winning this battle, Captain." The reply was as cryptic as she expected. "Samson out."

As soon as the connection was severed, a red marker flashed up on Erika's HUD, warning her away from the lone station. It seemed like a bit much in her opinion, but ONI seemed to enjoy telling people 'no'. With a sigh of annoyance, she directed her fighter back towards the cluster of embattled stations over Iradu's eastern hemisphere. There, what remained of the Imperium's orbit-capable ships were making yet another stand against the invaders, throwing every body and fighter craft they had available against better-trained pilots. It was not the fairest of fights, Erika knew, but no war was won cleanly.

"Like I said," she broke the silence that had fallen over the 83rd's COM since Samson's interruption. "Form up on me. We do our job well and after today, we're all going home."

To her surprise, that rather sloppy statement got her a full round of cheers from the smattering of weary, battle-hardened fighter pilots still left in her beloved fighter wing. More Broadswords soon fell into formation behind their Captain, sharpening the battered group into a lethal speartip that would soon plunge into the Imperium's weakened battle lines with Erika at its head. They had a lot of killing to do, and the day was far from over.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

151

0314, September 1st, 2558 UNSC Maya, Slipspace

Walking through the corridors of the Maya, Sasha found herself rubbing her eyes, blinking a few times to shake off how tired she felt. She had just gotten out of a meeting with the ship's senior staff detailing what to expect with the battle ahead. Hell, she was still in her service uniform from the talk.

And what a talk it was. Sasha knew that her fellow pilots wouldn't be happy with what she had to tell them, at least not most of them. First off, Maya was expected to see fighting pretty much as soon as it dropped out of slipspace. In turn, that meant that there would be no time to collect any additional Broadswords to supplement the ones they had remaining, leaving the squadron with only five seats between over a dozen pilots. Some would have to stay behind. Second, even the ones that got a seat weren't off the hook. Command wanted them deploying to escort Maya's complement of Pelicans to the surface of Iradu. Sure, it's part of the job, but Sasha knew she'd hear some bickering about that over the following days.

It wasn't all that bad, though, at least. Once the troops had landed, there was a chance Sasha and her pilots could return to orbit and help finish off any of the fighting left up there. She knew that's where the rest of her men really wanted to be. Proving themselves against the Air Force guys. Sasha chuckled and shook her head. She'd know more about what was going on as they got closer—perhaps once they dropped out of slipspace, thinking on the fly—but in the meantime, at least, she could encourage her pilots to get out there and do her best to get back into orbit quicker. She'd have to see.

Snapping back to reality, Sasha found herself next to her Broadsword, leaning against the loading ramp's railing. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she shook her head and blinked a few times. Fuck she was tired. Sighing, the pilot made her way down to her locker. She needed to get some sleep, but her quarters weren't an option. Too close to others if she got hit with her nightmares. Taking her flight suit out of the locker, Sasha stripped out of her service uniform and stepped into the pressure suit before stowing the discarded clothes and heading back to her fighter. She knew the hangar would be empty for at least a few more hours—wherever they were slipping to wasn't due up for much longer than that—and if anyone walked in on her, she'd be able to excuse sleeping in her cockpit far easier than why she woke up screaming.

Taking a deep breath in, she settled into the seat, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep. And for the first time in a long while, she found herself free of disturbance—internal or external—until the call went out many hours later for the prep crews to begin.

---

1719, September 1st, 2558 Iradu, Capital city

Elena blinked her eyes open to the beeping lifesign monitors, a dry mouth, and a dull ache across her body. Groaning, the woman sat up in her bed and looked around the bright white room, blinking a few times to clear the blur from her eyes.

"Where the hell am I?"

She recognized it was a hospital of some sort and tried to recall the situation that had sent her there. Reaching up to her shoulder, she scratched at an unbearable itch and found her fingers skipping across a few stitches. "Right," Elena sighed, "The grunts. I need to get back to my ship."

Pushing herself up from under the covers to sit on the edge of the bed, she found herself with an IV in her arm. Standing up and grabbing the drip-bag stand, Elena pushed aside the curtains surrounding her bed, looking around the rest of the hospital floor. She could tell it wasn't empty from the remaining closed curtains decorating the room, but beyond the spots for patients, there wasn't a sign of anyone else in sight.

Groaning again, Elena went back to her bed and looked around for some button to signal a nurse. Eventually finding one, she pressed it, hopping back up onto the edge of her bed and waiting. A few minutes later, a young woman stepped into the room and made her way over to Elena.

"Hey. You're a nurse here?"

"Yes, I am. It's good to see you awake!" The nurse picked up a datapad, reading over Elena's charts. "It looks like you came in here beat up quite a bit, Miss... Zaytseva."

Elena nodded, putting on a false smile. "Yeah. Got caught up with a bunch of those... what are the little aliens called, again?"

The nurse blinked. "Unggoy? Or perhaps you remember them as Grunts, from the war? Is your head feeling okay, Miss?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Was on ice through the war." She shook her head. "Grunts. Cornered me in an alley. Anyway, I'd like to check out? Should probably be getting back to my ship."

"I can't recommend that, Miss Zaytseva! You came in here with multiple lacerations, bruising, signs of a mild concussion. You've lost a lot of blood, and we'd like to monitor you for infection. Claw wounds aren't to be treated lightly."

"Just Elena, please. And are all the wounds patched up?"

"Well, yes, but still..."

"Then I'd like to check out. I'll come back if I start feeling sick, but I need to get back to my ship."

"That's another thing..." the nurse sighed. "I can't stop you from checking out, Miss Zay... er... Elena, but you can't go back to your ship right now. The planet's under attack."

"Fuck." Elena frowned at the news. "I'm too late. I was supposed to be well out of the system by this point."

"How long was I out? Do you mean the riots?"

"You got in here about ten hours ago? Maybe a bit longer. And no, Elena. It's the UNSC. They arrived just a few hours ago, max. The streets have been shut down except for essential travel."

"Well, getting to my ship is pretty essential."

"I'm sorry, that's not for you or me to decide. Civilians aren't to be out and about without government authorization that they're helping with the war effort. We can get you your affects and clear you to stay in the lobby, but you'll have to wait for the fighting to be over before you can head for your ship."

Affects? Alexios! She needed to get her laptop back! She was sure the AI would do its best to keep her communications safe from the cops, but she wasn't so sure how long he could hold up against a proper Smart AI if they tried to crack it open.

"Right... Fine. I'll do that. I can get by with my laptop, I guess."

"Of course, ma'am. Thank you for understanding. I'll get the doctor in here to clear you, shortly."

"Thank you."

Standing up again as the nurse left, Elena made her way over to a little window, looking outside. Glancing into the sky, she realized just how close the battle had gotten. Every once in a while, a bolt of plasma or flash of metal would streak across the sky, no doubt Imperium anti-air and the UNSC craft they were shooting at. "Damn..." she sat back down on her bed, her foot tapping the floor now, "This is bad... real bad."

Elena figured the UNSC would be landing nearby, breach the city in the next few hours, perhaps? Every minute spent waiting for the doctor, every hour spent fighting for approval to enter the streets in the lobby... She didn't have much hope for getting out of here before the UNSC won, and then what?

Worst case scenario, the hospital would be hit. Elena had read about far worse war crimes in the history books before. And boom, just like that, she was dead.

Best case? She gets recognized for who she was and given protection by the UNSC or ONI and allowed to go free after a long, likely drawn-out debriefing process. And that was assuming one of the Imperium citizens she'd likely be around didn't get angry and work up the courage to rush her. Try to shoot her. Elena sighed once again. She was doing that a lot this afternoon.

By the time the doctor arrived about an hour later, Elena had made up her mind. She was getting out of here. Sure, she smiled and played along with the doctor, filling out the forms, getting the IV removed, retrieving her clothing, laptop, and other personal belongings, but once that was done?

Elena checked the time on her datapad. 1823. Shaking her head, she looked around the lobby. Two people were all that stood between her and the outside. The receptionist seemed to be distracted by his work, and the other man was sleeping. Could she really just walk out the front door? Shrugging, Elena decided to try it, approaching the entrance. The doors slid open with a chime, stopping her dead in her tracks.

"I'm sorry miss, but you can't leave right now!"

Turning back, smiling sheepishly, Elena scratched behind her head.

"Sorry! I just wanted to get a look outside. Didn't realize the doors were automatic." She turned around, sitting down in one of the chairs near the front entrance as the receptionist smiled back to her.

Taking out her laptop, she connected to the local network. Spending the next few minutes scouring for a floorplan of the hospital, Elena tapped her foot on the floor anxiously once again. She was running out of time.

"Are you okay, miss?" the receptionist spoke to her again.

"Hm?" She still needed that floorplan and didn't dare look up. "Sorry?"

"You're tapping your foot."

There it is! Pulling it up, she found her opening. A side entrance right by the nearby restroom!

"Oh, yes, sorry!" She stood up, packing her laptop up, speaking more quietly, almost shyly. "I actually had to go to the bathroom. Where's the nearest one?"

"Oh!" The receptionist pointed down the hall. "Just down there, last door on the right."

"Thank you!" Elena smiled, heading down the hallway she was directed towards. Yet, instead of turning left into the last door, she pushed through one more set of fire-doors, slipping quietly into an alley beyond. Looking around, she found the city streets still empty, letting out a breath. The UNSC hadn't breached the city yet. Good.

---

1649, September 1st, 2558 UNSC Maya Hangar, Iradu Orbit

Sasha had broken the news to the rest of her squadron just a few minutes prior and found herself back in that cockpit she'd been asleep in just a few hours prior. She had expected to be running escort for a ground assault, but, as she had also been expecting, the plans had rapidly changed upon dropping from slipspace. Her pilots would still be running escort, but it wouldn't be quite as boring as they'd expected. Apparently Hawkins wanted to land the battlegroup's ground assets as close to the Imperium's capital as possible, not that the city's air defenses would make it easy.

That's where they came in. Sasha didn't expect she'd be able to take out the anti-air fully, of course, but running distraction and keeping the shots off the Pelicans? That she was confident she and her pilots could manage. And with the Maya's complement of Spartans making up the passengers on one of those birds? They'd certainly have to manage.

"Looking good, Robot!" her pre-flight crew called out to her, "You're all good to launch!"

Giving a thumbs up out the cockpit window, she flicked her comms on, speaking with the rest of her pilots. "Flash your status lights when you're good to go. We need to keep this tight. Prioritize the safety of the Pelicans. Take down fighters, AA if you can, but don't let them split us up or we're all screwed."

The lights flashed one by one within the following minute. Checking in with the Maya's Pelicans, Sasha got the go to launch from them as well. Flicking her comms back on, she uttered one word and gunned her engines out of the hangar.

"Launch."

Rocketing out into the stars beyond, Sasha immediately guided her Broadsword to the front of the formation of Pelicans, Loudmouth pulling in behind her. The remaining fighters of her squadron pulled in to flank the Pelicans assigned to their escort, grouping up to dive for the surface of the planet.

Launching amongst a swarm of missiles and autocannon fire, Sasha found the first few minutes of descent to go quite smoothly. It would be a while yet before they left the point-defense screen of the battlegroup they just departed—keeping the enemy fighters off their asses—and the opposing point-defense was quite soundly overwhelmed. It wasn't until the first licks of plasma splashed along their cockpits that the descending aircraft began to feel the heat.

While the atmosphere protected them from point defense fire, it also did the same for the Imperium fighters. Sasha saw a swarm of enemy fighters swarming up from the surface below, first as red dots on her radar and then purple ones in the sky ahead of her. This was it.

"Weapons open. Reinforce forward shields. Take out as many as you can coming towards us, then peel off to keep them off our tails. Loudmouth and I will punch a hole through the AA."

Her ship rumbled as she launched the missiles from below her Broadsword's wings. Watching a swarm of smoke trails streak through the air in front of her as her fellow pilots did the same, she fired off a second salvo and switched over to her fighter's autocannons. They had pulled much too close for a third salvo to be effective.

Squeezing the trigger, Sasha's vision flared as plasma splashed across her fighter's cockpit and the muzzle flash illuminated to her left and right. The exchange of fire barely lasted a few seconds before she felt her Broadsword rock back and forth as it passed through the turbulent air just moments prior occupied by her enemies, the alien fighters zipping behind her head and fading from sight. Watching her radar, she saw a trio of yellow dots begin falling off the bottom of the screen after them and knew that her pilots were sticking to the plan.

"Alright. Loudmouth, keep it tight. Back to missiles. We need to punch a hole in that AA to drop off these Spartans."

A flash of green acknowledged the command as Sasha, Loudmouth, and the Pelicans leveled out low, screaming across the surface of Iradu just a few hundred meters below, rapidly approaching the capital city in the distance. Holding her breath, Sasha locked on to the nearest anti-aircraft gun she could see, right behind the large palace dominating the city.

"Crap," she thought, "these are the big ones, like back on Reach." A single Mantis could potentially take down a frigate, let alone a few Broadswords and Pelicans, and there were far more than one in front of them. The only thing she had going for her was speed. If they could get in, distract the emplacements long enough to let the Pelicans land below their area of fire, maybe take out one or two, and get out... Maybe they stood a chance? It was the best shot they had.

"Pelicans, we'll guide you in as close as we can get. Blow a hole through the city defenses, clear a path as straight for that palace as possible. You just focus on getting down below the angle of those guns, dropping off your troops, and getting out of there."

"Affirmative Robot, guide us in."

Sasha felt her Broadsword shake once more as the first volley of shots just barely overshot their target, bolts of plasma streaking off into the distance, filling the air behind them. Thumbing the launch on her fighters missiles, she was pleased to see her wingman doing the same, a quad-smoke trail streaking for the nearest two guns, followed up by missile after missile as quickly as possible.

By the time the second plasma salvo launched overhead, two of the Imperium's guns were taken down, and two more were well on the way, but the city was closing fast as well. Tapping her foot on the floor below her, Sasha kept fire shot after shot, keeping tight with Loudmouth, before a flare of light filled her vision and her eyes widened.

The remaining guns got off a third salvo. Banking hard to the left, Sasha managed to avoid being hit, as did Loudmouth and two of the Pelicans behind her, but the third wasn't quite so lucky. Exploding in a shower of sparks and light, the pilot didn't even have time for last words before the remains went raining down on the surface below. "Fuck!"

"Pelicans, get down, drop off, get out! Loudmouth, let's blow a path to the Palace then do the same!"

A trio of acknowledgment lights. Banking her Broadsword back around for the city, Sasha broke the lock on the AA guns and instead focused on walls leading up to the palace. Launching a triple-salvo of missiles, she kept her Broadsword on approach only long enough for the smoke to clear and reveal the rough path they created for the deployed troops. Nodding, she thumbed her comms once again, satisfied with the path they left and reduction in troops she was sure would come with it.

"Let's get out of here! See if they need our help back in orbit."

Pulling up, Sasha checked over her shoulders that the Pelicans were launching once again, and, seeing that they were, pushed back into orbit.

Timothy Emeigh

152: Orbital Drop

1728 Hours, September 1st, 2558 UNSC Lone Star, Iradu Orbit

"Sir, I'm afraid I must advise against this once again. Our men are more than capable-"

"I've made my decision," Samson waved his subordinate away. "ONI's orders were to locate and secure whatever cache of Forerunner technology the Imperium is storing, and I'd bet anything that it's being kept within Toru 'Makhan's palace."

Major Kamil frowned, clearly annoyed, but did not question the Vice Admiral further. Stood around them in the Sahara-class prowler's loading bay were sixty other Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, plucked from the Sixth Fleet's surviving special forces units and Samson's own ONI-aligned troops. Unlike Montak, where they had bolstered friendly troops in the hellish battle of attrition, and Frendhal, where their attempt at an orbital assault had ended in utter failure, these men and women would be a deciding factor in this battle's outcome. Samson put on his helmet, which secured itself to his vacuum-rated body armour with a quiet click before glancing towards Kamil, who stepped forward to address their men.

"Troopers!" the Major barked, acquiring the attention of the entire bay in seconds. "In a few moments, we will be ditching this quiet ride that ONI has so graciously given us and be well on our way to taking the fight right to the Imperium's home. For those of you who've lost buddies in the last week, this is the time for payback!"

Cheers erupted across the loading bay at the Major's energetic speech. Kamil seemed to appreciate the reception, and nodded as he continued.

"Now while our flyboys have cleared us a path through the Imperium's orbital defence grid, they've also left one little orbital station for us to take care of. I won't pretend to understand the science behind it, but that station's our ticket to a free ride down the surface, courtesy of the teleporters those alien bastards have been using against us these last few days. Once we're down there, we should be sitting smack-dab in the middle of the Imperium's capital city, within spitting distance of the big 'ol palace that their warlord built for himself. Since he's not at home right now, we're gonna let ourselves in and make off like bandits with whatever tech the oh-so glorious Imperial Admiral's been hoarding for himself, and a few prisoners to boot. That sound like fun?"

Sixty voices rang out in unison: "Sir yes sir!"

Though he had always been a Navy man, Samson couldn't help but admire the esprit de corps of the ODST's. Anyone who willingly applied to join a group known widely as 'Helljumpers' had to be uncommonly brave or crazy, and these troops were no exception. He wondered for a moment if any of them knew that their disastrous deployment over Frendhal was given on his orders, but none of them had done so much as shoot an angry glance towards the flag officer. If anything, they barely paid any notice to Samson, who for all intents and purposes was to be their escortee on this critical mission.

"That was some speech," Samson said to Kamil, who was making last-second checks on his weapons as his NCO's directed the troopers to their dropships. "You make that up on the spot, or was it prepared?"

Kamil shrugged. "A bit of both, sir. Picked that up from some drill instructors I knew."

"They're enthusiastic, at least."

"Of course they are, sir; they wouldn't be ODST's if they weren't."

There was a sudeen flash of light from behind them, and both men turned to see the Caspian's AI, Weatherby, standing atop a miniature holotank.

"I caught the speech too, just in case you were wondering." He adjusted his gloves with a smirk. "I suppose now wouldn't be a good time to read out casualty projections?"

"No, it wouldn't." Samson said curtly. "How's the rest of you doing?"

"Well enough," Weatherby cocked his head. "Compared to keeping the Caspian's guns firing and plotting both defensive and offensive measures for what's left of the fleet, all of this will be rather easy, provided we aren't shot down before we reach the station."

Though the construct standing before them looked and acted much like the Sixth Fleet's premier Smart AI, the Weatherby accompanying Samson's strike force was actually just a fragment of the powerhouse currently helping to coordinate the embattled warships nearby. Comprised primarily of the main construct's cyberwarfare routines originally designed to deal with Covenant vessels, this Weatherby had been split off for the sole purpose of cracking into the Imperium's systems and most importantly, their slipspace translocation grid. If they were successful, then the ODST's could transport themselves to any linked site on Iradu, completely bypassing the Imperium's anti-air network.

"You sure you're up to this?" Kamil asked the AI. "I'm no expert, but if the Imperium's teleporters are made from Forerunner tech, then won't it be harder to hack?"

Weatherby folded his arms. "If a bunch of self-aggrandising Covenant wannabes can figure it out, then even a little piece of a very smart AI like me can. Anyway, the Covenant always had lousy measures for dealing with enemy intelligences, and I very much doubt that the Imperium has done a great deal to remedy that. Shall we go?"

Convinced, the Major put his helmet on and snapped a rifle to his back. Samson took a hardened metal cylinder from his belt pouch and opened it up before inserting one end into Weatherby's holotank. With a wink, the AI vanished, and the cylinder's exposed core glowed blue for a moment before locking back into place. The Vice Admiral held the armoured matrix - a common means for transporting AI through combat zones - gingerly in both hands, now carrying what could very well be the key to winning this war. After a moment's contemplation and a twinge of doubt, he stored it back on his belt and accompanied Kamil to the dropships.

Unused to the role of mass troop deployment, the Lone Star's hangar bay was filled to the brim with transport craft. Four Owl dropships occupied the prowler's ventral launch hooks, and would be launched first to scout ahead. With their light armament and limited transport capacity of a couple of squads to each, they would carry the first wave of troops towards the seemingly unarmed space station. Their main deployment craft would be a single Condor - a large, well-armed dropship capable of slipspace travel. Once their initial strike force landed it would move in to reinforce the easiest point of entry and offload the remaining troopers, including Kamil and Samson.

"Never been in one of these before," Kamil remarked as his platoon buckled themselves into their crash harnesses.

"I'd imagine you're more used to a drop pod," said Samson. "These things aren't as cheap, anyway."

The Major chuckled. "Good to know that we've been riding down to planets on tin cans made by the lowest bidder, sir."

For such a serious mission, the ODST's were in a surprisingly jovial mood. Samson, on the other hand, had begun to worry. He was no stranger to combat, though heading into battle in the back of a dropship wasn't something he'd ever gotten used to. At least you had a chance to escape if a larger starship was going down, but most troops had to rely on the luck and skill of their pilots.

Feeling every second tick by, Samson felt a sense of relief when their Condor was finally lowered out of the Prowler's hangar bay and its own engines flared to life. The bulky dropship shot ahead the moment it was free of its docking clamps, quickly distancing itself from the half-cloaked ONI vessel. Checking the local map on a nearby viewscreen, Samson watched as the four Owls whizzed ahead, streaking towards the enemy space station's open hangar bays. Aside from disgorging a complement of Seraph fighters shortly after the battle began, it had done nothing to help its allies whatsoever. That was suspicious enough.

"Oscar One-One, disembarking." The voice of one of the ODST NCO's crackled over the COM. "No resistance sighted in the hangar bay."

Another Sergeant chimed in. "Oscar One-Three here, we've got plasma barriers ahead of us but no hostiles."

Kamil tapped the side of his helmet thoughtfully. "Maybe they're not home?"

"Or they know they've not got the numbers to fend off a massed assault. "Samson activated his own COM. "All teams, proceed carefully and secure that station, but try not to damage any of the equipment there."

Soon enough, reports of enemy fighters flooded in from their advance teams and the COM filled with the sounds of gunfire. Several tense minutes ticked by as Samson's Condor drew closer to the station, slowly circling it as the last of their advance teams landed and fought their way towards the control room. Though the Vice Admiral considered ordering his pilot to land so the rest of their strike force could join in the attack, he knew better than to risk everything in case the defenders chose to self-destruct in the face of defeat. Eventually, one of

"This is Oscar One-One, we've secured the station's main control room. Count two KIA among our force and no enemy survivors. They fought to the death, sir."

"Copy that," Samson unshackled himself from his crash harness and stood up. "We're making our approach now."

With a quick signal to the Condor's pilot to move in towards one of the station's free hangars, Samson took a submachine gun from a nearby weapons rack while Major Kamil and the rest of the ODST platoon readied themselves. The bulky dropship was barely able to squeeze itself into one hangar bay, jolting slightly as the pilot lowered his craft onto the deck. A moment after touchdown, the Condor's rear hatch clanked open and the troopers flooded out, rifles at the ready. Samson, flanked by Kamil and another ODST, exited last, and followed the platoon across the corpse-strewn chamber towards the nearest gravity lift.

"Doesn't look like they had much here to fight us with," the Major remarkd, pointing towards a dead Sangheili in the grey garb of an engineer. "Our boys went up against a bunch of techs."

Samson nodded as they stepped into the lift together and rose soundlessly to the deck above. "If the Imperium's best warriors are still with 'Makhan's fleet, then that gives our mission a better chance of success."

A long corridor led Samson and the troopers towards the station's central hub. More dead aliens - all Sangheili - littered the entranceway, close to the smoking remnants of a portable plasma shield generator. Most of the corpses inside had already been shifted by the troopers, while two black-armoured bodies had been laid side-by-side away from the Imperium's dead. Sighting what looked like the command room's primary terminal, Samson unlatched the armoured matrix from his suit and retrieved the chip housing Weatherby's fragment, holding it up to the nearest data slot. The chip flashed white and went dark as a flash of light jumped between devices, and a second later the AI materialised over the terminal.

"That was easy," Weatherby adjusted his gloves, looking left and right. "Give me a moment to get acquainted with these systems, Admiral, and I'll be right back with you."

The AI vanished, and Samson crossed his arms while Kamil quietly ordered a group of his men to move the dead troopers back to the Condor; Samson might have chastised the officer for doing something like this on such an important mission, but he knew better than to do so; Helljumpers cared for their own more than anything, after all. Weatherby appeared again after a few seconds, looking very pleased with himself.

"Good news?" Samson asked.

"About as good as it gets, sir. The Imperium had a few counter-intrusion measures in place, but nothing that could keep out a proper AI. As we thought, this station occupied an important part of the Imperium's local translocation grid, covering most of the planet's northern hemisphere. Those manning it tried to deactivate its systems before we landed and did everything short of actually blowing up the place, but it's nothing that I can't undo in a minute or two."

"So where does this link to? Can it get us to their palace?"

Weatherby clapped his hands, and a hologram of Iradu flashed up next to him. A cobweb of lines stretched out across Iradu, with glowing white lights over major military installations and a dense cluster above its capital city. One in particular shone brighter than the rest.

"It can indeed," Weatherby pointed to the brightest spot. "Of course, you'd usually need a very high level security clearance to get anywhere near the palace, but it just so happens that once again, the Imperium's systems aren't particularly good at keeping me out. The node I've found isn't exactly linked to 'Makhan's personal chamber, but it' in deep enough that it'll get your men past any exterior defences."

This was better than anything Samson could hope for. "Thank you, Weatherby. Is there anything else you can access?"

"Not a great deal aside from their battlenet, though I think they know we're listening in. There's some chatter about Unggoy riots in the city and unrest in the palace itself, but nothing concrete. I think the one smart thing they've done is keep a lot of their systems separate, so one AI in the system can't shut down their entire network."

"Can you get us to the surface, at least?"

"Of course, sir. You'll be wanting the palace, then?"

"That's right," Samson reached into an armoured compartment on his hip and extracted a rectangular metal object, not much bigger than a rifle magazine. "Then our real mission can begin."

Major Kamil, who had been watching the conversation in silence, looked over the device with interest. "What is that, sir?"

"Latest ONI tech," Samson flipped it palm-up, and a holographic display lit up atop its silvery surface. "It's reverse-engineered from old Covenant luminaries, which were used to find Forerunner technology. They spent hundreds of years with just one of these things aboard each ship, and we've miniaturised it in less than a decade."

"Huh," Kamil nodded, half-understanding. "So what, we head in there, loot 'Makhan's treasures and exfil via the teleporter?"

"Partly. Whatever your feelings on Naval Intelligence, Major, we're not just going in to steal from Toru 'Makhan. While we're in his palace, our secondary objective will be to capture members of the Imperium's ruling council, who by our calculations have likely sequestered themselves somewhere safe within the palace. Depending on what we find down there, we should have enough men to secure any important-looking artifacts and a couple of prisoners before translocating back into orbit."

"Tall order, sir," the Major said honestly. "And I imagine that once we've tele- I mean translocated our way off the planet, we'll retreat to the Lone Star and bug out?"

Seeing where this was going, Samson cast his gaze towards the nearest viewport. In the distance, he could make out the distant flashes and explosions of a furious fleet battle. Having heard no word from the rest of the fleet, he had no clue if Admiral Zhi and Rear Admiral Hawkins were winning or not, or the status of the Swords of Sanghelios and the remaining Imperial fleets.

"That will depend entirely on how the battle progresses, Major. For now, we'll carry out our mission and see where it takes us."

The space station's main translocation pad was located two decks above the control room. While Samson had been unsure as to whether or not his strike force would even fit on a single device, these fears were soon abated when he saw the pad, which was wide enough to fit at least four Scorpion tanks abreast. Having left Weatherby's shard in the system to maintain control of the station and transport them back into orbit when the time came, Samson and the others moved into position and readied their weapons, expecting an attack the moment they reached their destination.

"Translocator ready, Admiral," Weatherby spoke over the COM. "Once you're down there it'll be at least a minute before I can fire this thing up again, so if things go south the moment you hit the ground you'll have to hold out for a little while. Ready?"

Samson swallowed, glancing at the eager ODST's all around him. "Ready."

"Okay, activating in three, two, one..."

The translocation pad flared to life, ringing the strike force in glowing bands of brilliant golden light. Samson felt an uncomfortable lurch, and for the briefest of moments everything went black as he vanished from the pad. A heartbeat later, he found himself standing in a vast, high-ceilinged chamber, lined with shining black pillars and rock-carved sculptures. The troopers around him swept their weapons left and right, ready for an ambush that never came. Samson and his men were completely alone.

"That's the hard part out of the way," said Kamil dryly. "Now we have some fun."

The troopers spread out into five-man squads, moving uneasily across the room. Checking his personal TACPAD, which had already begun a scan of the local area, Samson saw that they were several hundred feet underground in what looked like a storage bay or warehouse. Judging by its size, it might have been a vast motor pool for the Imperium's military, now cleared out with the ongoing war. Sighting a pair of doors ahead of them, Samson moved with the group, whipping out the miniaturised luminary as they neared the exit. The display flashed up yet again, and a few seconds later a series of holographic navpoints appeared, all pointing in one direction. The device let out a shrill beeping noise, which in the quiet chamber was amplified tenfold as Samson quickly silenced it.

"All right." He pointed the luminary to the southwest. "Time to move."

As the opening stages of the groundside battle for Iradu began, far away from the well-protected Imperial Palace, Sixty UNSC personnel entered the most secure structure on the planet, leaving its defenders none the wiser.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

153: Bird of Time

September 1st, 2558 CCS-class stealth corvette Hidden Ember, Iradu Orbit

Another glyph flashed and winked from existence like a stone vanishing beneath inky-black waters. Another Imperium ship lost to the void. More glyphs flared urgently across the miniature tactical display, arranging themselves into the whirling battle formations now trading deadly fire across the Iradu system. A holographic ripple effect simulated a plasma storm—all too real for those caught in its fiery embrace—that tore a hole through the oncoming Swords of Sanghelios formation.

Shinsu ‘Refum watched the unfolding battle with a steely gaze. The Imperium was making its heroic last stand, the noble end to be remembered in legend and battle poetry. Many shipmasters saw no finer end than a glorious death in the face of impossible odds. And for every commander who got his wish, thousands of crew died in the cold vacuum of space. The thought of such callow waste filled Shinsu with helpless rage. Once again he watched from the shadows as his people tore themselves apart.

The Imperium of Clarity put up a ferocious defense. With both enemy and friendly ships flashing into the system the battle was less of an organized engagement than a series of desperate close-quarters broadsides. Local commanders did all they could to keep their ships in the fight. The battle for Iradu would be the bloodiest in this short, bloody war.

And in the end, it didn’t matter. Toru ‘Makhan was outgunned, his power base slipping out from under him. He’d underestimated the Swords of Sanghelios and their dedication to their human enablers. His loyal warriors might triumph in an engagement here or a skirmish there, but the enemy would simply keep on coming. And in the end it simply amounted to more valiant warriors dead and more irreplaceable warships lost. Yet another page in the long history of Sanghelios’s waning glory.

Shinsu could not watch this bloodbath. Another moment might force him to reckon with his own role in his people’s degradation. He turned from the holotable and instead focused on the preparations rushing to completion on the hangar deck below.

I have my own sins to bear. But my days of skulking in the shadows are coming to an end.

Umbra ‘Vesic awaited him on the hangar’s uppermost platform. The shipmaster folded his arms as the ship’s Phantoms—cloaked special operations models like the one Shinsu’s guard team used in the Bineb system—readied for launch. “This is a mistake,” Umbra grated. “Toru ‘Makhan is finished. Even he realizes that. He will not return to this doomed world. We should follow his example and flee while our losses remain light.”

“You underestimate ‘Makhan. His fleet will return. His pride and honor will not allow otherwise. Even if he were to turn tail, such a display would sully his name forever. His warriors would desert him in a heartbeat.”

“The supreme leader’s virtue aside, the war is over. This mission was an utter waste. The Imperium mocked our overtures from the very beginning. I would have us leave while our losses still amount to some Kru’desh peons and Grono ‘Yendam’s thugs.” Umbra gestured to the warriors assembling in the hangar. “These are the best the Covenant has to offer. The best we have trained. I would not waste them on a lost battle. Your foolhardiness in this matter surprises me.”

Umbra couldn’t hide a flinch as the words left his mandibles. Shinsu gave his adjutant an appraising look. Such insubordination was anathema among the Sangheili—some commanders might have cut Umbra down where he stood over his remarks. For the scion of a proud noble family Umbra was sometimes as blunt and unmannered as the basest Jiralhanae.

But such indelicacy made Umbra an invaluable lieutenant. It was rare and valuable to find a warrior unafraid to speak his mind—even when he was incorrect. Umbra had been at Shinsu’s side since the beginning. He knew just how far to push things and just where to cut himself short.

“I do not waste lives,” Shinsu said sternly. “Certainly not these lives. But you are right about the Imperium. They said our Covenant was weak. They mocked Jul ‘Mdama’s aid. But those who survive this battle will remember who held the line at the bitter end. Stray and Grono ‘Yendam have made the enemy pay in blood for every gain. Now it is our turn.”

A kai’d of Sangheili waited on the hangar deck. They wore the dark armor of Covenant special operations, their faces concealed beneath narrow helmets. Each warrior sported a panoply of deadly weaponry: long-ranged beam rifles and carbines, plasma repeaters and fuel rod guns. A few officers even wielded Forerunner hardlight weapons procured from the prizes Shinsu’s warriors had secured from Jul ‘Mdama on Requiem.

These were Shinsu ‘Refum’s warriors. The new breed of Sangheili forged through blood and fire. Each warrior was hand-picked from the Covenant’s ranks, chosen for skill and turned from the Jul ‘Mdama’s faltering cause to fight for a true future. No, Shinsu would not dream of wasting them on some paltry display. He raised a hand and the kai’d snapped to attention.

“You all know why we are here!” Shinsu called to his warriors. “The battle for Iradu rages as we speak! The enemy cannot detect this ship. We are safe within its walls. That safety demeans us all!”

The warriors growled in approval.

“Even now, the Imperium’s capital languishes under siege. Its fleet is scattered, its best warriors are far from here. Our enemy believes they have achieved a strategic masterstroke. They think their invading armies march unopposed. But they have not reckoned with us. They have not reckoned with the Cleansing Blade!”

Shinsu extended a finger toward the hangar doors and the glistening space beyond. “They mocked our Covenant. They said our warriors were weak, our cause lost. The lowliest among us have spent this war proving them wrong. Grono ‘Yendam’s raiders and Stray’s Kru’desh outcasts have covered themselves in glory. Now it is your turn. We will defend Toru ‘Makhan’s capital in his absence. We will show our enemies and the whole galaxy our might.”

He drew his energy sword. Its red blade glistened in the hangar’s dim light. “Come with me and hold this city!”

The kai’d howled in approval. Their officers barked commands and the warriors rushed to board the Phantoms. Shinsu stepped away from the platform and returned the sword to his belt. His throat itched—such displays of bravado were not in his nature. He preferred to leave the shouted declarations to his officers. But sometimes aloof grace was not enough. His warriors needed to know just who was leading them.

Umbra waited for him at the tactical display. The shipmaster’s eye flashed with suppressed amusement. He knew how much grandiose pronouncements irked his commander. Fortunately for him he was wise enough not to mention it.

“You will not object if I demean myself by remaining within the safety of this ship?” Umbra noted. “Someone needs to keep it intact for our inevitable retreat.”

“I would not dream of risking your life down there,” Shinsu said evenly. “Some warriors have a talent for the frontlines. Your value lies elsewhere.”

“A fact for which I thank my ancestors every day.”

Shinsu’s guard squadron awaited him by the lead Phantom. The dropships rumbled to life, plasma engines flaring with suppressed power. Time to put violence behind his grand words.

“Dispatch a communications buoy at your first opportunity,” Shinsu ordered. “When Grono ‘Yendam and Stray arrive in the system they will be tempted to join the naval battle. Instead they will bring their ships to reinforce me on the surface.”

“Is that truly the best—” Umbra cut his his instinctive naysaying short. “As you wish, commander.”

Shinsu nodded and strode down to meet his squadron. Grono ‘Yendam and Stray were not the first allies he would choose to join him in a last stand. But they were the warriors at hand, and something told Shinsu he would have use of them both in the future. They had all come to this war together. One way or another they would leave it together as well.

A dozen Phantoms soared from the Hidden Ember’s hangar, plunging through Iradu’s atmosphere with their deadly cargo in tow. This war would be over soon. Shinsu ‘Refum was determined to mark its final chapter in blood.

Actene: Heaven and Earth

154: Brothers

1747 Hours, September 1st, 2558 CCS-class battlecruiser New Way, Voden System

To Zetal 'Hudon, the battle unfolding before him was nothing short of beautiful. The struggle over Vandun, Iradu's moon, had descended into a chaotic mess of duelling warships and embattled fighter squadrons as the Imperium's failed pincer movement crumpled against the newly-arrived wedge of human ships. The sights of burning craft being torn apart and flares of light erupting across the viewscreen exhilarated Zetal, who had never felt more alive than today. Perhaps it was the sight of Iradu - their home - just beyond the enemy's ragged battle lines that drove him to work harder than ever, or the thrill of uncertainty involved in such a close-fought engagement that drove him now.

"Shape up our right flank!" Zetal made a cutting motion with one hand as he glanced towards the holoscreen. "And intensify firepower towards Vandun's orbital stations, they're using them for cover!"

While his subordinates rushed to relay these orders, the ghostly figure to the Fleet Master's left showed little in the way of excitement. Zetal's brother by blood, Nor, was not an easy man to read, but Zetal could sense some trepidation from his closest ally.

"The humans aren't wavering," Nor said at last, his hologram flickering slightly. "They're hardier than we expected."

Zetal grunted in agreement. These foes were a far cry from the pathetic whelps that the Covenant had pursued across the stars, earning only meagre victories through dubious means as their worlds were burned away. He had never thought much of humanity, though their recent actions had certainly earned his respect. The human battle line, diminished though it was after the 'Hudon brothers' initial storm of plasma fire, still blocked the quickest way to Iradu, leaving gaps for only a few small craft lucky enough to slip by and aid their besieged homeworld.

"As long as Kan 'Larom holds the palace, the capital will stand." Zetal said this more for his crew than his brother.

Nor folded his arms. "Indeed. Even with a diminished force, 'Larom will make them fight for every step they take."

Truthfully, Zetal and Nor doubted their fellow Fleet Master. Kan 'Larom was superb when it came to organising supply lines and concocting impressive battle plans, but he seemed ill-suited to a quickly-changing battlefield and had been defeated twice in the past few days. His swift return to Iradu had allowed the planet to muster a defence force in time, but he simply lacked the forces necessary to hold out in a protracted siege. Their foe had already demolished a large part of Iradu's defence network, and news of an enemy incursion into the capital city itself had arrived not long ago.

Steering his thoughts away from their homeworld, Zetal turned his attention towards whittling down the enemy. The New Way's plasma cannons continued to fire, pumping out a pair of searing energy bolts every few seconds. The debris field over Vandun had granted the humans a brief reprieve from his fleet's firepower, but a few more minutes of bombardment would tear away these defences and leave their flagship exposed.

"Fleet Master!" called a nearby officer. "A warning from Fleet Master 'Deris: The Swords of Sanghelios have moved to attack speed, and are aiming for our rear line!"

A series of warnings flashed over the nearby holotank, which currently displayed a local map of the Voden system. Sure enough, the Swords had organised what remained of their fleet into a single wedge, likely hoping to smash Nor and Zetal's combined fleets apart in a single charge. Zetal had hoped that either the Imperial Admiral or Lora 'Deris would cut them off before they got anywhere near his ships, but judging by their current speeds that would not be the case; at best, they would shear a few warships off the Swords' left flank.

"This is quite a dilemma," muttered Nor. "We may have to press forward and break through human lines sooner than expected, though our casualties would be severe."

Though he knew his brother was right, Zetal felt uneasy. "Even if a breakthrough were possible, what then? We could make for Iradu and rally our forces there."

"We could." Nor paused for a moment, tapping two fingers against one of his vambraces, as he often did while thinking. "Or we could combine our forces into a single formation as we break our foe's battle line and accelerate around Vandun to meet the Swords head-on."

"...and if we meet their depleted flank, we could achieve a second breakthrough, decimating their forces!"

This was not the first time that Zetal had finished his brother's thoughts. Even without Nor's holographic presence, it was likely that the two of them would have come to the same conclusion. With a few barked orders, Zetal's ships began to move, adjusting their course as Nor's did the same further along their battle line. Though the humans still possessed a considerable amount of firepower, a massed assault on a cluster of important vessels close to Iradu's moon would be more than enough to shatter both their defensive formation and their resolve, leaving whatever remained of their fleet confused and panicking long enough for Nor and Zetal to fend off the Swords. All they required after that was a successful assault by the friendly cruisers currently charging their foe's flank and the day would be theirs.

"All ships," Zetal addressed their combined fleets over the local battlenet. "Charge torpedoes and prepare to advance!"

As their warships began to move, the distant human fleet realised that something was up, prompting a fusillade of missiles and cannon fire. Most were easily destroyed by pinpoint pulse laser fire, with only one unlucky corvette taking a direct hit and disintegrating into a ball of flame. Zetal's mandibles shook with amusement; the humans had chosen the wrong moment to fire, and would pay dearly for it. Looking over at his sibling, the Fleet Master nodded.

"Forward!" Nor yelled, waving their entire battle line ahead with a single gesture.

As one, the 'Hudon fleet unleashed its deadly barrage, showering the cowering enemy ships with a swarm of torpedoes. The wrecked ships and abandoned stations their craft hit behind vanished in moments, sending white-hot debris back towards the humans before they could adjust course. Moments later, the second wave of torpedoes were launched, only to be met with a withering hail of fire. Many projectiles were struck mid-flight by the enemy cannons, detonating in bursts of purple-tinged light before dissipating into nothingness. Those that found their mark made short work of the human ships, boiling through armoured hulls and blasting armoured warships apart as they struck reactors and munitions decks.

The losses were not entirely human; a staggered burst of targeted MAC fire tore holes through several of Zetal's lead cruisers, while many others found their shields hammered into uselessness by concentrated missile strikes, leaving them open to armour-piercing rounds that tore through weakened nanolaminate plating. One round grazed the New Way, rocking the battlecruiser slightly. The Fleet Master kept his footing as the deck rumbled beneath his feet, focused only on their relentless advance towards Vandun. As expected, several of the human ships changed course immediately, falling back towards the besieged Iradu or forming defensive clusters around their flagships. Though they would not completely exterminate the invaders as their fleets merged into a speartip of pure destruction, Zetal was sure that the survivors would give them no trouble as they wheeled round to face the Swords of Sanghelios. Victory seemed assured.

"Wait, brother!" Nor exclaimed suddenly. "The humans, they have-"

Nor's hologram dissipated, leaving his sibling alone on his command platform. Zetal froze, staring blankly at the bridge's forward viewscreen as a warship at the head of their formation vanished into a fiery conflagration, spewing burnt debris in all directions. It was the Starlight.

***

When the Imperium's fleets suddenly broke from their offensive battle lines and began a mad dash towards the Sixth Fleet, few among its officers knew exactly what to do. Faced with a concentrated hail of plasma torpedos and lancing beams of energy from a formation designed to break through their lines at any cost, most surviving UNSC vessels simply backed away and continued loosing missiles and MAC rounds towards the Sangheili vessels, hoping to whittle them down in time. When after a few seconds it became clear that they were aiming not for the centre of the Sixth Fleet's ranks and Iradu, but for its moon, Admiral Lin Zhi gave the order for the remnants of Battlegroup Maya to break off from the attack and blend in with the wrecked starships and space stations in orbit, allowing the Imperial ships to close the distance unmolested.

Ultimately it was the UNSC Auld Lang Syne, a Poseidon-class light carrier that had served as the backbone of Admiral Hawkins' detachment, that landed the devastating blow. The Imperium's ships, confident after easily brushing aside the bulk of the Sixth Fleet, continued to accelerate, unaware of the cluster of warships holding position in the debris field. With their shields already wavering after weathering the gauntlet of cannon fire, all it took was a quick strike to disintegrate the tip of their formation. The Auld Lang Syne fired its MAC gun towards the nearest CCS-class battlecruiser seconds after the impact of a missile strike, and by sheer good luck tore right through the flagship. Travelling through the bridge at high-velocity, the metal slug utterly obliterated the Starlight's bridge in an instant, taking Fleet Master Nor 'Hudon with it.

Though the crew of the Auld Lang Syne did not know it yet, their actions had likely saved both the Sixth Fleet and its allies from complete destruction, having caused another irreplaceable loss for the Imperium of Clarity.

***

The howl that sounded through the New Way's bridge was enough to set even the bravest warrior on edge. Zetal 'Hudon's entire body shook with rage and sorrow as he watched his brother's prized vessel torn apart, leaving out even the faintest possibility for survivors. Several members of Zetal's bridge staff exchanged glances as the Fleet Master said nothing, wary of what their commander would do next. One enterprising officer quietly transferred command of Nor's remaining vessels to the New Way, saving their united fleet from falling into disarray. When Zetal finally spoke, it was in a low growl. Even so, the silence on the bridge was so absolute that all present heard him.

"Adjust course and make for Vandun. We're going to kill them all."

His orders were transmitted, though not all were well-received. Several Shipmasters, all formerly under Nor's command, questioned the wisdom of Zetal's command. They were ignored. Having reached the moon's orbit, the Imperial ships dove into the field of debris surrounding it, intent on hunting down those responsible for Nor's death. A few frigates attempted to drag their cruisers into killzones, only to be overwhelmed by the reckless abandon of the enraged Imperial shipmasters. Those few commanders who disagreed with Zetal held their ships back, and were able to catch several human vessels fleeing the Fleet Master's wrath.

Though they had quickly regrouped and were ready to mass their firepower against the depleted 'Hudon fleet, the human Sixth Fleet found itself foiled by the same field of wreckage it had just used as cover against the Imperium. Fearful of striking their own ships, they held back, taking potshots at any enemy cruisers too slow to move into cover as their comrades attempted to retreat towards them. In spite of the Imperium's best efforts, the Auld Lang Syne emerged unscathed from this brutal engagement, blowing its way past an errant cruiser as it moved to regroup with the rest of its fleet. Others were not so lucky, and though Zetal 'Hudon regained his senses quickly enough to partly rescind his prior command and move his vessels to a safer location on Vandun's other side, the UNSC Maya found itself perilously close to the New Way as it too attempted to withdraw.

"Another craft below us!" bellowed a gunnery officer as their battlecruiser lasered its way past antother chunk of wreckage. "Fleet Master?"

Zetal, whose shock-induced anger had only faded enough to regain his tactical senses, made a chopping motion towards the officer. "Fire at will."

The New Way's ventral pulse lasers lit up one by one, sending forth half a dozen lances of energy aimed at the distant Vindication-class battleship. Though the warship lurched to one side in desperation, barely avoiding the worst of the battlecruiser's attack, it was soon speared through thrice. The human flagship's engines sputtered for a moment, letting out gouts of flame as they gradually lost power from a direct hit. Elsewhere, sections of Titanium-A armour broke free and span away into the void as burnt-through deckplate began to crumple and fall apart. Zetal 'Hudon did not linger to watch the enemy vessel's death throes, though had he known that it was the same ship that had broken the Imperium in the Bineb system, he might have finished off the Maya personally.

"Have our- the fleet - form up once we're clear of the debris field," Zetal 'Hudon commanded his nearest subordinate. "We have lost too much for another frontal assault, so retreat is our only option."

This generated a low murmur among the battlecruiser's bridge staff. Toru 'Makhan had ordered them to pursue and destroy the enemy racing towards Iradu, and would not be pleased with Zetal's failure. Though none dared question Zetal for fear of re-igniting his fury, it was clear for many to see that the Fleet Master so famous for his courage and precise fleet maneuvers had already diminished somewhat. The elder 'Hudon sibling had lost the one closest to him so quickly, so casually in battle, that only duty and the immediate threat of death had pushed him beyond grief and into a state where cold logic ruled and survival mattered above all else. As the ship slowed to await its comrades, a chime sounded from one of the bridge consoles.

"Transmission request from the Imperial Admiral," an officer spoke up, looking towards Zetal. "Sending it through."

Toru 'Makhan, immaculate in his gold-white armour, appeared before the Fleet Master on the very spot that Nor had vanished with both hands clasped behind his back. Zetal did not kneel or even bow, and acknowledged his leader with a nod.

"I was just informed of the Starlight's destruction," Toru said softly. "And of the battle situation. I am sorry for your loss, Fleet Master."

Zetal could barely look his superior in the eye. "We made a mistake and paid for it, Imperial Admiral. But I can still fight."

"Not with a force as depleted as yours. Remain out of conflict until my ships reach you, then join Lora 'Deris's fleet."

"What?!" Zetal exclaimed, taking a step towards Toru. "We are not yet broken; with another attack we could break through to Iradu!"

"No," Toru shook his head. "You will be picked apart and destroyed by the humans or overrun by the Swords of Sanghelios. Be glad that they have deigned to ignore your ships for now."

Looking towards the nearby holotank, Zetal saw that the Swords' fleet had changed its trajectory, and was on a straight path towards the human fleet and Iradu itself. It was likely that they sought to invade and take the planet before Toru 'Makhan's ships could catch up, making up for their costly mistake on Frendhal by actually securing the planet. As expected, Fleet Master 'Deris had hit the Swords' left flank with his scouting ships, though they had done little to slow their foes down. 'Makhan's own fleet had spread out into a wide formation, with several ship clusters advancing to cut off any potential avenues of escape for their foe while the Imperial Admiral's supercarrier, Watchful Custodian, kept their foe running with sheer firepower.

Zetal exhaled slowly. "I will do as commanded, but I beg you, do not hold me back if we are forced to besiege Iradu itself. I lost a brother today, and that demands a heavy price in blood from our enemies."

"We shall see, Fleet Master. Await my arrival."

Toru's hologram vanished. Silence fell over the bridge for nearly a minute before Zetal slumped into his command chair with an exhausted sigh. Such an action would usually be viewed as both unprofessional and a sign of weakness, but the Fleet Master was beyond caring at this point. For the moment, they were safe.

"Do as the Imperial Admiral commands for now," Zetal said, making no effort to disguise the bitterness in his voice. "Reform the fleet, and prepare for re-engagement when ready. We'll scour this filth from our system before the day is out."

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

155: Day of Reckoning

September 1st, 2558 Type-56 Lich, Iradu Orbit

Grono 'Yendam's flotilla of Lich gunboats, carrying the last remnants of the once great Zog'fee Imperial Legion, exited slipspace near the Imperium capital of Iradu.

"Hail to any Imperial forces guarding the planet if it still stands!" Grono bellowed, his feet causing the slightest of tremors in the metal floor of the Lich as he stomped over to the pilot.

"Negative, Field Master," the Ranger pilot replied, "They ignore us as if we were fleas! The Imperium is scattered, and multiple enemy ships are in the vicinity!"

'Yendam felt a tingling in his left wrist right where it connected to his prosthetic hand. He ignored it and instead tapped a button on a screen attached to the wrist, opening up a COM channel to Commander Rach 'Iltuk.

"Commander, be prepared for naval command of your gunboat," the Field Master advised.

Rach said, "of course, Field Master. My wounds have healed and while I yearn for more combat, naval warfare shall do."

Grono turned back to his pilot and said, "send the order to the flotilla to engage the nearest enemies, then-"

"Wait a moment," the Ranger interjected, cutting Grono off. While the Field Master usually did not allow one to cut off a direct command of his, the situation allowed for it. "I have picked up a com buoy from Special Operations Commander Shinsu 'Refum!"

So the Commander has already joined the rough housing. Grono flexed his artifical left hand, feeling the cold metal beneath his membrane curl and unfurl as he did so. Luckily, it was able to alleviate the itch coming from his wrist. "And what of it, pilot?"

"The Ops Commander has gone to the surface with his men, and wishes for us to join him! The message is directed towards both us and the Kru'desh Raiding Legion!"

"Wait a moment," Rach cut in, his hesitation notable even on the COM, "Is it so wise as to head to the surface, where we might be flayed from orbit? Why trust Shinsu 'Refum of all Sangheili and risk death down on the surface when we can easily earn our glory in space?"

Grono laughed at the turn of events. Such a thing was out of character for him, but Shinsu's surprising journey to the surface coupled with Rach going back on his hunger for infantry combat was something worth giving a chuckle to.

"Commander 'Iltuk, did you not just say that you wished to join the battle on the ground?"

"No, my lord!" Rach quickly corrected himself, "I simply meant that following a shady dealer such as 'Refum with no prior knowledge should be a concern!"

"If one such as Shinsu, who is content to watch a battle from the bridge of a cruiser would go down to the surface, then we have nothing to fear!" Grono proclaimed. Nearby warriors lifted their weapons and cheered in agreement.

"We may be weaker than we once were, the Demons of Fireteam Caliber may have cut down many of our brothers, but we are still the Zog'fee, the Imperial Legion! We had glory in the Covenant Empire, we had glory under Jul 'Mdama, and we shall have glory once more under Jul 'Mdama!"

Grono raised Varmint's Nail and activated it, spewing twin blades of green forth from the hilt. Those of his Sangheili who had their own energy swords followed suit, and his Unggoy raised their fists in mimicry.

"Our gunboats may be pushovers up here, but down on the surface they shall raze any who are foolish enough to land on Iradu into dust! While our pilots rain death from above, I shall lead you into battle alongside Shinsu and his men, and we shall prove once again that we have earned the title of the Imperial Legion!"

The Covenant file in the Lich roared in pride a final time, and Grono put a hand on the pilot's shoulder. Leaning in closely, he whispered, "Have the Kru'desh arrived yet?"

"No, Field Master 'Yendam," the Ranger softly spoke, "Is there anything I should tell them when they do arrive?"

I beat those raiders here, Grono mused. "No, pilot. Not at all."

The Ranger nodded, and eased the Lich towards the surface. As the planet grew nearer, one of the other Lich pilots in Grono's COM array roared in anger.

"Cursed humans! Be gone!"

Grono glanced outside his Lich, where he saw another of the flotilla's gunboats trailing smoke and shaking in stark contrast to the smooth descent of the other craft.

"What is it?" Grono demanded, jogging to one of the openings of the Lich to get a better view.

"Human fighters, Field Master! They damaged one of my engines!"

The Lich pulled back, and several human fighters came into view. Grono couldn't identify their class, as he had never bothered with versing himself in the depths of human vehicles, but he could tell that they were much smaller in comparison to the Lich. The flotilla began to break formation as the fighters weaved through, but Grono could not let that happen.

"Pilots!" he barked, "back into formation! Any who can shall focus their guns on those ships! Commander 'Iltuk, sound off!"

The nearest Lich fired a burst from its beam cannon in response, just as Grono had instructed his flotilla to do in situations similar to these. "Excellent, Commander. Fire all you have at the closest fighter."

The Lich released a flurry of plasma from both its turrets and beam cannon, but the fighter swerved upwards to avoid them. The beam cannon missed it entirely, and only a few plasma bolts managed to graze the spacecraft's hull.

The three remaining fighters broke off and rallied around one of the Liches at the edge of the flotilla. Unfortunately for those humans, the gunboats were now aware of their intentions, and the outermost Lich sprayed its beam at one of the fighters, slicing right through its right wing. The ship spiraled out of control and fell out of the cluster, headed towards a grim fate. The fighter harassing Rach's Lich fired off a barrage of missiles, flying to another side of the gunboat to avoid the resulting explosions that rocked it.

"Nishum!" Rach cursed over the COM, "Our weaponry cannot seem to hit this maggot's junk heap!"

Grono watched as the two fighters near the edge of the flotilla weaved through more gunfire, making their way to the front of the assembled ships while the plasma shots bounced off of the Liches' hulls. With the way they're avoiding our fire, at this rate we'll tear ourselves apart and do the worms' jobs for them, Grono realized.

"All Liches, cease fire!" the Field Master roared into his COM. After the barrage stopped, Grono directed to Rach. "Commander, if that fighter can avoid your projectiles, hit them with something to big for them to avoid."

"You couldn't possibly mean-"

"Yes, I mean it," Grono uttered, "plow through the Nishum."

"As you wish, 'Yendam."

Grono braced himself against a bulkhead as the two fighters near the front of the flotilla emptied their machine guns into his Lich. He looked to his side as Rach's Lich sped in the direction of the human fighter ship, giving it no time to boost out of the way. The Lich's shields shimmered as they took damage, but the smooth, pearlescent hull beneath remained untouched. The human ship burst apart into a floating mess of crushed metal, and Grono's distance provided him no view of the pilot.

"Very clever, Field Master!" Rach complimented on the COM, impressed, "do you wish for me to ram the others as well?"

'Yendam glanced to one of the two fighters slightly in front of the Lich. "No."

Grono grabbed the plasma turret next to him in the opening and knelt down as he lined up the enemy fighter craft with his gun. "All Liches, fall back. I shall deal with these imps myself."

The Field Master pulled the trigger, letting loose an unending stream of plasma bolts from his turret. While Grono wasn't one for accuracy, let alone long range combat, the fighter had been caught off guard, most likely because he order the other plasma fire to stop a minute ago. His fire tore through a wing, causing the human flyer to list away from the Lich, turning its back to it. That was the fatal mistake. Grono smiled at the ease of the task and continued firing, this time aiming at the revealed engines. The plasma entered the vents, and the rear half of the ship burst into flames before completely exploding. The fighter ship's cockpit careened out of sight, and Grono turned his attention to the final member of the squadron.

This ship was much more wary, focusing its attention on 'Yendam's gunboat now that the rest of the flotilla had fallen back. It began to retreat, the pilot seeing that the rest of their comrades had fallen. Grono wouldn't let that happen. He aimed a burst of plasma at the cockpit, causing the glass to crack. The Field Master continued firing, and the glass eventually shattered, launching the pilot out of the ship as it flew off into space, unguided. Grono halted his fire, sparing one plasma bolt to put into the pilot to make sure he had done right.

"Impressive, Field Master!" Rach said, as the other gunboats pulled back into formation.

Grono stood and directed a nearby Unggoy Imperial to man the turret, before motioning for two more Unggoy and a Sangheili Storm to man the remaining turrets.

"They numbered only four, 'Iltuk. We shall encounter far greater enemies down below, both in strength and number."

The flotilla entered Iradu's atmosphere, passing a retreating group of Imperial craft. No hail was given, from either side. There were much more important things to be done, and both Grono 'Yendam and Rach 'Iltuk knew that as the Lich gunboats descended to meet Shinsu 'Refum on the field of battle.

UnggoyZealot

156: The Final Stretch

It wasn't hard to feel as if this was to be their conflict with the Imperium of Clarity. But for what most military forces that felt a mix of levity and creeping horror, Team Boson prepared in general silence. Quiet words traded in a secluded preparatory space rather than a mix of the usual verbal jabbing from Andra, icy retorts from Shizuko, and the odd placating comment from Merlin.

Well, describing such actions as the usual was probably inaccurate. Who was the team: Andra, Shizuko, Merlin? This wasn't Team Boson, even as they wore the name of the unit that once belonged to Daniele-D003.

A year ago, what had Team Boson been? Daniele-D003, a quiet but straight team leader with depths of talent. Roxanne-D107, the carefree girl who took to medical and piloting as much as warfighting because she liked to keep people guessing. Zachariah-D111, the grumpy but sharp little brother of the team so fascinated by all kinds of weapons, alien tech, and apparently - girls.

Among them had been Merlin-D032, the second-in-command in-name-only, and the verbal punching bag. Lover of maps and books. Andra-D054, the icy sniper who hooked her claws into Merlin after being swamped by the struggles of Spartan training.

And Shizuko-D081? Who was she?

How did these Spartans look on her? The non-present three were off somewhere in the galaxy following their own destinies. At least two would someday involve Shizuko putting a bullet through their skulls if the universe turned merciful. The youngest one didn't get talked about, not to her. Zach abandoned his friends but he remained loyal to his nation. At least loyalty still had its place compared to deserters.

The other two she spent a month with fight a war, sleeping in foxholes, nuking an alien city - what did they think of her? Their silence, their unremarkable statements - they spoke of people who gave up on another.

Who was Shizuko-D081?

The leader, former leader of a team named Spartan Team Entropy. Like their name, they burned bright. Then they were crushed on one terrible night. Her entire team wiped out.

Shizuko-D081 was the lonely girl who watched others as they carried on with their lives. The girl who lost her brother in the time she took her eye off of him. The girl who lost all her friends in one terrible mission. The girl who demanded her handlers put on ice to keep the dreams at bay.

The broken Headhunter left to devices only meant for killing the enemies of her nation. She was just a weapon now.

It came to Shizuko in dawning horror, that these strangers that shared the ready room with her, had given up trying to break through her exterior.

After surviving together against the greatest, single killer of SPARTAN-IIIs, after surviving through a nuclear explosion, after getting Frendsen's Smart AI back, after surviving more than one near-death experience. This is what it amounted to. Silence.

Nothing lost, nothing gained.

Certainly not a friendship, but not even a sense of comradery. Shizuko couldn't help feeling melancholy. She wanted what Andra and Merlin had. She wanted their friendship, their unity. But even still, she told herself this was how it had to be. She didn't earn it, she never would again.

Not after Entropy. Never again. How could anyone trust a girl who got her team killed, crushed under a million-ton starship wreck?

Still, as much as she did or did not want to wallow in her pain. The pain that belonged only to her. Shizuko was the acting leader, the babysitter for these two Spartans she once called bunkmates. And according to those above them, troublemakers.

They had a mission. Right, a mission. The final mission probably.

Orders came down, from the Admiral. From the Prowler Corps's top officer. From the rear admiral who ran this very vessel. From the Caspian to the Maya, "we want Spartan boots on the ground now."

So here they were. Behind the mark, gearing for an assault that came with no intelligence. No real battle plan. Just an all-out assault.

Shizuko counted her luck. Every piece of weaponry, something under her control and easy to manipulate. She was going in for the kill, just as she always did. She needed to psyche up. Human weapon. Headhunter. Destroyer.

Shizuko would kill them all. Sure, there were objectives and targets to restrain - but everything else was a free-range target.

She'd kill them all.

Overhead, a mild intercom announced a new development. "Stallion, Boson - Priority Alpha. Make way to hangar bay now. Pelican transport away to UNSC Grand National is prepped. Spartan assault in twenty mikes."

That was the bell. Time to fight.

Shizuko watched Merlin scramble for his helmet left on a nearby bench. Andra was already making her way towards the door, her armored body clinking with firearms and explosives bandoliered across her form.

Shizuko took up the rear as Merlin gave chase. His sideways glance at Shizuko before the helmet went on gave her pause but her footsteps never fell short. He didn't catch her hesitation, she was certain of it.

Shizuko tapped down on her weapons one by one as they passed through the adjacent hallway to the Maya's main hangar. MA5K carbine. M739 squad automatic weapon. Drum and square mags magnetically locked in place on her form. Grenades ringed around her waist. A salvaged Covenant fuel rod cannon strapped to her back. She tapped her unicorn-like helmet horn for good measure.

FOTUS armor had its absurd features but it was also proven, pragmatic. The sneaking suspicion that it involved salvaged Promethean Knight parts was something that always fascinated her to some degree. It bothered her a little but the armor she now used had proven its use, she felt at home in it. Far from the legacy GEN1 suits she briefly used - when she still had her own team.

Callum-B042 called from across the hangar as the Boson trio approached the waiting Pelican. "Come on, Boson! We're on the clock."

The child-soldiers didn't respond, only increasing their pace as they piled into the Pelican dropship's crew bay.

The Stallion team leader continued, explaining the details of the final mission ahead of the Spartans. "We're joining the mixed Spartan force from the frigate Grand National in the ground game. We'll be first boots on the ground and at the center of the fight so prepare for a rough time. Sub-orbital fire support from the Grand National will be on-scene and the Maya's combat wing is already beginning defense clear-out ops. We'll take the palace perimeter, trapping the Imperium civilian leadership within and keep their defense forces at bay. After, ONI Security for the palace's interior depending on how holding the palace will go. Any questions you have, ask them now."

Callum gestured to the HUD clock on everyone's helmets. "We're cutting it close on the pre-operation so we better get this done."

As the Pelican shot off into the darkness of space peppered by lights of war, Shizuko watched the impersonal visors of her teammates.

Merlin was stiff as a statue. Andra's hands gripped hard on her SRS99 sniper rifle. Their visors revealed nothing of what they were dealing with. If there were any other subtle ques between them, she couldn't read them. She wasn't close enough with them for that.

To think, she convinced Andra to finally get her concussion looked at by the medics on the Maya hours before and Merlin had been receptive to Shizuko's suggestion of go under cryostasis until the next fight began. They'd been quiet but they followed her suggestions. Like subordinates under a leader. But not like one friend to another.

This was the final stretch. But she couldn't say she was going in with friends, could she?

* * *

By the time they touched down, Shizuko had little time to worry about the difference between teammates and friends. She was already busy enough keeping her head down as plasma fire crossed the air and the Pelican ramp came down.

With some frustration, she felt she didn't come prepared for a fight of this scale. Urban. High rises. Purple and silver towers rising into the sky as metallic debris littered the streets. Covenant-like forces sprinted forward, bounding between the makeshift cover and meeting the Spartans on the battlefield as equals.

Of course, she brought everything she needed but a sensation of needing 'more' could not be shaken. It still felt off as her boots transitioned from the familiar metal of a human gunship to the alien surfaces that these aliens walked upon every day. She was a junior Headhunter, a fresh face for the UNSC's elite assassination SPARTAN-III corps, and yet being caught up in an actual war rather than being behind enemy lines brought a very different sensation.

At least with previous missions, she deployed to familiar locations and against enemy invaders. She felt at home with anywhere that was undeniably 'human', this place was not such in any form.

Andra was screaming in her and everyone else's ear as the first Spartan off the Pelican as she called out the priority threats where she saw them. "Four Elites! One Major, four Ultra equivalents! Approaching from the twelve-direction on the right beneath the downed sky bridge!"

Shizuko ducked under the imposing form of Callum-B042 and dashed to the right to cut off the rushing Sangheili warriors. Reliant on their overclocked energy shielding, the Sangheili/Elites left their Unggoy subordinates in the dust, or rather the mass of stray plasma pistol shots crossing through the open space left by a Grand National-born precision missile strike at Callum's request.

Her SAW coughed like a tank-gun and lazed the approaching enemies with tracer-fire as she held down the trigger and fired from the hip. The Elites acted on instinct, descending for cover and trading fire back with concussion rifles and plasma repeaters.

Merlin slapped against Shizuko's leg without a word and lobbed two fragmentation grenades overhead. Crouching behind Shizuko, he used her stable form in the face of fire as he let his explosions do his portion of hard work. The Elites were no slouches, veterans of wars fought against Mankind and against their own kind. They raced forward, rather than scramble without direction. Their stronger shields ate up Shizuko's pinpoint gunfire but the attempt to close the distance with the Spartans proved ever-more a mistake as Andra's sniper rifle coughed from the shadow of a collapsed skyscraper.

Two Ultras went down with two sure pulls of Andra's rifle. At this range, her fifty-one caliber bullets punched through their shields like wet paper. The white-armored Sangheili dropped lifeless with their armor and chest cavities shredded and bisected sloppily.

Callum and his own team rushed in, taking on the Major and the remaining Ultra. The Beta Company veteran closed with the Major in particular and slapped aside a failed attempt to draw their energy sword. Callum's 8-gauge, super-dense shotgun pumped two semi-automatic shots and the lizard-like behemoth went down in a splash of purple and a scream of universal anguish.

Shizuko droned out the vocal shouts of other teams as they reported successful landings across the western approach toward Toru 'Makhan's palace. Spartan support unit Team Harrier, including Sven-D340 and Oliver-D030, could be heard in her ear. Classmates but not friends once more, she was glad to have familiar faces in the fight all the same.

Andra was already advancing, slinging her sniper rifle over her shoulder with a really thick, long strap that somehow got around her armor. A BR85 battle rifle magnetically flew into her palms and was buffeting the last Ultra as she closed her distance with it. Her cursor changed focus though and kept firing past the Elite as she recognized Rodger-G050 passing beneath her with his outstretched magnum ripping entire shield chunks out of the remaining Elite.

Rodger brought down the last Ultra as it's helmeted head was dented in with such force. Andra's burst fire continued on, popping the masks off Unggoy Heavies as their waddle slowed, already shook by the sight of Spartans making short work of their bigger allies.

"Shizuko, come on!" Merlin shouted as he slipped passed Shizuko with his MA5K lifted in his right hand like a sprinter's baton rather than a rifle.

The junior Headhunter tossed her spent drum magazine from the M739 and slapped another one in with an experienced lack of fumbling. But her legs did not follow, she paused where she stood with a smoking light machine gun in hand. She watched her fellow Spartans rush into the conflict even as she knew that Merlin and Andra were feeling the tire of this war's long campaign. They still rushed in as they were trained, all the same.

Shizuko herself had slowed instead, to take in the battlefield. This was the leader she was trained to be, keeping the bigger picture in mind. Make sure she never lost a team like Entropy again. No more descending starship wrecks from above. No crushed Spartans.

"Hey, Chief Petty Officer. Look alive, your friends are out there." The SPARTAN-IV named Cadmon was examining her from his side with a MA5D assault rifle clenched in his arms. He was clinching Shizuko's armored shoulder as if planning to shake her in case she froze up.

It wasn't the first time she spoke to the SPARTAN-IV on Stallion but it had been in situations defined by combat or coordination drills on the Maya. Now it was just them on a battlefield whereas everyone else was pushing on ahead to clear out the immediate threats.

Shizuko shrugged him off. "Thanks, I'm fine. Just making sure we're not being led into a pincer from the outset."

"That's good, and thanks for having all our backs. But keep up, I know Covenant cities aren't exactly your familiar battleground but things are going really well. It's the same for all of us. Don't overthink it."

Cadmon gestured with a solid knife hand as a fifth Mantis-type anti-air turret was absorbed by a massive, concussing explosion.

Two more Broadswords zoomed passed and overhead, passing in and out of view through the smoke. As they went, Cadmon placed a fist to his helmet, tapping against it as his eyes followed the friendly aircraft.

"Thanks," the SPARTAN-IV called out. "Keep the skies clear for us, flyboys!"

Shizuko was back on the move with Cadmon taking the lead in the seconds that passed from the wonderful sight of friendly air support. Even as her apprehension for the battle remained, she felt a little more comfortable that the fight was theirs right now.

Because she was here. To keep her teammates alive. Even if they weren't her friends, she cared for them. She wouldn't let them die on her now or ever again. Especially not on this final stretch.

- Distant Tide: Hunter - Killer

157: Evacuation

1811 Hours, September 1st, 2558 UNSC Maya, Voden System

The tide of battle had changed faster than anyone could have expected. Rear Admiral Hawkins watched in horror as the remnants of the Imperium's attack force surged towards their lines, gaining speed and advancing under fire that would have stopped any other assault in its tracks. Shouts went up across the Maya's bridge as another wave of plasma torpedoes flew into the debris field they were using for cover, atomising starship wreckage and scattering what remained of the UNSC's battle line.

Mere minutes ago it had seemed like victory was assured. A lucky shot from one of Hawkins' ships had ripped its way through one of the Imperium's flagship vessels, depriving the faction of one of its major leaders and throwing his ships into disarray. Without a proper leader, Sangheili ships tended to act erratically and lose cohesion until a proper chain of command could be re-established, something that had given human ships more than enough time to press their advantage and win or retreat over the past few decades. A veteran like Hawkins had seen it personally enough times to expect this sort of reaction from the Imperium, but once again their foe's unorthodoxy had caught him off-guard. Their charge, tactically unsound though it was, had succeeded through sheer unrelenting viciousness, turning their well-ordered defensive lines into a chaotic quagmire of duelling warships and disorganised movement. All the Maya could do was exit the debris field and hope to regroup with the rest of the Sixth Fleet.

"Descend and continue on course," Hawkins ordered his navigation officer as calmly as possible. "We can't engage them properly in this mess."

Thankfully, the enemy fleet seemed more concerned with breaking through their lines than actively hunting down Hawkins' battlegroup, with its vanguard emerging from the debris field and moving to circle round Vandun instead. Looking over the holomap as the Maya quietly moved to disengage itself, Hawkins guessed that they were likely seeking to retreat as well, and would head for their allies rather than risk fighting the rest of the Sixth Fleet or the incoming Swords of Sanghelios. All aboard the bridge worked in complete silence, aware that their flagship was now cut off and unprotected until they were out of the field and within the protective range of allied cannons once again.

"Sensor ping!" an Ensign yelled suddenly, ending several minutes of tense silence. "Three enemy vessels moving above!"

"Increase speed and move to evade!"

"Energy signature detected!" called another officer. "They're charging pulse lasers!"

The ship's AI, Chance, materialised over a nearby holotank. His floating mask span to face Hawkins, its usual smile replaced by a look of utter sorrow.

"Rear Admiral, given our current velocity and their angle of attack, I suggest that you vacate the bridge and-"

Chance never finished his sentence. The forward viewscreen vanished for a moment in a flash of dazzling purple light, and the deck beneath Hawkins' fleet suddenly shifted, throwing him to one side. Hawkins held onto a console for safety as the Maya jolted, and a dozen alarms began to wail as the flagship took one direct hit after another. As he staggered back towards his command chair, Hawkins looked over in horror as the reinforced glass across the bridge's forward viewscreens began to crack and splinter. As another explosion rocked the ship, all the lights on the bridge sputtered out, plunging them into near-total darkness for a few terrifying seconds until their backup power kicked in, bathing the room in red emergency lighting. Someone screamed,and as the Rear Admiral turned to bark an order, the wall to his right suddenly buckled under a fiery explosion. Hawkins threw his hands up futilely before the blast, and was conscious for just long enough to register his body being thrown across the room.

***

It was still dark when Hawkins woke up, not knowing if seconds or hours had passed since the explosion. Nearly half of the emergency lights had been destroyed, and hazy figures stumbled across the deck, lighting their way with pocket torches and personal datapads as they made their way out of the room. Hawkins tried to move himself over, only to cry out as an agonising spike of pain cut through the numbing adrenaline now surging through him. He groped blindly for the source, and felt a dark, wet stain spreading across his grey tunic before his fingers found a jagged piece of metal protruding from his side.

"Shit," Hawkins hissed through gritted teeth, trying to shift his wounded body up. Every movement brought a new wave of agony from another part of his body, and his breath came in shallow gasps as he sat against a cold bulkhead, feeling the deck rumble beneath him.

Between the sounds of their ship slowly being destroyed around them and the ignored wailing of alarms, crying out for help was a futile effort. Hawkins knew how quickly rank and structure could be abandoned in a situation like this, as the primal instinct to survive overrode everything else and officers and crewmen fled for their lives to the nearest lifeboats, thinking only of escaping this awful situation. In the darkness and scramble to get away, Hawkins would likely be overlooked. Aside from the piece of shrapnel sticking out of him, he had likely broken several bones across his chest and left arm, and could barely move his battered legs. A dull throb of pain and sticky trickle of blood down one side of his head indicated a concussion or worse, though Hawkins' mind felt as clear as ever beyond his injuries. He thought of his crew, and how many men and women were doomed to a horrible death on the lower decks; of the Sixth Fleet and its slim chances in winning this battle; of his own actions in sending those Spartans - those children - off to raze a settlement that would have offered little resistance to his forces otherwise. Perhaps, he thought, This is what I deserved.

"Sir!"

A bright light fell upon Hawkins' face, nearly blinding him for a moment as a familiar figure stepped towards him, holding a flashlight. It was Captain Aguirre. His melancholic reverie broken, he raised his good arm, reaching out towards his second in command.

"Why're you still here, Captain?" he asked, speaking through sharp jolts in his chest. "Lifeboat's out there."

Aguirre knelt down beside him, looking over his injuries. In the light, the bleeding looked so much worse.

"With all due respect, sir, don't give me that bullshit. I'm getting you out of here. Brace yourself."

Before he could reply, Aguirre wrenched the metal out of Hawkins' side, making him cry out in agony, and pressed the nozzle of a small grey canister against his flesh. Cold white foam gushed out of it, quickly sealing the wound and the blood-drenched areas around it. Hawkins had to fight not to squirm as his pain spiked once more before fading away as the foam's numbing sensation set in. Before he could say anything, Aguirre grasped his right hand and began to pull him up. Though his entire body protested, Hawkins pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, supported by the Captain.

"Thank you," he breathed as they moved in unison towards the bridge door.

"Couldn't have you dying on us," Aguirre said flatly. "It'd make me look bad."

Hawkins couldn't tell if she was joking or not. If anything, he was more surprised than anything that his executive officer had come back for him at all; Aguirre had never made much of an effort to conceal her dislike of Hawkins after he joined the Admiralty ahead of her, so if anything his death would have opened up a spot after this campaign was over. He had clearly misjudged her.

Their trip to the Maya's command lifeboat was mercifully brief, though it was fairly clear that they had been moments from leaving the ship without them when Aguirre shoved the barrel of her pistol through the hatch and ordered the surviving officers to help her in a particularly terrifying voice. Hawkins was half-carried into the lifeboat and set down gently in one of the last crash seats while Aguirre barged her way to the cockpit, where a young Lieutenant was finishing pre-launch checks.

"Wait," Hawkins called suddenly from his chair. "Where's Chance?"

Several of his subordinates looked around guiltily until one of their junior officers spoke up. "We didn't see him after the bridge was hit, sir. I think that took him out."

And I'm guessing that nobody bothered to find his data chip on their way out?. Hawkins nodded. "He was a damn good AI."

"We're set to go!" Aguirre called, clambering back into the lifeboat's main bay. "Everyone strap in."

The Maya's bridge crew quickly secured their harnesses as the ship around them rocked violently. Given the damage dealt to it, it wouldn't be long before the battleship's reactors exploded or what remained of the ship tore itself apart in Vandun's orbit, adding to the debris field there. The command lifeboat shuddered as it prepared to disengage from the airlock, leaving all aboard in frightened suspense until it finally lurched forward, blasting off into the void and away from the doomed warship. Still shaken from his injuries, Hawkins continued to grit his teeth until the lifeboat's guidance systems activated, carrying them away from the moon's debris field and out towards the nearest group of UNSC ships. Their journey was a fairly smooth one after that, save for a sudden bout of turbulence as a shockwave passed over the lifeboat.

"That was the Maya," Aguirre muttered darkly. "My goddamn ship."

The assembled crew fell silent, taking a moment to pay their respects to the ship that had ferried them safely through battlefield after battlefield before today. Hawkins straightened up a little in his chair as his head swam, making everything blurry and unfocused for a few moments. Shit, definitely a concussion.

"Captain, get on the COM." Hawkins swallowed a wave of nausea passed over him. "Contact Admiral Zhi and tell her we'll need a pickup if she hasn't sent help already. Then, signal our fighters and transfer their operational control to the Caspian."

Aguirre nodded, and unsealed herself from her safety harness. "You're not looking too good, sir."

"Just a little dizzy," he lied. "I'll be fine."

Aguirre fished a first aid kit from beneath her seat and moved to bandage his head wound. Now that their lifeboat was on a relatively safe path towards the rest of the fleet, there was little danger of further turbulence, though she moved slowly and carefully due to the tiny craft's lack of artificial gravity. Hawkins did not resist, and strained his ears to listen in to a slightly muffled conversation between their pilot and the other escape pods that had made it off the Maya in time. He was in no condition to run the numbers mentally, but it sounded as though the loss of life had not been quite as catastrophic as he first feared. Had they not deployed their entire Marine and Spartan contingent to assist in groundside operations on Iradu, things would have been so much worse.

Soon enough, the Maya's command lifeboat was joined by others, streaking across open space towards the expertly-reformed battle lines of the Sixth Fleet. Rescue craft - mostly Pelican and Albatross dropships - soon launched from the hangars of several warships, fitted with heavy lifting gear to safely tow the mob of lifeboats back into the fleet. As they approached the UNSC Caspian, Rear Admiral Hawkins finally lost consciousness, though the quick actions of his command staff and the speed of the flagship's medical crew saw him transported to the medical bay within minutes of their arrival. His injuries, though severe, were survivable, but his role in the Imperial War was over. Battlegroup Maya, now no more than a handful of functional warships, was quickly reintegrated with the rest of the Sixth Fleet. With that fierce clash of fleets over, the Battle of Iradu would only grow bloodier as the day continued.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

158

1815 Hours, September 1st, 2558 Broadsword Cockpit, Voden System

More than two hours in a cockpit would wear on anyone, and it was wearing on Sasha even more than usual after being run ragged on little sleep over the past few days. But it seemed to be proving the reality of this fight against the Imperium. Prior engagements typically only saw her flying for one, maybe two hours. Usually less, and of that, only a small portion was actually in combat. But since they had first made contact with this Covenant remnant group, it was getting more and more typical for Sasha to barely get any time for rest between dogfight after dogfight after strafing run. Hell, it had been so busy that even that first day, trapped under the shield dome, was starting to feel like the distant past.

But now? Now she and Loudmouth got their chance for rest. Ever since paving a path for the ground forces below, they'd been running interception missions wherever they could. They weren't running fully dry, sure, but Sasha still wanted a chance to get some more ammo sooner rather than later, and the convenient break in the nearby fighting gave the pair a perfect opportunity to settle down, regroup, and make new plans.

Pulling up for the Maya, however, it seemed the course of the battle had a different fate set out.

"Got ships moving in on home." Loudmouth's voice drew Sasha's attention back down to her fighter's scanners.

"I'm not seeing them. RADAR must've been damaged somewhere in this mess. What've we got?"

"Capital ships. Type unidentified from this range. Reading an energy build-up!"

Despite approaching the Maya from below, Sasha still saw what came next. Motes of blue and purple and white light lit up the blackness of space ahead of her, forming into beams of energy streaking towards and punching into the Rear Admiral's flagship. Explosions rocked the vessel, and, as they did, Sasha saw her comms line with the ship go dark. She saw small dots of reflected light begin pouring out from the sides of the vessel: escape pods.

"Looks like we're going to need to put a hold on that rest, Loudmouth. We're sticking around to run escort on those pods. Get them back to the battleline. We'll find a new ship to call home there."

"Affirmative." Loudmouth's voice rang through Sasha's cockpit.

She checked her ammo supply: a few missiles and only around an eighth of her starting rounds for the cannons. Would it be enough?

Sasha pulled her ship around and primed the weapons once more.

It would have to be.

---

1845, September 1st, 2558 Iradu, Capital city

This was not how Elena had foreseen things going when she had slipped out of the hospital just under ten minutes prior. Back then, the city was quiet. Empty. Everyone had been confined inside their homes or businesses or any of the various shelters dotting the city. But now? Now it was all chaos and blood and fire.

So much for the UNSC not yet having breached the city...

The first few minutes had gone fine. Elena had made decent progress back to her ship, moving quickly and quietly. She made sure to avoid any of the troops patrolling the streets. Humans? Humans she could take, so she didn't need to be so careful there, but the experiences that landed her in the hospital in the first place showed that even the smaller aliens could be quite a threat. Her augmentations may have saved her a broken bone or three, but even they didn't stop claws from digging through her skin, and Elena doubted she'd be much of a match for the big guys in armor. "Elites," she remembered hearing them be called.

"Well," Elena supposed, "Wasn't much decent progress after all."

And indeed, being so cautious did present its own downsides. This wasn't going anywhere fast. But at least it had been progress. When the outer walls exploded just five minutes prior, that had immediately changed. The streets had cleared of the patrols, at least, as they ran off to defend against the incoming UNSC forces. But it also drew out the reserves troops. Sent crowds of desperate—and perhaps a bit brave, stupid, or both—people fleeing their bunkers into the streets, rushing about to find family or friends or who knew what else. And when the fighting pushed deeper into the city, the Imperium losing ground here, gaining it there?

Well, as she said: 'Chaos and Blood and Fire.'

Elena had so far managed to get by without taking a hit—just barely missed by plasma and bullets a few times—and now found herself crouched behind a dumpster down a dead-end alley to catch her breath. Peaking out into the street she had just fled from, Elena groaned at the sight of crossfire still filling the air. Lacking a weapon or armor, that was a no-go. And if she picked either up from a dead body? All that did was increase her chances of being shot by the other side. She'd have to wait for one of the groups to get enough ground to slip past the alley. But that also posed some risks. What if one side thought her a spy? Or apprehended her just to get her out of the way? She needed to get to her ship.

Pulling her laptop out of her bag, Elena propped it up against her legs and hooked into the local wireless network. She hadn't dared checking on Alexios before, beyond ensuring his memory crystal was still plugged in, but desperate situations called for desperate measures. Keeping her voice low, she activated the AI.

"Alexios!" Elena let out a sigh as his Spartan projection flared to life, muttering to herself. "Thank god..."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I'm hooked into the local network. Don't get yourself caught, but use whatever's available and unmonitored to get me an estimate for the quickest safe way back to the ship."

"Understood, ma'am!" The Spartan figure gave a salute, then paused as it ran through calculations before responding again. "Oh my. I see the situation has grown quite a bit direr since last we spoke. Rem..."

"Spare me the story about what battle you weren't at that it reminds you of. Just get me that route."

"Of course."

Elena peered out into the street again as Alexios worked, frowning as streaks of green and blue flew past and clouds of smoke and dust kicked up off the ground.

"And remind me to have a word with our ONI friends about letting me know what's about to go down before they attack." Elena paused, then shook her head. "That was sarcasm."

Alexios didn't respond, perhaps taking her less-than-seriously for once in his existence. Or maybe just too busy running the calculations she asked for? It didn't usually take this long for him to get back to her. Was the task too big?

"I've got it, ma'am. Sending the route to your datapad now, and I'll update it as we go."

"Thanks." Elena shut her laptop—pushing it into her computer bag to keep running the calculations—and grabbed her datapad. Flicking the device on, she was relieved to see the map marked out for her. As well as a line to point her path directly through a window. "Well," Elena smirked, bunching a fist up in her shirt-sleeve, "Let's hope Alexios actually made sure this is breakable."

Slamming her fist into the window, Elena was met with a satisfying crash as the glass shattered inward. Looking down at her datapad again, she stepped through the window. Rushing through the halls of the abandoned office building for the rear entrance, Elena soon found herself pushing out into a relatively empty street beyond. Looking to her right, Elena saw the backs of about a dozen Imperium soldiers and the fronts of a few of the attacking UNSC forces beyond. "Left it is. Good thing I'm heading that way, anyway." She doubled-checked the datapad to be sure before ducking down under any incoming crossfire and making her way through the streets.

The next turn came a few blocks down, meant to place her on one final street before the hangar. Alexios had made good work finding this route, though she was a bit annoyed something so simple had taken him so long. Of course, taking the right turn around the corner, she found herself face-to-face with a UNSC Marine. Not even taking the time to consider what he might be doing alone, she dropped her datapad to one hand and flashed out with the other, grabbing his weapon and forcing it off-target. A few rounds rattled off—harmlessly slamming into the pavement next to her—before she closed the remaining distance and threw her entire body into the Marine. Knocking the man off balance, Elena ejected the magazine from the rifle, cycled the last round from the chamber, and tossed it a good fifteen meters away, giving a swift kick to the downed grunt's jaw for good measure before sprinting off, closing on the nearby hangar.

"That was too close, Alexios! I thought you were monitoring for this shit?"

"Apologies, ma'am. The Marine wasn't reported over any open frequencies, and I didn't have access to the cameras in this area."

"You're just lucky it was only one, or I would have killed you myself."

"I'm an AI. I can't be..."

"Shut up, Alexios."

"Aye, ma'am."

Reaching the hangar's front entrance, Elena ducked behind what little cover the door-frame offered, slumping down to catch her breath. She took a few minutes to relax before groaning, standing up, and heading into the hangar. At least there was no one inside. Now all she had to do was get back to her ship.

---

1930 Hours, September 1st, 2558 Broadsword Cockpit, Voden System

Sasha felt her chest rising and following in long, deep breaths. The last of the Maya's escape pods had made it back to the rescue craft and found itself pulled back into one of the waiting ships. Now she and Loudmouth just had to find someplace to dock for themselves. It had been nearly four hours since they had launched from the Maya to guide the Spartan teams to the surface. They may have survived the dogfights so far, but their Broadswords had been left with low fuel and ammunition as a result. She wasn't sure either of them could last much longer out there.

Then there was the situation she picked up from the looks of the battle line. It seemed to be holding sturdy at first glance, decently recovered from the loss of the Maya, but Sasha had survived enough battles to know the signs of a downturn. The Sixth Fleet was starting to waver. She suspected she and Loudmouth would be needed back out there sooner rather than later. Looking over the numbers for surviving fighters, that reality really only left them one reasonable target: the UNSC Caspian.

The Sixth Fleet's flagship had more than enough room for two additional Broadswords, and as the standing squadron leader for what remained of the Maya's complement? Well, she was a little less sure she'd be welcomed aboard, but there was no harm in trying. She thumbed the comms.

"UNSC Caspian, this is Lieutenant Commander Zaytseva, acting CO of VFA-946 off of the UNSC Maya. Requesting a docking on Caspian for resupply and repair for myself and my wingman. Access to temporary command materials would also be appreciated. We're aiming to return to the fight as soon as possible."

There was a delay on the comms. And then a response came in.

"Robot? Caspian. Request granted. Come on in for the secondary hangar. We should be able to get you stocked back up."

"Understood, Caspian. On approached."

Sasha let out a breath she had barely even noticed she'd been holding and thumbed the comms to let Loudmouth know the good news.

Timothy Emeigh

159: Separation

1846 Hours, September 1st, 2558 DDS-class carrier Silent Voice, Voden System

"What are our losses?"

"Three warships, along with three of our fighter wings."

"And the enemy?"

"Decimated, Fleet Master. Only two craft from their scouting force remain."

Felo 'Ranak nodded contentedly and turned his attention back towards their distant goal: Iradu. Their advance into the system had been almost totally unopposed so far, save for a failed attempt to weaken his fleet's left flank with a group of fast-attack cruisers. Ahead of them, the battered dregs of one of the Imperium's fleets limped away from Iradu's moon, Vandun, though Felo saw little point in changing course to finish them off. They would return to the fray soon enough, and meet their end attempting to retake their doomed homeworld. Behind Felo the bridge door slid open, and a green-armoured commando approached him.

"Fleet Master," Rora 'Marak sank to one knee. "The Shadows of Retribution are ready to deploy. Tell us where to go, and we will end this war for you."

Felo huffed in amusement. When I first saw you, you were little more than a murderous thug, rapidly carving your way towards an ignoble death. Now you are as loyal a friend as anyone could ask for. "Do you still wish to hunt down Toru 'Makhan, Commander?"

"Yes." the masked commando met Felo's gaze. "Even if it means my death, I will-"

"Do not throw your life away so needlessly!" Felo snapped, making Rora recoil slightly. "This war is almost at an end; 'Makhan knows it just as we do, and will act with undue haste to save his Imperium's homeworld. Strike when he is vulnerable, not while he sits amidst that fortress of a starship."

Both men looked towards the nearby holomap, which tracked the Imperium's fleets as they slowly coalesced into a single, powerful force the further they moved into the system. At its heart was the Watchful Custodian, Toru 'Makhan's personal supercarrier. So far not a single vessel had even struck its shielding, while the flagship itself had broken Felo's own fleet apart in a display of colossal firepower. Bringing it down will be a challenge.

"Then we are to follow the humans' plan?" Rora asked.

"Matching 'Makhan in terms of sheer firepower may no longer be possible. If we must threaten him with the destruction of everything he has built and the lives of his people, then so be it."

Rora folded his arms, clearly unconvinced. "No tyrant gives up power so easily."

"That is true," Felo sighed. "It may be that he will allow the potential destruction of Iradu and its people, only to go on and create a new demesne. In that case, I can only hope that his followers are not so blinded by devotion to 'Makhan to let such a callous act go unpunished. Reprisal, either from our allies or his own officers, would lead to his inevitable downfall."

"Provided he does not defeat us and foil our plans to seize his civilian government, that is."

"True." The Fleet Master got to his feet, favouring his good leg as he limped towards the bridge's primary holotable. "But for now we must consider the present. Will your Shadows be able to infiltrate the Imperium's palace?"

"If the information the humans have been sending us is true, then I believe my troops could slip by their defences, though we still know little of its interior layout and guards. Their government may have already fled the capital, for all we know."

"That is doubtful." Felo swiped his hand over a panel, and the projection changed to a recently-scanned image of Iradu, sent not long ago by the UNSC fleet. "Beyond the capital lies nothing but isolated keeps and villages, with few real places for them to hide. Iradu remained little more than an unimportant frontier world in the days of the Covenant for its barren nature, after all, which is why 'Makhan centered everything around his personal fortress. Anything of importance will be in that palace, Commander, and your Shadows will help secure it."

Rora bowed, placing a closed fist over his armoured chest. "It will be done, Fleet Master."

As the commando straightened up, Felo placed a hand on his protégé's shoulder. "This may be the last time we see each other, given our odds in the battle to come. Should I fall, should our forces fail and make our last stand here, then I order you and your Shadows to return to Sanghelios with news of what happened here."

Rora froze, and though Felo could not see his comrade's face, he could sense his apprehension. Though they had worked together for several years, often in completely different star systems, it was common knowledge that Rora - The Outrider - only answered to Felo 'Ranak's commands. If the Fleet Master fell, then the man once known as a notorious outlaw would be without the protections he had enjoyed while working for the Swords of Sanghelios. Rora knew this, and took a few moments to compose himself before responding.

"Of course, Fleet Master." The reply was as flat and automatic as it could be. "We will do as instructed."

Rora turned away from Felo and walked towards the bridge's entrance. As it slid open, Felo called out to him.

"I gave you another chance at life, Outrider. See that it is not wasted!"

The commando half-turned at this, nodded, and walked off. As the bridge door slid shut behind Rora, Felo returned to his command chair. Their fleet was closing in on Vandun, where a few human shuttlecraft still ferried survivors of the vicious brawl between the two fleets in orbit there. Further away and closer to Iradu itself sat the Sixth Fleet, which had shrunk from an impressive armada to a little over two-dozen battle-worn warships. In the days of the Covenant, Felo reflected, it would have been considered quite a meagre defensive force for any invading fleet to tackle.

"Establish a communication channel with the human Admiral!" Felo bellowed, his orange eyes roving across the nearest tactical display. We have time for one more conference before the Imperium falls upon us.

A few seconds later, the holographic form of Admiral Lin Zhi appeared before Felo. She snapped a stiff military salute, which he returned with a gentle rap against his breastplate.

"I was just about to contact you, Fleet Master," Zhi said. "I wanted to make sure that you were ready."

Felo wondered if that was meant to be a jibe on her part. "For Toru 'Makhan and his horde of fanatics? Of course. I merely wanted to ensure that we could send our forces to a more advantageous location."

Zhi glanced to one side, no doubt checking the position of her own ships. "What would you suggest?"

"We should fall back towards Iradu itself, forcing 'Makhan and his fleet to engage in battle over their own land. If anything, it may force caution on the Imperium's part."

"Or drive them to fight harder for their homeworld." Zhi frowned. "From the reports we've been receiving, our troops have entered the capital city but are struggling to breach the palace. How soon can your own forces reach the surface?"

Felo's mandibles clicked as he did the calculations. "Our Legions are ready to depart, though I fear that the Imperium will have caught up to us by the time they join the battle in earnest."

"I see." Zhi nodded gravely. "I didn't think that Toru 'Makhan would give up without a fight. If we can hold his fleet off until the palace is captured, then we may have a real chance at victory."

"Indeed. Pardon me for asking, Admiral, but have you made preparations, should the worst occur?"

"We've moved one of our prowlers away from the fleet for the time being, with orders to leave the system and return to Earth should the battle be lost. If nothing else, it'll give those sent to avenge us enough information to crush 'Makhan and the Imperium."

Felo couldn't help but feel inspired by Zhi's certainty. If he fell here, then there was no guarantee that the Arbiter would have reinforcements to spare, locked in the civil war on Sanghelios as he was. Honour would necessitate a reprisal eventually, of course, but given their resources it could be some time before the Swords returned to face the Imperium. The humans, at least, had the military might to invade and outfight their weakened foe.

"In any event, we should be prepared to give 'Makhan and his lackeys the fight of their lives. I will keep an open transmission of our movements to your fleet so that you can best position your own warships. Best wishes to you, Admiral."

"And you." The ghost of a smile flitted across Zhi's face, then she vanished.

Felo stood up, and found all eyes on his bridge focused on him. He looked around at the faces of his crew - a mix of officers brought over from the Questioner and those already stationed aboard the Silent Voice, and for once found himself unsure of what to say. Leadership had always come naturally to Felo 'Ranak, even as a young scion of his noble house. Directing others, from small warrior cadres to ships with crews of thousands, was simply something he had been born to do. Despite this, Felo had little to say to the loyal men stood before him as they prepared to begin a hopeless battle against a superior foe. I'm sure the humans are better at this sort of thing, he thought bitterly, thinking of the worlds he had helped conquer. Perhaps we went for too long without facing hardship such as this.

"Brothers," Felo spread his arms wide. "Forgive me, but I can say no more to inspire you. We have our duty as proud sons of Sanghelios - warriors all - to fight. In these past few days we have seen enough warfare to sate our appetites for a lifetime, I think, so I can only ask you all to endure just a little longer, and to shine brighter today than you ever have. That is all."

After delivering this rather weary speech, Felo returned to his command chair. No one spoke for some time, not his bridge staff, nor the tens of thousands that one sly officer had broadcast this message to. The fleet fell silent for what felt like an eternity, then exploded into a wave of raucous cheering. The Fleet Master himself jumped in surprise as the roars and encouraging shouts reached him, thinking for one moment that he had accidentally inspired a mutiny. Instead, the opposite was occurring. The Swords of Sanghelios moved as one towards Iradu, spilling forth hundreds of dropships and transport craft towards the besieged capital city. Moving quickly and carefully, each vessel moved into position just out of range of whatever remained of the planet's groundside defence network, leaving plenty of space for their human allies to join them.

The Sixth Fleet did so promptly, quickly turning away from Vandun and retreating towards the Swords, whose larger, better-shielded vessels offered some protection from the Imperium's long-range attacks. Smaller craft lay floating minefields in their wake, making any direct approach to the planet a dangerous one. Before long, both fleets - human and Sangheili - stood as one above Iradu, defending the Imperium of Clarity's homeworld against its own military. It was a strange situation to say the least, and one that only incensed the enemy commanders as they forged ahead, taking back every last scrap of lost space in the Voden System. Lines of Obedience-class cruisers bobbed back and forth like eager hunting dogs, waiting to be set loose by their master in the gargantuan vessel at the centre of their fleet. MAC guns and plasma torpedoes were readied and locked on to distant targets. With the press of a button, hell would be unleashed.

The standoff did not last long. At 1911 hours on September 1st, 2558, the first shots were fired in what would be the Imperial War's conclusive battle.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

160: Belly of the Beast

1908 Hours, September 1st, 2558 Imperial Palace, Iradu, Voden System

After their arrival in the Imperial palace, Oscar Platoon were not detected by its security force for twenty-three minutes. That was twenty-three minutes longer than most of its members expected them to last on this mission.

"Two more on the right!" Major Kamil called out, dropping to one knee as a door slid open further down the hallway. A lone Sangheili popped into view, and was immediately met with a volley of gunfire. The alien died almost instantly.

The Imperium's reaction to a heavily-armed human strike force suddenly appearing within the heart of their empire had been spirited, to say the least. After a patrol stumbled upon an ODST squad creeping through an empty dining hall and found themselves ventilated by rifle fire before they could so much as raise their guns, an alarm was finally triggered and every doorway and side passage began to disgorge hostile soldiers.

"Grenade!" One trooper yelled, flinging an olive-green sphere towards the doorway. It detonated a moment later, and the hall was quiet once more.

Kamil was the first to his feet, moving carefully across the shattered tiles to investigate. His helmet's enhanced heads-up display flashed as its low-light mode activated, allowing him to peer through the smoky haze that permeated the other end of the corridor with ease. Aside from a couple of freshly-charred corpses, it looked deserted. Three black-suited troopers jogged alongside him, taking point as they approached the freshly-grenaded exit door. With a nod from the Major, both men dashed through the entranceway and into the gloom of a long stairwell.

A few seconds later, a voice rang out. "Clear!"

The Major let out a sigh of relief, and waved for the rest of his squad to join him. Following their arrival in the palace's lower chambers and their subsequent ascent into the labyrinthine structure, Kamil had split their sixty-man platoon into thirds; each section sent off in a different direction to cause havoc around the palace and divert the Imperium's attention away from their main group and their VIP: Ryan Samson. Stood at the centre of their group with the miniaturised luminary device held tightly in one hand, the Vice Admiral showed no signs of cracking after the past five minutes of brutal close-range combat. Though he'd initially dismissed Samson as some high-ranking spook, Kamil had quickly come to like the man; he had the bars to tell him what his job was but was smart enough not to try and tell him how to do his job. That had earned him a lot of respect among the troopers already.

"You all right sir?" Kamil asked, checking his rifle's ammunition counter. "Things got kinda hairy back there."

Samson nodded. "This isn't my first firefight."

"I'll bet." He gestured towards the luminary. "How far does this thing say we've got to go?"

"If I'm reading it right, a little further to the west, then about thirty floors down."

"Thirty?!" Kamil exclaimed. "But we've been going up this whole time."

"Yeah, and closer to the Forerunner artefacts. If the local mapping data I'm getting is right, then we're heading towards the palace's innermost chambers."

And the biggest badasses the Imperium can throw at us. "We should keep moving then."

"Lead the way, Major."

Kamil waved for the rest of his squad to fall in, and they quickly vacated the ruined hall. That last firefight - an attempted ambush by a group of lightly-armed Sangheili - might have killed them had it not been for a sensor ping from Samson's TACPAD warning them of movement up ahead, which allowed the troopers to dig in and rain down hell on their opponent the moment they sprang their trap. With no casualties aside from a few troopers with minor plasma burns, Kamil couldn't complain.

The squad moved into the stairwell in pairs, treading cautiously up a set of wide steps until they reached the next level. Kamil took this brief lull in the fighting to check in with his other squads, who had met resistance across other portions of the palace. Nine troopers were dead already. The rest fought on. At the very least, they had yet to encounter anything more than a patrolling infantry lance or two, though the Imperium was undoubtedly saving its elite troops for the defence of the inner palace. Some small, optimistic part of Kamil's mind hoped that the low-ranking warriors they had fought so far were all the Imperium had left here, having committed almost all of their military strength to their fleets, but he doubted they would be so lucky. The worst was assuredly yet to come.

Eventually, the troopers emerged onto a wide open-air bridge that spanned the gap between two wings of the Imperial palace. Two of Kamil's men braved the exposed area, racing as quickly as they dared to the other side. Nothing. No sudden assault from the opposite doorway. No hiss of a long-range beam rifle fired by a hidden marksman. The way forward was clear.

"So much for my Spartan reinforcements," Samson remarked as they crossed the bridge, looking out over the besieged city below.

In peacetime, Iradu's capital must have been quite a sight to see from this spot, stretching out in every direction towards the distant ocean. Now it was chaos; pillars of black smoke rose from every district, accompanied by untended fires and the distant and unmistakeable sounds of warfare. Samson halted, straining his ears as the distant boom of cannon fire drifted towards them. The UNSC had done well to break through enemy lines and enter the capital already, but taking the city was no easy task.

"What's that about Spartans?" Kamil asked, sounding only slightly offended. "We not your first choice for this job, sir?"

"You always were." Samson responded in his usual businesslike tone. "Though I had hoped that they would've found some way into the palace by now."

Kamil glanced down at the battle below. "All due respect to the Spartans, but I doubt even they could get in through the front door. We had to teleport in."

"Translocate. And yes, you're right. Sometimes you get used to asking the impossible and getting results when you work with Spartans."

"Can't blame you, sir." Kamil shrugged. "But who knows, maybe they'll come through for us again today."

"Here's hoping."

Though locked door at the other side of the bridge yielded to a fairly simple bypass program, costing Kamil's squad only a few minutes of precious time before they gained access. On the other side was an identical stairwell to the one they had just ascended, though this room lacked any guards. Even the exit door below them was unlocked, which only served to make the troopers nervous.

"This ain't right," muttered one Private, his hand hovering over the door's activation panel. "Shouldn't the hinge-heads be throwing everything they've got at us right now?"

The man to his right nodded in agreement. "Fifty creds says this is a trap."

"Cut the chatter!" Kamil stepped between them, readying his rifle. "Take it as a sign that we've got these bastards on the run."

Kamil tapped the panel and raised his weapon as the door opened. When it was clear that they weren't about to be greeted by another group of ambushers, he stepped forward into the brightly-lit corridor beyond, followed closely by the rest of the squad. Unlike the adjacent building, with its unadorned passages and utilitarian design characteristic of any military force, this place seemed more like a palace. The interior walls were decorated with tapestries and framed artwork; some were utterly alien while others were startlingly familiar. They were human.

"Now this is surprising," Samson muttered, his gaze fixed on the swirls of blue and yellow dominating the closest piece of art. "I wonder if they're originals."

Kamil chuckled. "I've heard of Jackals collecting trophies before, but never a hinge-head."

"Toru 'Makhan must be a man of culture," the Vice Admiral shook his head dismissively. "Or thinks that having such a collection makes him one. We should keep going."

This had to be the inner palace. Every hallway was richly carpeted, every wall adorned with some eye-catching piece or other. It was a surprising departure from the stark military aesthetic that dominated the Imperial worlds they had seen so far, and a sign that they were drawing closer to the Imperial Admiral's personal vault. Samson kept his luminary close, checking it every half-minute as they wandered through empty hallways and abandoned chambers. As they reached the end of one corridor, Samson suddenly raised his arm into a fist, and the troopers stopped immediately.

"Trouble?" asked Kamil, slightly annoyed at someone else commanding his men.

"Another sensor ping." Samson held up his TACPAD. "Two Sangheili at the end of the corridor to our left."

The ODST crouched down and edged his way forward, keeping his back to the wall. Kamil took a deep breath, and chanced a two-second glance down the corridor, towards the source of Samson's ping. Sure enough, two grey-armoured Sangheili stood on either side of a doorway some twenty metres away. He ducked back into cover, and waited. No shouts or plasma bolts flew past in the next few moments. He hadn't been spotted.

"We can take two out easily." Kamil waved one trooper over. "Can't guarantee that it won't bring more down on our heads though, sir."

Samson checked the luminary. "They're in our way, Major."

Kamil made a grunt of annoyance, and took the long-barrelled rifle from one of his subordinates. The rest of the squad clustered together behind the Major as he dropped to his belly and slowly inched is body sideways, sliding the rifle around the corner. Kamil quietly set up the weapon's bipod, steadying it as he lined up a shot against the pair of guards. The moment he fired, the rest of Oscar One-One would emerge and eliminate the other guard with a volley of lethal fire. Five seconds passed. Then ten. As Samson looked over, ready to say something, Kamil let out a shrill whistle, catching the attention of both Sangheili. Before either could fully register what was going on, he squeezed the trigger twice, loosing a pair of armour-piercing rounds into the pair. By the time the other ODST's sprang forth to line up their own shots, both had toppled to the floor.

"Showoff," remarked the team's marksman as Kamil stood up to retake his old weapon.

"Couldn't resist." Kamil's visor depolarised. He was grinning from ear to ear.

With that obstacle out of the way the team hurried forward, ready for reprisal any second. They made it a few metres before the guarded door opened with a chime, revealing a pair of Sangheili in shining silver combat harnesses. Both were immediately met with a hail of gunfire that harmlessly peppered their shields as they burst from the doorway, brandishing boxy, strange-looking rifles.

"Get down!" Samson yelled, flinging himself sideways as the pair brought their weapons to bear on the squad.

Orange lines flared to life along the length of the Sangheili guardsmans' rifles as they belched forth flowing flashes of solid light. One trooper was caught in the side and fell to the floor with a cry of agony, his armour and flesh burnt through in less than half a second after impact. Kamil ducked behind a pillar, which exploded a few inches above his head in a shower of marble dust. Two more troopers went down as he reloaded, one shot through the neck while the other - their designated marksman - was struck twice in the torso as he attempted to line up a shot. Kamil watched in horror as the flashes of light converged within his squadmate's body, rapidly disintegrating him from the inside-out before he had a chance to scream. Flakes of glowing dust were soon all that remained, floating gently in their before they too dissipated into nothingness.

"Get a goddamn grenade in there!" Kamil fired blindly at their attackers, hoping to distract them before they blew through his meagre cover.

The barrage of hellfire came to an abrupt halt, and as the pair of Sangheili began to reload their powerful rifles several troopers flung all manner of explosives towards them: fragmentation grenades, flashbangs, and even a few stolen plasma grenades arced down the hallway towards the two guardsmen, who both threw themselves to the ground at once. The subsequent series of flashes and explosions all but destroyed the area, bringing down masonry and tearing the floor and walls to ribbons. Before their foes could recover, the three troopers quickest to recover charged down the hallway, rifles raised and voices bellowing as they dumped their magazines into the pair of aliens. One managed to get a shot off at the nearest ODST, though it missed by millimetres and he paid the price as a burst of rifle fire erupted through his skull. The other, scorched and wounded by the grenades, made a fruitless attempt to crawl away before he felt a heavy boot come down on the back of his neck. Two handgun shots rang out, and the hallway was clear once more.

Kamil emerged from cover carefully, ensuring that the rest of his squad had established a proper rearguard before proceeding towards the door. Samson joined him, walking a little shakily. "Those were Toru 'Makhan's personal guards," he said.

"Thought as much." Kamil reached the blood-spattered corpse of one Sangheili, and prodded it with his boot. "The hell were they firing at us with?"

"If I had to guess, given that these things shoot hard light? Forerunner infantry weapons."

A chill ran down the trooper's back. "Are we sure that's all they've got, sir?"

"What do you mean?" asked Samson, stooping to examine the alien rifle.

"Well, if the Imperium's already got translocation technology and Forerunner weapons, who's to say that they don't have something worse up their sleeves."

Samson paused, considering this for a moment. "I think that if the Imperium had anything really game-changing, like Forerunner ships or vehicles, they would've deployed them before we got anywhere near their homeworld. 'Makhan probably just dug up an old armoury and handed out these guns to his closest followers."

"That's fair. Still, who knows what we'll find in - movement!"

Kamil brought his rifle to bear in less than half a second as his helmet's visual systems detected a twitch of activity in the darkened chamber next to them. Samson quickly got out of the way while three more troopers moved to support the Major, setting up a field of fire around the half-ruined doorway. Kamil inched forward and activated his helmet's VISR -Visual Intelligence System, Reconnaissance - systems, outlining everything in the room beyond them. As he prepared to motion for one of his subordinates to toss a grenade through the door, a croaky voice drifted out towards them.

"No shoot! No shoot!"

The troopers, hopped up on adrenaline from their last firefight, might have ignored this plea had Samson not stepped forward, waving one arm to indicate that they lower their weapons.

"Sir!" Kamil hissed. "What are you doing?!"

Samson ignored him, and instead addressed the unseen speaker. "Can you understand us?"

It was a few seconds before he got a response. "Little, yes."

"Okay," Samson spoke slowly and clearly. "I am Vice Admiral Ryan Samson of the UNSC. If you come out, we will not shoot you. Do you understand?"

"Understand."

There was a loud grunt from across the room, and a pale, five-fingered hand emerged from behind an overturned table, pulling up a rotund alien the likes of which Kamil and his men had never seen. The troopers kept their guns trained on the creature, though Samson, clearly unafraid, took a step forward.

"I've told you who I am," Samson said calmly. "So who are you?"

"Rak Ultin," the alien hissed, his dark eyes flitting from weapon to weapon. "Rak is... Rak does not know how to say."

Samson nodded patiently, and brought up the TACPAD on his right wrist, making Rak flinch. He tapped the device a few times, and a few strange, sibilant words emanated from its miniature speakers in machine monotone. Rak clapped his pudgy hands together excitedly and answered in his own tongue. The TACPAD beeped, and translated it into English a few moments later.

"Rak is Chief Councillor of the Imperium of Clarity,"' the translator spoke. "Rak leads our civilian government for Toru 'Makhan, and is master of Iradu when he is away."

Kamil exchanged glances with Samson. While they had come to Iradu seeking to plunder the Imperium's store of Forerunner artefacts, this was exactly who they needed to force 'Makhan and his lackeys into ceasefire negotiations. Samson tapped the device and continued his interrogation.

"If you agree to help us end this war, then I can guarantee your safety."

Rak nodded along as Samson's offer was translated, his jowls quivering. When the time came to reply, he folded his arms proudly across his . "Rak was in charge of evacuating the city. I know where our citizens flee to, and where the other councillors hide."

"And will you contact them? Get them to order Toru 'Makhan to stand down?"

"Yes." the Yonhet paused for a moment, considering his words very carefully. "But 'Makhan is prideful. He may not listen. He may call me traitor and continue his attack."

Samson sighed. "It's better than nothing. Before we go, though, I'd like to ask you something else?"

"Go on."

"We've received intelligence about a cache of Forerunner items being kept by Toru 'Makhan, and know that they're in this palace somewhere." Samson held up the luminary device. "Can you take us to them?"

Rak listened patiently as the translation droned out of Samson's TACPAD, and his pallid face split into a wide, sharp-toothed grin. His answer was simple. "Yes.""

Samson stood back as Rak waddled out of the room, peering round at the battle-torn hallway. He stooped for a moment to pick up one of the fallen Sangheili's rifles, but thought better of it as Kamil slowly turned the barrel of his gun towards him. Muttering something indistinct in his native language, Rak waved for the group to follow and set off down the western corridor at surprising speed for one of his immense girth, forcing a couple of ODST's to jog ahead of him to keep an eye out for any signs of enemy reinforcements. Their absence had not gone unnoticed by Kamil, who placed two fingers to the side of his helmet as he opened up a COM channel with the rest of their platoon.

"Oscar One-Two, Oscar One-Three, what is your status, over?" Kamil called, hoping for good news.

A reply came after a few seconds. "Oscar One-Three here. We've got five KIA and a lot of hostiles on our tail, Major!"

"What's your position?"

"I'll set up a marker," replied One-Three's Sergeant, breathing heavily. "We're heading north-west along an exterior wall, above some guard posts. We took out an AA gun on one roof, but that really shook the hornet's nest up here so we're fighting a retreat until we can get somewhere defensible."

Kamil swallowed, suddenly aware that he'd used the rest of the platoon as bait. "We've completed one of our objectives and are proceeding towards the Imperium's vault, so pull back towards our position and rendezvous with us ASAP. Any news from One-Two?"

Sounds of muffled rifle fire filled the COM before Kamil got an answer. "Negative. Last news we got was that they were heading east, towards the lower floors. Might just be a COM failure on their part - things have been shaky since we got here - but I'm assuming the worst."

"Copy that, One-Three. Keep moving and stay alive for now, and we'll see you soon. One-One out."

Kamil shut off the COM, and checked the platoon's TEAMBIO status on his helmet's heads-up display. The system had always been shaky, and since on a foreign, enemy-controlled world like this one he knew that the readings weren't always accurate and prone to interference - Samson's vitals had flatlined for no reason for a few seconds earlier - Kamil hoped that the mass of 'KIA' readings under Oscar One-Two's status screen were just errors. He knew that the four in his squad weren't.

With Rak leading them, the squad made good progress through the palace's deserted upper floors. The Chief Councillor was evidently more cunning than his appearance suggested, expertly weaving their group past patrols as groups of Sangheili finally stormed their floor and even through a hidden passage built into the side of one stately chamber. Though he seemed willing to cooperate, Kamil had no intentions of trusting Rak, whom he was certain had been under guard as a prisoner, not as a high-ranking member of government. Even so, he never gave any indication of misleading his troopers, and after nearly fifteen minutes of moving in silence through a dusty tunnel they emerged out of a sliding wall panel onto the precipice of a great bridge.

"That is 'Makhan's tower." Rak jabbed a finger towards the structure on the other side. "His vault lies deep below."

"Can you get us in there?" asked Samson as the translator finished speaking.

Rak nodded again, and took a cautious step out onto the bridge. The air outside smelt of smoke, and a pair of Banshee fighters whizzed overhead as the troopers joined him in crossing it. From here they had a magnificent view of Iradu's capital. The fighting had only intensified since the last time they had gotten a good look at it, and a cursory glance to the sky soon told them why.

"Looks like the Swords are here," Kamil said, pointing towards a squadron of Phantom dropships emerging from the clouds above. "We should hurry things along, sir."

Samson said nothing, and continued along the bridge alongside Rak. The other troopers quickly fell in behind them, and readied themselves as they approached the tower door on the other side. It was locked tight, though all the portly Yonhet had to do was place his hand against a scanner and it opened with a low chime. That verifies his status, Kamil thought, realising that they hadn't actually gotten any proof of his rank before. Compared to the opulence of the main palace, the tower's aesthetic was fairly minimalist, with stark walls lined with what looked like starship metal and very little furniture. The only decorations present were a few paintings lining the walls of a great spiral staircase, many clearly of human make.

"I was expecting a gravity lift," Kamil remarked, feeling a slight burn of fatigue as they began to ascend.

The Yonhet, clearly not accustomed to stairs (or any manner of exertion) moved slowly up the staircase, even pausing to catch his breath after the third flight. The troopers passed several rooms on their way up; one contained nothing but sculptures from multiple species, while another was lined with wooden staves for sparring. The topmost floor was also fairly barren at first sight, with its main room dominated by a long table, carved from dark wood. It looked older than anything they had seen in the palace. Rak paused once more, and as the troopers examined the room Samson brought out his precious luminary device once again.

"One moment, Rak." Samson waved the Luminary around before pointing it towards the floor. "We're directly above the vault now, so how do we get there?"

Another grin crossed Rak's face as he heard the translation. Straightening out his expensive robes, he crossed the room, and began to feel along a groove in the metal of one wall until they heard a faint click. Several feet away, a seam suddenly formed along one panel, which parted to reveal a hidden alcove. Faint wisps of blue light from a sealed panel on the floor within, indicating a single-man gravity lift.

"Very few know of the vault," Rak hissed proudly. "And Toru 'Makhan believes that only he knows of this entrance. He believes that he Rak is too foolish to notice, but Rak knows Sangheili. They are too proud to do anything without announcing it to the world."

Samson was first to approach the lift, though he held back for a moment, looking towards Rak. "Is there any other way out?"

Rak pondered this for a moment before nodding. "Downstairs. It is a scientist's entrance, though 'Makhan is always first to enter and allow them access. That lift must be used first."

Kamil approached the gravity lift, which slid open as he got close to peer down into the shaft below. He withdrew his head before its effects could drag him in, confirming that it was operational at the very least.

"I should head down first, sir," Kami said as he turned to Samson. "If there's any defensive systems down there then a couple of men should clear it and-"

The Major stopped as the staccato bursts of rifle fire sounded from below, accompanied by shouting and a grenade detonation. Four troopers immediately raced towards the stairs to investigate, but Kamil knew what it was already. Looks like One-Three's finally caught up with us.

"Change of plan," Kamil thumbed the safety off his rifle. "Sir, take four men and our new friend here and send them down first, then join them. If you find whatever it is you're looking for, then grab it and we'll bug out."

Samson quickly relayed what Kamil had said to Rak, who accepted his orders without protest. Then, to Kamil's surprise, he saluted him.

"Hold them off as long as you can, Major." Samson stepped back into the gravity lift. "I'll be back soon."

The lift took hold of the Vice Admiral and carried him out of sight. Kamil shook his head in annoyance. So much for waiting for backup, then. As Rak squeezed himself into the gravity lift, he called over four troopers who looked like they were in the best shape and ordered them down after Samson, who he hoped hadn't just sent himself down to certain death with his theatrics. The rest of Oscar One-One, who had been sitting round the Imperial High Command's meeting table for a breather before their next firefight, got to their feet and followed Kamil downstairs.

It didn't take long for Kamil to write off fighting their way across the bridge as a no-go. Oscar One-Three, now down to only six members, had quickly barricaded the door with any furniture they could find and set up a killzone. Several Sangheili already lay dead on the scorch-marked bridge, with at least a dozen more hanging back around the doorway to the other side, setting up portable energy barriers to nullify their fire as they gathered strength for another push. Kamil did the math, weighing up the odds of seventeen Orbital Drop Shock Troopers facing off against a hundred or so of the Imperium's seriously pissed-off palace guards. They were pretty good, bravado or no.

"Make yourselves at home, ladies!" Kamil bellowed. "Because if the ONI asshole we've been escorting is correct then we're sitting right on top of the Imperium's biggest stash of secrets, and they're not gonna let us take 'em without a fight!"

Cheers arose from the rest of his men. The Sangheili, interpreting this as taunting from their human invaders, began to bellow what could only be obscenities across the bridge. Kamil couldn't help but find it funny, even if they were all probably about to die. He checked his ammo: three magazines for the rifle, including the one he had loaded, and two for his sidearm. One grenade too, for when things got dire. Samson, he thought, I hope that you find the mother of all doomsday weapons down there, or you're gonna have one hell of a return journey.

***

Samson was halfway down the gravity lift, which spanned the length of the tower and then some, before he realised that he hadn't sent any troopers down first. Feeling foolish, he checked his submachine gun and readied it as he neared the bottom of a the long, dimly-lit shaft. The moment his feet touched the ground he was on the move, sweeping into a high-ceilinged cavern that had been built, not formed, into the mountain that the palace straddled. Turning left and right, ready for any foe, Samson didn't stop until he realised just how much dust he was kicking up with every step, and that the only marks visible on the ground were days-old footprints. This place did not see visitors often.

Rak Ultin arrived before long, holding down his robe as it threatened to fly over his head from the descent. The Chief Councillor of the Imperium of Clarity stepped out of the lift with a vain effort to maintain some dignity, though his eyes hungrily scanned the contents of a room that he had clearly never entered before. He waved to Samson, who had already identified a much larger, deactivated lift close to what was likely Toru 'Makhan's personal one. Four ODST's soon arrived, piling out of the lift with muffled curses and falling in to cover both Samson and Rak from any potential threats.

"Is there anything down here I should know about?" Samson asked the Yonhet, holding up his TACPAD for translation. "Any defensive measures?"

Rak shrugged. "Only 'Makhan knows."

Samson trod carefully through the cavern, moving down a short flight of stone steps into the next room. Dozens of tables lay spread out before him, some covered with datapads and handheld tools, while most were littered with pieces of what was unmistakably Forerunner technology. This isn't a vault, Samson's eyes widened as realisation struck. This is a laboratory.

Snatching up his Luminary, Samson swept across the room with the device, desperately searching for something useful. While from afar this reverse-engineered 'relic-seeker' had shown a cluster of active Forerunner devices, it was now clear even to someone with Samson's fairly limited knowledge that most had been taken apart or were in no condition for retrieval. Feeling pangs of guilt and anger at the sight of this jumbled mess of useless items, Samson could only close his eyes and steady his breathing. The alternative was to kick over the nearest table in a fit of rage, which would not make him look good to the troopers escorting him. As he took one last hopeless look around the lab, a low whine sounded from above, and a flash of light caught his eye. Samson's mouth fell open as a dark spherical machine drifted down into the chamber, surveying its new occupants with a single glowing red eye.

"Hello!" a chipper voice sounded from the sphere. "Did Toru 'Makhan send you? I am Diligent Keeper, the custodian of this archive. It is so good to finally meet you, Reclaimers!"

Jackpot.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

161: Into the Breach

“Slipspace transition imminent. All hands stand ready at battlestations and await your orders.”

Stray settled into the command chair. Streams of tactical data were already flowing across his HUD. The Soul Ascension, repaired and returned from its close brush with destruction, stood ready to join the battle once again. Stray would prefer not to. The reports Diana had intercepted from the Voden system weren’t promising. Every ship in the enemy fleet closed in on Iradu. The Imperium held them at bay for now, but they wouldn’t hold forever. Despite all the reversals and heroics, they would lose here just like they lost at Montak. Stray wasn’t keen to be on the losing side of another battle. He’d nearly lost his ship—not to mention his life—once already. He would much rather pull out now and avoid the rest of the fighting altogether.

Simon-G294 would run without a second thought.

But Stray didn’t have that luxury anymore. He couldn’t be a skulking coward no matter how much his inner nature craved it. He held the reins of power on this ship, and that meant others held power over him. Shinsu ‘Refum ordered him to fight, so he must fight. And below him seethed the brutal, bloodthirsty mass of the Kru’desh Legion itself. His warriors wanted revenge. They wanted battle. A shipmaster who could not give them that fight was no commander at all. They would turn on him just as easily as they’d turned on his predecessor. And so Stray had only one path forward. He mastered his fear and faced the tactical display.

The Soul Ascension shuddered. Its Slipspace drive flared and sent waves of energy pulsing across the ship. Beneath that energy throbbed an organic, restless pulse. The crew was ready for battle. The rest of the war be damned, these warriors just wanted to tear into the nearest enemies.

They’d have their chance soon enough. Perhaps their final chance.

“The UNSC and Swords are pressing hard.” Amber stood beside Stray’s command chair, helmet tucked beneath her arm and a confident smile on her face. “This is going to be fun.”

Stray tilted his helmet in her direction ever so slightly but offered no reply. He tried not to think about what had transpired between them in his cabin. The whole encounter was a blur of twisted emotions he didn’t need right now. He’d just have to sort that particular mess out once they made it out of this alive. One thing was for sure: he couldn’t order Amber off the bridge now.

“Brace for Slipspace transition!” Ro’nin crowed from the crew pit. A final shudder coursed through the ship. The lights on the bridge dimmed and then in the next instant flashed back to life with renewed vigor. Alarm klaxons blared across the bridge and new tactical data flooded across every display. A battlespace map bloomed in the center of the bridge, the holo-display filled with more contact signatures than Stray had ever seen.

Stray couldn’t hold his nerves in check. He rose from the command chair and paced before the display, drinking in every detail of the battle unfolding before him.

“Well, this is more interesting than I anticipated,” Diana noted dryly. “It seems the enemy fleet is holding a defensive formation around Iradu. The defenders have become the attackers.”

Interesting wasn’t the word Stray would use. The Imperium fleet threw itself at the coalition’s formation, blocked off from their own capital. Small formations traded fire all around the planet in a fiery tapestry as enemy dropships surged down on the surface. Iradu was caught in a full-blown invasion and its fleet was powerless to support the fighting on the surface.

Stray once again fought back the urge to order his ship back into Slipspace. He eyed the Imperium formations. If the Soul Ascension linked up with the main force it might have enough cover to endure the worst of the fighting. Maybe Toru ‘Makhan could conjure up some great reversal to turn the tide, or perhaps they could just survive just long enough to make the case that they’d done all they could with a losing situation. It was better than what the Kru’desh had endured these last two battles.

But that plan was swiftly dashed. A Kig-Yar raised its beak from the communications node and squawked: “Encrypted transmission from Shipmaster ‘Refum! He has a communications buoy sending us orders now!”

Diana swiftly parsed through the encryption. “The illustrious shipmaster took a detachment of warriors to the capital. Apparently the enemy is hitting them hard. He orders you to reinforce him down there immediately.”

“I see.” Stray cut off his helmet’s external communication before he continued. “Down there? Has he lost his hinged mind? If the Imperium could reinforce their planet they’d be doing it already. The entire enemy fleet is between us and that capital.”

“Well, you could always tell him to shove his orders. We could pretend we didn’t receive the transmission at all. He might buy that.”

“Very helpful. He’d find out. Shinsu always finds out.” Stray had won his life and fortunes on an altar of betrayal. He’d stabbed plenty of people in the back. But Shinsu ‘Refum was not a creature who suffered betrayal. Stray had seen firsthand what happened to people who crossed the special operations commander. “Give me something, Diana. How the hell do we make it down there?”

“Oh, so now you want my help.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Stray grated. The Soul Ascension drifted at the edge of the battle, overlooked—for now. Without a battle plan the cruiser was a sitting duck. “And neither do you.”

“You’ve been awfully rude to me lately. That’s no way to treat a friend.” Diana had a way of smirking without a face to show on. “But I’ll chalk it up to stress. This has been a rough campaign on you. Say please.”

“Your orders, Shipmaster?” Ro’nin prompted. The first officer knew all too well what was happening inside his commander’s helmet. Amber gave Stray a sidelong look before stepping down to join Ro’nin at the tactical display. The battle raged on beyond the ship,

Stray’s throat felt raw. “Diana, please.”

The AI spoke only after a pregnant pause. She sounded almost disappointed, as if he’d failed some sort of test. But that’s how it always was with her: always intentions within intentions, never a clear answer about anything. ‘Well, then, if you insist…”

New information flashed across the tactical display: a projected approach vector for the Soul Ascension to enter Iradu’s orbit—straight through the enemy battle line.

“The enemy formation is weakest at this point,” Diana announced to the entire bridge. “They’re occupied elsewhere and so is the Imperium. I can’t guarantee a safe approach but it’s the best way to follow Shipmaster ‘Refum’s orders without getting vaporized.”

Stray looked back at the image of Iradu. From here on the bridge it was just a hologram. They were insulated from the horror being unleashed across countless ships all through this sector. Tens of thousands of lives had already been snuffed out in this battle alone. Stray had never seen a battle this large before—not in all his time with Jul ‘Mdama or on the frontier and certainly not during the Human-Covenant War. This wasn’t even his fight.

But neither was Jul ‘Mdama’s fading crusade. It was never Stray’s fight, but he fought on all the same. That was the story of his life. He hadn’t asked for this war-torn hell of a galaxy. He simply made the most of it, just like Toru ‘Makhan and Shinsu ‘Refum and every other power-hungry bastard out there.

He jabbed a finger at the tactical display. “Fine. We’re taking that route in. Engines and shields to maximum power. Ro’nin, I want a full load of dropships clearing the hangar as soon as we punch through that line. We’ll hit fast and hard, just like we did on Montak.”

The bridge crew stared at him, disbelief evident even on the assortment of alien faces.

“That’s an order,” Stray growled, striding back to his command seat. “Get to it.”

“As—as you say, shipmaster.” Even the unflappable Ro’nin looked taken aback. He rounded on the bridge crew. “Prepare for battle! Sound the advance! Launch screening fighters and prepare the dropships for deployment!”

Amber hurried back to Stray’s side. “The battle’s a mess out there. We’re one ship with no cover. You can’t be serious about—”

A tilt of Stray’s head silenced her. Good. At least he was still in command on his own bridge. He waved to the gunnery station. “Weapon teams on all decks, prepare for immediate action. It’ll be a knife fight once we hit that line, just the way we like it.”

The Soul Ascension trembled with renewed life. It surged forward through the debris of the earlier battle and raced on toward the battle line. Distant lights bloomed all around the besieged capital. The battle for Iradu was only just beginning.

Distant explosions drifted to Shinsu’s ears. The Imperium’s capital was under attack. The war had finally come to Iradu’s surface. Plasma fire and human projectile weapons hummed and snapped through the streets. Another eerie noise rose to join the violent chorus: the wails of terrified civilians. The Imperium had been outmaneuvered in orbit and now its capital world paid the price.

Shinsu wondered if this inevitability could have been avoided. Maybe some stratagem could have held back the reversals at Bineb and Frendhal. Or perhaps Toru ‘Makhan’s ambitions were doomed from the beginning. Perhaps all this death and ruin was preordained by the whim of fate.

That was a truly terrifying thought. All the ambition in the galaxy was nothing without power to back it up. And might itself could always be swept aside by even greater might, assigned at random by accidents of birth or chance. Toru ‘Makhan’s end was in sight—yet another paragon of Sangheili grandeur struck down and replaced by the humans and their wretched, faceless systems.

Shinsu and his guard squadron sheltered behind reinforced parapets erected around the palace complex. The tide of battle had already swept through the defensive line. Dead Imperium warriors were scattered like broken dolls across the palace steps. Shinsu’s dropships had deposited his small contingent just as the battle erupted in full force. They had beaten back two enemy assaults already, but such paltry victories were but a drop in the wider ocean of battle. Shinsu had committed himself and his best warriors to this fight. He gained nothing by holding a single position.

“What news of reinforcement?” Shinsu stepped back from the parapet and addressed his communications specialist. The warrior’s harness was augmented by an advanced transmission pack to give him a line to the ships in space. “We cannot linger here any longer.”

“Shipmaster Grono ‘Yendam attempts to breach the enemy line,” the warrior replied. “He is bringing as many forces as he can muster to defend the palace. As for the Kru’desh, well…”

He trailed off with uncharacteristic hesitation.

“What about them?” Shinsu demanded. His warriors ought to know better than such faltering reports.

“The Soul Ascension just arrived in system.” The communications specialist spoke with a sort of horrified awe. “They have not broadcast any news of their intentions, but Shipmaster ‘Vesic reports that the cruiser itself is charging the enemy line. Alone.”

Shinsu’s hands tightened into fists. That arrogant, foolhardy...

But pointless self-destruction was hardly in Stray’s nature, despite his many failings. He and the Kru’desh outcasts had survived and triumphed against all odds before. His “oracle” and her claims to divine inspiration might be false, but a cruel fortune guided Stray’s bloody path across the stars. Some ill-spirit had taken that wretched human as a plaything. Perhaps that same spirit guided his path now.

“Very well. Then ‘Yendam and Stray will meet us here very soon. We must prepare the stage for their arrival.”

“Commander.” A Cleansing Blade warrior emerged from active camouflage just behind Shinsu’s position. The warrior spoke with a calm that belied the chaos raging in the city beyond. “The palace has been breached. Human special forces teams are inside as we speak.”

“Then we must join them.” Shinsu readied his blade. The warriors around him gripped their weapons in calm anticipation. This was no rabble of bloodthirsty killers. His warriors sought neither honor or glory, merely the opportunity to bring death to the enemy. “We are going hunting.”

At first no ships sallied forward to oppose the Soul Ascension’s brazen advance. The enemy’s attention was fixed on the Imperium fleets, perhaps, or maybe no one quite knew what to make of one ship’s abrupt assault. The battlecruiser plowed through debris clouds and maneuvered beneath the coalition’s main formation.

Stray paced around the tactical display. Space combat was its own terrifying breed of battle, a battlespace governed by physics and machines. No individual—no matter how battle-honed or augmented—could make a difference in the cold vacuum. Yet even so he approached naval command the same way he might a back-alley brawl. Speed and surprise mattered just as much up here as it did down there. This ship and all its destructive capabilities were his to wield as he saw fit. The rest was just a matter of staying alive long enough to assert them in just the right position.

The Soul Ascension’s charge did not go unanswered for long. “An enemy formation just broke off on an intercept course!” Ro’nin reported. “Human vessels, frigate class! Multiple fighter squadrons are lining up attack runs!”

Just once Stray would have liked to deal with Sangheili opponents. “Get the Seraphs in to throw off the fighters,” he ordered. “Divert power to shields and maintain maximum speed.”

The ship shuddered. The modifications to the traditional CCS-class battlecruiser prioritized rapid system shifts at the cost of the Covenant’s usual smooth power flow. Motes of light winked and shifted on the tactical display as the fighter squadrons clashed and the UNSC frigates assumed a firing line directly in the Soul Ascension’s path. They would time their MAC blasts, coordinating the shots to disable the oncoming cruiser in a single volley.

“Get me a course correction just before we enter firing range.” Stray traced the maneuver onto the tactical display. “Drop shields and divert the excess power to weapons.”

No one dared question the dangerous ploy. If the UNSC captains anticipated the maneuver their MAC rounds would rip the vulnerable cruiser apart. Stray clamped his hand down over the nearest console to keep it from shaking. This was just as reckless as fighting that Spartan hand to hand. Any hesitation, any loss of momentum, and he was finished.

The Soul Ascension was almost inside the frigate formation’s firing arc. “Now!” Stray barked.

The cruiser’s shields dropped and in the next instant its engines lifted the ship up and around the MAC cannons’ anticipated firing radius. The frigates were fast to adjust for the maneuver—but not fast enough. In the next moment the Soul Ascension had them in plasma range, the frigates’ forward-facing MAC cannons powerless to cover their vulnerable hulls.

“All batteries, fire!”

Streams of plasma raked across all three frigates. One took a direct hit and split in two. Another shattered as the Ascension’s ventral beam impaled its bridge. The third maneuvered in time to avoid the worst of the barrage, but in the next instant a wave of plasma torpedoes tore through its underbelly. The Kru’desh Seraph squadrons, fresh off dealing with the intercept squadrons, swarmed it with a primal fury.

Three more kills—but this was just the beginning. Now more ships changed course to face the interloper. The Soul Ascension flew through the center of the storm now.. There was no pulling back. They would either break through to Iradu or be swarmed and torn apart from all sides.

“Well, that made them mad,” Diana remarked. “A UNSC cruiser has us lined up from above.”

“Shields up.” Stray saw it. More fighters were closing in—Swords of Sanghelios Seraphs this time. Their motherships wouldn’t be far behind. “Take the hit and keep moving.”

“As you wish. All hands, brace for impact.”

The MAC blast took the cruiser square in the superstructure. The shields held, but barely. The bridge trembled, girders straining overhead. Stray’s reckless charge raced on, pushing deeper in past the enemy fleet.

“More guests closing in,” Diana announced. “It’s the Swords this time. One heavy cruiser and two destroyer escorts. They’re in wide formation. No going around this time.”

“Then we go right through them.” Sometimes Stray didn’t know who was speaking when he opened his mouth. This mad bravado—was it fearlessness or just desperation? “Scatter the fighters and raise shields. Charge the ventral beam to fire on my mark.”

The Swords of Sanghelios came in guns blazing. Plasma splashed off the Soul Ascension’s shields like water beating against a rock. The bridge shuddered with each passing hit. Alarm klaxons reminded the crew that each hit brought them closer to destruction. But the cruiser did not so much as slow. The enemy ships fired their own engines, jockeying for better firing positions. The heavy cruiser rushed forward to meet this brazen interloper, all batteries blazing.

The shield withstood one more barrage before it collapsed. The alarms became shrill screams. Plasma burned through the hull. Stray fought to hold himself steady. His vision blurred, half panicked, half thrilled. Bring it on you sons of bitches.

“One more hit like that and we’re done for!”

Stray didn’t even notice who gave the desperate warning. The bridge and its crew faded away. He stared feverishly up at the tactical display. Those holographic lights were his entire universe now.

“Rotate the ship ninety degrees,” he ordered. “Give that cruiser a taste of the ventral beam. Do it now!”

The crew raced to obey. Just before the enemy cruiser could muster its next barrage it found itself staring down the Soul  Ascension's underbelly—and facing the blinging light of a fully charged ventral beam. The heavy cannon struck the cruiser at point blank range, tearing through its shields and hull and leaving the gutted ship tumbling end over end into Iradu’s atmosphere.

A cheer rose up from the bridge crew. Damage reports flooded in from all decks, but the danger wasn’t passed just yet. One of the disabled cruiser’s escort destroyers blocked the Soul Ascension’s path. Its brave crew refused to yield the battlespace.

“Get the shields back up!” Stray shouted. “Increase speed and brace for impact!”

Maybe the destroyer’s crew didn’t realize what was about to happen. Maybe they couldn’t possibly anticipate such an archaic move, or maybe they thought their hull might hold. They were wrong. The Soul Ascension plowed headlong into the blocking ship. The impact damn near threw Stray across the bridge. He staggered back into his command seat. Ro’nin tumbled to the deck alongside several other warriors. Only Amber remained standing, braced against the gunnery console. She released a primal whoop as the scene played out on the tactical display.

The Soul Ascension’s bulbous prow tore the destroyer in two. A debris cloud formed in the cruiser’s wake. It pushed on with unrelenting speed and left the final destroyer limping amidst the remnants of its formation.

The Kru’desh Seraphs emerged to flank the Soul Ascension. Nearly a quarter of the ship’s fighter complement was gone and half of the remaining fighters needed to dock for repairs. The ship itself was lucky to still be in one piece. The plasma fire had rent gaping holes across several decks. Repair crews were battling fires and sealing bulkheads on all levels. Another fight like that and the ship would tear itself apart.

“Get us to ground,” Stray ordered Ro’nin as the vice commander picked himself up off the ground. “Keep a low profile and make sure they don’t come after you. Amber, with me. We’re taking this fight to the surface. Shinsu had better be happy to see us. I didn’t come all this way for another lecture.”

Unbeknownst to Stray and his crew, they owed their survival to more than just luck and daring. A new battle was erupting in the space they had just left. Imperium ships, desperate to secure a route back to their capital, were plunging into the newly-torn hole in the enemy formation. Without really knowing what he was doing, Stray had just opened Iradu’s surface to reinforcements.

Actene: Heaven and Earth

162: Final Command

1948 Hours, September 1st, 2558 CSO-class supercarrier Watchful Custodian, Voden System

"There goes Shipmaster 'Harun. Fool."

The war would end today. All that remained was to play things out to a conclusion.

From the bridge of the Watchful Custodian, Imperial Admiral Toru 'Makhan stood and watched as his massed fleets moved to encircle the invaders occupying Iradu's orbit, gradually pressing forward with withering salvos of plasma fire as they whittled down their defences. Streaks of light criss-crossed the space between the forces of the Imperium and the remnants of the UNSC-Swords task force, occasionally joined by missile swarms and long-range MAC fire. Moments ago, one Obedience-class cruiser had broken formation from its battle line and advanced alone towards a gap in the human fleet's defences, only to be blown apart in seconds as four separate cannon rounds converged on the warship.

"He was always quick to anger," Toru remarked, glancing towards the silver-armoured warrior at his side. "Though we should not treat him too harshly, Maas."

Commander Maas 'Hengo, head of the Imperial Guard, bowed his head. "His haste and aggression cost him his life, and the lives of his crew. Even incensed by the sight of Iradu besieged, he should have known better."

"A fair point." Toru conceded, drawing his attention back towards the holotable. "Take a ship from Fleet Master 'Hudon's fleet and move it to bolster 'Harun's spot in our main battle line."

Toru's order was quickly relayed to his communications officer, who immediately transmitted it to the Imperial Admiral's subordinate. Within a minute, a cruiser detached itself from the fleet's right flank and moved to fill the gap. Hopefully, Shipmaster 'Harun's monumental stupidity would serve as a lesson to the rest of their commanders, many of whom had filled the local battlenet with requests to lead daring charges against their foe. After days of combat with barely a cycle of rest between each engagement, even the most battle-hungry of the Imperium's military leaders were very eager to bring about a swift end to this war, and charging in to free their homeworld from the clutches of an invading force would be a sufficiently glorious way of ending things.

Ultimately, however, they would follow the commands of Toru 'Makhan. The Imperial Admiral knew better than most how badly their morale had been affected by the events of the last few days, taking into account the loss of half of their High Command and widespread discontent and even mutiny from the Unggoy population. Now, in the Imperium's darkest hour, they would look to Toru for guidance more than ever before. He would do nothing to tarnish his image as a saviour, of course, and deliberately overlooked reports of near-reverence towards him from many. Today, Toru would save his Imperium, exterminate their foes, and begin the process of leading his people to their new home.

All I have to do is win.

"Excellency!" a nearby officer suddenly called out. "A new contact is entering the system!"

Toru's mandibles shook as the nearby holotable flashed, bringing up a warning marker not far behind one of their battle clusters. For a few terrifying moments, his mind cycled through every kind of foe imaginable: more human fleets, reinforcements for the Swords or even an opportunistic pirate flotilla could bring about disaster this day. When the image before him coalesced into the familiar shape of a single CCS-class battlecruiser, Toru breathed a sigh of relief. One ship was manageable.

"Identify them," he commanded.

The communications officer did as instructed, and turned back to Toru after a few seconds. "It is the Soul Ascension, Excellency. One of the vessels sent to aid us by Jul 'Mdama's forces."

He had heard of that ship. From Fleet Master 'Larom's report on their conflict over Bineb II, the Soul Ascension had successfully harried the human fleet and dispatched one of its leaders to take 'Larom to safety. Given how he had dismissed most of the warriors in 'Mdama's vast military as little more than bloodthirsty fanatics long ago, Toru was pleasantly surprised to hear of this particular group's fighting prowess. Perhaps he would recruit them once all this was over.

"Thank you." Toru inclined his head towards the officer. "And Obedientiary, do try to identify any incoming vessels before crying out in horror."

As his subordinate hung his head and mumbled a few words of apology, Toru began to watch the Soul Ascension with interest. After exchanging all the proper codes that ensured the Imperium's rearguard did not vaporise it, the cruiser surged forward, moving past the Imperium's battle line at impressive speeds and into the hellish gap between the warring fleets. While it seemed that their allies would meet the same ignominious end as the impulsive Shipmaster 'Harun, the battlecruiser expertly weaved itself through a criss-crossing web of enemy fire, blasting three human ships apart with its own cannons as it rocketed towards Iradu's atmosphere. Toru couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement as the lone warship threw their foe's own battle lines into complete disarray, breaking through their blockade with what looked like only a few glancing hits. This is our chance.

"Contact Fleet Master 'Deris!" Toru swept one arm forward, pointing towards their distant homeworld. "I want his forces to advance at once towards Iradu's northern hemisphere. Aim for the hole our friends have made in their defences and keep it open; I want our ships close enough to begin transporting troops to the surface!"

As the sole member of the Imperium's High Command to have not participated in any large-scale battle so far, Lora 'Deris's legions were still fresh and fully-equipped for battle, while his warships were unblemished by combat. By comparison, everyone else had incurred horrific losses over the last few days, and barely had the supplies to fight their way through this battle. Though he kept the order quiet, the Watchful Custodian had been forced to send vital supplies to over a dozen vessels in the aftermath of their battle to reclaim Frendhal, while the late Orro 'Hendai's once-fearsome flagship Blissful Solitude had been relegated to a support role in their fleet's rearguard after sustaining near-crippling damage. 'Deris and his fleet had no chance of being easily repulsed.

Soon enough, a vanguard force of Obedience-class cruisers began their advance, laying down a steady stream of cannon fire as the enemy fleets shifted their attention towards them, still trying to close the hole in their defences. Once, the Imperium would have had to deploy dozens of dropships, sending hundreds of troops on a risky journey to a planet's surface. Recent technological innovations had changed their methods, with translocation as a quicker, safer method of troop deployment. Two cruisers went down, spewing fire and debris as MAC rounds gouged into their armoured hulls, but the rest quickly capitalised on the hole made by the Soul Ascension'. After reaching a safe point in Iradu's orbit, each ship connected remotely to translocation pads dotted across the planet's military installations. All it took was a quick surge of power, and their allies in the capital had reinforcements at their back.

"How many do you think made it?" Toru asked Maas 'Hengo, who had not spoken in a while. "A thousand?"

The guardsman looked over the warship formation for a moment. "Closer to twelve hundred, excellency. Not a bad start."

Toru nodded, aware of what his bodyguard was thinking. "That alone will not turn the tide on the ground. They will need heavier support; tanks, aircraft and excavator platforms."

"The Emancipator carries at least two Protos excavators," Maas tapped a finger against the outline of Lora Deris's flagship. "Were he to commit his entire force to this offensive, he could turn the tide of battle after gaining a proper foothold in Iradu's orbit."

Folding his arms, Toru considered the Commander's proposal. Maas was a superb officer in his own right, lacking only ambition, but his tactical advice was usually sound. The spearhead of cruisers currently forcing its way through their foe's battle line had already taken quite the beating and were slowly being picked off by human vessels cowering behind the larger, better-shielded warships fielded by the Swords of Sanghelios. Having 'Deris move in himself would definitely even the odds, considering the size and power of his own ship. Checking their right flank, Toru saw the slightly more ragged formation led by Zetal 'Hudon starting to waver in a war of long-range attrition. They would need the Watchful Custodian's help before long.

"Obediantary!" Toru called to his chief communications officer. "Can we contact Fleet Master 'Larom?"

The officer, eager to make up for his earlier error, scrambled to establish a connection to the man in charge of Iradu's groundside defences. 'Larom's excellent record had taken quite a few hits over the last few days after failing to defend two separate locations, but the Imperial Admiral had faith that he of all people could hold their palace against any threat. Following what looked like a few failed attempts and a muttered conversation with several other officers, a connection was finally established.

"Putting you through now, excellency!" the officer called out triumphantly.

Toru took a step back as the ghostly figure of Kan 'Larom materialised over his holotable, flickering slightly. It took a few more moments to properly establish, leaving the Fleet Master silent as he rapped a fist against his chest and began to speak.

"-glad to hear from you." Kan bowed his head as the audio connected.

"Fleet Master." Toru returned the salute. "We have had little news of the situation on the ground. How are the palace defences holding up?"

The sharp intake of breath from Kan told Toru a lot before he even replied. "The western sector of the capital has fallen, excellency, though we were able to evacuate a major portion of the citizenry to safer zones in the east. Human troops have been trying to advance on the palace, though we have foiled all attempts to breach the main entrance. The arrival of our allies has been quite a boon, though we are still heavily outnumbered. Our biggest problems now lie in news that there are Demons among the enemy forces, the Swords of Sanghelios attempting to land troops atop the palace, and an unexpected incursion by human commandos."

"What kind of incursion?" Toru's voice grew cold. "Are they in the palace?"

"Regrettably so, excellency. Based on our security reports, they emerged from one of the lower troop bays and were able to fight their way through several patrols and may have abducted Chief Councillor Rak Ultin before I was informed of their presence. Most were killed by the palace guard, though a number of their commandos were able to breach your personal tower."

Toru's hearts skipped a beat. Aware that all eyes were on him, he fought hard to maintain a calm exterior, though nothing could prevent the inferno that had just ignited within him. "How did they enter the palace in the first place, Fleet Master?"

Having noticed the tightly-restrained fury in his superior's voice, Kan straightened up. "We... we believe that they may have used one of our translocation pads, excellency. Our scans show that the nexus station in orbit is undamaged, though it may have been seized by human forces. They still hold the bridge to your tower, though we could easily seize or destroy it, given time."

'Larom, you incompetent fool! I should have left you to run supply lines, not placed you in charge of a fleet! Toru took a slow, deep breath. "Fleet Master, I want you to listen very carefully, for I shall not repeat myself. You are not to damage that tower under any circumstances. I want you to take as many warriors as you can spare and have them retake it by force, even if it means drowning them in your own corpses. I want it retaken now!"

"And Ultin?"

"Ultin is worthless to me! Retake that tower!"

Toru realised that his voice had grown louder with each passing word, and tried to compose himself as he formulated a new plan. Until now he had treated this like any other battle; one to be handled carefully, for sure, but not one he had a major chance of losing. If the humans, inquisitive creatures that they were, somehow managed to find their way to the vault at the base of his tower, they would certainly uncover Diligent Keeper. The Monitor, like most of his kind, would be strangely inclined to help the humans based on some ancient connection that Toru scarcely understood, and would reveal everything to them. Technological research. Recovered artefacts. The location of the shield world. All would be lost to their enemy if he did not act.

Kan, whose proud proclamation of future success had gone unnoticed by Toru, shifted uncomfortably when the Imperial Admiral did not respond immediately. When Toru emerged from his reverie after a few seconds of unbearable silence, he fixed the Fleet Master with a glare that he would never forget.

"Do not fail me."

Without waiting for a reply, Toru cut the connection off. The scope of the battlefield had changed in an instant, drawing his attention away from any prior plans of gradual troop deployment and encirclement. This engagement had to be won as soon as possible, lest the worst occur and his enemies escape with every secret he had spend the past few years painstakingly hoarding. He approached the edge of his command platform, and did what he was best at: giving orders.

"Contact Lora 'Deris and have him move the Emancipator up to assist in landing troops on the surface. Tell him to deploy excavators. Zetal 'Hudon is to tighten his fleet's formation and concentrate firepower on the heavier enemy vessels. Commander, gather the Imperial Guard at once."

The multi-layered bridge, which had fallen quiet in the Watchful Custodian's brief withdrawal from combat, burst into action once more. As Maas 'Hengo barked into his communicator, Toru approached a pair of figures that he had all but ignored: Reynald Donnelly, his human prisoner, and Muri 'Jarit, the sole female guardsman and his most fervent supporter.

"Captain Donnelly." Toru switched to the human's language as he addressed the man, who had lapsed into a slumped posture of utter defeat since the fighting started. "It seems that I am finally in need of your services."

The ragged officer seemed startled at first, though his face soon set into a sneer. "Finally going to negotiate?"

Toru had to raise his hand sharply to stop Muri from striking him. "Something like that. Get up."

Donnelly did so, looking puzzled. With a wave from Toru, Muri pushed him forward, following the Imperial Admiral to his holotable. Toru perused it for a moment, his eyes scanning the area around Iradu and the enemy blockade. Eventually he found what he was looking for, and tapped the table's surface on an empty spot close to the Swords' left flank.

"There." Toru said with a sense of quiet finality.

Muri looked from Toru to the table in confusion, while Donnelly's face fell, realising what was about to happen. The Imperial Admiral marked his chosen location properly and strode to address the cluster of high-ranking Obedientiaries on the level below. Some were quicker on the uptake than others, though none dared to address their leader unless spoken to.

"Prepare the Watchful Custodian for translocation!" Toru's voice boomed across the ziggurat of command stations, stunning all below into silence.

"E-Excellency," the nearest navigation officer stammered as he spoke. "Are you sure that this is wise? We have only run theoretical trials with this technology on the supercarrier. One mistake could doom us all."

Toru folded his arms across his armoured chest. "Orro 'Hendai proved to us all over Montak that our capital ships could be moved across relatively short distances. There is about as much distance between us and Iradu as there was between the Blissful Solitude and its destination then."

"But-"

"It can be done," Toru's eyes narrowed as his three-fingered hands curled into taloned fists. "Have I not shown you all the way to glory and success time and time again? We stand upon a precipice, faced with either total defeat or our guaranteed salvation. There is no room for doubt on our journey, brother."

The officer said nothing. Barely able to meet Toru's gaze, he bowed his head in submission and returned to his duties. The rest of his bridge staff did the same, though some, overcome with zealous devotion to the figure in white and gold above them, bellowed his name as though it were a prayer.

"'Makhan!" Their cries echoed around the high-ceilinged chamber, soon turning into a chant as more officers joined in, filling the room with a strange and powerful energy. "'Makhan! 'Makhan! 'Makhan!"

Taking only a sidelong glance at the look of horror on his human prisoner's face, Toru returned to his command chair and waited for his order to be carried out. He had heard the rumours, of course. Of young Sangheili, bereft of the false gods their people had followed for millennia, choosing to put their faith in a mortal man. This had drawn the ire of those who still clung to the old ways or who had adapted them to fit a new, post-Covenant era, but Toru had done nothing to discourage them. After all, had he not brought peace and prosperity to a place that had once been naught but a pirate-infested wilderness in the galaxy? Had he not given purpose to tens of thousands whose life had lost all meaning in the years after the war's end? Toru 'Makhan did not believe in gods. He had grown up in an age where divinity was attributed to the ancient tools of a long-dead society and cherished by those too close-minded to even try and unlock their full potential. In this more secular age, he had carved out a civilisation with his own hands, birthing what could one day be the greatest empire the galaxy had ever seen, earning every accolade, every word of praise, and every pledge of devotion.

If that did not make him worthy, then nothing would.

"Primary calculations are complete, excellency!" called one officer. "Ready to begin translocation on your command!"

Behind Toru, the bridge doors slid open, revealing Maas 'Hengo and two-dozen members of the Imperial Guard. Toru stood up as they approached, and every man among them sank to his knees.

"Rise, friends," the Imperial Admiral's mood had brightened. "We will not be here for long."

Maas approached Toru - the only guardsman who could do so without permission - and huffed in appreciation at the activity below. "I heard your command as we neared the bridge. Planning to cut out the heart of their fleet?"

"Not quite, Maas." Toru waved one hand dismissively. "A this juncture, there is little that their fleet could do to harm the Watchful Custodian. Our true goal is mere proximity to Iradu's surface."

"Ah," Maas nodded. "It is the palace you seek."

"Not the building itself, but a specific chamber. My laboratory, in fact. Save for a few of Rak Ultin's more scientifically-minded underlings, it is an area that only I have access to, though I fear that its secrets are at risk."

"Important secrets to warrant your presence, excellency. Forgive my impudence, but perhaps-"

Toru held up a finger, quieting Maas instantly. "You are forgiven, but this is a matter I must attend to personally. The future of our Imperium depends on it."

Maas's eyes shone with wonder for a moment, but the Commander knew better than to press Toru further. If the Imperial Admiral had secrets, he reasoned, then they were his to keep. Toru, for his part, was pleased to have chosen such a confidante; he and Maas had met not long after his first fleet posting as an Evocatus in the Covenant fleet, where the taciturn warrior had become the first to swear an oath of allegiance to a man he knew was destined for greatness. Such loyalty had and would continue to be rewarded. I know who will take the first seat on High Command when all this is over. Toru clasped both hands behind his back, and prepared for what would ultimately be his masterstroke in this battle.

"Begin translocation!"

With a few button presses, the entire supercarrier shuddered for a moment. Its engines groaned and its powerful shields began to flicker, barely able to contain the surge of power now running through the gargantuan warship. Toru 'Makhan held his breath and kept his posture, though a war raged in his mind between his confidence in this maneuver and the self-doubt eating away at him with each passing second. If this fails, he thought bitterly to himself, at least I will die before I realise it. Nine agonising seconds ticked away, and as Toru prepared to ask if something had gone wrong, the translocation engine fired. For the briefest of moments, the Watchful Custodian was encompassed in a golden flash that outshone the sun.

Their journey was complete half a second later. The deck lurched slightly beneath Toru's feet as the supercarrier began to contend with the pull of Iradu's orbit. A dozen monitors screamed proximity warnings as the flagship of the Imperium of Clarity's armada now found itself amidst a cluster of very confused enemy vessels. Someone below - likely a weapons officer - began to laugh. Communications flooded in from the rest of the fleet at once, mostly demanding new orders or declaring that they were already en-route to protect the Imperial Admiral. Their foes, taken completely off-guard, seemed to be split between fleeing and desperately firing everything at the flagship to little avail.

Toru ignored all of this, having turned his attention towards a single, all-important monitor that dealt with their long-distance connectivity. A holographic depiction of Iradu flashed up as he swiped a finger over one button. With another swipe, several dozen golden dots lit up across its surface, clustered mostly around a single sprawling metropolis on its northern continent. All of these were translocation pads, placed across military outposts and other areas of great importance. However, there was one, situated deep within the bowels of the Imperial Palace, that could only be activated by him. A back door of sorts, useful only in a handful of dire situations. Like this one. This would be their way in. A brief foray to the surface of no more than a few minutes, and he would be back on the bridge of his flagship, ready to bring about an end to this war with fire and fury.

Until then...

Imperial Admiral Toru 'Makhan stepped forward. Charismatic as he was, he had no speech prepared for this moment. Nothing to incense his followers, or to improve their already-shaken morale. From the helm of the Watchful Custodian, which had brought an imperial peace to over forty worlds, he delivered his final command.

"Fight to the end, my brothers. Offer up just a little more blood, and victory will be yours. Take no prisoners, and leave no doubt as to who the true masters of Iradu are. This is the hour that will define us all."

With that, Toru stepped away from his command platform and quietly exited the bridge. At his side walked Maas 'Hengo, followed closely by Muri 'Jarit and the prisoner Reynald Donnelly, who had all but accepted his cruel fate. The silver-clad warriors of the Imperial Guard filed out of the room in twos and threes behind them. The bridge door slid shut as the last of them passed through, leaving the command platform empty. Outside, flares of energy danced across the supercarrier's exterior as a thousand turrets flashed to life, each picking a target. From its position high in Iradu's orbit, the Watchful Custodian unleashed hell.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

163: Last Chance

2020 Hours, September 1st, 2558 UNSC Caspian, Iradu Orbit, Voden System

"All ships, fall back and regroup, now!"

In less than a minute, the Sixth Fleet's numbers had lost another six ships, and its already-wavering battle line had been shattered. Flashes of light filled every viewscreen as the UNSC Caspian lurched to one side, using the still-firing bulk of an allied carrier as protection from the storm of plasma fire now raining down on them at close range. Cries for help over the COM went ignored as the flagship raced ahead of its escort craft, weaving past debris as its officers tried to locate a safe area to slow down and assess the situation.

Admiral Zhi, for her part, refused to let fear overcome her senses. Stood atop the command bridge with one hand on the guard railing to steady herself as near-misses rocked the cruiser, she rattled off orders at an alarming rate, calling for everything from increased power to their engines to the immediate deployment of any troops they had left to Iradu's surface. Aware that any moment could be their last, she knew that anyone not immediately important to the ship's wellbeing was better off anywhere else.

"The Gilded Cage is down," said Captain Ngirandi with an ugly grimace. "Took out a couple of cruisers before that supercarrier hit it."

Beside Zhi's command chair, Weatherby's hologram tapped his foot impatiently. Had it not been for him detecting the sudden energy surge from the Imperial fleet's flagship and forced the Caspian to alert its fellows and turn away, then they would have likely perished in the first plasma volley as it streaked towards their port side. Now he aided the helmsmen and navigators, working hard to predict everything that would occur in the next thirty seconds so that the human crew had a better chance of survival. Even for a Smart AI, his capabilities were being strained.

"How many ships can we send to the surface?" Zhi asked the AI.

"Without losing cohesion with the Swords and dooming them? Not many."

"Can they get to the surface?"

"Probably not, Admiral. They'd lose a lot of ships in the retreat, then we'd all be trapped down there while the Imperium picks us off from above."

"Not an option then," Zhi exhaled slowly, moving to look over the holomap to her left. "Could commit everything we've got to a breakthrough maneuver - take as many of them with us as possible while keeping that supercarrier at arm's length."

Weatherby raised a finger to list several reasons why that plan was implausible, only to realise that she was speaking to herself. Faced with a seemingly inescapable situation, Zhi was merely blurting out whatever plans popped into her head. Even after the impressive display of slipspace translocation by an Imperial carrier over Montak, no one had factored the possibility of Toru 'Makhan's personal warship possessing the same technology into their battle plan. With their original goal of simply fending off the Imperium's incoming forces until Samson's team could capture the civilian government and force a ceasefire in tatters, they were running out of viable options.

Zhi shook her head and turned away from the holotable, returning to her command chair with an aura of surprising calm. Having successfully escaped to a relatively safe distance outside the enemy supercarrier's primary killzone, the Caspian began to decelerate, slipping behind the burnt-out remnants of one of the Imperium's orbital stations.

"Weatherby." Zhi swivelled to face the construct. "What's our nuclear stockpile looking like?"

The AI blinked once before replying. "I'm counting thirty-three shiva-class nuclear weapons, Admiral."

"And would that be enough to render Iradu's population centres uninhabitable?"

"Admiral!" Ngirandi cried out, looking horrified. "We can't-"

"Can't what?" Zhi raised an eyebrow. "Deny the enemy a home to return to when they're minutes from glassing all of us? I'm sure you remember the war as well as I do, Captain, and exactly what it took for us to win. If we don't survive this, then neither do they."

Seeing the pleading look in Ngirandi's eyes, Weatherby raised both hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Hold up there ma'am, there's got to be another way of doing this?"

"Is there?" She whispered. For the first time, Lin Zhi seemed close to despair.

In truth, Weatherby was bluffing. Having been busy trying to ensure his continued existence for the past few minutes, the Smart AI had given very little consideration to anything beyond the confines of the Caspian. Now, when faced with the question of whether or not he could essentially save the Sixth Fleet and win the war, he made time to think. A second's worth. First, Weatherby took full stock of the cruiser and the remnants of the Sixth Fleet based on his internal files, and quickly came to the conclusion that there was no way to even damage the incoming Supercarrier without turning the combined resources of the entire strike force against it, which would then leave them open to an unopposed charge from the Imperium's other ships and within an hour, absolute destruction. That was no good.

Seeing no decent way of stopping the enemy inside the Caspian, Weatherby decided to look outside. Reaching out wirelessly, he tapped into communication logs from allied Sangheili ships and double-checked weapon stockpiles inside human vessels, but found nothing but a similar amount of panic and confusion and a lack of any convenient superweapons. With these meagre options exhausted, Weatherby looked towards Iradu, and realised after touching the nearest connection that he was looking at himself. Oh right, he observed, My copy. He looked the actions of the set of processes he had split off to assist Samson's team, having been rather impressed with how useful a tiny sliver of personality and processing power could be. Right now, it was awaiting contact from the Rear Admiral, ready to transport them to the captured orbital station the moment they set foot on a translocation pad.

Ah.

While interfering with the Imperium's network of translocation pads had been a novel idea from the get-go, allowing them to slip a strike force deep into enemy territory in an instant without any of the risks of a conventional combat insertion, it now dawned on Weatherby after a quick look at the network that they had severely underestimated how useful this access could really be. In addition to the forty or so nodes dotted around Iradu, half a dozen more had appeared on the network, linked to the Imperium's orbiting warships that had just broken through their defensive lines. That included their supercarrier.

Weatherby checked and double-checked to ensure that he hadn't made any mistakes, but there were none. The connection between each translocation pad was secure - something he chalked up to the stability of reverse-engineered Forerunner technology - and more importantly, open to attack. Like their predecessors in the Covenant, the Imperium of Clarity's defences against AI intrusion were fairly weak, which had allowed even a fragment of the Smart AI to access their network and dispatch Samson's team to the surface. Now their flagship sat in the same position, completely unaware of the unrestricted access their foes now had to one of their main forms of troop deployment.

Briefly tapping into the network from afar, Weatherby detected every node currently connected to the Imperium's ships, and came close to disconnecting them all when another thought struck him. Taking their translocation system offline would be of some assistance in the battle now, though the Imperium would quickly realise what was happening and simply keep it deactivated to prevent further intrusion. What he needed was a quick strike; a devastating blow struck against the enemy to throw them into disarray so that the UNSC and Swords' chances of survival could increase. The AI finally had his plan.

Weatherby brought himself back to the Caspian's bridge. An entire second had passed. He hoped that Zhi didn't realise that he was making this up on the fly.

"Admiral." Weatherby folded his arms, and his face split into a confident grin. "We should adjust our current heading and move towards the orbital station our troops captured earlier."

Zhi glanced towards the holotable. "The one that links their translocation network?"

"The same."

"Weatherby," Zhi lowered her voice, fixing him with a reproachful look. "We aren't abandoning ship. Not only would we end up slaughtered on the surface, we've got too many wounded on board to transport safely."

"That wasn't the plan, ma'am." Weatherby snapped his fingers, and a readout of Iradu's translocation network flashed up above the holotable. Each translocation node flashed up in gold.

Captain Ngirandi was the first to notice and pointed excitedly towards the Imperium's flagship "The supercarrier! If we can use their translocation network, then-"

"-then we can slip a team aboard," Zhi finished his sentence, eyes wide with wonder. "I take it that this is your plan, Weatherby?"

"Yes ma'am," the AI nodded. "It's a long shot, but frankly so have all our other plans. If we can slip a team on board and have them disable some of the supercarrier's systems long enough for allied troops to get close, then we could bring down that monster from the inside."

"Couldn't we just transport a team inside, have them plant a nuke and then bring them back out?" Zhi asked.

Weatherby shook his head. "Based on the structural readouts I have and the location of the supercarrier's translocation nodes, we'd need to plant it somewhere close to the middle of the ship for maximum damage. Also, it's entirely possible that once they detect the a nuclear weapon - one thing the old Covenant were actually pretty good at - they'd try to vent atmosphere or even disperse entire sections of the supercarrier to save the rest, which is why we'll need a damn good team to try and secure the bridge before we move in with the nuke. Spartans would be my first choice, of course."

Zhi nodded slowly. "So we'll need a fast-attack force to deliver the payload too. If we load up some of our fighters with Shiva missiles and have them somehow deploy their missiles inside the enemy ship, would that be enough?"

"If my schematics on the layout of CSO-class supercarriers are correct, then launching one in the ship's hangar might be enough, though we'd be leaving a lot up to luck in that scenario. If the pilot's not fast enough, then they're looking at a one-way trip. Our boarding party's going to need to be off the ship by then too, of course, which relies fairly heavily on the Imperium not shutting down their own translocation grid to spite us. I'll send a copy of myself with the team to assist them too, but I can't guarantee anything once we launch the operation."

The Admiral sighed. This plan was probably one of the riskiest they'd launched, but at this point the benefits of success far outweighed the potential risks. Using the Imperium's translocation network against them was a move almost too good to use twice, and their goal of blowing up an enemy ship from within was hardly the most original plan either, but they had few other options. The Sixth Fleet could only outrun the supercarrier for so long, and the steadily-encroaching ring of enemy warships would overwhelm them within hours if nothing was done. With no word from Samson and their plan to capture the civilian government presumably foiled, taking out Toru 'Makhan and his flagship was the next best thing.

"Let's not waste any more time then." Zhi got to her feet. "Bring us in close to that orbital station and signal for any fighters to return to re-arm and prepare for this operation. Weatherby, do you have a team for your boarding party in mind?"

"Of course," Weatherby bowed his head. "I'll recall Fireteam Stallion from the surface at once."

With a proper, if desperate, plan of attack made, the Caspian quietly withdrew from the frontline, leaving a smattering of ships to provide cover in its wake. Safe as they were for now, it wouldn't be long before Toru 'Makhan's supercarrier crested the distant horizon over Iradu and resumed its attack on the UNSC and Swords' fleets, trapping their forces between the single ship's overwhelming firepower, dozens of incoming cruisers, and a ground war that they did not have the numbers to win. Lin Zhi disliked placing the fate of her ship and indeed, the entire war in the hands of a few soldiers, well-trained as they were, but she knew that those Spartans could make a difference. If they failed, then it would be the end for the Sixth Fleet.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

164: Keeper

2024 Hours, September 1st, 2558 Imperial Palace Vault, Iradu, Voden System

"Did Toru 'Makhan send you? I am Diligent Keeper, the custodian of this archive. It is so good to finally meet you, Reclaimers!"

Back on Earth, when Ryan Samson had been told to recover any Forerunner technology from the Imperium of Clarity, he'd deemed it a fool's errand. After the UNSC Haversham's black box recording showed 'Makhan and his personal guard using reverse-engineered weaponry, the Office of Naval Intelligence's Xeno-Materials Exploitation Group had all but forced Samson to accompany the Sixth Fleet, calling in favours to ensure that the head of the Prowler Corps would oversee this retrieval operation in the midst of a full-scale military campaign. He'd done his best so far, though with only a few hundred loyal men amidst thousands of allied troops Samson's options were limited, and though the luminary promised a treasure trove of Forerunner-made items he hadn't gotten his hopes up too much even as they descended into Toru 'Makhan's private vault.

Of course, that was before the monitor appeared.

"Hi there!" Samson motioned for his quartet of ODST bodyguards to lower their weapons before waving at the dark sphere floating before them. "We've come a long way to find you."

Unlike most monitors Samson had seen in ONI's briefings, Diligent Keeper's metal casing was a matte black, which would have kept the artificial intelligence concealed against the cavern's poorly-lit ceilings were it not for his glowing red eye. The Vice Admiral kept his finger off the trigger of his submachine gun as the Forerunner-made machine drifted around their four-man group, emitting a low whine from his antigravity device as he studied them in turn before stopping to stare at Rak Ultin.

"Hello, Chief Councillor!" Keeper said in a cheery voice, all but ignoring Samson. "You're just as 'Makhan described!"

The portly Yonhet glanced towards Samson and his bodyguards, unsure of what to do. Samson gave him a slight nod, and he clasped his fingers together, giving the machine a sharp-toothed smile.

"And I have heard much of you, Keeper," Rak bowed his head reverently.

Samson rounded on the captive, eyes narrowing. "You told me you didn't know what was down here."

"I knew of this monitor," Rak's panicked words spoke through Samson's TACPAD-mounted translation device. "But not where it was kept, I swear!"

Having spent years working around professional liars, Samson didn't believe his story for a second. Perhaps Rak had expected Diligent Keeper to incinerate the human intruders the moment they entered 'Makhan's vault, or that the Imperial Admiral had taken it with him on his campaign. Either way, it was a mark against the seemingly helpful Chief Councillor. Samson turned back to the monitor.

"My name is Ryan Samson. I'm an officer of the United Nations Space Command. Have you heard of us?"

Keeper descended until his eye was level with Samson's head, and bobbed up and down slightly as he spoke. "Only what Toru 'Makhan has told me: that your kind has risen far in recent years after a great war, and that you insist on spreading unchecked across the stars. Reclaimers you may be, but your behaviour is deeply concerning."

"Why's that?" Samson asked, noting the displeasure in Keeper's tinny voice.

"From what I know, you have done little to earn the mantle that was passed down to you by my creators. You fight battles both internal and external, and your reckless expansion and disregard for proper protocol has endangered countless lives. Had you worked with Toru 'Makhan, whom I have been assisting, the catastrophe of the past few days could have been avoided."

Samson crossed his arms and let out a long sigh. With the muffled rattle of gunfire and muted wail of plasma shots drifting down the still-open gravity lift into the subterranean chamber, he knew that there was little time for a lengthy debate. In this laboratory of mostly-unidentifiable junk, he was looking at a priceless relic, and a powerful one at that. He had to win the monitor over, and fast.

"Listen." Samson held both of his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. "It looks like 'Makhan has been lying to you. The only reason we're here - the only reason this damn war is taking place - is because the Imperium attacked a defenceless human colony. Our fleet was sent as part of a joint effort to investigate what happened, and we've spent the past few days fighting for our lives because of it. Humanity isn't some conquering empire; we're still trying to rebuild our colonies after our war against the Covenant. Did 'Makhan tell you about that?"

"Partly." Keeper's frame tilted slightly. "But the planet Montak was signed over to the Imperium of Clarity as part of a deal with the human Guild of Free Traders. It was theirs to give, only prompting a response because your government feared the Imperium's presence so close to its own sphere of influence!"

At this, Samson couldn't help but let out a mirthful snort. "Bullshit. That group were trying to use the Imperium's protection so it could profit from illegally taking over the mining colony on Montak, not because they wanted to form a trade agreement with the Imperium over a planet they said they owned. Tell him, Rak."

Samson raised his TACPAD, translating his last few words for the Yonhet standing beside him. Rak Ultin glanced from the device, to Samson, then to Diligent Keeper. For a moment, Samson feared that Rak would tell the monitor that he was lying and beg to be rescued from his vile human captors. Given the machine's armament, any fight between Samson's group and the Forerunner machine would end very poorly for them. Rak swallowed, then nodded eagerly, smoothing down the front of his expensive robes.

"The human is correct, oracle." Rak used the old Covenant religion's term for a monitor. "For all his benevolence, Toru 'Makhan started this war to seize human territory and force his rivals to bow before him. Our Imperium has been sacrificed to feed its leader's conceit."

Startled by the Yonhet's surprising eloquence as his words rattled out of the translator, Samson turned his attention back to Keeper, who had turned his gaze downwards. Though the monitor had little way of emoting beyond his voice, he could feel the sense of betrayal emanating from the little machine as he sank a few inches until his shell was almost scraping the floor. It was a full ten seconds before Keeper spoke again.

"Then he is a fool, and so am I." The monitor's slightly tinny voice dropped a few octaves. "Had he not embarked on this foolishness, Toru 'Makhan could have led his people to 0201 and salvation."

Samson knelt down, and Keeper turned itself up to meet his intense gaze. "What is 0201?"

"A shelter." The monitor swivelled round and floated towards a nearby table, where he focused on an unremarkable-looking square of silver metal. "Observe.

Keeper's eye glowed brightly for a second, and a translucent beam of energy erupted from the machine. The square began to vibrate, and lines of white and gold lit up one by one, criss-crossing its surface. Its smooth, seemingly featureless exterior suddenly split into quarters, revealing a tiny disk beneath its outer shell. Manipulated by Keeper's beam, the device rose from the table and slowly levitated towards Samson, who immediately reached out for it. Before his gloved fingers could touch the square, its disk flashed twice and a holographic image burst forth, making Samson recoil in surprise.

It was a planet.

At least, that's what Samson thought was being displayed to him at first. As he stepped back to take a closer look at the sphere revolving before him, he realised that its surface was almost entirely comprised of smooth, grey metal, dotted with a few symmetrical grooves and lights that ran across its equator. Samson felt a jolt of recognition in his chest, and let out a soundless laugh.

"That's a shield world, isn't it?" Samson shook his head in disbelief. "You were going to have Toru 'Makhan relocate his Imperium to one."

This changed everything. Samson had been sent on this mission expecting a few reverse-engineered pieces of technology or hoarded items that the still-wary Sangheili had been yet to properly dissect, but a find of this magnitude was far beyond anything he could ever dream of. Just one of these ancient Forerunner installations had given the scientific community several lifetimes' worth of data to pore over, and though the discovery of a second shield world had unleashed a great terror against mankind last year, its eventual destruction following a prolonged military campaign had caused a tremendous uproar within Naval Intelligence. Between this and the monitor, Samson thought, A promotion will be the least impressive reward they'll give me.

"I am surprised," Keeper said, slowly circling the holographic sphere. "Toru 'Makhan had never heard of shield installations. Perhaps you humans are better-versed in the technology of my creators than I was led to believe."

"We've got scientists who know a lot more than me." Samson flashed a smile, pressing his advantage. "If you come back with me to Earth, we could work together. I'm sure you'd be a great help to us in understanding the things your creators left behind."

Keeper stopped moving at this request, and floated back down to Samson's eye level. "And what of Toru 'Makhan and his Imperium? I would like to have words with 'Makhan for lying to me."

Shit. Samson shook his head. "I don't know if you've seen what's happening outside, but this planet's under siege. 'Makhan could be dead right now for all we know, and I'm running out of time. Will you come with us?"

The monitor turned to stare at the rocky ceiling. "That would explain all the commotion. Must we leave now?"

"Yes!" Samson yelled, his patience finally at an end. "I've got men fighting to cover our only exit up top, and they won't be able to hold their ground forever. We need to go."

Keeper let out an annoyed sigh. "If you insist, Ryan Samson. Must we take one of the lifts, though? If you intend to take me offworld, then surely a local translocation pad would better serve your purpose?"

"That's what we're trying to get back to." Samson turned back towards the gravity lift that led back up to the tower. "You can fight, right? We'll need some firepower if we're going to break through the Imperium's lines and make it back to our entrance point."

"No need!" Keeper's voice suddenly grew chipper. "There is a device in this very chamber for Toru 'Makhan's personal use. It was only one of his prototypes from his early days of trying to adjust my creators' technology to the needs of his own kind, but it should still be connected to the planetary network."

Strange. Weatherby never detected that. Chalking it up to the Forerunner monitor's advanced capabilities compared to even the brightest human-made AI, Samson snatched the still-floating projection device out of the air. The shield world vanished. It was warm to the touch, and instantly re-sealed itself.

"We'll use that, then." Samson held up the silver square. "Does this device have data pertaining to the shield world stored within it?"

"Of course." Keeper nodded. "It was encrypted when Toru 'Makhan brought it to me, but with a little effort I was able to get around its security systems and find 0201's location, which I have stored within my own memory."

"That's good to hear," Samson's voice took on a more businesslike tone as he pocketed the device. "Before I recall my men and we leave, is there anything else here worth taking?"

"Nothing your people would find spectacular, I'm afraid. Most of what was brought here was unremarkable technology like infantry weapons or our translocation devices. This locator for 0201 was Toru 'Makhan's greatest find."

And now it's all ours. Placing two fingers to his earpiece, Samson tuned his local COM frequency to Major Kamil's own SQUADCOM link, hoping that the ODST was still standing. After a few seconds of static and garbled shouts, a connection was established, and the sounds of rifle fire blared into Samson's ear.

"Major Kamil, this is Vice Admiral Samson," he spoke loudly and clearly to be heard over the din. "We have recovered several assets and have found a means of extraction. Do you copy, over?"

Five excruciating seconds ticked by before Kamil responded, sounding slightly winded. "Copy, sir, and about damn time, too. Hinge-heads are pushing hard and I've just lost three men to one of them with some Forerunner cannon. We're gonna fall back to the gravity lift one-by-one, since the moment we stop putting fire out onto that bridge they'll charge us."

Before Samson could reply, Keeper whizzed by, missing his head by inches and making him flinch. The monitor let out what was unmistakably a snort of derision towards the cramped lift that Samson, Rak and his bodyguards had come down in, and instead floated over a wall panel that they had overlooked. Keeper's eye brightened and a quick zap of blue lightning shot from the little machine and into the panel. A raised circular pad by the wall began to pulsate with energy, and a translucent cylinder of hazy, violet-coloured energy sprang into place. Keeper span around to face Samson.

"There," the monitor said with the unmistakeably arrogant air of someone who had just helped an idiot achieve something simple. "Why you came here in the secondary lift is beyond me; 'Makhan always used that one when he was bringing down new items to work on."

Samson did not deign to reply, and reactivated his COM. "Major, we-"

"I saw what happened!" Kamil yelled, cutting him off. "We thought the floor was giving way when that hole opened up. Is it safe to come down that thing?"

"As far as I'm aware, yes."

"Copy that, we're falling back now!"

Kamil cut the connection. With a wider lift now opened, Samson and the others could hear the fighting above more clearly than before, and readied their weapons. With that task done, Keeper flew back across the makeshift laboratory, humming faintly, until he reached a dimly-lit chamber to one side. At the monitor's approach, several lights suddenly activated, illuminating a dust-caked platform covered in hexagonal tiles. Numerous wires jutted from it, snaking around the room and into the walls.

"That's 'Makhan's prototype?" Samson asked, walking over to examine the device. "It looks different from the ones we've seen."

"Of course it does." Keeper whirred around Samson's head. "Once Toru 'Makhan and his scientists managed to successfully reverse-engineer the devices left behind my creators, he combined them with the versions already made by the former Covenant so that they could transport infantry en-masse or even move entire starships."

"We've seen that already." The Vice Admiral thought back to one of the Imperium's carriers suddenly teleporting in the midst of their battle over Montak. "Can all of the Imperium's ships do that?"

Keeper bobbed up and down, giving the mechanical equivalent of a shrug. "Unknown, but if one ship can make use of it, then there is no reason to suggest-"

The monitor stopped mid-sentence as a flash of movement caught his eye. Samson wheeled around, readying his submachine gun as his bodyguards raised their own weapons at the sight of a figure shooting down the gravity lift. Rak Ultin scrambled for cover behind a table. It took only a few moments for them to identify the newcomer as one of Kamil's ODST's, who stumbled out of the lift and nearly fell over, clutching his badly-burned right arm.

"What's the situation, trooper?" Samson jogged over to the man. "Where's the Major?"

The ODST turned his helmet back towards the shimmering elevator shaft. "Covering the retreat, sir. They started pushing hard as soon as we pulled back."

For the first time, Samson began to worry about Major Kamil. The man had proven himself as a tremendously capable fighter and leader, and it would be a heavy blow to their already-depleted forces if they lost one of their few remaining groundside commanders. More troopers soon emerged from the gravity lift, starting with the walking wounded. Many had only taken glancing hits to their armour or bodysuits, though a few were limping badly, held together by emergency stimulants and liberally-applied biofoam onto their injuries. Samson quickly directed them towards the translocation pad, realising quickly that it would be a tight fit for their entire platoon if they wanted to escape in a single go.

The survivors quickly piled onto the translocation pad, with two troopers escorting Rak Ultin at all times. Though the recovery of Keeper and the Forerunner marker had momentarily taken precedence in Samson's mind, he knew that without the Imperium's Chief Councillor they were going into any negotiations in a greatly weakened state. He didn't trust Rak, who seemed more concerned with saving his own skin than the wellbeing of the people he had been charged with governing, but he was seemed to be the only non-military representative of the Imperium with any power that could give pause to 'Makhan and his cronies. Once everyone was in position, a familiar shape arrived at the bottom of the lift, clutching a stolen plasma rifle.

"Miss me?" Kamil laughed, walking casually past the gobsmacked Samson without so much as a blemish on his black armour.

Samson recovered quickly. "Almost. Get to the pad and we'll get out of here. Don't shoot the robot, either."

Kamil did as he was told, sidling awkwardly onto the crowded platform. Keeper hovered above, oblivious to the stares and confused remarks from the troopers. Samson soon joined them, and found himself longing for his usual black uniform as his armoured chestplate knocked against everything as he turned to address the monitor.

"We're all ready, Keeper," Samson called. "There's a station in Iradu's orbit that we've seized from the Imperium. Can you take us there?"

"Of course I can!" Keeper sounded slightly offended. "Normally one would require a proper command console to accurately make such a journey, but with my capabilities it is simply a matter of linking this pad to the network - which I have just done - and making the transfer. It is a simple task, but-"

"Then do it!" Samson glanced warily towards the empty gravity lift, expecting Imperial pursuers at any moment.

"Ah, right." the monitor descended until he was only a few inches above Samson's head. "If you'd all remain still for a few moments, I will make the journey as quick and comfortable as possible."

Keeper's red eye grew brighter and brighter, and the translocation platform began to vibrate with energy. A few protruding wires began to spark violently, and as motes of golden light began to drift upwards from the pad around the troopers, Samson heard the distant sounds of barked orders in Sangheili. It took a few more seconds before the light coalesced into a series of shining rings, enveloping Samson, Kamil, Keeper, Rak, and the rest of the troopers before they vanished from the platform in a brilliant flash of energy.

***

Darkness claimed the laboratory, but only temporarily. Less than a minute after the human infiltrators departed from Iradu's surface, the translocation pad lit up once more, and over a dozen figures in gleaming armour materialised atop the platform. Two warriors in ornate silver moved forward immediately, sweeping the room with their long-barrelled rifles before giving a nod for their fellows to proceed. Four more guardsmen fanned out, keeping their weapons trained on the gravity lift, while a final quartet stood around their commander and his prisoner.

Imperial Admiral Toru 'Makhan stepped off of the pad and looked around his domain. Unfamiliar bootprints marked the dusty passages of a chamber walked only by him and a trusted few scientists, and the neatly-arranged tables of disassembled treasures had been disturbed by unknowledgeable hands. It took only a few moments before Toru's orange eyes found a particular spot on one of the long tables, and his blood finally began to boil.

They were here, Toru exhaled slowly, retaining his calm exterior. They found my sanctuary. Took my secrets. The shield world. Keeper. Stolen.

The monitor's theft was clear; Diligent Keeper was overly fond of conversation, and there was no way that he would not have shown himself by now. Someone - most likely Rak Ultin, that devious soundrel - had shown the human invaders the way in, and the monitor had been all too keen to help them. Why Keeper was disposed to assist a race he had never personally encountered was beyond him, but Toru had little time to dwell on that. The thieves had to be dealt with.

"Contact the Watchful Custodian," Toru commanded Maas 'Hengo, the head of his personal guard. "Once we return to the ship, we will destroy the nexus station and exterminate the invaders."

Maas nodded, and turned away to relay Toru's orders. The human prisoner, Reynald Donnelly, looked around the chamber with mild interest, though he remained close enough to listen in on Toru. He hadn't said a word since the supercarrier had translocated itself into their foe's battle lines and began its final assault, though the Imperial Admiral had not disregarded him as a broken man just yet. Though Donnelly did not know it yet, he would be their key to unlocking the secrets of the Forerunner shield world, as humans seemed to have an innate gift for activating their ancient technology. The armoured planet's location had quickly become a closely-guarded secret, as outside of the Watchful Custodian's own navigational computer it could only be found via two sources: Diligent Keeper, and the marker he had decoded. Both would have to be destroyed.

"Excellency," Maas turned back to Toru. For the first time since he had known him, the head of the Imperial Guard looked worried. "Those aboard the Custodian say that the ship has been disconnected from our translocation network. We cannot return to the ship from here."

Before Toru could answer, there was a shout from the direction of the main gravity lift as several grey-armoured soldiers descended into the chamber with their weapons at the ready. One over-eager soldier loosed a shot immediately, sending a bolt of white-hot plasma towards Toru, who easily sidestepped it. Four guardsmen returned fire in unison, sending streaks of hard light towards the hapless individual before he could beg for mercy. The other soldiers, realising their grave error, tossed their rifles away before their feet touched the ground as their companion was struck again and again. His shields gave way in an instant, his armour began to melt, and his body finally disintegrated as a third volley found its mark. The young Sangheili simply fell to pieces, leaving the ghost of a scream floating the air as he vanished.

"A thousand pardons, excellency!" One of the soldiers all but threw himself to the ground in prostration "The human soldiers that had infiltrated the tower fled down here, so we were pursuing them! We never thought... we did not know-"

"Your mistake is forgiven." Toru silenced the man with a wave of his hand. "Though the humans have escaped, and on your watch."

The soldier looked to his fellows, who hung their heads shamefully. "The blame is rightfully ours."

"Good." Toru nodded. "Now return to the tower and inform your brothers that I will be joining them shortly. It would seem that my route back to the Watchful Custodian has been impeded, and I will require access to the palace's hangar bay."

"Of course, excellency." One soldier rapped a fist against his breastplate. "We will await your return."

As the trio returned to the gravity lift, picking up their discarded weapons as they went, Toru turned back to Maas.

"What do you mean, disconnected?" Toru hissed, one hand grabbing the Commander's pauldron. "Who is responsible?"

Maas shifted uncomfortably. "By an outside source, excellency. A human construct, perhaps, or-"

"Keeper." Toru snarled. "Rak Ultin has also likely betrayed us, but only Keeper could influence our entire translocation network. We will have to return to orbit ourselves."

"A dangerous task," Maas folded his arms. "Between those invading the palace and the aerial battle above the capital, returning may be difficult. Would it not be more prudent to remain here and allow the Custodian to destroy our foe alone? The fleets of Lora 'Deris and Zetal 'Hudon are already pressing in on our foe, so direct command may not be necessary"

Maas had made a sound tactical argument, though Toru found himself unwilling to agree with his bodyguard. "We return to orbit," he said calmly. "A normal transport craft might see trouble, but the True Recompense will not fall easily. We should go."

Aside from his vast fleet of dropships and starfighters, Toru 'Makhan possessed one more treasure: a Forerunner Z-330 escort craft, recovered from the same base he had first found Diligent Keeper in not so long ago. While millennia of inactivity had left the ship without power, Toru had restored it to working condition with the monitor's help and had even adapted its controls for Sangheili use. Though it was still a mere escort craft with no great advantage in battle in spite of its origin, the True Recompense was fast and tough enough to return them to the supercarrier without issue, provided they did not have to face any enemy warships head-on.

As he moved towards the gravity lift, his loyal guardsmen leading the way as ever, Toru noticed a slight change in Reynald Donnelly's countenance. The human officer had been vocally defiant but otherwise cowered before threats of violence, knowing that he would be no match for Toru or any of his guards. Even so, the prisoner seemed to be standing a little straighter, and upon catching Toru's eye his mouth curled into an unmistakeable smirk.

"Is this situation humorous to you, Captain Donnelly?" Toru asked politely.

The human nodded. "It is."

"Why is that?"

"Because you're scared," Donnelly laughed. "You came down here in a panic because you were afraid of losing whatever magic bullet you were going to use to win this war, and now that it's gone you're going to burn everything down rather than let it fall into our hands. Now you're trapped on the ground for the time being, while our guys are likely finding a way to use whatever it is they've stolen against you. You're running out of options, and it shows."

Toru's hand shot to the hilt at his belt, and in one motion drew his hardlight blade across Donnelly's throat in a single motion. The human prisoner barely had time to register what was happening before a shaft of orange light slashed through his neck. Donnelly's knees buckled, and hit the ground a moment before his severed head did. Toru kicked the corpse out of his way, deactivated his blade, and waved for his guardsmen to follow. Civility was something he could no longer afford.

"Move," Toru 'Makhan commanded, stepping forward into the gravity lift. "I will decide how this battle ends."

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

165: The Drop

2050 Hours, September 1st, 2558 Iradu, Voden System

Even before his Lich emerged from the clouds and the capital city came into view, Rora 'Marak knew that this would be an entirely different conflict than the one on Frendhal. Back then, both sides had gone into battle with clear rules of engagement, committing their forces to a single well-defended metropolis long after its civilians had been safely spirited away. The street-to-street fighting may have descended into bloody butcher's work, but that was merely a consequence of war. No such preparations had been made on Iradu, and it showed.

"Beginning our final descent," The pilot's voice called over the dropship's intercom. "We may have to take evasive maneuvers; there's a lot of fire coming from the enemy fortress."

"Do as you will," Rora replied, though his command was only a courtesy while they were in the air. "As soon as it is safe to do so, open both deployment doors. We may have to complete the journey without you, should their defences prove too much."

"As you wish, Commander."

Rora de-linked himself from the dropship's local battlenet channel and turned towards the right-hand bay door, which clanked and shuddered open as the Lich continued its rapid approach to the capital. Light flooded the darkened troop bay, dyeing the assembled warriors red with the glowing embers of the late evening as the wind whipped against their hardened armour. Most of the Lich's occupants were not Rora's; his Shadows of Retribution had taken many casualties over the course of this brief war, reducing them to barely a dozen loyal commandos. The rest had been picked from the Silent Voice's best troops, ready and able to fight their way through whatever fierce battle awaited them on the surface.

After ensuring that his thruster pack was securely fixed to the back of his combat harness, Rora moved up to the very edge of the troop bay, keeping one hand on the door's rim as he peered out over the capital. The sprawling city was twice the size of Frendhal's capital, stretching out many miles from the mountain range that housed Toru 'Makhan's palace to the very edges of a great ocean. The view from above would have been beautiful, once, Rora observed. Now entire districts were ablaze, belching black smoke into the darkening skies as fires raged unchecked towards the city's dockyards. Great towers of stone had been blasted to pieces by air strikes, scattering massive chunks of rubble over residential zones that now hosted pitched firefights between Imperial troops and their invaders.

Rora's communicator buzzed. He answered, and was met with the strained voice of a Major leading one of their first assault waves. "Commander 'Marak, enemy forces have taken up positions along the mountainside. We cannot maintain our current course, we-"

In the distance, a fireball blossomed over the Imperial Palace, raining down flaming wreckage from a friendly Lich over the district below. Though the airspace above the capital was already a mess of fighter craft, troop transports and the occasional civilian vessel desperately trying to escape, Rora had assumed that their hardened aircraft could punch through enemy lines and land with minimal losses.

"Commander?" The Shadows' sole female member, Ju'ya, appeared at Rora's side. "Your orders?"

Rora clicked his mandibles in annoyance. "You heard that too?"

Ju'ya shook her head. "No, but it was hard to miss."

While some of the warriors under his command had begun to speak among themselves in low voices, shooting wary glances towards their infamous leader, Rora had nothing but the complete attention of his Shadows, who were more than used to accompanying him through rough situations. With their craft rapidly approaching the capital, he had to think fast.

"Pilot!" Rora rapped on the back of the cockpit. "Do not approach the palace directly. We will approach its exterior wall and disembark from a safe altitude."

Though he was sure that he heard some muttered curse from the Lich's pilot, Rora soon got his answer. "Yes Commander, changing course now."

As the Lich lurched to the right, breaking off from a line of approach that would have taken it directly over the Imperial palace's front gate - and in range of what he suspected was a hidden Type-38 anti-aircraft cannon emplacement, given the blast from earlier - and towards what had been dubbed the 'upper city' by their early intelligence reports. This district, built up around a hilly swathe of land at the base of the palace and its mountain, had all but fallen to the Swords' human allies early in the assault on the city. Though the Imperium had a sizeable force in the capital by the time its orbital defences were breached, most had retreated into the palace and those who remained outside had been no match for the might of an armoured tank division. The humans had made superb progress at first, smashing through the city's protectors and pushing the Imperium back towards the palace gates for a time. Were it not for the arrival of fresh troops, translocated in from 'Makhan's supercarrier in orbit, they may have already seized a foothold within the Imperium's final stronghold.

"Incoming fire!" One of Rora's warriors called, ducking down as a stream of plasma bolts whistled by the Lich. A few soared through the open doors and into the troop bay, only to impact harmlessly against the armoured ceiling. A pair of Unggoy engineers quickly scrambled into action, dragging a pair of portable Type-52 cannons towards each doorway.

Rora reeled back from the doors as a second volley of white fire streaked toward him, staying just long enough to pinpoint their origin atop a half-ruined structure somewhere in the upper city. If the Imperium had time to set up anti-air emplacements, then they had likely halted the human advance and pushed them away from the palace. This would complicate things. Thankfully, the Lich was a hardy vehicle, and could shrug off everything short of heavy cannon fire without much issue. More shots came skyward from the streets below, though most did not even reach Rora's transport, which soon found itself at the base of the palace's tremendous exterior wall. The Lich quickly ascended, moving upwards until it came to a standstill not far from the top of the wall.

"Prepare to disembark!" Rora roared, snatching a pair of plasma rifles from the mag-mounts on his thighs as he stepped towards the troop bay's precipice. Below him was a drop of at least a thousand units, and before him lay a vast, featureless stretch of thick nanolaminate plating that encircled the entire palace.

Had gone well, then Rora and his troops would have simply landed within the palace grounds and wreaked havoc from there. But as Rora knew, no mission ever went as expected. Hidden behind shielded barriers was an array of anti-aircraft guns, which had likely lain dormant until the palace's defenders caught sight of an attempted aerial incursion. As the human advance had primarily been land-based, with only light aircraft to cover their advance into the city, nothing had been reported to the Swords of Sanghelios about these hidden defences. At least, that was what Rora wanted to believe. It was more likely that the humans simply hadn't though to inform their allies before they began to dispatch landing craft.

"It's a long way to the top," Ju'ya remarked, craning her neck to get a good view of the wall. "I hope our thrusters have enough fuel to make the journey."

Rora huffed in amusement. "I hope that is not fear in your voice, Ju'ya."

The female commando shook her head. "Of course not, Commander. I was merely putting voice to my thoughts to expel doubt."

"Is that what it is?" Merz, one of Rora's other officers, laughed. "And here I had just assumed that you were a complainer, Ju'ya."

"Better a complainer than a complacent lackey." Ju'ya readied her carbine. "Shall we go?"

Rora nodded. The Shadows of Retribution were in high spirits, at least. His other warriors - those unfamiliar with his methods - stood to attention in neat rows by the primary troop bays, awaiting orders. They were well-trained and organised, but the young commando knew that they were not as flexible as his comrades. Even so, they would make for a nice distraction while Rora's group carried out their mission.

"Swords of Sanghelios!" Rora stood between his Shadows and the rest of the Lich's warrior complement, doing his best to emulate the Fleet Master's confident tone. "Today we scour these wretches from the face of this planet. With me!"

The masked commando leapt from the Lich's troop bay, activating his thruster pack as he reached the zenith of his jump. The device roared to life, and Rora's body jerked slightly as four powerful jets caught his armoured body before gravity could properly claim him. Slowly but surely, Rora began to rise, and was soon joined by the rest of his attack force. Shielded from sight by the bulky Lich, the ascent of fifty-seven Sangheili warriors went unnoticed by those fighting in the city below. Rora held his breath, fixated on a readout at the corner of his helmet's heads-up display listing the amount of fuel left in his thrusters. Unlike the antigravity packs used by rangers in zero-gravity environments, these packs were not designed for sustained use and had a tendency to malfunction if not used sparingly and with care. It was another ten breaths before Rora reached the wall's ramparts, where he touched down somewhat shakily on a stretch of deserted ground.

Although the Imperium was now throwing legions of its best troops at Iradu to retake the capital, none had bothered to patrol the palace's high walls, though Rora could hardly blame them. While he awaited he arrival of the rest of his attack force, Rora took advantage of his heightened position to get a read on the palace's layout. Two massive structures dominated the enclosed space, connected by a number of narrow bridges that branched off into domed buildings and solitary towers. Unlike the expansive city around it, which boasted a mix of architectural designs that reflected the many cultures and backgrounds of its inhabitants, the Imperium's palace seemed almost austere from the outside, built with brutal pragmatism in mind instead of beauty. Seeing as it had started out as a remote fortress for the Covenant military to control this backwater sector of the empire, its simple design made sense. The area beneath them, on the other hand, was a multi-layered mess of gardens, squat living quarters and paved courtyards that were clearly more recent additions to the palace grounds. A faint glow from one several stories below caught Rora's eye, and he activated his helmet's image-enhancement function to get a better look.

"Ah," Rora muttered. "There they are."

Dominating at least three courtyards deeper within the palace were a cluster of Type-38 anti-aircraft emplacements, half-hidden behind domed energy shields. Watching from afar, Rora caught sight of one shield dissipating for a few moments as the cannon let loose a three-shot burst of superheated plasma, which streaked through the sky towards a distant Man O' War. The nimble warship evaded two bolts as it darted across the sky, though the third gouged a long chunk out of its side as its energy shields were overwhelmed. Rora got to his feet, and turned to find Ju'ya, Merz, and the others crouched along the wall behind him. Another warrior - Major 'Gedun - sat by them, aware that anyone not part of Rora's personal commando unit would be off completing their own objectives.

"I've spotted three Type-38's below us." Rora pointed back down below the perimeter wall. "Shielded, but likely not heavily guarded. My Shadows and I will descend and destroy them before our next wave of warriors arrive."

Major 'Gedun nodded. "And my men, Commander?"

Rora turned his head towards the nearest entrance to the palace building. "Take them into the palace and kill any in your path. Should you encounter heavy resistance, or one of the Imperium's leaders, contact me immediately."

"Are we to kill these leaders?"

"Only if necessary." Rora thought back to the Fleet Master he had failed to kill on Montak. "But do not hold back when it comes to combat, Major."

"I understand. Fight well, Commander." 'Gedun gave Rora a quick chest-thumping salute, and jogged away to relay his orders to his warriors.

After checking to ensure that his thrusters were still functioning, Rora sprang from the parapet, falling several metres before he activated the device to halt his rapid descent. He touched down lightly on a flat stone rooftop and kept moving, knowing that they had precious little time to waste before their inevitable detection. The rest of the Shadows followed their leader, spreading out as they made their own thruster-assisted jumps across the palace's lower buildings. Though he kept his eyes on the cannons ahead of him, Rora slowed a little as the telltale rattle of human gunfire drifted down from one of the palace's upper towers. Either the humans have breached this place already, or the Imperium is down to using foreign auxiliaries to defend its inner sanctum.

It didn't take long for the Shadows to close in on their targets. With a handwave from Rora, his green-armoured commandos activated their camouflage systems, becoming almost invisible to any onlookers from below. Creeping slowly along a narrow balcony as to not give away his position, Rora sighted a cluster of Sangheili workers around the first cannon. Several had no arms or armour, though a few were clad in the grey gear of the Imperium's rank-and-file soldiers. While the energy shielding around each cannon provided ample protection from any bombing runs, as it would remain in place as long as the emplacement did not fire, all Rora's commandos had to do was wait for it to vanish.

"Counting thirteen menials, Commander," Merz spoke from a vantage point several stories up, where his beam rifle could do the most damage. "And based on scans, at least another six within the emplacements."

"Anything we should worry about?" Rora asked.

"We aren't careless, so no." There was a brief pause as Merz shifted position. "I have counted three entranceways into the palace, too. Expect reinforcements once the attack begins."

"We will," said Rora as he slid down the incline at the base of one tower, putting himself just in front of the shield. "Shadows, the moment that gun fires, advance and eliminate all opposition."

Ju'ya and two others moved alongside Rora as he placed himself within inches of the translucent shield. The workers within were too busy to even glance his way, but even a particularly wary guard would be hard-pressed to make out the hazy group of shimmering light that made up the commando team standing behind their shield, calmly watching the anti-aircraft cannon before them. Soon enough, a surge of energy arced along the cannon's massive barrel, coalescing into a bolt of burning plasma that loosed itself towards a cluster of aircraft high above. A milisecond before the cannon fired, its energy shields dissipated, and the Shadows of Retribution moved in for the kill.

With a plasma rifle in each hand, Rora made short work of a pair of guards, too distracted by the battle overhead to even react to his attack. One of the workers let out a strangled cry that died in his throat as a particle beam lanced through his neck, while his fellows were cut to pieces by the commandos, whose weapons were drowned out by the cannon's thunderous blasts. Rora dashed into the first emplacement, downing a shocked operator with a single bolt to the head before approaching the cannon's power core. While certainly a fearsome weapon from afar, the Type-38 was notoriously vulnerable to internal sabotage, and as the weapon recharged from its latest burst, Rora smashed through the thin layer of shielding covering the core with a single whack of his rifle. As shouts went up from the cannon's operators on its upper deck, Rora snatched a plasma grenade from his belt pouch, activated it, and tossed it into the now-open core chamber.

Then, he ran for his life.

Rora was already outside when the grenade detonated, having stuck to the side of the pinch fusion reactor powering the anti-aircraft cannon. Aside from Ju'ya, who was finishing off a four-man patrol that had rushed outside to investigate the disturbance, the rest of the Shadows had dispersed and were quickly destroying the other guns. Rora ran past his subordinate and waved for her to follow as an emergency alarm began to blare from within the nearest anti-aircraft gun as its now-wrecked reactor began to cause power fluctuations throughout the structure. Abandoned by its operators, the cannon dipped downwards as gouts of flame burst from overloaded piping, sending shards of metal in all directions. Rora ducked behind a defensive barrier, keeping his body low as Ju'ya joined him. More cries of alarm sounded from nearby, heralding the arrival of more enemy reinforcements.

"Commander-" Ju'ya tried to stand, only to be tugged back into cover.

"Just wait." Rora said calmly.

A few moments later, the first artillery emplacement finally exploded into a ball of white flame and broken fragments. Rora kept his back pressed against the barrier as the heat and energy of the initial shockwave passed over them, and closed his eyes to listen for any activity. As expected, there was none; anyone within thirty feet of the emplacement was surely dead, struck down either by the explosion or fragmentation from the exploding artillery piece. Rora stood up just in time to see the top half of another emplacement erupt into a pillar of flame, and was approaching the wreckage of his target when another tremendous blast rocked the courtyard.

"All emplacements destroyed, Commander." Merz's voice announced over their team's battlenet. "Counting at least twenty-five dead on the Imperium's side. None on ours."

Rora nodded, taking a moment to soak in the view. With this, the Imperium's final holdout had lost the last of its best anti-air defences. While they likely had portable cannons still in operation across the palace, these emplacements were the greatest threat they had against larger landing craft. Putting a finger to the side of his helmet, Rora contacted the Silent Voice.

"This is Commander 'Marak," Rora spoke clearly over the sounds of the destroyed emplacement falling to pieces. "We have destroyed the Imperium's anti-aircraft guns and are awaiting reinforcements and further instruction."

Though he had hoped for a response from Felo 'Ranak, one of the Fleet Master's bridge officers soon replied. "Good work, Commander. We are dispatching three fighter wings and a second wave of transport ships to assist you."

"And my orders?" Rora asked.

"Continue your mission into the Imperium's palace. Judging by transmissions we have intercepted, its defence is being led by Fleet Master 'Kan Larom. Capture or kill him if you can. Good hunting."

Kan 'Larom. Rora had longed for a second chance to kill the Fleet Master after his first attempt ended in failure. Though he had nothing against the man personally, he and the Shadows of Retribution had not become the feared group of commandos they were by letting targets escaped. If all went well, then 'Larom would perish properly today. The rest of the Shadows soon regrouped with Rora, falling in line as he and Ju'ya led the way into the palace through a nearby doorway. The passage beyond was long and sparse, likely used only by servants and soldiers. At the end lay a gravity lift, which would at least spare them the trouble of taking the stairs through the sprawling complex.

The Shadows moved quickly but carefully, with weapons charged and ready for combat. After the brief but ferocious engagement only minutes ago, the commando unit was riding high on adrenaline and eager for more, though it seemed as though the Imperium had lost their trail. Rora was first to enter the gravity lift, which was only wide to accommodate a single person at a time, and kept one eye on his motion tracker as he shot upwards past floor after empty floor of the palace. He was eventually disgorged into a circular chamber, which he quickly recognised as an armoury following a quick sweep with his rifles. A few plasma pistols and old carbines still sat in their weapon racks by the walls, though it had mostly been picked clean by the palace's defenders already. As he awaited the rest of his team, a voice erupted from Rora's personal communicator.

"Commander, this is Major 'Gedun!" The venerable warrior spoke hurriedly, yelling over the sounds of rapid plasma fire. "We have run into heavy enemy resistance within the palace and require assistance!"

"Where are you?" Rora asked. Warriors like 'Gedun rarely sought aid in combat unless the situation were truly dire. "Transmit your location."

There was a brief pause as 'Gedun grunted heavily. "Doing so, Commander! We were close to one of the Imperium's commanders - a Fleet Master, I believe - when we were attacked by another force. We fought back, but their aggression came close to overwhelming us. We must-"

A distant roar cut 'Gedun off, and the din of battle filled the channel. As his team arrived and gathered around him, Rora began to grow worried; the Major's force were no strangers to heavy combat, and were fairly sizeable as far as an 'infiltration' team went. Anything that could pose a severe challenge to them would be bad news for Rora and the Shadows too. A few moments passed, and the channel went dead. Rora shook his head and double-checked his helmet's heads-up display. A marker depicting 'Gedun's last known position had flashed up shortly before they lost contact. It was not far away.

"What now, Commander?" Ju'ya asked, having been the last to exit the gravity lift.

Rora sighed. "Major 'Gedun is dead. Now, we avenge him, and hope that the information he sent us proves useful."

A few of the Shadows exchanged glances, though none questioned Rora further. Without another word, he turned and exited the armoury at a steady pace, jogging down the deserted hallways of the palace's eastern wing with his team in tow. It was not long before they came across signs of battle: plasma scoring marking the walls, chunks of shattered masonry from explosive blasts, and burnt corpses, all Sangheili. Most wore the grey armour of the Imperium, though a few Swords had fallen along the way. Following the path forged by 'Gedun's warriors, Rora led the Shadows on a winding path through what seemed to be living quarters for the palace's wealthier inhabitants, eventually emerging into a cavernous meeting hall.

Unlike the sparsely-decorated halls they had passed through after entering the palace, it was clear that this was a place of some importance. Expensive tapestries depicting Sangheili warriors of legend and antiquity hung from every wall, and a sleek throne of opulent silver and gold sat atop a dais at the centre of the room. Wary though he was of enemy ambushes, Rora couldn't help but admire what could only be Toru 'Makhan's throne room, which seemed to emanate an air of regality while retaining the feel of a traditional Sangheili mustering hall.

A shame, Rora reflected, that it has been marred by so many corpses.

At least a dozen bodies lay strewn about the chamber, most surrounding the throne. Most bore telltale signs of plasma damage, though Rora took note of the deep, cauterised cuts and dismembered body parts that signalled the presence of a skilled swordsman. Before he could investigate further, Rora's attention was drawn to a set of damaged double doors, placed up a flight of stairs behind the throne. From behind them, the wail of plasma fire and roars of battling warriors were drifting into the quiet throne room, breaking the spell that brought reverence to Rora's hearts. With another wave to his men, Rora jogged upstairs and found the doors ajar, wedged open by a corpse in red-gold armour.

It was 'Gedun. The warrior lay on his side, his right hand still clutching the hilt of his energy sword. Rora stowed away one rifle and opened the door with his free hand, allowing Merz to drag the Major's body away. Though his armour sported several dark marks from direct plasma strikes, the killing blow was clear for all to see: a two-pronged stab wound, already cold and cauterised, had thrust its way through both of his hearts. A swordsman had killed him.

"Rest easy, brother," Rora said, just loudly enough for his comrades to hear him. "You have not died in vain."

With a war still to win, Rora and the Shadows left 'Gedun's body in the throne room with both hands clasped over his chest. They would return for him, but not until later.

It did not take them long to find the source of the fighting. After a short trip down another bloody passage, the commandos found themselves in a spacious, two-tiered chamber, where the remnants of 'Gedun's attack force were engaged in a fierce battle with a force in unusual but strangely familiar armour. The Shadows advanced immediately to assist their allies, hitting these new foes from the side with a volley of plasma fire. Somewhere amidst the sea of fighters in the room, Rora spotted a glint of golden armour, though he could not verify if it was Kan 'Larom. He would have to wait. For now, they needed to press the advantage of surprise and push back the enemy. Rora dashed ahead of his men and jumped, kicking his thruster pack into gear to propel him to the second level, where several warriors were engaged in fierce duels.

While honouring single combat had always been an unspoken rule, Rora cared little for such traditions, and hosed the nearest enemy combatant with plasma bolts as he shot through the air. Upon landing, he turned to fire on a second foe, only for the black-armoured warrior to disarm his opponent with a swipe of his red-bladed energy sword and throw the hapless warrior into Rora's line of fire. He cursed as one round struck the defeated man square in the face, felling him at once. With his rifles overheating, Rora quickly vented them, only to feel a sudden jolt of recognition in his chest as he finally got a good view of his adversary.

The warrior in black before him raised his sword in mock salute towards the commando, having likely recognised him as well. Just a few days ago they had crossed blades on Montak without conclusion, though Rora knew then that he had been outmatched as a duellist. Even so, he had fought this warrior at a disadvantage back then, and it would not do well for the Outrider to retreat from the Black Knight of Sanghelios a second time.

Shinsu 'Refum!

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

166: Hope

2101 Hours, September 1st, 2558 Nexus Station, Iradu Orbit

"Fireteam Stallion has landed, Vice Admiral."

"Thank you, Weatherby. Send them up."

From his position in the station's battle-scarred control tower, Ryan Samson watched as the newly-arrived Pelican touched down in the hangar bay beneath him, its rear hatch clanking open. Fresh from a breakneck trip to Iradu's surface and back, the dropship looked like it had taken a few glancing hits on the way but otherwise seemed to be in decent condition. Though he was glad that the UNSC and its allies still had decent air cover over the Imperium's besieged capital city, it was the dropship's disembarking passengers that concerned him. After all, they were the Sixth Fleet's only chance for survival.

"This is most displeasing," said Diligent Observer, floating by a viewport on the other side of the control room. "Crude though it may be compared to the ones fielded by my makers, Toru 'Makhan's vessel will certainly defeat your forces if not stopped soon."

Samson sighed. After his team's successful translocation from the depths of the Imperium's palace vault, the Forerunner monitor had quickly been brought up to speed on the events of the war, and had taken it upon himself to observe and report on the battle currently unfolding in Iradu's orbit. Despite the best efforts of Weatherby's personality fragment to convince the construct to keep his opinions to himself for the sake of morale, Keeper insisted on loudly giving his tactical assessment of the situation for all to hear.

"I think that the supercarrier's slowing down," said Weatherby, materialising over a nearby holotank. "Look, it's lost over half of its escort craft already."

"It wouldn't need them to win," Keeper replied, swivelling to face the AI. "Though I will forgive your lack of insight. You are, after all, just small part of a presumably intelligent ancilla."

Weatherby did not deign to answer the monitor's jibes, and simply vanished from the holotank. Major Kamil, who had returned from tending to his wounded men, couldn't help but smirk at the pair for their instant dislike of each other. Samson said nothing, as both constructs would be vital in carrying out this final, desperate operation. He instead turned his gaze towards the nearest viewport; not far from the station sat the Caspian, which had withdrawn from the frontlines to prepare its fighters for the bombing run that would hopefully destroy Toru 'Makhan's flagship and if they were lucky, the Imperial Admiral himself.

The sound of heavy footfalls coming down the passage drew Samson's attention away from the viewport. The control room's door slid open with a low chime, and four Spartan supersoldiers entered the chamber. Their leader, clad in a sleek suit of silver-red MJOLNIR armour, removed his helmet with one hand and saluted Samson with the other. The rest of his team did the same.

"Sir." The Spartan held the salute for several seconds. "I'm Callum-B042, Fireteam Stallion's leader. I was told we were needed for an important mission."

So they've not been briefed? Samson knew better than to complain; transmitting Stallion's orders to them, even over an encrypted COM channel, was still risky. Shortly after arriving back on the Nexus station with Diligent Keeper and Rak Ultin, who had been dispatched to the Caspian under armed guard, Admiral Zhi and Weatherby had informed Samson of their plan to destroy the supercarrier. It was dangerous - almost suicidal - but at this late stage in the battle the UNSC had no other option. Their original plan to seize the capital and hold its civilian officials hostage had all but failed the moment Toru 'Makhan chose to bring his flagship into the fray, and with thousands of fresh troops arriving on the surface it was unlikely that even the combined UNSC and Swords of Sanghelios forces could win in a protracted engagement.

"At ease, Spartans." Samson waved away Stallion's salutes. "Given the circumstances, you'll have to forgive me if there's not time for an in-depth briefing, so I'll be quick: Your team is to infiltrate the Imperial fleet's flagship - a CSO-class supercarrier - and sabotage it from within, allowing for a nuclear-equipped fighter squadron to deliver its payload and destroy the ship from within. Your secondary - though no less vital - objective is to assassinate Toru 'Makhan, the Imperium's leader."

"All that, huh?" Callum nodded slowly, looking towards a nearby viewport. Amidst the distant flashes of ship-to-ship combat still raging far above Iradu's eastern hemisphere several thousand kilometres away, 'Makhan's gargantuan flagship could be seen with the naked eye, shrugging off fire from enemy warships like it was nothing as it made its gradual push through their battle line, destroying all in its path. Samson could tell what the Spartan was thinking: This is a suicide mission.

When Callum did not reply immediately, one of his subordinates, a younger Spartan, spoke up. "What's our insertion method, sir? I don't think that a Pelican's going to cut it."

"We'd be vaporised before we got close," Callum remarked, crossing his arms. "This is a tall order, Admiral."

Samson couldn't blame the Spartan for pointing out the obvious difficulty in carrying out such a mission, noting a touch of bitterness in Callum's voice. Thankfully, he knew better than to try and chew them out for questioning orders; as a Captain, he had headed up a covert Spartan special ops team just a few years ago, and was aware of how they operated. The four supersoldiers standing before him were no Shrike Team, but Samson knew he could trust a Spartan better than anyone.

"You won't have to worry about the approach," Samson said reassuringly, gesturing towards the pad at the far end of the room. "Thanks to the work of Weatherby and Diligent Keeper, our new monitor associate, we have successfully reverse-engineered the Imperium's translocation network. We've already carried out one successful operation using this station, and now that that supercarrier has opened its own link to the planetary network, we can use that against them."

"So we're teleporting in," Callum replied, scratching his chin as his eyes followed the Forerunner monitor, which was drifting lazily overhead. "If that's the case, then why don't we bring the nuke ourselves? If we've got control of their network, then my team could go in, arm the nuke, and be out before anyone even notices us."

Weatherby's fragment appeared in a flash of light above his holotank, wagging a finger towards the Spartans. "Not a terrible plan," he said, "But one that I - and by that I mean the rest of me aboard the Caspian - has already decided against."

"Why's that?" asked the Spartan. "Would teleporting trigger the nuke early?"

Weatherby shook his head. "Not at all, and it's translocating, not teleporting. Given how the large ships like that supercarrier tend to possess a rudimentary AI, it would detect the presence of a nuclear weapon and act accordingly within seconds and would likely vent atmosphere and cut all power around the location of the nuke before completely jettisoning whatever portion of the ship it is in, just to be on the safe side. Since blowing a nuke within Covenant ships tends to rely on it being relatively intact and with functional shields - turning it into one giant fragmentation grenade - any detonation simply wouldn't have the same effect. Plus, you'd be stuck aboard the second they cut power to the translocation pad, and I doubt you're willing to play the part of a suicide bomber."

"Not when there's alternatives." Callum didn't so much as crack a smile at Weatherby's jibe. "So we go in, kill everything in our way, and then what, seize the bridge?"

"That's correct. From there, I can sabotage the supercarrier's systems, most notably its anti-air defences, which should allow our fighters and your extraction craft to land safely."

Callum frowned. "Couldn't you do it from any access point?"

"It's possible," Weatherby said, mulling it over for a moment, "But risky. I'm not an AI built for intrusion, and since I'm only one part of a greater whole - who is busy trying to keep our flagship up and running - there is a higher chance of my presence being detected and intercepted, thus jeopardising the entire operation. Besides, you'll need me to stay behind and cover your team's escape."

Another Spartan at Callum's side - a tall, sandy-haired youth - suddenly spoke up. "You're not coming back with us?"

The AI shook his head. "I was never intended for extensive usage, Spartan. Useful though I am, the set of processes that make up my being will eventually begin to malfunction if they are not brought back into the 'real' me. I'll accompany you on this mission, complete the task I was formed for, and that will be that."

Catching a hint of annoyance at the fragment's blasé attitude towards its impending demise peeking through the Spartan's stoic exterior, Samson stepped forward and clasped his hands together. Time was not on their side, and they could not afford to waste a second more on the operation's planning phase.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but we're running out of time here," Samson said gravely before turning his head towards Callum. "I trust that you Spartans have enough information to carry out your mission?"

"Just about." Callum put his helmet on, and his team did the same.

Samson nodded to Weatherby, who vanished from the holotank. A moment later his armoured matrix - connected to the Sangheili-made holotable via an adaptor cable - flashed blue, indicating his return to the device. He stooped, unplugged it, and picked it up before handing it to Callum, who took the matrix gingerly in both hands before affixing it to the back of his armoured suit.

"Now, if you'll stand on the translocation pad..." Samson gestured to the raised platform at the other side of the room. The Spartans filed onto it one-by-one, already drawing their weapons.

"Sir?" Callum called over, holding a BR85 rifle close to his chest. "If you don't mind me asking, what's this translocation process like?"

It didn't take long for Samson to find the correct word: "Uncomfortable."

"Good to know."

Now it was Diligent Keeper's turn to act. Moving into action before Samson could give the order, the monitor descended to the nearest control panel, muttered something indistinct in his tinny voice, and zapped it with a beam of energy from his glowing eye. The pad beneath Fireteam Stallion lit up, and small motes of light began to form in the air around the Spartan team. These soon joined together, encircling the armoured supersolders in band after band of white-gold energy that made their energy shields spark. Samson snapped his heels together and saluted the departing team, unsure if he would ever see them again. The light grew brighter and the bands flashed into a single column of light for a fraction of a second, leaving its imprint on Samson's retinas for a few seconds as their infiltration team vanished.

With only himself, Major Kamil and Diligent Keeper left in the station's control room, Samson finally let out a tired yawn, and locked eyes with the Orbital Drop Shock Trooper leant against the wall in the corner of the room.

"You're a helljumper," Samson stated the obvious. "Given what you've seen over the years, what would you say their chances are?"

Kamil clicked his tongue and stood up straight, looking more relaxed than he had any right to be. Eventually, he shook his head and grinned. "Can't say."

"What do you mean?" Samson asked.

"I mean, I can't say what will happen. If you'd sent my platoon aboard a ship that size with a mission like that then I'd have a good idea of how we'd fare - this after I do everything in my power to convince you to not waste good troopers on a suicide run - but with Spartans, you can never tell. Tin cans might pull one of their usual miracles and pull this off without a hitch, or they might get unlucky and die trying to bring that monster down."

To Kamil's surprise, Samson laughed, shaking his head. "I would've said the same thing, once upon a time. That was before I ended up having to answer the same question I just asked you on a day-to-day basis."

"Oh?" Kamil folded his arms. "And what answer did you give?"

"I'd tell my superiors that the Spartans would get the job done."

"And was that true?"

Samson did not answer straight away. "Most of the time, Major. When it mattered."

"And that's what counts, sir.."

"You're damn right it does." Samson waved for Keeper, who had been quietly watching them from above, to follow. "Now let's get the hell out of here."

***

Uncomfortable, he said. Goddamn understatement.

Callum-B042 barely had time to recover from the nauseating sensation of having every atom in his body jammed through a slipstream field and deposited onto a translocation pad nearly hundred thousand kilometres away from Iradu's nexus station. The moment his boots touched the deck of the Imperium's flagship, he found himself looking into the astonished face of a grey-suited Sangheili crewman, whose mandibles gaped in awe and horror at the sudden arrival of Fireteam Stallion.

The Spartan brought his rifle to bear and slotted a three-round burst into the alien's head before it could cry out. The rest of his team - Rodger-G050, Jacob-G043 and Cadmon Dawes - fanned out in a semicircle as they stepped down from the translocation pad, sweeping the empty room with their weapons.

"Clear!" called Dawes, already moving towards the room's only exit door. Callum moved up beside him and pumped his right fist twice, signalling for the other two to be ready.

Though the Spartan team had the element of surprise here, they had no idea how long it would last. If Weatherby was right and the Imperium had some kind if AI on board, then it could already be sealing bulkheads and locking down entire sections of the ship to trap the intruders. Even with their modest supply of explosives - a total of twenty-four cube-shaped C10 charges between them - blasting their way through the supercarrier was a final resort.

"Sync your maps," Callum said, checking his heads-up display. "A ship this size is going to be a labyrinth, and we've not got time to get ourselves lost."

Rodger cocked his helmet to one side. "How many decks does this thing have?"

"Couple of hundred, easy," Jacob replied, soundly slightly annoyed. "We know where we're going?"

Callum checked his HUD again. Though his suit's onboard computers were sophisticated enough to contain technical readouts on Covenant-era CSO-class supercarriers pieced together during the war, there was no telling how heavily modified this particular warship was, forcing him to compare his existing data with the sensor ping sent out the moment they arrived. A rough map of the supercarrier appeared before him, placing Stallion somewhere around the middle of the ship and at least six decks away from the likeliest location of the bridge.

"We do." Callum transmitted the data to the rest of Stallion and nodded to Dawes, who activated the nearest door panel. It slid open with a low chime, revealing an empty stretch of featureless corridor.

Stallion moved as one, keeping up a steady pace as they advanced into the ship. For several minutes they saw no one, and were accompanied only by the thudding sounds of their heavy boots hitting metal. An inkling of worry had begun to worm its way into Callum's mind when the Spartans jogged through a doorway and into a long, brightly-lit chamber, half-filled with stacked crates that filled the room all the way to the entrance door. As a chorus of alien voices drifted towards them, Callum and the others halted and sank down low, wary of alerting anyone to their presence.

With a wave from Callum, Rodger inched forward and peered round the corner, searching for the source of the commotion. After a few moments, he turned back towards his team.

"Grunts." The young Spartan muttered, shaking his head. "They're cracking open crates and fighting over what's inside."

"How many?" Callum asked.

"I'd say twenty or more. We could take them in seconds."

Callum eyed the SRS99 rifle in Rodger's hands. One round from that thing could kill three or four Grunts if aimed properly, but they'd need the bullets later. He weighed up the odds, knowing that Rodger alone could slaughter the diminutive aliens himself if he caught them unawares, but had to consider their mission first.

"Negative. We'll deal with them my way."

"Which is?" Rodger seemed genuinely curious.

"Watch."

Stallion's grey-armoured leader got to his feet and emerged from behind the crates, keeping his rifle pointed downwards in one hand. The younger Spartans automatically spread out behind him, sticking to the shadows and keeping their leader covered. The gaggle of squabbling Unggoy did not see the supersoldier at first, busy as they were with pulling armfuls of packaged food and other supplies from unattended cargo crates. Whether this was a common occurrence aboard warships as massive as this, where the odd crate wouldn't be missed, or if this group were simply opportunists seeking to escape their masters with some loot, would remain to be seen. Having witnessed the Imperium of Clarity's infighting over Bineb II, Callum was banking on the latter.

"Hey!" Callum called towards the scavengers. Several of them turned his way and shrieked in horror. "I want to talk!"

Most of the diminutive aliens remained frozen, unwilling to act without the support of their brethren. Only three of them were armed, and with plasma pistols at that. Nothing that could threaten a Spartan. Several seconds passed without an answer, and Callum had begun to raise his hand to signal the rest of his team to attack when one of the Grunts pushed itself to the front of the crowd.

"We talk!" yelled the Grunt with a high-pitched squeal. "Don't kill us!"

Callum nodded, and addressed the crowd. "Where is the ship's bridge?" He asked. "Where is Toru 'Makhan?"

At this, a few of the Grunts made annoyed chattering sounds, letting out barks and smacking their fists into the deck. The designated speaker looked around at his fellows, then back to the Spartan. "You've come to kill Toru 'Makhan? Good!"

"Yes," Callum replied. "And just so you know, we'll be destroying this ship too, so I hope you know where the nearest shuttle dock is."

The Speaker raised one arm and pointed a clawed finger towards a door on the far side of the storage bay. "Down there," he squeaked. "Take the lift up. Three floors and you will be at the bridge deck."

The other aliens nodded and grunted in agreement. While Callum knew that their kind were cowards who usually fled without a leader to guide them or an overwhelming numerical advantage, he didn't think that they were lying to him. Based on the torn-open crates scattered around this group, they were likely deserters looking to abandon ship while the rest of the crew were busy attending to the battle. However, their disgust at the mere mention of the Imperial Admiral's name intrigued Callum; from what he'd been told and experienced, most of the Imperium's soldiery were fanatically loyal to their leader.

Callum switched his helmet's voice channel to TEAMCOM, disabling his helmet's external speakers as he called for the rest of Stallion. "We're clear, move up."

Rodger, Dawes and Jacob moved up in unison, emerging from the shadowy labyrinth of crates and shelving units that made up most of the storage bay. A few Grunts shrieked and pointed in fear and surprise, but none dared to go for a weapon.

"Surprised you didn't just waste them all," Dawes spoke over the COM. "See where diplomacy gets us?"

Callum snorted. "We've still got time."

"Not if we want to save the fleet," said Rodger. "Once this ship breaks through the Swords' battle line, it's over."

Checking their mission clock, Callum had to agree with the younger Spartan. Every second they wasted wandering through the ship was a second the supercarrier spent blasting warships to smithereens, inching ever-closer to the Caspian and what remained of the Sixth Fleet. With a nod, he directed Fireteam Stallion towards the doorway the Grunts had pointed out, though Callum stayed a moment as the other Spartans passed him.

"By the way," he spoke to the Grunt speaker. "Why do you hate Toru 'Makhan so much?"

The speaker pounded the deck with his fist once again. "'Makhan is a murderer!" he squeaked. "We heard it from our brothers. Through secret channels. He killed Hedan Koti for trying to save our people!"

That must've been the little civil war we saw over Irn. Callum understood now. Strange that they're madder at 'Makhan for killing their leader than they are at us after Boson nuked one of their cities, though. He exhaled slowly, and found himself wondering if killing this group for the sake of secrecy was worth it. In the end, he spared them and turned away, if only for the sake of saving ammo for the Imperium's real fighters.

"Remember what I said!" Callum called back as the aliens went back to squabbling amongst themselves. "We're bringing this ship down, so you'd better get the hell out of here while you still have a chance!"

Stallion moved as quickly as they dared, advancing in pairs along the next corridor and into a circular room, dominated by a shimmering gravity lift at its centre. The Spartans were met with a group of Sangheili crewmen, taken completely off-guard by the sudden appearance of four enemy supersoldiers. Eschewing his BR85 for a weapon more suited to close-quarters combat, Callum stored one weapon and detached another from its mag-mount in a single motion before bringing it to bear on the nearest crewman. The Sangheili was levelling his plasma rifle when Callum fired, blasting a chunk of the alien's weapon hand off with the first round before emptying the second into its head. A spray of purple blood and brain matter splattered over the crewman's comrade, giving Callum ample time to finish him off with a well-placed shot as he flinched.

Dawes and Jacob swept through the left side of the room, leaving Rodger - their marksman - back in the doorway as they massacred the lightly-armed crewmen. One Sangheili made a mad dash for the gravity lift, only to be caught in the neck as Rodger's SRS99 cracked off a shot. His body span round twice and pitched forward, landing with its upper half in the lift. The ruined, near-headless corpse began to drift upwards into the translucent shaft and quickly vanished out of sight. Rodger swore angrily.

"They'll know we're coming now!" Rodger yelled, jogging towards the gravity lift. "Let's get up there!"

Rodger leapt into the lift first and shot up, followed soon after by Jacob. Callum let out an exasperated sigh at their hastiness and ran after them, leaving Dawes to bring up the rear. Two decks flashed by in an instant before the Spartan was deposited into a spacious vestibule, where Rodger and Jacob were already blasting through a lance of terrified Grunts. The aliens went down in seconds and Stallion, unwilling to give the enemy a chance to form a proper defence, charged forward into the next room.

What awaited the Spartans was a massive, multi-tiered chamber, teeming with command stations, consoles, and enemy crewmen. At the zenith of this towering ziggurat sat a spacious, balconied platform: the supercarrier's command deck. Stallion's target was in sight.

"Keep advancing!" Callum yelled, ducking under a spray of white-hot bolts as he joined Jacob in charging up the left-hand staircase.

Taken by surprise, most of the Sangheili bridge crew were still scrambling for their sidearms by the time the Spartans reached them. They died in droves to point-blank rifle fire or well-thrown grenades, with many scrambling upwards as their brothers tried to mount a proper defence. Callum and the others were up four levels before they had to take cover again, and ducked behind terminals and hastily-deployed energy barriers to reload and re-assess the situation above. A steady stream of harsh shouts and alien insults rained down from the upper decks alongside streams of plasma fire, some of which were completely unintelligible to the translator in Callum's helmet.

"We've got them at a disadvantage here," Dawes spoke calmly over the COM. "They're trying to be careful."

"How come?" Rodger asked.

Dawes nodded towards the ruined command stations below them. "They're worried about losing control of the ship. We've probably just blown out a few non-essential systems, but a few grenades in the right place will really screw them over."

"Think we could total the ship if we blow a few more up?"

"Doubtful." Dawes dashed out of cover and hosed the nearest Sangheili with bullets before ducking behind a pillar. "They'll have to re-route the controls somewhere else, but it'll take time they can't afford. We moving, Callum?"

Across the room, Callum was plotting his next move. The remaining bridge crew had deactivated a pair of gravity lifts to the command deck, but the distance was nothing for a Spartan. "I'll need cover fire," He said, marking a section of wall with a marker for the rest of Stallion to see. "When I move, let them have it."

Callum waited three breaths before springing from cover, ducking and dodging as the aliens above turned their fire towards him. One crimson-armoured Sangheili raised a fuel rod cannon, only to fall backwards a moment later as a round from Rodger's SRS99 blew his head in half. Callum passed two more levels at a sprint, his legs pumping and shields flaring from glancing hits as he neared his target. At the top of the third flight of stairs the Spartan leapt sideways, kicked both boots off the bridge's side wall, and activated his MJOLNIR suit's thrusters, propelling him several metres upwards and onto the command deck while a chorus of alien cries rang out beneath him. Before he could get his bearings, Callum's motion tracker flashed red and and he dropped into a roll as the twin prongs of an energy sword hissed through the air where his head had been a moment earlier. Callum leapt nimbly to his feet and span round to face a burly officer, who wasted no time charging the Spartan with a fierce cry.

Somewhat embarrassed at having almost been blindsided by the Sangheili, Callum raised his shotgun and fired thrice, though the alien warrior twisted his body to avoid the worst of each blast. Its energy shields glowed white and flickered with the strain until they finally gave way, allowing Callum to land a direct hit. His foe's armour crumpled inwards and the Sangheili growled in pain, its mad rush foiled. The Spartan rushed forward, dodged a desperate swipe from the injured warrior, and smashed the butt of his shotgun against the alien's head. As his adversary crumpled sideways, its chestplate gushing indigo blood, Callum drew his sidearm and shot the warrior twice. A suitably humiliating demise.

Having had his fun, Callum rushed to the nearest console on the deserted platform. The conspicuous absence of Toru 'Makhan or any of his officials save for the mid-level officer he had just dispatched bothered Callum. Few Sangheili would flee from a fight, especially one so devoted to his public image as 'Makhan, but the Spartan would not complain if it made their work easier. If the Imperial Admiral had fled to some safe haven within his own flagship at the sight of Spartans approaching, then good. Callum detached the metal cylinder housing Weatherby's surprisingly chatty fragment from his suit and plugged it into the side of the console. Nothing happened for several seconds, and just as Callum began to wonder if their AI companion had been defeated by the ship's defences or their adaptor cable had failed, the familiar figure of a besuited, moustachioed man shimmered into existence over the nearest holotank.

"You took your sweet time." The AI flashed a cheeky grin. "Now do me a favour and clear the room while I get acquainted with the ship, will you?"

Thankful that he could hide his annoyance at taking orders from the likes of Weatherby behind a visor, Callum jogged over towards the single staircase connecting the command deck with the lower portions of the bridge, almost walking into a wounded Sangheili half-dragging itself up step-by-step. The alien met a quick end at the end of Callum's shotgun barrel, and by the time the Spartan reached the first set of command stations he caught sight of Jacob double-tapping another half-dead officer with his sidearm. The younger Spartan looked up at Callum and waved.

"All clear here, Callum," Jacob said cheerfully. "Nice jump, by the way."

A genuine smile forced its way onto Callum's face, and he returned his brother's wave. "You get up here all right?"

Jacob looked around, nodding as he took in the view. The rest of Fireteam Stallion had swept up through the remaining command decks after Callum had forged ahead, smashing through barricades and utterly slaughtering the supercarrier's bridge crew. Alien corpses lay piled over each other, riddled with bullets or burnt black from explosions. Even with their helmet's filters, the stench of over two-dozen corpses was substantial. Dark blood was already pooling around the dead, and flowed in growing rivulets down the ziggurat of command stations as like some primeval site of mass sacrifice. Few could find such a sight enrapturing. Callum did.

The rest of Stallion soon reconvened on the command deck. Having exceeded all expectations, the Spartans now held control of the Watchful Custodian. With Dawes and Jacob watching the nearest doors and Rodger's marksman's eye on the entrance far below, Callum stood by the command chair with his arms crossed and waited for Weatherby to finish his work.

"Will this take long?" asked the Spartan. "Enemy reinforcements could arrive at any minute."

The AI fragment, which had vanished into the supercarrier's systems a few minutes prior, finally resurfaced above his holotank. The process of taking over the ship had clearly been taxing; Weatherby's blue-white hologram had become unstable and flickery in several places, while his immaculate suit was rumpled and torn.

"Sorry about that," Weatherby shook his head. "Like I said, I'm not built for intrusion, so I ran into a little trouble getting into the system."

"You all right?" Callum asked.

The AI shrugged. "If all of me was here then it would've only taken a few seconds, even with the countermeasures they'd put in place. Even so, I've knocked back any defences the ship had against AI intrusion and have taken control of about 60% of all onboard systems, including all of their weaponry."

"It's not firing on our fleets?"

"Not right now, though it won't be long before their operators realise that and take control of their guns manually, and there's nothing I can do about that. Until then, I've had their targeting parameters re-aligned towards the supercarriers escort cruisers, so they'll be in for a nasty surprise in a few seconds."

Callum nodded in appreciation. "Gonna use it to wipe out their fleet after that?"

"I wish!" Weatherby laughed. "But you've seen the state I'm already in, Spartan. A better AI - a whole AI - could do more, but as soon as they figure out what's going on the Imperium's going to have every soldier on board doing everything to isolate their systems and flush me out. Given my level of control and the damage I'm about to do, I'd say that I've given you about twenty minutes of breathing room to get to the hangar and escape."

Twenty minutes wasn't a bad escape window. "And our extraction craft-" Callum began.

"Already signalled." Weatherby snapped his fingers and a layout of the battle flashed up over the bridge's central holotable. "Admiral Zhi's re-routed every fighter the Sixth Fleet has left to provide cover for the nuke they're delivering, and Vice Admiral Samson's sent one of his fast-insertion craft to pull you out. Clock's ticking, Spartans."

From his position by the door, Jacob looked back at Weatherby and snorted. "When isn't it?"

Weatherby, ever the showman, snapped his fingers again. A waypoint appeared on Callum's heads-up display, marking the distance to the Watchful Custodian's hangar bay. It was over two kilometres away. Time to run. The Spartan snapped off a stiff salute to the AI fragment, whose mouth twitched upwards either in surprise or amusement.

"Thank you," Callum bowed his head slightly. "Even if all we did was carry you here, it's been an honour."

Weatherby waved him off. "I was made to do a job had and I did it, but I appreciate the gesture. Now get out of here and be heroes."

the AI vanished from his holotank, putting a definitive end to the conversation. Callum turned and made for the bridge's rear entrance, and the rest of Fireteam Stallion fell in behind him. It was a long way to the hangar bay Weatherby had designated, and even travelling at a dead sprint with no firefights the Spartans would be cutting it close. As they jogged along the indicated route, which weaved seemingly at random through maintenance corridors and empty living quarters, Callum couldn't help but wonder if the incoming fighter pilots had been told of Stallion's mission, or if dropping the nuke was a priority over everything else. It was not something to dwell on.

"Strange that we haven't run into any hinge-heads yet," Rodger remarked as they rounded the corner onto yet another completely empty corridor. "I thought we'd have been swarmed by now."

Jogging slightly ahead of the group, Dawes pointed towards a set of lights along the wall that flashed as they approached. "It's because of Weatherby. He's probably funnelling them through a certain route towards the bridge while keeping us out of harm's way."

"Clever bastard," Jacob chimed in. "Hey Callum, if we ever meet the real Weatherby, we should tell him all about what a little piece of him managed to do."

"If we ever meet him," said Callum.

Several more minutes passed without incident. The Spartans kept up their pace, jogging at speeds most normal humans could only accomplish at a dead sprint. Following Weatherby's directions, they eventually found themselves at the end of a long tunnel. The path ahead fell away before them, leaving only a pair of thin rails to walk on. Callum checked and double-checked his internal map to check if they'd taken a wrong turn, but the AI had led them here.

"Is he expecting us to run along these?" Rodger raised his rifle and sighted along the tunnel. "This thing must run along half the length of the ship."

"Looks a tram station," said Dawes, taking a careful step onto the rails. "But our AI friend didn't bring a tram along to-"

Dawes suddenly leapt back as particles of light began to form around his legs. A shimmering bridge of translucent blue energy snapped into place above the rails, creating a path that led down the tunnel and out of sight. As the Spartans took this new sight in, a section of the floor at the bridge's end snapped apart into two neat segments and a circular platform rose, thrumming with power as it met with the energy, which surged over it in a halo of purple light.

Jacob rapped the side of his helmet with his armoured knuckles. "It's a gravity bridge. Weatherby knew what he was doing after all."

"That'll speed us up." Callum took a tentative step onto the platform, which flashed brightly at his touch. The moment both his boots touched the device it took hold of the Spartan, all but launching him forwards along the energy bridge. Seeing their leader whisked away, the rest of Stallion quickly followed suit.

"Everyone all right?" Dawes asked, sounding uncomfortable. The others replied affirmatively. "I think we'll make it to the hangar with time to spare after all."

"Looks like it." Callum went back to checking his map. At the speed they were going, they'd be there in minutes.

While the Spartans of Fireteam Stallion enjoyed a relatively peaceful journey, the rest of the Watchful Custodian was consumed by panic. Engineers and gunnery officers tore cables out of anti-aircraft turrets in desperation as they loosed shot after shot towards friendly fighters, and an anguished cry went up from several crewmen as a pulse laser turret sliced a distant Obedience-class cruiser in half. Angry, confused messages from the rest of the fleet flooded every channel of their local battlenet, demanding answers from Toru 'Makhan, who had vanished from his flagship in the midst of battle.

Outside the bridge, more than fifty Sangheili pounded at and eventually began firing on its triple-sealed doors, gouging chunks out of the walls with plasma grenades in a desperate attempt to regain control. Rumours abounded that Demons had been sighted aboard the supercarrier; that they had appeared as if from nowhere and slaughtered their way onto the bridge before anyone could stop them. Some even said that Toru 'Makhan was taken or dead, and that the Imperium was now leaderless. Low-ranking Unggoy fled from their superiors in droves, pillaging unattended store rooms and racing for the warship's less-guarded hangars and escape pod bays. Sangheili overseers, failing to command the crowd through their usual threats, drew their weapons and opened fire on a seething horde many times their number. Bodies soon filled the lower levels, shot or stabbed or torn to pieces.

Entire sections of the ship were plunged into chaos, while those still loyal or attentive enough to keep focused on the battle raging outside the gargantuan ship's walls took note of a sudden surge of activity by their foe's faltering battle lines. An alert klaxon sounded - mostly ignored - across multiple levels, as the force that would deliver the coup de grâce to the Watchful Custodian emerged from cover and surged towards the supercarrier.

"Incoming strike fighters!" called one officer, signalling what few allies he had left manning the ship's defences. "Prepare to engage!"

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

167: The Path

The Kru’desh formation plunged heedlessly through a storm of anti-air fire. The Phantoms nimbly navigated the maelstrom but two archaic Spirits took fire and burst into flames. The U-shaped dropships plummeted toward Iradu’s distant surface. None of the other craft altered course. There probably wouldn’t be any survivors. And even if a few lucky warriors dragged themselves from the wreckage, well, the Kru’desh were expendable. There were always more condemned warriors to be pruned from Jul ‘Mdama’s ranks.

The command Lich held the middle of the dropship formation like an armored beetle. Its pilots didn’t bother avoiding the interception fire. The ship’s armored frame shrugged off all but the most devastating blows. The deck shuddered beneath Stray’s feet, though he hardly noticed the disruption. His mind was in fifty places at once, the incessant tactical feed streaming into his helmet pressing him into a nigh out of body experience. Reports from the Soul Ascension, transmissions from the other dropships, and developments across the Iradu battle space hurt his ears and burned his eyes.

Another dropship took a hit and fell from the sky. It occurred to Stray that some of the anti-air fire might be coming from Imperium gunners too overwhelmed to distinguish between friend and foe. Once again a wild, animal panic rose in his chest. What was he even doing here, leading alien warriors into battle on an alien world for a war three times removed from anything that mattered to him? When would he wake up and find himself in a Chancer V bunk, finally free of this feverish dream?

Weakness gave way to fear. He could practically see Diana amidst the warriors assembled on the Lich deck, her displeasure radiating throughout the Kru’desh and turning them against him. His power survived only as long as he could lead these killers into battle. And he had power now. He kept forgetting that most important part.

“This city, this planet, this entire Imperium is on fire!” he announced to the warriors in a voice not quite his own. “We came here to win Toru ‘Makhan’s war. We fought and killed and bled over his worlds. I’ve lost good warriors on these dirtballs. And what do we have to show for it?”

The warriors growled as the Lich shuddered from another blow. Stray’s tactical feed informed him that the Kru’desh formation was directly over the city now. Toru’s mountain palace would soon be in range.

“That’s right. Nothing. And now the enemy’s gone and taken first crack at the spoils. Since when does anyone beat us to the plundering?” A few warriors laughed at that. Amber stood among them. Her pilfered ODST helmet hid her expression. Stray unslung his shotgun. The weapon’s familiar grip assuaged his own faltering nerves. “I’m not bringing us down here to win the war or save Toru’s sorry ass. We’re here to get a little compensation. There’s an entire palace full of treasure that’s about to go up in flames. I’m sure the Imperium won’t miss anything that just happens to follow us back into orbit. Who’s with me?”

The assembled Sangheili barked their assent. A plundering expedition wasn’t what Shinsu asked for, but he didn’t understand the Kru’desh the way Stray did. These warriors had lost their chance for battlefield glory a long time ago. They were just as desperate as any Unggoy or Kig-Yar. Stray found that as with most humans, duty and honor were all well and good for the well-fed and powerful. Take that all away and hungry greed raced to fill the void. Stray just hoped there really was something worth stealing at the palace. The Kru’desh needed a win after the fiasco at Bineb.

“Commander, we do not have much time,” the Lich commander reported over a private channel. “The city will not hold out much longer.”

He was right. Coalition forces were overrunning the city. Entire districts were on fire while the Imperium defenders mounted a last-ditch defense against the invaders. The scene should be terrible and foreign. Instead it was all-too familiar. Stray couldn’t help but think of Philadelphia. He also saw a clock ticking away with brutal finality. The window to attack and escape was closing fast. Unless Toru produced some last-minute reversal the planet would fall and the Kru’desh would be trapped on the surface.

Why bother thinking about Toru? Stray answered to a different master. Shinsu ‘Refum was the one who might salvage this mess. Stray hoped the special operations commander had a plan to escape this blood-soaked mess.

The high walls of Toru ‘Makhan’s palace loomed over the city. Even at a distance Stray could tell the enemy was already pressing hard. Someone had already punched a hole in the Imperium’s anti-air defenses and now Swords of Sanghelios Phantoms swarmed over the walls like flies on a carcass. No matter how good the Imperium’s elite guard was, they’d be overrun in a matter of minutes.

“Commander, your orders?” the Lich commander prompted. “The enemy owns the airspace.”

“Yes,” a new voice purred in Stray’s ear. “What are your orders, commander?”

Stray stiffened. “Diana. What are you doing here?”

“Is that any way to greet a friend? I wasn’t about to sit back and let you have all the fun.”

She must have piggybacked herself through the Lich’s onboard computers. Stray just hoped the Soul Ascension was secure. Whatever Diana’s game was, the cruiser was somewhere out on Iradu’s distant surface. He didn’t have time to argue—not that it could do him much good. He chose to take comfort in Diana’s presence. After all, what choice did he have?

What choice did he ever have?

“Top speed and straight ahead,” he ordered. “We’ll clear the rooftops and push on inside. I don’t give a damn about their air cover, just get me on that roof!”

“By your word.” The Lich banked and accelerated, taking the entire formation with it. The command ship’s primary cannon belched green fire and tore an enemy Phantom in two.  A furious roar filled the troop bay as ramps on either side opened and exposed the assembled warriors to the racing winds. The Lich gunners raked the Swords of Sanghelios with plasma fire and the Kru’desh formation crashed headlong into the enemy landing zone.

Terrified instinct took hold. Plasma fire raked the Lich interior. A warrior just beside Stray dropped to the deck, a smoldering hole burned cleaned through his chest. Enemy Sangheili were shooting up at them from the palace rooftop even as their Phantoms poured fire down from overhead.

The Kru’desh bellowed in challenge and threw themselves from the dropships. Dozens were dead before they touched down but it didn’t matter. The warriors charging in behind took hold of their comrades’ smoking corpses and used them as grisly shields while their own dropships peppered the rooftop with plasma fire. Unggoy shield-bearers raced to the front line to soak up enemy fire with glowing energy gauntlets while Kig-Yar and Sangheili sharpshooters picked off the enemy from behind. Gun teams sent fuel rods streaking up into the underbellies of enemy Phantoms. The Swords of Sanghelios scattered before the furious assault. In under a minute hundreds of Kru’desh swarmed over the palace rooftop. They left nothing but plasma burns and corpses—theirs and the enemy’s—in their wake.

Stray landed on the rooftop with a heavy thud. Kru’desh warriors hurried to his side, weapons drawn. A momentary lull in the fighting broke as the enemy Phantoms withdrew. They’d be back soon and with even more air support. His gaze lingered on the bodies all around him. More dead, on his orders.

They’d be dead if someone else was in charge. That’s the game. You give the orders or the orders kill you. This was no time for weakness or guilt.

“Diana, coordinate the dropships,” Stray ordered. “Find a path out of this mess. They’re our only way off this rock.”

“I’ll make sure your flyboys don’t get their wings shot off,” the AI replied. “But I’m coming down with you. The palace security net is a shambles. You’ll need me to get you to the lower levels.”

“Commander.” A Kru’desh officer kicked his way through the corpses to reach Stray’s side. “What now? We cannot hold this position long.” The momentum from the initial assault was already wearing off. The Kru’desh warriors milled about the rooftop with nervous confusion.

“Get everyone inside,” Stray ordered. “After that, it’s every team for themselves. Let the warriors know that anything they find is theirs to keep. Payment for services rendered.”

The officer’s mandibles tightened in an ugly smile. “And the Imperium?”

“Help them hold the palace until we’re ready to leave.” Stray jerked his head. “Don’t let them stop you from taking anything. Just try not to kill any of them.”

Amber sidled over to him as the officer dashed off to spread word of the looting spree. She waved a smoking plasma rifle to indicate the palace. “That’s it? That’s your brilliant plan?” she demanded over a private channel. “Loot the place?”

Stray turned back to watch the capitol burn behind them. “This war’s over and I’ve got nothing to show for it besides a damaged cruiser and a body count.” He looked to the heaps of dead Kru’desh. “This isn’t a military outfit, it’s a penal battalion. If these thugs don’t think they’re getting anything out of following some asshole human, they’ll turn on me in a second. What’s you’re life expectancy without me around?”

“Fine. You’ve made your point. Asshole.” Amber jogged off without another word. She was back to mouthing off. Stray tried to push memories of what had happened between them in his quarters out of his mind. This really wasn’t the time.

Across the roof, Unggoy pioneers were blasting access holes through the ceiling while the Sangheili waited to pour through the breaches. The Kru’desh came to the Imperium stealing everything that wasn’t nailed down. Now they would leave it the same way.

Shinsu’s blood-red blade hissed in the smoky air. He flicked the blade towards his new opponent, the brawling Sangheili from Montak. The enemy warrior bared his mandibles, twin plasma rifles trained on Shinsu’s chest. This one was a killer. Shinsu had watched him blast a bloody swath through the palace with a wild intensity that reminded him of Stray’s human inelegance. Only Shinsu’s guards stayed him from simply opening fire. The dark armored warriors darted in front of Shinsu, weapons trained on the interloper.

The battle was not going well. Shinsu’s warriors had isolated and ambushed a detachment of Swords of Sanghelios infiltrators—the wrong detachment, as it turned out. While Shinsu killed the attackers, a second team had destroyed the palace’s anti-air emplacements. The palace was now exposed, a bare throat for the invaders’ blade. With no sign of the Kru’desh or Imperium reinforcements, the Swords of Sanghelios would overrun Kan ‘Larom’s defenders through sheer weight of numbers.

Shinsu expected a loss, but not this swiftly. The chance for a graceful exit was swiftly evaporating. He would win no allies by simply deserting the ailing Imperium in its final moments. But allies and reputation meant nothing if he perished like a common footsoldier. Each warrior he struck down was simply a reminder that this endeavor was a futile waste of time. His grand designs for the Imperium had come to nothing. Toru ‘Makhan’s rapid advance and equally rapid defeat tore apart Shinsu’s long-prepared stratagems to turn the upstart cause to his own advantage. He was no more instrumental to Toru ‘Makhan’s fall than the next warrior, merely a bit player on this particular stage of history.

I should have dispatched the Kru’desh on this expedition and devoted my efforts to other matters. Stray was a blunt instrument, but in the future he might be a reliable way to avoid such wastes of time.

Shinsu was almost relieved when the warrior from Montak’s eyes flashed. The recognition soothed his wounded pride.

“’Refum,” the warrior growled. A half dozen warriors alighted behind him and brought their corner of the throne room to an impasse. “Still clinging to Toru ‘Makhan’s cloak. Was Jul ‘Mdama’s bed not large enough to satisfy you?”

Shinsu let the coarse suggestion pass. “I fight for our people, warrior. Thel ‘Vadam buys human friendship with Sangheili blood at every turn. Do you grow weary of seeing your warriors die for the puppet Kaidon and his masters on Earth?”

“You killed good men today.” The warrior’s eyes narrowed. “You will pay dearly for that.”

“I doubt that very much.” Shinsu raised his blade. “Unless your skills have improved considerably since your unsightly display on Montak. Give me your name, warrior, and I will endeavor to praise your dedication to Thel ‘Vadam when I make my next accounting with the false Kaidon.”

In answer the warrior cut loose with a flurry of plasma fire. Shinsu’s blade absorbed the brunt of the blast as he closed the distance. His shields flashed from glancing strikes as he swept the blade upwards at his opponent’s chest. The warrior blocked the blow with a hasty cross of his plasma rifles. The red blade chewed through the weapons and sent their hissing components tumbling to the floor. Without losing a step the warrior activated his wrist gauntlets and pushed Shinsu back with the simple brawling fury he’d used on Montak.

“I’ve been killing pompous fools like you all my life,” the warrior snarled. His wrist blades slashed and cut from both sides. Each attack threatened a grievous injury and only swift parries and twists kept Shinsu out of harm’s reach. “Pampered, entitled aristocrats, the lot of you. You’re as useless as this gaudy throne room.”

“Ah, the ruffian’s pretension.” Shinsu enjoyed the match despite himself. He let concerns about the larger battle, about his wasted efforts and scrapped plans, fade away. He didn’t often enjoy the thrill of clashing blades these days. “Assuming a lack of style provides a substance all of its own.”

He drove the warrior back with a flurry of artful blows. The Swords commander was quick on his feet, if nothing else. He kept himself one step ahead of Shinsu’s blade, refusing to let himself be cornered or pushed into a purely defensive battle. He might be a brawler, but he knew his way around a fight. His wild, furious attacks with the wrist blades held more style than the ungainly blows let on. His keen gaze did not match his blustery challenges. Those were the eyes of a cunning commander—not some boasting thug. A true warrior.

A duel was as much about strategy as any battle. Knowing one’s enemy was the difference between victory and defeat. Shinsu heard his foe’s taunts, saw the gleam in his eye, and perceived the trap a moment before it sprang.

The knowledge saved his life. The warrior flung himself forward as it to launch a furious assault—the unbalanced attack he’d goaded Shinsu into expecting. Shinsu’s blade darted to meet the challenge and at the last second the warrior changed course with a pivot to match the most graceful of blademasters. His right blade slipped between Shinsu’s sword prongs, locking the blade in place while and his left blade flashed snake-like at Shinsu’s abdomen.

The blow never landed. Shinsu’s right hand—tucked gracefully behind his back in the stance of noble bladefighting—lashed out and caught the warrior’s gauntlet in an iron grip. The warrior blanched and tried to wrench his arm free. Shinsu held fast, muscles straining beneath his armor. His opponent glared at him, taken aback by his unexpected strength. Shinsu’s mandibles curled in a patronizing smile.

“I must confess a degree of experience in the baser fighting arts,” he noted. “Much to my own discredit.” A flick of his wrist knocked the remaining wrist blade aside and then his blood-red blade plunged towards the foe’s exposed throat.

The Swords of Sanghelios commander cut loose with an ear-splitting roar. His trapped arm surged with newfound strength. It tore free from Shinsu’s grip. The warrior leaped away, the tip of Shinsu’s blade glancing narrowly off his energy shields. He fell back against his wall of loyal warriors, eyes flaring with a look Shinsu knew all too well. That was the look of a warrior who did not seek death in battle. A warrior who prized survival over the chance at fleeting glory.

Shinsu respected a warrior like that. A pity he could not be swayed to a more worthy cause. Too many worthy Sangheili had lost their lives in this fruitless war. Their people grew weaker while the humans grew stronger. Shinsu could not permit this sad state of affairs to continue.

He leveled his blade. “Your name, warrior. You insult me by withholding it. Have I not won this simplest courtesy?”

The Swords commander raised his gauntlets to continue the battle. “You may call me Rora ‘Marak.”

The name sparked a memory. “Ah, Thel ‘Vadam’s Outrider. I am not surprised to find you in this host’s vanguard.”

A self-satisfied smile crossed the Outrider’s harsh features. “My reputation precedes me.”

“Indeed.” Shinsu adjusted his stance, keenly aware that plasma fire still filled the great hall. The larger battle did not put itself on hold for this tidy duel. The Imperium was pushing the Swords of Sanghelios back. Toru ‘Makhan’s elite honor guards surged forward, grimly determined to hold the palace even in the face of crushing defeat. The Swords fell back to defensive positions, hard pressed and on the verge of being completely overrun.

Rora noticed the battle’s shift. His eyes narrowed once again. Shinsu saw the decision weighed in his mind—personal honor versus his duties as a commander. In the mind of Rora ‘Marak, such a choice was no choice at all. He was a true warrior, after all.

The Outrider’s mandibles parted, a breath away from ordering his warriors to open fire. Shinsu flicked his finger, motioning his own guard squad to do the same. He braced to withstand the crossfire about to come his way.

The ceiling exploded. Chunks of rubble rained down from above, soon mixed with plasma and needle rounds. At first Shinsu assumed the Sword of Sanghelios had arrived in force. He stepped back behind his guard phalanx only to see the newcomers firing not at the Imperium defenders but at the Swords themselves. Lances of Sangheili swooped into the chamber on grav-packs while Kig-Yar and Unggoy lowered ropes and slid down after them. They fell upon the Swords with wild abandon, a wild, undisciplined mob.

The Kru’desh had finally arrived.

Rora ‘Marak led his surviving warriors back into cover. He wrenched a plasma rifle from a dead warrior and blasted the nearest Kru’desh out of the sky. He spared one last glower at Shinsu, who raised his blood-red blade in an ironic salute.

“Another time, ‘Refum,” Rora growled. Then he vanished into the smoke, leading his warriors to safety.

The Kru’desh were everywhere. What they lacked in discipline they made up with wild enthusiasm. For every one the Swords blasted down, five more rushed in to take his place. Their assault was so wild and brazen that a few Imperium guards turned their weapons on the frenzied newcomers. Half the Kru’desh vanished the moment they touched the floor, racing off down corridors in wanton disregard for the battle raging behind them. The rest pressed their attack, bearing down on the remaining Sword warriors. The enemy fell back amidst a hail of grenades and plasma fire.

One warrior floated down through the chamber, weapon slung as he carried a human figure in his arms. Stray was, after all, little larger than a Sangheili child. Were the situation not so dire, Shinsu might have found the sight comical.

The warrior certainly did not find his duty cause for amusement. He alighted on the floor and knelt respectfully to let his commander stand before Shinsu’s bodyguards. The human surveyed the carnage around them, expressionless as always behind his battered helmet. He unslung his scattergun and inclined his head to Shinsu.

“My lord,” he said with exaggerated reverence. “Sorry we’re late.”

He glanced up at the holes his men had blasted in the ceiling. “Guess we’ll have to apologize for the mess. This is a nice place we’ve ruined.”

“Spare me the empty formalities.” Shinsu realized that he didn’t know exactly how Stray escaped his close call at the Bineb system or how he’d gotten his forces to Iradu’s surface in the first place. There would be time to review the human’s rash tactics later. “You did not come here to reinforce me anymore than you came to save this palace. I imagine you brought your rabble here with promises of plunder.”

Stray made a derisive noise behind his helmet. “It’s the only way I’d convince them to spend another minute bleeding over this lost cause. But you were down here all by yourself and I got worried you’d forgotten to put together an escape plan that didn’t involve me.”

The treacherous little human was loyal in his own strange way. He knew Shinsu was the reason he held a position in Jul ‘Mdama’s inner circle. Without Shinsu’s patronage, the hardliners within the Covenant would urge the Didact’s Hand to withdraw his protection—just as they kept urging him to do away with that tiresome scientist Halsey.

“I will make use of your warriors to make my exit,” Shinsu said coolly. “But in the meantime I know you have other goals in mind.” The Kru’desh warriors had broken off far too quickly. Stray had brought them here with plunder on the mind. Knowing the manner of artifacts Toru had gilded his crumbling Imperium with, Shinsu had a good idea of the prizes Stray had in mind.

The Imperium forces were regrouping. Shinsu glimpsed a tall, gold-armored warrior striding among them. The Imperial Admiral himself—that glorious leader he’d come all this way to turn to his own ends. That endeavor lay in ruins along with the Imperium itself. All the same, Shinsu counted himself fortune he’d crossed paths with the great Toru ‘Makhan at all.

“Go,” he ordered Stray. “Do what you came here to do. I will make excuses for you. Just be sure you get your scum under control before this world is overrun entirely. It would be tiresome to lose you now. I have invested too much time and effort in you as it is.”

“You’re all heart, my lord.” Stray tapped two fingers to his visor in an arrogant salute. He dashed off into the palace, a mob of Kru’desh at his heels.

“I don’t know how you tolerate that creature,” Shinsu’s guard captain grunted in a rare breach of etiquette.

“Even vermin have their uses.” Shinsu drew himself up and strode to rejoin the Imperium line. “The Kru’desh are a testament to that unfortunate reality.”

Actene: Heaven and Earth

168: Killing Blow

2141 Hours, September 1st, 2558 Iradu Orbit, Voden System

Just one more flight. One more mission. Then we all go home.

Erika took a deep breath as her Broadsword accelerated and burst from the Caspian's hangar bay, re-armed and ready to join the battle once more. The rest of the 83rd Tactical Fighter Wing, joined by several rag-tag squadrons formed from the Sixth Fleet's remaining fighter craft, quickly fell into formation behind her as they prepared to make their final assault. A far cry from the well-prepared and organised group that had left Earth less then a week ago, the fighters - mostly Broadswords and Longswords - bore the signs of heavy combat and hasty repair jobs, but it was all they had left.

"This is November One," Erika spoke over the squadron's COM system. "Once we break from cover I want you to stay with your wingmen and advance as planned to the target area as planned. Spread out as much as you can on approach; we'll have a better chance of success if they've got more targets to choose from."

Though she couldn't say so openly, the vast majority of their attack force would be used as bait on this operation. Only Erika's own squadron - all Air Force pilots transferred to bolster the Sixth Fleet's numbers shortly before this campaign - had been given the full rundown on their seemingly suicidal mission to attack the Imperium's supercarrier. She'd protested such a demand, but the orders had come straight from Admiral Zhi. The UNSC and its Sangheili allies were losing the battle in orbit, slowly but surely, and the steady advance of the Imperium's flagship would spell doom for their already-beleaguered forces if it broke through their weakened battle lines. Their only chance, as Zhi had explained to Erika, was to detonate a nuclear warhead within the gargantuan warship, which would obliterate the supercarrier and do a number on their foe's morale.

Even so, Erika glanced at the indicators on her HUD marking distant enemy warships. We're going to have a hell of a fight on our hands with whoever's left. Attacking a supercarrier with starfighters was a move only the desperate or idiotic would make, but the Admiral had informed Erika of an ace up the UNSC's sleeve: Spartans. Somehow, they had sent a group of supersoldiers aboard the ship ahead of them to cause havoc, which would open up a path for the 83rd to get into their hangar bay and hit it with one of their eight HAVOK tactical nukes. She'd questioned why the Spartans couldn't have taken a nuke on board themselves, naturally, and received an annoyingly vague answer from Admiral Zhi in response. As such, it was up to Erika and her men to get the job done.

"This is November Fourteen," called Lieutenant Aizawa, Erika's second-in-command. "I'm detecting fighter launches from allied Sangheili ships."

"I see them." Erika's lips curled into a strained smile. "And here I thought they'd be sitting this one out."

A snort of laughter sounded over the COM from November Eight, Lintz. "Hinge-heads don't want us to get the 'glory' for taking out that carrier, I'll bet!"

"Language," Aizawa chided the younger pilot. "TEAMCOM's not that secure."

As Lintz muttered an apology, Erika checked to see how many fighters the Swords of Sanghelios were sending to assist them. Most of their forces were committed to fighting on the surface or fending off attacks from the bulk of the Imperium's steadily-advancing fleet, but they had peeled off at least twenty Seraph starfighters to assist in their assault on the supercarrier. Though she disliked working with pilots from the Swords, if only because her targeting computer had accidentally flagged their fighters as hostile more than once, any support was welcome at this juncture. As her squadron passed over the bulk of the UNSC Auld Lang Syne, she flipped a switch and armed the Broadsword's weapon systems. Beyond them lay a vast stretch of no-man's land in space, littered with the smouldering wrecks of several warships too slow to escape the Supercarrier's long-distance plasma turrets. At the end of this zone sat the Watchful Custodian, their target. Even at this distance, the sheer size of the enemy vessel was a sight to behold as it slowly advanced towards the Sixth Fleet, blotting out the stars with its bulk.

"Breaking from cover now," Erika said, switching back from TEAMCOM to the attack force's designated channel. "All craft, accelerate to attack speed and begin your approach. Let's give the Imperium a black eye it won't forget."

Covering the distance between the Sixth Fleet and the supercarrier would be the hardest part of their mission. Aside from their target's innumerable point defence cannons, starfighter complement and nigh-impenetrable energy shielding, Erika's strike force had to contend with at least half a dozen Obedience-class cruisers, which had fanned out into a rough semicircle ahead of the supercarrier's prow. Blue-white lights flashed up along each craft's surface, signalling the first volley of plasma they would have to weather. Though their fighters had the speed to avoid most cruiser-mounted weaponry, the Imperium had more than enough firepower to make their approach a rough one. As she tried to calculate the best angle of approach, a surprised yelp cut across their COM channel.

"Holy shit!" Lintz exclaimed. "The supercarrier's firing on its own escorts!"

Erika glanced up just in time to catch the death-flash of a distant cruiser as a thousand explosions bloomed across its rapidly-crumbling surface. The supercarrier's massive pulse laser cannons had hit the warship from behind, slicing it in half in an instant. A moment later, the supercarrier began to fire wildly at its own ships, loosing plasma bolts in every direction as it turned, slowly but surely, away from the Sixth Fleet. A waypoint appeared on Erika's HUD, marking the tiny pinprick of light that made out one of its hangar bays.

"That must be the Spartan team." Erika shook her head in disbelief. "They must've taken over its internal systems."

"It gives us a fighting chance," Aizawa said calmly.

November Thirteen, Gillman, was next to chime in. "If they've taken over, then why bother sending us? Why not steal the damn thing?"

"You couldn't control a ship that size with just one team," Erika replied. "They're just causing havoc until we get there."

"Then who's getting the Spartans out?" asked Lintz, concerned. "We're not nuking them too, are we?"

That is a damn good question. With a brief window of time before the Imperium recovered from the shock of its own flagship betraying them, Erika took the time to quickly look over their attack force with a local IFF ping. All in all, they had about thirty fighters left, brought together from squadrons from the Caspian, Auld Lang Syne, and a ragtag force from the Sixth Fleet's surviving warships Even the remnants of the recently-destroyed Maya's fighter complement had joined them on this mission. Behind their attack force and moving at surprising speed, were two heavily-modified Owl extraction craft. Vice Admiral Samson hadn't deigned to inform Erika about them and the dropships had neglected to signal their presence in true ONI style, but she correctly guessed that they were there to swoop in and grab the Spartans before the 83rd turned that supercarrier into the biggest fragmentation grenade in history.

"Got a couple of ONI dropships trailing us," Erika announced over TEAMCOM. "They're feeling a little shy, but if anyone gets inside that supercarrier first, be nice and give our pals from Naval Intelligence some time to pick those Spartans up."

Several affirmatives of varying enthusiasm rang out in response. Erika's computer flashed red and let out a shrill alarm tone, signalling the detection of enemy fighters. As the first volley of plasma fire finally reached the attack force, Erika expertly weaved her fighter past a few bolts of energy, which streaked lazily towards the Broadsword as she approached. Though she was in little danger - even a direct hit would only drain her fighter's energy shields - Erika finally began to feel the familiar surge of adrenaline that heralded the true start of battle. Like many other pilots, exhausted and on edge from days of fighting, she had discreetly injected herself with a stim-pack before launch and felt a tangible sense of excitement as they drew closer and closer to their goal.

While the supercarrier was still out of control, having loosed plasma volleys at two more cruisers since its first treacherous attack, its crew had been alert enough to mount a spirted defence against Erika's strike force. Banshees streaked towards them in small clusters, making up for their poor armour with numbers and combined firepower, while behind them groups of hardier Seraph attack fighters hung back, waiting for the human ships to waste time and ammo on the weaker craft. Erika's squadron split off into their usual three-man groups, with Lintz and Aizawa covering their Captain's back as she changed course.

"They'll try and swarm us," Erika said, checking for the fifth and final time that her weapon systems were properly calibrated. "Hit the lead craft with your medusas, then follow up with your thirty-five mils."

That was a piece of advice that Erika's old mentor, famed fighter ace Hila Belinsky, had taught her during their first missions together during the Fall of Reach years ago. Banshee swarms were expected to take hits going in and often flew in such a way that they could recover from losing their lead fighters in rapid succession, so UNSC pilots learned to counter it with overkill, blasting the first few ships to smithereens in such a way that those behind them were either struck by wreckage or blinded for a few crucial moments. Thankfully, it seemed that the Imperium's fighter doctrine hadn't changed to counter these targets since the end of the Human-Covenant War.

"Got two groups coming in on our left," Lintz marked a number of banshees pursuing them, all previous humour gone from his voice. "We leading them on, Captain?"

"Uh-huh," Erika led her wingmen forward, aiming not for the supercarrier, but for one of its heavily-damaged escort cruisers. "Ready missiles."

The trio of Broadswords moved at full speed, outnumbered six-to-one by pursuit craft. The Obedience-class cruiser ahead of them was a floundering ruin, still active but venting atmosphere from at least four points after a direct hit from the supercarrier had cracked its outer hull like an eggshell. A few automated turrets swivelled to aim at the incoming human fighters, but did not fire. This was a warship in its death throes, and Erika knew it. Bolts of plasma shot past the Broadswords as the banshees gained on them, some impacting harmlessly off their shields. They were safe for now, but it was not a chase they could keep up forever.

Moving as one, the Broadswords turned at an angle, skimming barely a metre above the doomed cruiser's nanolaminate-plated outer hull. Ahead of them lay the bulky repulsor blocks, which struggled to remain active as they sputtered and shed metal with each passing moment. Erika's targeting computer ran an automatic scan, and a red diamond popped into place on her HUD with three wonderful words above it: Optimal strike zone.

"Locked on," Aizawa's craft adjusted itself to match Erika's movements. "Once we loose, we've got about three seconds to get clear."

"Plenty of time." Erika flipped the catch on her missile control button, and hovered her thumb over it. "Fire when ready."

All three Broadswords let loose at once, firing six M6088 missiles towards a gaping hole torn in the side of the damaged cruiser's engine block. Instead of veering away from the craft and warning their pursuers, Erika and her wingmen angled their craft downwards and kicked their thrusters into full gear, shooting past the warship's engines close enough for their shields to flare and crackle from the heat. The banshees, too eager to catch their fleeing human prey, did not realise their doom until it was far too late. Each missile struck the damaged engine section with a tremendous blast, hammering through any remaining sections of armour until one finally pierced into the ailing repulsor engines. The rear half of the cruiser vanished into a ball of white flame, taking both banshee swarms with it.

Lintz let out a low whistle as the light faded behind them. "How many d'you think we got, Captain? Twenty?"

"Probably." Erika resumed course towards the supercarrier. "That's probably bought us a minute, tops."

The Watchful Custodian's escort cruisers, once its first line of defence, had been thrown into total disarray. While a couple still remained in position, trying to intercept the starfighters of the Sixth Fleet and Swords of Sanghelios, the rest were either destroyed, crippled, or moving out of the supercarrier's effective range. Random beams of light and plasma bursts still flew from the flagship's many defensive turrets, aimed at friend or foe alike. The area around it had become a chaotic mess of embattled fighter craft, and though their allies had the advantage for the time being, Erika knew that the Imperium's numbers would prevail if they didn't deliver that nuke soon.

Before long, Erika received a ping from a group of friendly fighters: Gillman, Higgins and Marchal, some of the 83rd's best pilots. While she had led her wingmen in one direction, that trio had broken off from the main group and led the Imperium's attack craft into the waiting guns of the Swords' Seraph fighters, and had used the commotion to break through enemy lines.

"This is November Thirteen," Gillman called over the COM. "Requesting permission to pull ahead and commence attack run, Captain."

"What's your angle?" Erika asked, wondering if Gillman was just looking for an excuse to be the hero. "We get much closer to that thing and the direct route's not going to work."

"I'm detecting less fire from a portion on their starboard side," Gillman said. "If we go in low and pull up at the right angle, we can skim the supercarrier's surface and swoop down into the target zone once we're close enough. It'll be a tight maneuver, but their point-defence will have a hard time hitting us once we're that close."

Erika exhaled slowly. It was a pretty daring move, for sure, but not an impossible one. While Gillman was right about the enemy's cannons losing their effectiveness against fighters at that range, moving so close to the supercarrier's surface would make them easy prey for any enemy fighters coming in from above. In addition, there was the matter of the extraction craft ONI had sent to accompany them. If any of their HAVOK-armed Broadswords entered that hangar bay, then they would likely have only seconds to drop or fire the missile and get out alive, so waiting around for the Spartans to be rescued wasn't an option. Even so, one Spartan team wasn't worth potentially losing the war. She hoped.

"Permission granted." Erika eased back on her throttle for a moment and allowed Gillman and his wingmen to pass. "We'll try to cover your approach."

"Much obliged, ma'am," Gillman replied gratefully. "Let's go get 'em, boys!"

The three Broadswords rocketed away, accelerating as they dipped their prows into a deep, arcing dive that would put them under the supercarrier when they rose from it. Erika, Aizawa and Lintz soon followed them, though their alarm klaxons soon sounded to indicate the approach of enemy craft.

"Only two Seraphs?" Aizawa sneered. "Nothing we can't handle."

"Staggered formation," Erika sounded almost bored as she gave the order. "Lead their shots until we know who they're shooting at, then pull away and return fire."

"Shouldn't we be following Gillman?" Lintz asked. "He needs cover."

Erika drummed her fingers irritably against the side of her console as the Seraphs approached. "And he won't get it if we're hit before we pull up, now prepare to engage."

Sure enough, the pair of strike fighters chasing them soon opened fire, hosing the space around their craft with streams of inaccurate plasma fire. A few lucky hits glanced off Erika's shielded left wing with a crackle of energy, though that hit marked her as their chosen target. The Seraphs sped up, eager for the kill, and moved in close together to deliver what would be a fatal burst of fire against her Broadsword. Seizing the opportunity, Both Aizawa and Lintz broke out of their dive and gunned their engines, moving left and right respectively before performing shockingly fast turns towards the alien fighters. Though the Seraphs had Erika dead to rights, this move panicked the pilots and - just as Erika had planned - tried to abort their attack run far too late.

Firing simultaneously, Aizawa and Lintz hammered the first Seraph with their primary cannons, smashing its shields away in moments before ripping into the interior cockpit in a deadly barrage of 35mm rounds. As the craft rapidly fell apart, the pair turned their attention towards the second Seraph, which had recovered enough from the initial shock to return fire and charge Lintz's Broadsword. The eager young pilot responded to this challenge with gusto, peppering the craft with cannon fire as it rapidly depleted his shields with his own. The pair of fighters continued on this collision course, blasting away at each other until a pair of missiles hit the Seraph's right side and blew it apart, sending it spiralling away from Lintz's battered fighter before it exploded.

"Thanks for the assist," Lintz let out a long sigh over the COM. "For a second-"

"You thought you'd die?" Aizawa clicked his tongue. "Don't charge hinge-head pilots then."

Lintz chuckled. "Duly noted, Lieutenant. Now, let's catch up with the Captain."

While her wingmen had broken off to save her, Erika was still following Gillman's course towards the supercarrier. Though larger than any ship she'd ever seen by far, even from a distance, the pilot didn't fully appreciate the terror of such a warship until she found herself below it, looking up at a behemoth that blotted out all the stars above. Beams of light and flashes of plasma streaked past her as she began her ascent, but years of experience and the lightning-fast response time of Erika's Broadsword made evading such a barrage an achievable task. Far above lay the IFF tags of Gillman, Higgins and Marchal, who had just about crested the side of the supercarrier, moving just a few metres above the hazy purple-tinted shimmer that was its outer shields.

It took close to a minute for Erika to complete her climb, dodging the occasional bout of fire as she went. Both Aizawa and Lintz had begun to follow, though they'd have to pull out quickly if Gillman was lucky enough to get inside with his HAVOK nuke. Eventually she passed the network of defence cannons mounted on the supercarrier's underside, and used a few precious seconds to survey the wider battle. Between the haze of electronic interference common to any large battle she detected a few knots of UNSC fighters here and there, fighting fiercely against a foe many times their number with the Swords of Sanghelios, who threw themselves against the Imperium's fighters with reckless abandon. Several heavy dropships, likely launched in desperation from the Sixth Fleet, had also joined the fray alongside the pair of Owls sent to pick up the Spartan infiltrators, though they were having a hard time approaching the supercarrier. Among all this, she could detect no one else from the 83rd, and could only assume the worst.

"Captain Ruskin!" Gillman suddenly yelled over the COM, sounding unusually panicked. "We've got a problem up here!"

Erika finally moved her fighter up and over the supercarrier's bulbous stern, and saw the problem at once. Her targeting computer all but screamed a warning at her as it marked up at least a hundred enemy fighters patrolling in shoals above their flagship, standing by as a final line of defence against any attackers. One group had already detected Gillman and his wingmen, and were converging on their position from all angles.

"Pull up now!" Erika accelerated, turning her prow up to intercept the nearest fighters. "I'll provide cover, now-"

"They're swarming!" Gillman cut her off. "No way we're hittin' the hangar, Captain, but we'll give everything we've got."

A second later, another alert flashed up on Erika's HUD, indicating that Gillman had armed his Broadsword's HAVOK nuke. The attacking fighters continued their relentless assault, hitting the UNSC craft from all sides. Higgins and Marchal pulled away from their wingman, mowing down banshees left and right with their autocannons before a fuel rod blast consumed the latter's cockpit in a distant burst of emerald light, sending the Broadsword's remains spiralling downwards before harmlessly disintegrating against the supercarrier's shields. Higgins lasted only a little longer than his comrade, and let out a sharp cry over the COM as his own craft was shot up and torn to shreds by a swarm of banshees.

"Aizawa, Lintz," Erika tried to control her voice as she dipped her Broadsword down and away from the supercarrier's topside. "Abort your climb and change course, now! Stay away from the top of that ship!"

As her wingmen replied affirmatively, Erika checked to see if Gillman's IFF was still active. For a moment she considered contacting him, but knew that it would be a pointless endeavour. Listening to another pilot die over the COM was a horrible thing to experience, and it never got easier over time. Suddenly, a bright, near-blinding light erupted from atop the supercarrier, followed by a wave of heat and energy that spread its way along the sides of the massive warship. Gillman's transponder vanished, as did the icons of close to one hundred and fifty Imperium-aligned fighters. The Watchful Custodian's shields rippled slightly, then shimmered back into place as it nothing had happened. A direct nuclear strike had done nothing.

"Jesus," Lintz breathed. "Poor bastard."

"Hell of a way to go," Aizawa concurred.

Erika forced herself to remain composed. "Stay on target. Hangar's up ahead."

While her diversion had given her wingmen time to gain ground, Erika knew she would be alone in any attack run from here onwards. Gillman's suicidal attack had decimated the Imperium's local fighter patrols for now, but as any veteran pilot could tell you, banshees were a credit a dozen. Soon enough they would replace those defending the supercarrier's surface, and with only three nukes left Erika couldn't risk launching another while they were still outside.

Eventually, the supercarrier's starboard hangars came into view, nestled between row after row of anti-aircraft turrets. Though some lay dormant or lay in pieces, most were still active, launching plasma rounds at incoming fighter squadrons. Erika watched as two Longswords hurtled towards this deadly array at speeds no pilot could pull up from, loosing every missile their fighters had just to provide an opening for the extraction craft in their wake. Streaks of white and blue tore through their hulls, blowing one to pieces with a successful strike on its reactor while the other span out of control, crashing into a bank of turrets in a fiery explosion. Using the death of its comrades as an opportunity the Owl raced forward, only to be struck through the prow by a beam of light. The tiny dropship sank instantly, and smashed off the supercarrier's hull just below the hangar's energy barrier.

Seeing this, Erika could only grit her teeth for a moment, aware that they were running out of options. Only one Owl remained, and it wouldn't be long before it made its own run for the hangar.

"All craft," Erika sent out a message over the squadron's wider COM. "Commence attack run on the designated coordinates ASAP to clear a path for package delivery and friendly extraction."

Marking the area around the open hangar bay with a waypoint, she then changed course, heading along the supercarrier's starboard hull to prepare for what was likely her final attack run. A smattering of affirmatives came back over the COM from the rest of their attack force, though some were too entangled in their own battles to make it all the way to the supercarrier. As a wave of friendly blips streaked towards the target on her long-range radar, Erika pulled her fighter up for several seconds, ready to dive into the jaws of hell itself.

"We all aiming for the hangar?" asked Lintz.

"Negative, I'll go in first, so hang back and provide support when I dive. If I don't make it, Aizawa's next. Then you, Lintz." Though she wouldn't say it out loud, she didn't want to risk the younger pilot's life on this near-suicidal run.

Lintz let out an annoyed grunt. "Yes ma'am."

"That other Owl's moving in," said Aizawa. "The 'Silver Bullet'."

"I see it." Erika marked it on her HUD as a number red blips flashed up. "Got Seraphs moving in, too."

"I'll deal with them." Aizawa peeled away from Erika's right flank and sped off. "See you on the other side, Captain."

"And you, Lieutenant." Erika smiled weakly. "Go with him too, Lintz."

Erika's other wingman complied and moved after Aizawa, leaving her alone as she began her dive towards the hangar. The space around it was already a mess of cannon fire and missile exchanges, and with what looked like a massive wave of Seraph fighters incoming things were going to get even messier. Erika increased her speed, coming in from a high angle. She quickly armed and fired two missiles towards a particularly troublesome pulse laser turret far below, which buckled and exploded as the medusas struck its base a few seconds later. A gaggle of banshees rose to meet Erika, though she made short work of the Imperium's steel-coloured craft with a sustained burst of fire from her autocannon and dodged the debris field as she began to pull out of her dive.

Though the hangar's entrance was spacious enough to allow at least three pelicans in side-by-side, at Erika's speed getting in safely would be like threading a needle with her starfighter; too slow and she'd be shot down, but too fast and she'd hit the deckplate and die horribly. Precision was needed. Sweat beaded on Erika's brow as she slowly pulled back on the yoke, dipping the Broadsword down just far enough to face the hangar before gunning the thrusters. The forward momentum carried her fighter through the translucent barrier with plenty of room to spare, and she soon found herself overlooking a pitched battlefield in the chamber below.

Four armoured figures stood near the hangar bay's centre, exchanging fire with a steadily-encroaching ring of alien warriors. Judging by the number of corpses strewn across the deckplate the Imperium had had little luck in fighting the Spartans so far, but by the look of things their superior numbers and a lack of ammunition on their opponents' part was giving them the upper hand. Erika would change that. Her Broadsword slowly sank through the air, held aloft by its angled thrusters, and turned to face the approaching infantry. A few began firing in a panic towards Erika's craft, though their shots bounced harmlessly off her shields. A moment later, she opened fire with her cannons, spraying the area with rounds meant for anti-vehicle combat. Close to a dozen died instantly, blown to chunks in sprays of purple mist, while the rest wisely began to flee, giving the Spartans some breathing room.

A rough male voice suddenly crackled through Erika's COM. "Thanks for the assist, pilot."

Surprised, Erika swallowed heavily before responding. "Any time, Spartan."

Craning her neck to see the supersoldiers below her, Erika extended her Broadsword's landing gear and touched down lightly on the deck. One of the Spartans, clad in dark, angular armour, approached her fighter warily.

"So," he said, looking the Broadsword up and down. "You're not our ride out of here, are you?"

"Negative." Erika checked Silver Bullet's status, and saw that it was rapidly approaching their position. "There's an Owl coming for you. Before that, could you do me a favour?"

"What's that?" the Spartan asked wearily.

"I've got a thirty megaton payload strapped to this thing and ready to blow. Plan was to drop in, fire a missile and get the hell out of here, but now that we've got a moment I was hoping that you could set a manual timer."

"We could do that." The Spartan turned his helmeted head away and waved for one of his subordinates. "Just unlock it and we'll remove the warhead."

Erika tapped a command into her panel and input a secondary code to confirm her action. Moving quickly, two of the Spartans carefully removed the HAVOK warhead from her Broadsword's missile mount while their comrades kept watch. Her initial attack had chased off or killed most of their attackers, but it would only be a matter of time before more arrived, likely carrying anti-vehicle weaponry. The Spartan leader carried the HAVOK over to a stack of ruined crates and set the nuclear weapon down, tapping in a sequence on its detonator pad. Once he was done, he gave the pilot a thumbs-up.

"Timer's set to two minutes from my go." the Spartan seemed to have perked up slightly. "I'll start it when we leave."

"Great," Erika said, feeling surprisingly relieved. "Thanks again."

As Erika's craft touched off from the hangar deck, the other Owl dropship sped into the hangar, veering dangerously close to hitting one of its walls as it turned around and dropped in low. Judging by how the pilot hadn't bothered to extend the craft's landing gear, they weren't expecting anything more than a lightning-fast pickup. Erika's broadsword slowly turned as it rose towards the hangar bay's ceiling, while behind her the four Spartans quickly piled into the Owl's cramped passenger cabin. If everything went according to plan, then Erika's mission was already complete. All that remained was getting back to the Caspian alive.

Gunning the engines, Erika shot out of the hangar and, unwilling to run the criss-crossing field of fire between the ship's defences and her attack group, immediately angled her craft downwards. A few bolts of plasma whizzed dangerously close to her as she dipped below the bulk of the supercarrier's turret system, and her heart almost skipped a beat when she saw the Spartans' Owl tailing her at ridiculous speeds for a dropship. Guessing that the pilot had chosen her as an escort, she quickly began to move away from the supercarrier, opening up a COM channel with the rest of her attack force.

"All craft, this is November One. We've got a package set and ticking down with less than two minutes, so get away from that supercarrier at once. I repeat, package is set, get away now!"

Hoping that the Swords of Sangheili pilots got her message or realised what was happening as their human allies suddenly withdrew, Erika moved away from the supercarrier as quickly as she could, sending her craft streaking through space towards the Sixth Fleet. Having not set a timer herself for the HAVOK nuke, all Erika had to do was keep going and wait for the inevitable to happen.

And when it did, it was spectacular.

From its position within the Watchful Custodian's hangar, the HAVOK tac-nuke detonated before any of the crew could locate it, even as the ship's local sensors screamed alerts at the presence of nuclear material on board. The crew's only chance of survival - venting the entire hangar - was soon thwarted by the presence in the ship's systems, which had sent the seemingly invincible warship into a chaotic spiral of betrayal and malfunction, leaving them helpless to what happened next. Contained within the still-strong shields of the CSO-class supercarrier, the destructive energy of the HAVOK was amplified tenfold. Nuclear fire vaporised the warship's midsection within seven seconds of detonation, and within a minute had clawed its way across the entire vessel, igniting its powerful engines in a second immense blast. Everything - the ship, the crew, its defensive craft - was completely and utterly destroyed. From the surface of Iradu, it looked as though a second sun had bloomed in orbit, if only for a moment.

Erika clung to her controls as the shockwave raced past, buffeting her fighter as she struggled to keep it steady. From the look of things, the blast hadn't consumed any of her attack force, though losses in their initial assault on the supercarrier had been heavy. With some time to go before she reached the Caspian, Erika lay back against her seat and closed her eyes, knowing that she had to take a roll call.

"November One here," Erika spoke over the 83rd's personal COM, trying her best to sound jubilant. "Any of you crazy bastards still alive? I think the drinks are on me after that one."

There was no response. She tried again, checking and re-checking the channel for any interference. Nothing. Everything was working as intended, but nobody else from the 83rd was present. Erika let out a sensor ping, looking over the IFF tags of every nearby friendly craft. No Aizawa. No Lintz. Nobody.

She was the 83rd's only survivor.

Though she had felt the awful gut-punch feeling of loss many times before, as far back as her earliest deployments over Reach, there was something different about this. Pilots died. It was a fact she'd long since come to terms with. Having her pilots die was even worse. Having every single one of her subordinates killed, leaving only her - the leader - alive was new. Erika sent out another, pointless ping, and silently steered her broadsword back towards the Caspian.

She'd done her part. So had the 83rd. Now all that remained was a final, decisive act that would bring the Imperial War to a close.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

169

2141 Hours, September 1st, 2558 Iradu Orbit, Voden System

Sasha's Broadsword, with Loudmouth's beside her, rocketed out of the Caspian's hangar bay one last time. Command had devised a plan, seeing what remained of the Sixth Fleet's fighter squadrons carrying out a desperate strike against the Imperium's supercarrier. Admiral Zhi had pegged Captain Erika Ruskin of the Caspian's Air Force squadron to lead the attack, to deliver a nuke to the target. At least that seemed to be the most likely option. She hadn't actually be told what was going on in full, but she had seen the HAVOKs being loaded up in the hangar.

Sasha couldn't say it sat right with her, but she was professional enough to hold her tongue. Besides, Ruskin's squadron remained the most intact of the lot, and, despite her rank advantage, it wasn't like Sasha was more experienced in leading as many fighters as this. She'd do her job, and she trusted the Captain could do hers.

Sasha pulled her fighter up behind the rest of the squadrons and flicked on the comms to her wingman. "I expect you know what to do, Loudmouth. We're on superiority duty. Keep the enemy off our nukes."

Characteristic of her partner, all that returned was a single green acknowledgment light. At least Sasha had time to review the situation herself without chatter in the background.

Her map showed a good two-and-a-half dozen UNSC fighters ahead of her, and coming up beside them was another twenty or so fighters from the Swords of Sangheilios. "Great," Sasha thought to herself, "Even more distractions." First she was working under the command of someone a full paygrade below her, now she was stuck fighting side-by-side with the aliens that had been hell-bent on slaughtering Humanity not a decade prior. She pulled her Broadsword off to the other flank of the advancing squadrons and was relieved to see Loudmouth doing the same.

"What else of note..." Sasha returned to looking over the tactical map on her console. The UNSC Auld Lang Syne was ahead of them and marked the last barrier between the safety of the UNSC battlegroup and the drifting scraps beyond. Even further beyond was the Watchful Custodian. All that stood between the fighters' current location and the supercarrier was death, in the form of point defense pulse lasers, Banshee and Seraph squadrons of its own, and some of the strongest energy shielding the Covenant ever had to offer. The only time she heard about one of these falling was from a similar attack with a slipspace drive, and that needed a captured Covenant Corvette to work.

Time had run out for worry, though, as Sasha pulled up over the Syne, pushing into that death ahead of her. Of course, she hadn't even considered the Imperium's other ships—at least six Obedience-class cruisers—converging on their advance to add their firepower to the Custodian's. But pushing over the body of the Syne, they were there in front of her, clear as day. Until one exploded in a flash of blue and purple, crumbling under... friendly fire? The supercarrier had started unloading—pulse lasers, plasma turrets, even plasma torpedoes—at the Imperium's own ships. "Make that at least five..." Sasha couldn't say that was suspected, "What's going on here?"

She shrugged off the question and pushed her fighter's thrusters to full, noticing she had drifted back from the rest of the attack group. The lack of sleep was starting to get to her. She'd have to find somewhere private to fight that back later. "If I survive until later." Sasha growled, clicking her weapons on. The fighting had better start soon, or she'd be in her head the whole time.

"You fell behind, Robot. You okay?"

Sasha blinked as Loudmouth's voice came in over the comms, scrambling for a response. Then she noticed the faint signatures of a pair of Owl extraction craft ahead of her. She thumbed the channel open for her response. "Yeah. I just figured we could hold back a bit, keep the Imperium off our dropships here. They're not exactly built for a fight."

"Good plan." Loudmouth fell in beside Sasha again, then pushed her thrusters to full as well, speeding into the fight. The fighters and dropships ahead weaved left and right as the first volley of plasma reached the advancing group, much too far away still to be much of a threat, but at least enough to get the adrenaline pumping. A few seconds after the first blob passed the first fighter of the group, Sasha was pulling her own maneuvers. What followed next was more of a threat.

White and purple lines streaked out from the underside of the Custodian, not more plasma, but rather hundreds of Banshees in small clusters designed to compensate for their weak frames with numbers. A few seconds later, they were joined by more, thicker streaks. Seraphs.

"Don't get distracted by anything too far away, Loudmouth. Stick with anything that gets past the rest of the group. These dropships must be important to be sent out like this."

"Affirmative."

Now Sasha just had to remember her own advice. Cresting over the dying hulk of an Obedience ahead of her, Sasha bucked left and right as the remaining active turrets lobbed plasma and lasers up at her. That was, until its engines went up, struck by missiles from the lead fighters, and took the ship entirely offline, as well as at least two dozen Banshees.

"Maybe we won't be needed, after all, Lieutenant." No response. They both knew it was too good to be true.

Still, Sasha grinned. Her HUD lit up with valid targets—which she begrudgingly made sure weren't falsely flagged SoS craft—streaking towards and beyond the main group, trying to get behind the fighters. Loudmouth's cannons spun to life, shattering a trio of Banshees in short succession before Sasha even had the chance to get involved. "Not to worry," Sasha opened fire on her own targets, saving the Owls from a diving pair of Banshees, "there is no shortage of targets."

It was almost too easy, at this point. By the time the Imperium fighters had made it to the dropships, they had been damaged and thinned out by the rest of the group. Small, weakened clusters that required minimal fancy efforts to take out. Just point and shoot at this point.

And then the Banshees started to come in larger and larger groups, followed by a few Seraphs. She started needing her missiles, started having to pull into climbs and dives. It was all she and Loudmouth could do to keep the fighters off their own tails, let alone the Owls. The pair stayed close to the dropships, sure, but as the UNSC's numbers slowly dropped down and the Imperium seemed to have an endless supply of new fighters to supplant the ones that had been lost. A few minutes later saw a nuke explode off the Custodian's shields to minimal effect, accompanied by the loss of a Broadsword's IFF, but the next few minutes saw one of the Owl's go up in flame, smashing into the supercarrier just below the hangar. They'd made it so far, keeping the fighters off the dropships, only for a pulse laser to take it out. What the fuck could she do against that?

Pulling up, Sasha and Loudmouth flanked the remaining Owl as it spun around for its own advance on the hangar. She fired a few more missiles out at advancing Banshees, the relative quiet following the nuclear blast already heating up again. One more salvo launched, and her HUD flashed that she was down to just cannons. Seconds later, it flashed a set of coordinates, detailing a strike run on the hangar, followed by Ruskin's voice over the comms.

"All craft, commence attack run on the designated coordinates ASAP to clear a path for package delivery and friendly extraction."

"What the hell did she think they'd been doing in the meantime?" Already lined up for such a run, Sasha and Loudmouth made minute adjustments, pulling their cannons on target for the supercarrier's defenses, unloading past the other friendlies. Seraphs flew in from the flanks, and Sasha saw a pair of Broadswords pull off from the front of the assault to deal with them. The remaining fighter from that trio dove in for the hangar, taking out a pulse laser turret on the way and finally slipping into the massive vessel. Sasha kept up her advance, vaguely aware of Loudmouth pulling off beside her, presumably to hold off the red blips all around them on her radar. A few pulse laser turrets fell to her cannons, and then, finally, the Owl managed to slam into the hangar as well.

"Dropship's in! I'm scrambling to keep the path out as clear as I can!" Sasha banked off the approach, taking a trio of Banshees out above her, before noticing only one of her cannons was firing. Looking at her console, she saw the cause. A could half of her systems were damaged or destroyed, including her port autocannon. She'd been so hyperfocused on the advance that she'd not even felt the strikes she'd been taking. It was damn near a miracle she was still flying.

"Forget that, Loudmouth. I'm fried. No missiles, only one cannon, shields are down, targeting's fucked. Pulling back. I'll try to draw a few onto my ass for you to wipe out." A green affirmative light. At least one system was still working. As she thought, her bank away from the fighting saw a cluster of Banshees following her, taking her for easy pickings. They almost proved their assumptions right, plasma splashing off her rear, taking a few engines out, before Loudmouth dove from above. Her wingman launched a trio of missiles, followed up by autocannons, bursting the space into flames of orange, purple, and blue.

"You're clear, Robot. See you back home."

"Gods willing, Loudmouth. Come back alive." Sasha let out a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly, crossing amongst the flaming wrecks of Obedience-class cruisers, sputtering along back to the Caspian. She was not halfway there when her vision brightened in a flash and her ship let out a few pings from shrapnel clattering against the hull a few seconds later. The Custodian's marker disappeared off her HUD. Mission complete.

Now to get back home and count who was left.

Timothy Emeigh

170: Downfall

2209 Hours, September 1st, 2558 Imperial Palace, Iradu, Voden System

Once, the palace on Iradu had been a monument to the power of the Covenant Empire, built in its waning years to claim the frontier world as Toru 'Makhan's base of operations. Since then, it had gone from a simple fortress for the patrol fleet of a Fleet Master who had been all but exiled to the centre of a burgeoning interstellar empire. Shipmasters from a hundred different factions had pledged their fealty to the Imperium's leader on its grounds, and scarcely a week prior had cheered on the Imperial Admiral's declaration of war.

Now the sprawling palace was a battleground; the stage on which the final battle of the Imperial War would take place. Its outer defences lay in ruins, while every stately hall and garden now hosted invading warriors and fierce defenders, battling for every room and hallway at the Imperium's heart. Confusion ruled the day as disparate groups of Sangheili fought through the smoke and detritus, their worlds reduced to what lay directly before them through a haze of communication jammers. Somewhere amidst it all, surrounded by a cadre of loyal defenders, was Imperial Admiral Toru 'Makhan. Both sides searched for him, seeking to either protect or slay the man who started this brutal war. Though he did not know it, this would be his final hour.

"To the left!" Maas 'Hengo barked, swinging his lightrifle round as a pair of armoured figures dashed into the gallery.

The three Imperial Guards at his side took aim and fired in unison, felling the enemy warriors with bolts of killing light. As their armoured forms crumpled over and disintegrated, two more guardsmen rushed forward to seal the entranceway. They had lost six of their number since their return to the palace, though at least four times that many foes had fallen before them. Maas turned back towards the man crouched by a malfunctioning holotable in the corner of the room.

"Any luck, excellency?" Maas asked.

Toru 'Makhan looked up, and shook his head. "We're cut off from the Watchful Custodian. The Swords seek to delay any reinforcements."

The head guardsman nodded grimly, and glanced down at the device attached to the Imperial Admiral's belt. "And your personal transporter?"

"I will not risk it." Toru covered the valuable gadget with one hand as he stood up. "The interference may affect any attempts at translocation. Also, to return alone to my flagship would appear... unseemly."

"Not to those who follow you, excellency," Maas said. "Each of us chose to forfeit our lives when we joined your guard. It would not be such a terrible thing."

Toru did not reply immediately, and instead looked around the rubble-strewn chamber and his remaining bodyguards. One doorway had been sealed, and by the other stood Muri 'Jarit, the only woman in his guard. Any foe who tried to cut off their escape route would have to get past her and the hardlight lance she carried. As things stood, they would have to continue their retreat, abandoning the rest of the palace's defenders while they made for Toru's private hangar its sole occupant: True Recompense, an escort craft of Forerunner design. With that, he could return to the Watchful Custodian and make up for his mistake of heading down to Iradu by crushing their enemies in the planet's orbit first.

"We will make for my private hangar," Toru spoke at last. "Reaching the southern tower may not be easy, but it offers us the best chance of escape with our translocation systems disrupted."

"As you wish, excellency." Maas bowed his head, and turned back to his subordinates. "Form up, we're moving!"

Toru's force moved as quickly as they dared, exiting the hall in twos and threes before making their way into a nearby courtyard. Surrounded by loyal men though he was, Toru kept one hand on the hilt of his hardlight blade while the other clutched the modified Forerunner pistol he had pillaged from the same buried armoury he had found Diligent Keeper in years ago. The darkening skies above were black with smoke from unchecked fires, while the constant buzz and whine of gunfire drifted through the air. Toru doubted that there would be much left of his palace come sunrise, though it mattered little at this point.

Today will be the impetus for a great migration, Toru reflected, pausing for a moment to look upon the blasted remains of a statue built in his likeness. None will dare question my order to depart this system, and all will thank me upon seeing our new home.

To say that their campaign had been a disaster was a tremendous understatement. Every action taken following their initial seizure of Montak had been ill-planned and fraught with failures as a result of Toru's scheming, though he could never admit that to this followers. Had the Imperium's massed fleets simply met their foes head-on or ambushed them the instant they arrived to investigate, then they could have struck a resounding blow that forced both the humans and Swords of Sanghelios to capitulate. After all, one faction had yet to fully rebuild after the Great War, while the other was tied down in a bloody conflict in their homeworld. Instead, he had underestimated the enemy, wasting irreplaceable men and ships in an attempt to entrap and humiliate them, only to have it backfire immensely. Now, with Iradu itself ablaze, Toru 'Makhan could only blame himself for their current circumstances.

"Movement!" called Muri, scouting far ahead of the group as they crept through the palace's network of enclosed courtyards and gardens.

Toru lowered his stance a little as he caught sight of a distant plasma flash behind a broken guard tower window. Maas moved in front of him immediately, then waved for three of his guardsmen to advance alongside Muri, who had crept towards the tower's lower entrance. The silver warriors slipped through the entrance and several shouts went up from within, but no gunfire sounded. After a few tense breaths, Muri emerged, and waved for Toru and the others to join them.

"Who is it?" Toru asked as they caught up with her. "Reinforcements from the Watchful Custodian?"

"No, excellency," Muri bowed her head respectfully as she spoke. "It is Kan 'Larom."

Toru's mandibles shook in surprise. How that bastard is still alive is beyond me. He had always valued 'Larom for his tactical prowess and mastery of logistics, but if the last few days had taught Toru anything it was that the man could not hold ground worth a damn. His leading the defence of the Imperial Palace - coming after his failed attempts to hold Montak and Bineb II - was only due to the fact that he had been the highest-ranking officer on the planet when it first came under attack, and even then he had failed to hold it against the enemy.

"Good," Toru lied. "Perhaps we can organise a proper counterattack."

After ascending the steps to the circular tower's interior, Toru saw that most of it had been converted to a makeshift field hospital. Overturned tables held the maimed and dying, while the dead lay side-by-side close to the northern exit. The northern passageway - Toru's destination - was a half-collapsed mess of weapon emplacements and energy barriers, and by the look of things its defenders had just held back another assault from the Swords of Sanghelios. At the centre of it all stood Fleet Master Kan 'Larom, his golden armour blackened and battered beyond belief. Busy giving orders to a gaggle of tired-looking soldiers, Kan did not turn around as Toru's retinue approached.

"-they will certainly attempt to approach from the south now that their latest attack failed." Kan pointed a finger behind him, unknowingly drawing the eyes of his men towards Toru. "Set up a cannon to watch that entrance from afar, along with motion trackers to detect any camouflaged forces."

Seeing that his men were no longer looking at him, Kan finally turned his neck towards Toru 'Makhan, who crossed his arms expectantly. To Toru's surprise, the Fleet Master did not salute him.

"Excellency," Kan spoke tiredly, and without a hint of reverence. "It is good to see you well."

Choosing to ignore his subordinate's demeanour, Toru rapped a fist against his breastplate. "Likewise, Fleet Master. How goes the defence?"

Kan blinked twice in disbelief, and his mandibles tightened somewhat. "It is hard to say, excellency. When reinforcements arrived from orbit they came close to turning the tide, even against the numbers being sent against us from the Swords, but without the Custodian I fear that we may not last unless Fleet Master 'Deris breaks through the enemy blockade."

Toru was about to reassure Kan about the strength of Lora 'Deris's forces when the Fleet Master's words sank in. He felt a tiny shiver of unpleasantness within him, and dropped his voice as he leaned towards Kan. "What do you mean, 'without the Custodian'?"

Kan's mandibles drooped slightly as realisation struck him. "W-Were you not aware, excellency?" Fear entered his voice for the first time. "The Watchful Custodian has been destroyed. From the reports we received there was some internal sabotage, and the humans were able to detonate a bomb within the ship, completely obliterating it."

Only a lifetime of practised self-control kept Toru from angrily beheading Kan 'Larom on the spot for daring to deliver such awful news. The Watchful Custodian had been a symbol - the symbol - of his power since before the Imperium had been founded. With it he had cleansed the Covenant Empire's frontier of pirate groups and miscreants, and turned an insignificant backwater world like Iradu into a stronghold of military might. With it, he would have wiped both the humans and Swords from his planet's orbit, and would have done so gloriously with the rest of his forces keeping them penned in. With it, he would have transported the Imperium of Clarity's populace across the stars, far away from any reprisal to the safety of their shield world.

Now that plan too, had been reduced to ashes.

"Fleet Master," Toru spoke slowly, deliberately steadying his breathing, "I want you to gather your men and join my guardsmen. The palace might fall, but there is an escape craft in the southern tower that only I have access to. With it, we can return to the fleet and take command in time to end this war."

With barely a moment's hesitation, Kan shook his head. "My apologies, excellency, but look around. I have too many wounded to safely transport, and I will not abandon my warriors when there is a chance that the battle here can be won. You go."

Toru's gauntleted fist rocketed up, catching the left side of Kan's head. The Fleet Master staggered to one side and nearly fell from the surprise impact, only to catch himself at the last second and reach for his sword. Before Kan's fingers could close around its hilt, he found the tip of Muri 'Jarit's lance resting just above his throat, and froze.

"I should have you killed right now, you incompetent fool," Toru said coldly, fixing Kan with a pitiless glare. "But if you truly wish to die on this planet, then I will not deny you the warrior's death you seek. Even so, do not seek me out should you live through today, Kan 'Larom. My Imperium has no place for men lacking the will to do what is necessary to survive."

Meeting Toru's gaze, Kan could only shake his head again. "We shall see, Toru 'Makhan."

Muri retracted her lance with a wave from Toru, who turned away from the disgraced officer to address the gathered crowd. Most wore the grey and white of palace guards, while the rest were garbed in the dull, steely armour of rank-and-file soldiers, likely part of the Watchful Custodian's legion. The Imperial Admiral spread his arms wide, as if to embrace them all.

"My brothers!" Toru slowly turned, ensuring that he was addressing the entire room. "We now stand in our Imperium's darkest hour, and is here that our faith will be tested! Faith not in Gods, or man, but in the strength of our will! We rose once from the ashes of the Covenant to create a greater civilisation, and though we are beset on all sides by foes, we must remain united in our vision. I have a great dream for our Imperium, one that can persist and thrive should the battle be won today. Stand with me now, and I promise to share that dream with all of you! What say you?!"

Cries and cheers went up from most of the assembled soldiery, who raised fists or weapons in solidarity with Toru. As he looked around he spotted at least half a dozen men who remained still, defying Toru with crossed arms and averted gazes. They will die here with 'Larom, then. Toru nodded to Maas, who ordered their newest recruits to advance forward, beyond their ramshackle barricade. Kan did not get to his feet until the Imperial Admiral exited the room, and the barrels of his guards' lightrifles were pointed away from his head. They never saw each other again.

Invigorated by the high morale of his men, Toru strode triumphantly into battle alongside his guardsmen. Their first opponents came in the form of a lance of enemy warriors guarding the far end of a contested corridor. They leapt into battle without hesitation, shouting taunts and battle cries as they drew their blades. Toru's guardsmen did not let them. Six guardsmen let forth a concentrated volley of hardlight from their Forerunner-made weapons that tore through their armour like a hot knife through butter, reducing the brave warriors to shrieking, rapidly-disintegrating piles of ash in moments. Even their new soldiers reacted with shock and revulsion at such a display, though they soon pressed on, eager to win Toru's favour in combat.

"Save your ammunition," Toru said to his bodyguards as they resumed their march. "We will have need of it against proper opponents, not arrogant striplings eager to claim my head."

"They would not get close enough to try," Muri 'Jarit hissed, gripping the hilt of her lance even tighter.

"Of course." Glad as he was to have such a devoted servant, Toru wished that Muri did not take things so literally.

Their journey towards the southern tower was not a particularly eventful one, save for a few brief firefights against bands of enemy warriors that stumbled across Toru's heavily-armed retinue. They died quickly and brutally, though it soon became clear to Toru that someone had alerted the Swords to his presence, and he ordered Maas and the others to quicken their pace.

"Through the gallery!" Toru jabbed a finger towards a blown-open door on their left as his group turned into another ruined hallway. "The tower bridge lies on the other side!"

Four of their soldiers dashed through first while Toru and his guards held back. They were immediately met with a spray of plasma fire that felled one of them in seconds, though the others quickly dived for cover. With their foe's attention diverted, the rest of their force charged into the spacious hall, letting out fierce cries as they rushed the cluster of Swords stationed inside.

One of Toru's many side projects, the gallery had once housed a collection of art pieces either bought or seized during the last few years. Rare human oil pantings sat within protective casings alongside Sangheili-made stone reliefs and primitive Jiralhanae tribal constructs, placed as such to reinforce the sense of unity that the Imperium intended to bring to the galaxy. Little remained now of these priceless exhibits in the aftermath of an earlier firefight, and even Toru felt a twinge of loss as he stepped over the shattered pieces of a thousand year-old sculpture he'd been gifted shortly after his promotion to Fleet Master. Snapping his right arm up, the Imperial Admiral fired three precise rounds from his boltshot at a warrior skulking across one of the upper balconies, nailing the distant figure in the shoulder, neck and head. As he collapsed out of sight, the other Swords scattered for cover, wary of the Forerunner weapon's killing power.

"Behind us, excellency!" Maas roared, turning with preternatural quickness as a damaged door on the other side of the room noisily clanked open.

Six red-armoured newcomers shot out of the gloom beyond, each armed with a pair of plasma rifles. They fired wildly at Toru's troops, scattering them across the gallery's lower level before dashing for cover as the Imperial Guard responded with a barrage of light bolts. Toru took cover behind a nearby pillar, and chanced a look towards the southern side of the room. Most of the wall had been blasted apart, collapsing a portion of floor, though a single door remained open. Beyond it was a bridge that spanned a deep chasm, built into the mountain that surrounded a good portion of the fortified palace and leading to a solitary tower. Within its lower reaches was a small hangar, purpose-built to house one of Toru's greatest prizes: an intact Forerunner ship.

While Toru would have preferred an armada, the escort craft had been modified by Diligent Keeper to be flown by a Sangheili pilot, and if their test flights were anything to go by was functioning as efficiently as it had some hundred-thousand years ago. It was armoured enough to shrug off any attacks by enemy fighters and quick enough to evade the blockade in orbit, and would serve its purpose well in carrying the Imperial Admiral back to his fleet.

Six - no - seven breaths and I could cross this room. Toru's eyes flitted from the multi-layered balconies on both sides of his wrecked gallery, watching for movement. Several more combatants - thankfully his own men - had joined the fray, and it seemed as though every living being in the palace was now racing to catch up with him. Gripping his weapons tightly and knowing that his closest guardsmen would be alongside him without any spoken orders, Toru 'Makhan sprang from cover, and into a malestrom of criss-crossing plasma fire. His guards kept pace easily, felling any who dared raise a weapon towards their master, but as Toru made his way across the room an errant bolt finally found him. He felt a twinge of discomfort as a globule of green plasma impacted against his left pauldron, nearly overloading his armour's shielding in an instant as shimmering sparks of gold and white flashed along the breadth of his ornate suit.

Toru turned his head with a snarl as his bodyguards cried out furiously and raised their weapons, and glimpsed a warrior perched atop a parapet above him for a moment. His attacker immediately slunk back into the shadows to avoid the hail of return fire, but the Imperial Admiral knew who it was from a single glance at the assailant's distinctive helmet. It was Felo 'Ranak's personal attack hound; the ruthless commando responsible for causing so much harm to his Imperium, both on Montak and Frendhal.

Rora 'Marak.

The Outrider!

***

Rora couldn't help but let out a self-satisfied laugh as a barrage of light blasts utterly obliterated the balcony he'd been standing on moments before. If 'Makhan's bodyguards were that occupied with killing him, then he'd definitely landed a hit on the Imperial Admiral. Keeping low, the commando ducked back into the relative safety of the upper gallery, seeking out a better vantage point for a second attempt on 'Makhan's life. More shots flashed past, blasting chunks out of the stone around Rora as shouts promising bloody retribution drifted up towards him.

Zealots, Rora thought, squeezing through a hole blasted through a nearby wall. These poor fools went from blindly worshipping a race as gods to a single man.

Since his second inconclusive duel with Shinsu 'Refum, Rora had been stuck fighting a bloody melee against both the newly-arrived Kru'desh Legion and the Imperium's grey-armoured soldiers across the lower reaches of the palace. A good number of the Shadows of Retribution now lay dead, with only Rora, Merz, Ju'ya and three others left to complete their mission. Had they figured out Toru 'Makhan's route earlier they might have been able to set a trap, but the Imperial Admiral and his well-armed retinue were moving quicker than he anticipated. Had it not been for a sighting from one of their scouting lances roaming the palace, then 'Makhan may have already escaped.

"Merz," Rora spoke in a low voice over his communicator. "Have you finished planting the explosives?"

He waited patiently, and six breaths passed before his subordinate answered. "We are close, Commander. Is the fighting going well above?"

"I cannot say." Rora slid down a pile of rubble and ducked behind a pillar, passing back into the gallery where 'Makhan's troops were pinned down. "'Makhan is too well-protected for a frontal assault, though. You need to hurry."

Merz made an annoyed clicking sound. "With plasma charges, one must never act too quickly." He paused. "Even so, I will work faster."

"Do so." Rora closed the channel.

From his new vantage point closer to the ground, Rora was able to get a good look at the scene unfolding in the vast gallery before him. Sangheili warriors, clad in Imperial greys or the orange and red of the Swords, were converging on the site from all directions. Whatever remained of the pieces displayed in the room had been scattered across the floor amidst fallen pillars and hastily-erected energy barriers, while bolts of white plasma and golden beams of killing light criss-crossed the chamber. 'Makhan's bodyguards had secreted their leader behind the remains of a massive plinth, and were blasting anything that so much as twitched towards them. On the opposite side of the room from Rora was an open door, beyond which lay a narrow bridge to a solitary tower built into the mountainside beyond. Judging by his constant glances towards it, that was Toru 'Makhan's destination.

While he had the privilege of an advantageous view of the battlefield, Rora felt strangely powerless. His weapons - a half-charged plasma pistol, a stolen carbine, a pair of energy daggers and a curveblade - would kill two, perhaps three of 'Makhan's silver protectors before they killed him, ruling out any direct attack. In a cruel twist of fate, the active camouflage systems built into Rora's suit had failed after a direct hit burned away part of his armour, stripping him of any chance at a surprise attack. All he could do was wait, and hope that Merz and the others finished their task in a timely manner.

Bereft of any offensive options, Rora 'Marak made a decision that would save thousands of lives: activating his helmet's recorder.

Exactly why Rora chose to begin recording the battle at this late stage would be the subject of much debate, with theories ranging from the Outrider's desire to restore his lost honour with evidence of a noble death to a simple, spiteful attempt to humiliate Toru 'Makhan by observing him cowering from afar. The simple, unglamorous truth was that Rora 'Marak doubted his chances of survival very much, and wished to bring proof that there was nothing he could have done back to his superiors were 'Makhan to escape unharmed.

Thankfully, history would never know his true intent.

"Commander!" Merz's voice suddenly called out over the communicator. "Charges set and ready to detonate. Are we clear?"

Rora silently lifted a finger, and traced an invisible line along the gallery's main floor before nodding contentedly. "You are. Do it."

True to their name, the Shadows of Retribution were infiltrators first and foremost, created to strike fear into the hearts of all those who opposed the Swords of Sanghelios. Frontline combat was not their forte, as their heavy casualties in this war's missions gone awry had shown. Working quietly, away from the hellish firefight in the gallery, they contributed to the Imperial War's end in their own special way.

A muffled thump sounded beneath the gallery floor, followed by three others, The tiled floor began to crack and splinter, going from cool to nightmarishly hot in an instant in many places. Those fighting across the main floor paused, and for one quiet moment, the shooting stopped. Then, the floor collapsed. Warriors in silver and grey tumbled shrieking into the newly-formed pit as gouts of fire surged upwards, seeking escape from their confinement on the floor below. Explosions rocked every inch of the room and across from Rora, half the balconies fell inwards, toppling forward and smashing apart like giant stone dominos. A chaos grander than the one before now held the room in its grip, with only one man in control of this new and unexpected situation.

Rora 'Marak leapt forward, emerging from the shadows with a weapon in each hand.

With only seconds to spare before the dazed warriors recovered from the floor's collapse, Rora quickly put two rounds in the head of the nearest guardsman as he swept across the uneven terrain, making a beeline for Toru 'Makhan's last known position. The air was thick with smoke and dust, though Rora's helmet filtered out the worst of it and compensated for the poor visibility with ease. Another armoured shape lurched forward, half-blinded, and was quickly finished off with a few well-aimed plasma bolts. As the hapless guardsman's body crumpled to the ground, Rora tossed his spent pistol aside and stooped to pry the Forerunner rifle from the dead warrior's hands. As he slowly pulled the weapon away from his victim, Rora caught a flash of movement to his right, clearly outlined by his visor through the dissipating smoke. There was no mistaking the shape of that bulky ceremonial helm, or the faintly glowing glyphs upon the surface of the figure's gilded armour: 'Makhan.

Leaving the lightrifle in the death grip of its former owner, Rora sprang to his feet, checked his carbine's ammunition counter, and launched himself towards the Imperial Admiral. Pounding across the ruined gallery at a dead sprint, Rora knew he would be upon 'Makhan in less than five breaths, and that it would only take a second of advantage for him to slash his throat and drag him to an ignominious death. Nothing else mattered now.

Four breaths.

Three breaths.

Two breaths.

One-

"No!"

Rora barely had time to react as a cry split the air and a slender figure in tarnished armour cannoned towards him out of nowhere lunging towards his neck with a glowing lance. Abandoning his pursuit of the surprised 'Makhan for a moment, Rora clumsily threw himself backwards to avoid certain death and hit a jagged slope of broken tiling with a crash. Winded, he rolled just in time to avoid his attacker's second stab and kicked off the ground, finding his feet as the third attack, a diagonal slash, missed him by barely an inch.

It took a few more barely-dodged swipes for Rora to realise that his attacker was a woman, clad in the distinctive silver of Toru 'Makhan's personal guard. Handling the Forerunner-made weapon with ease, she pressed Rora back with every stab and slash, intent on skewering the commando before he could take another step towards her master. Throwing aside his carbine, Rora activated the twinned energy daggers built into his gauntlets and met the guardsman with his own flurry of stabs and punches, though he could find no easy opening against the enraged warrior. His energy daggers sparked and hissed dangerously every time they met the orange blade of hardlight, almost overcome by the advanced weapon's power. Rora gave ground once more, retreating into the collapsed room below.

"Coward!" the guardsman hissed after him, delivering a horizontal strike that came close to bifurcating Rora. "You have failed, assassin. Face your judgement and die with what little honour you have left!"

Exhausted though he was, Rora couldn't help but laugh at her insults, which only served to enrage 'Makhan's loyal protector. Retreating until his back hit stone, Rora wrenched himself to one side and brought up his pistol, loosing bolt after bolt at the guardsman until the weapon was finally spent. Though this desperate attack was nowhere near enough to even hurt his attacker, it forced her on the defensive, shields flaring and crackling, for just long enough for Rora to lunge forward into striking distance.

Bringing his right blade up in a heavy uppercut, Rora came within a moment of striking the guardsman's throat when her free hand closed around his wrist and wrenched it to one side, throwing his strike off-balance. Carrying himself forward to avoid the lance, Rora crashed into the guardsman and they both toppled over. He cried out as a sharp pain tore across the left side of his chest; a glancing strike from her lance. A blind strike with his left gauntlet sent the weapon spinning away across the rubble, giving Rora a chance to use his weight and strength against his disarmed opponent. Pinning her still-grasping weapon arm to the ground, he brought his other blade down towards the side of the guardsman's head. A swift death. This is practically a kindness.

The blow never connected.

The energy blade in Rora's right gauntlet dissipated amidst a sudden flash of heat and smoke. The Commando barely had time to register the guardsman's own dagger when she delivered a second blow that cut through his harness with ease. Rolling instinctively to one side as a second, much sharper spike of pain hit him from this new wound, Rora kicked backwards and moved away from the not-so-defenceless guardsman, who wasted no time in regaining her footing, now brandishing a pair of her own energy daggers. With one of his weapons now useless, Rora scrambled backwards, catching sight of the discarded hardlight lance close by just as she did. Both fighters sprinted for the vital weapon, and though Rora was closer a day of fighting and several injuries were finally beginning to stack up. He grasped the lance's hilt and swung it round just as the guardsman reached him, knocking aside one killing blow while the other slashed the weapon's haft apart.

"How dare you!" the guardsman roared in a blind fury as Rora ignited what was left of the weapon, which now more resembled a makeshift sword. "That blade was a gift from the Imperial Admiral, made for my hands alone! You will pay for sullying it with your filthy touch!"

Sure enough, as he barely blocked the next few hits Rora caught sight of an engraving close to the lance's emitter, spelling out two words: Muri 'Jarit. While he had grown up in the Covenant's waning years and seen more than his share of religious zealots since he began his life at war, Rora had seldom seen such utter devotion towards an individual. 'Makhan was beloved by those in his Imperium for turning their backwater colonies into thriving trade ports, sure, but it seemed that his inner circle harboured a commitment towards the Imperial Admiral that would have made the former San'Shyuum Honour Guard jealous. Even so, Muri's rage had clearly unbalanced her, as each attack became more ragged and her body began to tire, consumed by he fire of her wrath. Had she maintained her unrelenting assault with a little less fury, then she would have likely overwhelmed and killed the wounded commando already. Retreating once more up the wreckage-strewn slope towards the ruined gallery, Rora heard a familiar shout.

"Commander!"

It was Merz, his faithful subordinate. With 'Makhan's guards scattered by the sudden explosion, he and the rest of the Shadows had rushed into the room, killing all those in their path. The Major levelled his carbine at Muri 'Jarit, who threw herself violently to one side before he could pull the trigger. Moving faster than expected, turned her fall into a combat roll and leapt up as green bolts flew all around her. By the time Merz had Muri firmly in his sights, the guardsman's shields had already regenerated, allowing her to weather the rest of his shots with ease and come within striking distance of the commando.

Rora dragged himself up the slope after her, seriously impressed by Muri's hidden reserves of strength. Unable to reload in time, Merz swung the butt of his carbine up like a club, warding off the guardsman's first dagger strike with a clumsy blow. Unperturbed by this, Muri let out a triumphant snarl and rushed at him with her other blade, this time aiming for the head. Merz fell back just far enough to evade a deathblow, though Muri's strike sent a slash through his left eye. The commando howled in pain, clutching at his burning flesh, and Muri wheeled around to finish him off. Raising both daggers, she pounced towards her injured target like a vicious predator, focused entirely on the kill.

The hardlight lance connected with the side of Muri's head mid-flight, spearing the guardsman and sending her body plummeting to one side. She rolled over twice as the blade deactivated, and lay still.

Rora lowered his uninjured hand, and let out a sigh of relief. Having prioritised Merz as the greater threat, Muri had forgotten all about her previous opponent. It was a mistake so trivial that even Rora could hardly believe such a fierce fighter could make it, but he wasn't about to complain. Those precious seconds had given him just enough time to line up a throw with the remains of her lance, returning the weapon to its owner in a way Rora felt was appropriate.

"Merz," Rora called as he strode unsteadily towards the injured Major. "How bad is it?"

Merz moved his hand away from the fresh injury, revealing the grotesque slash across his burned face. His breathing was slow and laboured, but he let out a harsh laugh all the same. "I'm going to need a new eye."

"I'll see to it that you get one," Rora clapped him on the shoulder. "Where is 'Makhan?"

Merz pointed towards the door the Imperial Admiral had been trying to escape through. "I was pursuing him when I saw your fight. He might not have crossed the bridge."

"And you stopped for me?" Rora shook his head. "The mission comes first."

Merz looked up at him with his one good eye. "The Shadows of Retribution cannot exist without you, Commander. I do not regret my choice."

Seeing no point in reprimanding Merz further, Rora made his way alone towards the exit door. The Imperium's forces had been all but exterminated in the gallery now, save for a few stubborn holdouts still battling on what was left on the upper levels. Soon enough the Swords would take the palace, but any victory would be short-lived were Toru 'Makhan to survive. With a figure to rally around, the people of Iradu would make any military occupation a hellish one, and there was no telling what the Imperial Admiral still had lying in wait for his enemies. Rora snatched up a plasma rifle from a grey-armoured body close to the door, wondering how the man had felt seeing 'Makhan flee the battle, and stepped outside.

Toru stood halfway across the bridge, accompanied by his sole remaining bodyguard. Below them lay a chasm of black rock several hundred metres deep that separated the rest of the palace from the mountains that surrounded it, tucked away from everything else. On the other side sat a tower, wholly unremarkable save for its placement. Rora had no clue what lay within, but if it was the Imperial Admiral's destination then he could not afford to let him reach it.

"Toru 'Makhan!" Rora bellowed, raising his rifle. Both 'Makhan and his bodyguard span round, with the latter moving to block his master.

To Rora's surprise, 'Makhan did not flee. Instead, he stood alongside his last guardsman and ignited his own single-pronged blade. Like Muri's, it was made not of energy, but hardlight, and flared orange in the gloom around them. He pointed it towards the commando as both a warning and a challenge. Moving the rifle into the same hand as his functioning dagger, Rora drew his curveblade from his belt. He had not seen fit to use his weapon of last resort against the fanatical guardsman, but it seemed appropriate to draw it here, against the man responsible for this brief but horrific war. Mirroring 'Makhan's salute, he pointed the weapon towards the Imperial Admiral. 'Makhan's bodyguard turned and exchanged a few words with him, though he was quickly brushed aside. They would fight alone.

Rora took a deep breath, readying his battered and injured body for one, final fight, and took one step forward.

"For-" Rora began to shout, only for a brilliant streak to cross his vision. Then, everything went white.

A wall of heat and light roared towards Rora, blasting him backwards off his feet and back into the gallery. His armour's already-overworked shields gave out and died in seconds, while the plating on his harness blackened and began to melt. His bodysuit yielded in an instant, and for a few horrible moments Rora felt as though every inch of his body had been set ablaze. Blinded and writhing in agony, his flailing form struck something hard, and he passed into blissful unconsciousness.

***

Rora 'Marak awoke to the sight of a murky sky and an awful, prickling pain. He let out a gasp and tried to sit up, regretting it instantly as a dozen other places in his body prickled him. Rora's armour had been stripped away, including his distinctive helmet, and his body had been wrapped with bronze sealant mesh in several places. Raising a shaky hand to his face, Rora found his mandibles blistered and burnt, and as his mind caught up with his body he realised that he had been moved to one of the palace's courtyards.

"Commander 'Marak!" a voice called from Rora's right. He looked over, and saw Ju'ya and Merz approaching from a side entrance.

"How long was I unconscious?" Rora rasped, speaking carefully.

"Not long," Merz tapped the side of his helmet. "My head is still ringing from that explosion."

"We feared you dead at first," Ju'ya's eyes narrowed. "Thankfully, the Imperium had a storeroom with medical equipment close by so we could attend to your wounds."

"Did any others survive?" Rora asked. When several seconds of stony silence gave him an answer, he asked a second question. "And what of 'Makhan?"

Ju'ya and Merz glanced at each other. "We were going to ask you about that, Commander." Ju'ya said. "Did you kill him?"

Rora rewound his thoughts, thinking back to 'Makhan's challenge. For a moment he believed that he had simply been tricked by the Imperial Admiral, and that the blast had been the work of some concealed foe with explosive weaponry, but it had been too quick to be an ambush. Then he recalled those final seconds. The explosion. Toru 'Makhan's figure disappearing into a pillar of white fire. That streak of light beforehand.

It had been a plasma charge. Though he had no way of telling if the bomb had been dropped on purpose or if sheer chance had carried it towards them, Toru 'Makhan, his bodyguard, and the bridge had been hit by a Seraph's bombing run and blasted to pieces. The Imperial Admiral was dead, and only Rora had lived to witness it.

"He is dead," Rora tried to laugh, but it only hurt his throat. "Someone bombed that bridge with 'Makhan still on it. Toru 'Makhan is dead!"

Rora tried to stand, and had to be helped up by Ju'ya and Merz. Suddenly, a moment of panic struck Rora. He looked around the courtyard in panic, searching for his gear. Relief swept over him when he spotted his charred armour lying in a neat stack nearby, and he hobbled over to it despite the protests of his subordinates to retrieve the helmet.

"Surely you can fight no longer," Merz sounded genuinely concerned. "Commander, with your wounds-"

"Quiet!" Rora raised a hand to silence him as he placed the badly-damaged Outrider helmet onto his head. Thankfully, its inbuilt systems were still functioning, and after its heads-up display activated he checked to see if its recorder had survived the blast. It had, and he removed the helmet.

Toru 'Makhan was dead, and Rora had irrefutable evidence of his demise. Any regular claim of the Imperial Admiral being killed would be met with denial and scepticism, but once the Swords of Sanghelios broadcast this footage across Iradu only the delusional and the battle-hungry would see fit to continue fighting.

"I was recording our hunt for 'Makhan," Rora explained, holding up his helmet. "We need to transmit the data back to Fleet Master 'Ranak at once."

Merz nodded. "There should be a communications node nearby, Commander. I can take it there."

Rora shook his head, clutching his Outrider's helmet to him as though it were his child. "I will take it. There may be questions, and Felo 'Ranak trusts me."

He took a few shaky steps forward, and nearly collapsed. Ju'ya and Merz caught Rora, and placed their arms around their Commander, half-walking, half-dragging him out of the courtyard.

"We will deliver this message together," Ju'ya said. "If you will permit us to carry you."

Rora nodded, barely able to stand. "I will permit it. Let us bring good tidings to the fleet."

The trio left the courtyard together, making their way through the once-great palace's abandoned halls. While the fighting had begun to die down within the sprawling structure itself, the many soldiers, citizens and mercenaries in service to the Imperium of Clarity still fought furiously across the capital, forcing the invaders to pay in blood for every inch of ground they took. Caught in this deadlock, both the forces of the United Nations Space Command and the Swords of Sanghelios could only do their best to hold their ground, praying for a proper resolution to the conflict in space.

Whether or not Toru 'Makhan's sudden death was a deliberate act on the part of an enemy pilot, an accidental attack by a friendly craft or even a complete accident is still unknown. Brought down by a single impulse - the desire to personally kill his would-be assassin - Toru 'Makhan's life of scheming and empire-building ended at approximately 2230 hours on September 1st, 2558. For all the good he did in uplifting the inhabitants of his little fiefdom of systems and bringing about a better, fairer standard of living than his subjects had under the Covenant Empire, the Imperial Admiral's hawkish, expansionist ways and the Imperial War's outcome would forever tarnish him in the eyes of many. Many histories would record him as just one of many warlords to emerge in the post-Covenant Era; one more successful than most, but a warlord all the same, let down by a selfish arrogance that consumed his entire empire.

Even so, the demise of the Imperium's leader did not spell an immediate end to hostilities within the Voden System. Even as Rora 'Marak ensured that his superiors acquired footage of 'Makhan's death for immediate dissemination, the final engagement of the Imperial War would occur in Iradu's orbit, fought not with cannon fire and missiles, but with words.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

171: Until Midnight

2301 Hours, September 1st, 2558 UNSC Caspian, Iradu Orbit, Voden System

"We've confirmed that the recording hasn't been tampered with, ma'am. Toru 'Makhan is dead."

"Thank you, Weatherby. Does the Imperium know?"

"The Swords are sending the news over every frequency, so I'd say that it's a certainty at this point."

Admiral Lin Zhi rose from her command chair and crossed the deck to the bridge's primary holotable. Captain Ngrirandi stood on the other side at attention with both hands clasped behind his back. Before them lay a tactical readout of the ongoing naval battle: twenty-six UNSC craft and twenty-nine belonging to the Swords of Sanghelios remained in Iradu's orbit, fending off a rapidly-encroaching semi-circle of at least fifty Imperial ships. After hours of long-distance fire, the Imperium was finally moving in for the kill.

"Admiral." Ngirandi spoke calmly. "Based on our best estimates, I'd say that we have less than an hour before the enemy breaks through our final defensive line."

"That's longer than I expected," Zhi said, nodding as she looked over the battered remnants of her fleet. "We'd be dead already if that supercarrier were still around."

Weatherby materialised over the holotable, straightening his tie as he looked up at Zhi. "On the topic of that supercarrier, ma'am, I've confirmed that our Spartan team has reached Vice Admiral Samson's prowler, which is preparing to withdraw from the battlespace."

"ONI coward," grumbled Ngirandi darkly, though the sour look left his face when he caught Zhi's glare.

"Someone needs to bring news back, should the worst occur." Zhi said, holding no ill-will towards Samson, especially after his dangerous mission to Iradu's surface. Rescuing the Spartans - themselves an irreplaceable asset - was not something she could criticise, either. "Though that doesn't mean I've given up yet."

"Naturally." Weatherby waved a hand and a new screen flashed up over the table, displaying readouts from every remaining ship in the fleet. "I've taken the liberty of calculating our remaining munitions supply, and given the increasing shortage of MAC slugs and Archer missiles, I fear that we may have to begin pulling back our vessels for defensive actions in less than an hour, relying on our Sangheili allies to provide offensive firepower."

Zhi folded her arms. "And by 'defensive actions', you mean using them as shields for the Caspian."

"I'm afraid so, ma'am." Weatherby fidgeted uncomfortably on the spot, an unusual act for an AI. "While we are expected to eliminate sixty percent of the Imperium's forces in a best-case scenario, I doubt that they intend to take prisoners with Toru 'Makhan dead."

"And?"

"Given how we have a few moments to breathe, I suggest that you begin evacuating the Caspian. Despite its size, I can easily ensure that our cruiser carries out its final actions automatically while the crew departs for Iradu's surface. Given our onboard armament, we could very well stage a protracted campaign of guerrilla warfare against the Imperium until reinforcements arrive."

Ngirandi kept quiet, awaiting Zhi's decision. The Admiral paused, hoping that none of her bridge staff had heard Weatherby's suggestion. She'd heard grisly tales of last-second mutinies waged by desperate crewmembers unwilling to make the ultimate sacrifice, and though she trusted her crew immensely there was no telling what could happen in the face of near-certain death. After some deliberation, Zhi had her answer.

"I'm not abandoning ship," she said resolutely. "And we're not out of options yet. Captain, have Rak Ultin brought to the bridge."

"The Yonhet?" Ngirandi raised an eyebrow. "What good will he do?"

"Quite a lot of good, if he does as he's told." Zhi turned away from the holotable and returned to her command chair as Ngirandi hastily exited the bridge. "Weatherby, I want a line of communication with Felo 'Ranak at once."

The AI vanished from above the table and rematerialised over the holotank beside Zhi's chair, looking up at her in wonderment. "If you don't mind me asking," he said curiously. "What exactly do you have planned?"

Zhi sat down gingerly, wary of any jolt that might aggravate her recent injuries. "I'm going to try and contact the Imperium's leaders and ask for a ceasefire."

For the first time since Zhi had known him, Weatherby was lost for words. Several seconds of complete silence - an inordinately long time for an AI of his intelligence - ticked by before he could formulate a response.

"That's... surprising," Weatherby said, clearly contemplating their chances. "Given the loss of Toru 'Makhan, there's a good chance that whatever's left of the Imperium's leadership might not be in a talking mood, ma'am."

"Then we drag them to the negotiating table." Zhi's voice hardened. "We still have a number of Shiva nuclear missiles on board, don't we?"

"We do." Weatherby clasped his hands together. "I take it that you intend to revisit your earlier plan of turning Iradu's population centres into irradiated wastelands?"

"Not if I can help it," Zhi said, stonefaced. "But I think the prospect of not having a homeworld to return to might make even the most stubborn Sangheili think twice about continuing the battle. Besides, their Imperial Admiral is dead and we have the head of their civilian government as our prisoner. Politically, I'd say we still have all the cards."

"True," Weatherby nodded, then inclined his head towards the bridge's massive forward viewscreen. "But militarily-"

Zhi cut him off. "Militarily they'll win at an extreme cost and be left sitting above a dead planet with less than a third of their original force until the UNSC retaliates, which it absolutely will. I'm negotiating for the sake of the men and women still fighting here, not because I give a damn about the Imperium's continued well-being."

"Fair point." The AI shrugged, conceding. "I'll establish that COM link with Fleet Master 'Ranak now, ma'am."

It was almost half a minute before Felo 'Ranak finally materialised in front of the Admiral, who found herself relieved to find him seated as well. Still clad in the golden armour that couldn't quite hide the swathe of bandage sheets that covered most of his upper body, 'Ranak bowed his head respectfully to Zhi.

"Admiral," Felo's yellow eyes met her steely gaze. "Your construct informed me that you had some kind of plan to end this war without further bloodshed. I would like to hear it."

Straight to the point. Zhi nodded, glancing only for an instant towards Weatherby, who had definitely not been ordered to do anything more than contact the Swords of Sanghelios. "Yes, Fleet Master. Given the precariousness of both our situation and the Imperium's, I believe that now is the time to contact their leadership and request an end to hostilities."

Request. Not 'demand' or 'order' or 'threaten'. All they could do was ask the Imperium to agree to an armistice, and remind them of the consequences if they did not.

This provoked little in the way of reaction from the Fleet Master. He leaned forward, folding his arms across his breastplate. "A wise decision, Admiral Zhi. Do you wish for my presence during these negotiations, or did you contact me just to inform me of your intentions?"

'Ranak's continued deference to her command was still surprising, even after several days of fighting alongside the Fleet Master. "We must both attend," Zhi explained. "The Imperium needs to know that this was not only a human decision, but one made jointly between our factions."

"Very well." 'Ranak placed both hands on his command chair's armrests, and pushed himself to his feet with some effort. "If I may offer some advice, Admiral Zhi, then it is best to stand while conducting negotiations with Sangheili. Even with our wounds, we must display strength to our enemies."

Standing up was the last thing that Zhi, who felt more drained than she'd ever been in her life after this brief but utterly gruelling campaign, wanted to do. Even so, she stood up and took a step forward, placing herself at 'Ranak's side. As she did so, the bridge door slid open behind her, heralding the return of Captain Ngirandi and Rak Ultin, their living bargaining chip. The rotund Yonhet shuffled across the command platform, peering cautiously towards Felo 'Ranak's holographic form before turning his attention towards Zhi.

"A pleasure to meet you, Admiral." Monotone machine-speak sounded from the translator affixed to the Chief Councillor's dirty tunic as Rak spoke, attempting a clumsy bow. "Rak is at your service."

Zhi addressed Ngirandi first. "Has he been briefed on the situation, Captain?"

"No more than I have, ma'am." Ngirandi barely bothered to disguise the reproach in his voice before catching himself. "Though he seems enthusiastic to help."

That's one way of putting it, Zhi thought as her eyes returned to the simpering alien before her. "Rak Ultin, you are here in your official presence as Chief Councillor of the Imperium of Clarity to assist us in conducting negotiations with the Imperium's remaining leadership."

Rak stood impassively as his translator repeated Zhi's words in his own sibilant tongue, wringing his hands awkwardly. Eventually he let out a long sigh and gave her a pitiful look. The Admiral might have even thought it genuine, had she not spent decades working around the professional liars of Naval Intelligence.

"This will be difficult," Rak spoke quietly, as if expecting a violent outburst from Zhi. "Toru 'Makhan is prideful, though he takes measures not to admit it. He would sooner see Iradu burn than kneel before an invader. To 'Makhan, he is the Imperium, and many would follow him even after the loss of their homeworld. Rak might have been Chief Councillor, but the people would leave me dead in the dirt if 'Makhan commanded it. Rak cannot help you here."

Zhi exchanged glances with Ngirandi before looking back to Rak. "Toru 'Makhan is dead."

As these words were relayed through his translator, Rak's mouth dropped open in shock. He blinked several times, staring off into space as the full weight of this news sank in. Then, he smiled, revealing two rows of razor-sharp teeth.

"If that is the case," the Yonhet laugh raised his flabby arms into the air in celebration. "Then Rak can assist you! Who do you intend to negotiate with?"

Felo's ghostly form waved a hand, and the distinctive outline of an ORS-class heavy cruiser materialised before him. "With this ship," he said. "Do you know who commands it?"

Rak peered intently at the vast warship, which from Zhi's latest reports seemed to be coordinating the Imperium's offensive efforts as they made their final push through the UNSC-Swords' battle lines. After a few seconds he straightened up and nodded intently, his chins jiggling.

"Rak knows this ship," the Yonhet's tone grew grave. "It is called 'Emancipator', and belongs to Fleet Master Lora 'Deris."

"Lora 'Deris..." Zhi repeated the unfamiliar name. "What do you know about him?"

Rak cast his eyes towards the bridge's frontal viewport for a few moments, as if he were trying to pick out 'Deris's ship among the innumerable specks of light in the void beyond. "He is younger than his fellows, though not by much. Of the Imperium's High Command, however, he is the most loyal to his state and has more to prove. It is Rak's understanding that this war is his first time fighting humans, too."

Felo let out a disappointed sigh. "If his loyalty to Toru 'Makhan is as unbreakable as you say, Chief Councillor, then our attempts at diplomacy will be fruitless. Lora 'Deris will surely wish to avenge his master's death."

Rak raised a clawed finger. "Not necessarily, Fleet Master. Rak said that 'Deris was loyal to his state, not 'Makhan. The Imperial Admiral was a man outwardly concerned with the betterment of his people, but Rak knew all too well that he prized his own power above all others. Fleet Master 'Deris believes in the Imperium's ideals selflessly."

"Right," Zhi murmured as a plan began to form inside her head. "So what you're saying is that we should appeal to 'Deris's dedication to the Imperium and its citizens?"

Rak flashed another sharp-toothed smile. "Precisely! Rak will be here to assist, of course."

At least until things start to sour, you slippery rodent. Zhi took a step towards the edge of her command platform, and took a look down at the Caspian's bridge crew. Even after days of combat, they were working diligently to keep what was left of the Sixth Fleet together. Though some small, spiteful part of her tired brain wanted nothing more than to unleash hellfire on the alien world below so she could go out in a blaze of glory, mocking the Imperium's leaders for their failure, she owed it to everyone under her command to at least give this plan a try. For all she knew, they would deny any attempts at communication and continue their assault on the Swords' wavering battle lines. Zhi took a long, deep breath, then quietly exhaled before turning back to her waiting allies.

"Weatherby, contact the Emancipator and try to establish communications with the Imperium's High Command. I don't care what you say to them, just get us in contact with Lora 'Deris."

The Smart AI snapped a crisp salute. "Yes ma'am!"

Lin Zhi resumed her former position, standing between the pensive Felo 'Ranak and the restless Rak Ultin.

2326 Hours, September 1st, 2558 ORS-class Heavy Cruiser Emancipator, Voden System

"Our forces advance too slowly."

"They advance at a steady pace, brother. Our foe can do nothing more to surprise us."

As far as ending wars went, the battle over Iradu would be resolved in a decidedly anticlimactic manner. Rows of Obedience-class cruisers, spread out in two curved battle lines, would soon encircle the battered enemy fleet, crushing their warships with synchronised volleys of plasma artillery from all sides. This death blow would be a costly one, especially after they moved into optimal range for the human craft, but victory would be achieved all the same.

Despite this, a grim mood had taken hold over the Emancipator's bridge. News of the death of Toru 'Makhan, founder and protector of their beloved Imperium of Clarity, had been met at first with outright denial and skepticism, then with fierce rage as confirmation arrived from Iradu's surface. Now, all present had lowered themselves into states of intense concentration, saving the worst of their emotions for after the battle. Without 'Makhan, leadership fell to the surviving members of the Imperium's High Command, which in turn led to the bridge's second-biggest issue: Fleet Master Zetal 'Hudon.

Cast in holographic form from the bridge of his damaged battlecruiser, New Way, Zetal stalked the Emancipator's command deck like a hungry predator, constantly hissing and haranguing the cruiser's own master, Lora 'Deris.

"If we do not close our jaws tightly, Fleet Master, then the enemy will slip away!" Zetal jabbed a finger towards the distant grey-blue orb of Iradu. "They will make for the surface, forcing us into yet another bloody ground war. Surely you see this?"

Compared to the gold-clad spectre pacing around him, Lora 'Deris was the very picture of calm. He gave orders sparsely, often signalling with a sweep of an armoured hand to his loyal crew. His dark armour, sleek and unblemished, gave him the appearance of an obsidian-cut statue as he stood unmoving a few pace away from his command chair, both arms folded as he quietly watched the battle play out.

"I see only victory," Lora said at last. "Unnecessary haste will only endanger our ships. We have the firepower and the numbers, brother."

Zetal growled, clearly annoyed, but neglected to push the issue any further. Lora had put up with his outbursts since Toru 'Makhan had ordered his battered fleet to work under his command, but only because he understood his comrade's grief. Just as the loss of Nor 'Hudon had surely torn away something from Zetal that he could never get back, the images Lora received of his home state on Frendhal set ablaze by plasma fire would be etched into his mind for as long as he lived. Even now, as his fleet raced to save the Imperium's capital world from invasion, Lora could not help but wonder how many had perished during that single day of unprecedented bloodshed.

Today's retribution may not be enough. In time, the Imperium will darken the skies of Sanghelios, and pay the state of Ranak back tenfold for what they did on Frendhal. We-

A sudden alert chirp cut through Lora's train of thought. He turned his head towards the bridge's primary communications terminal, where a confused officer hammered command after command into his console.

"Problem?" Lora asked.

The officer straightened up slightly. "A thousand pardons, Fleet Master, but it would appear that the enemy is trying to raise communications with this vessel."

"Trying to surrender?" Zetal sneered. "Worthless Nishum."

Ignoring Zetal's comment, Lora approached the console, curious. "Have they sent any messages?"

"Yes, Fleet Master." The communications officer pointed to a scrolling line of text on one side of his screen. "It is a repeating message, transmitted alongside their attempts to link to the Emancipator's battle network. While it has likely been sent by one of their intelligence constructs, our shipboard systems have detected no intrusion attempts."

Lora's kept his eyes fixed on the screen as the human message popped up yet again. "They seek an audience with me to discuss the terms of a pause in hostilities..."

Behind him, Zetal let out a cruel laugh. "These are the actions of desperate creatures, begging for mercy. Ignore them."

"In addition," Lora continued. "They state that great harm will befall Iradu should we continue to press forward and ignore their message."

"Greater than their invasion of the capital and murder of Toru 'Makhan?" Zetal shook his head. "It will be bloody work to root them out once we regain control in orbit, of course, but our forces already outnumber them on the ground."

Though he agreed with Zetal's assessment, the seeds of doubt had already been planted and were taking root in Lora's vengeance-blinded mind. Though to his great shame he had never faced human forces during the Great War, Lora had spent his time analysing their strategies, and one term in particular from his studies came to mind here: asset denial.

"They may not seek a ground war, Zetal," Lora's mandibles shook slightly as he began to consider their options. "When faced with certain defeat during the war, the humans often destroyed what they could not rescue to prevent Covenant forces from capturing areas or items of great value."

Realisation dawned on Zetal at last, and his eyes widened. "You think they would destroy the capital?"

Lora waved a hand towards the great holographic map that dominated the bridge's central projector, indicating the small cluster of human ships sheltering behind the larger Sangheili vessels. "I saw what the humans did on Bineb II, brother. Surrounded as they are, they may seek to loose every weapon in their arsenal at the planet. For all we know, they could render Iradu uninhabitable."

"Honourless cretins," Zetal muttered sounding more annoyed than scornful. "I would expect humans to stoop so low, but would the proud Swords of Sanghelios allow such an atrocity to occur? Felo 'Ranak might be a tool of the Arbiter, but I have heard that his amiability towards the humans stems from his guilt over our glassing operations during the war. Surely he would disapprove?"

"Perhaps he is unaware." Lora sighed. "Or he has chosen to follow the humans down their chosen path. It seems that we may have to agree to these negotiations after all, brother."

A long silence passed between the two Fleet Masters. Though they stood close to a hundred kilometres apart, Lora could sense the conflict within Zetal 'Hudon. Honour demanded that they avenge Toru 'Makhan, their beloved friend and leader. It demanded that Nor 'Hudon, Orro 'Hendai, and the many thousands of others who had followed them into this war not die in vain. It also demanded that they risk millions more lives, so that when the battle was won they could proudly declare whatever barren hellscape of glass and ash their foes turned the Imperium's homeworld into liberated.

A choice had to be made.

"Major," Lora signalled his communications officer. "Establish a connection with the human ship at once, and order our ships to hold position. For the sake of our Imperium's continued existence, we will begin negotiations."

Beside him, Zetal eyed him with a look of unmistakeable distaste. "Will you lead these negotiations, Fleet Master 'Deris?"

"The enemy contacted my ship and requested my attendance by name," Lora replied coolly. "We may stand here as equals in rank, Fleet Master 'Hudon, but I ask that you do not forget that when it comes to discussing the terms of a ceasefire."

Anger flared again in Zetal's eyes, but it flickered and died quickly under Lora's gaze. He bowed his head. "I understand."

The holomap above the projector vanished, and in its place appeared three figures, cast in translucent light before the Fleet Master. Lora recognised the unmistakeable bulk of Rak Ultin before his image had even stabilised, and knew at once that the Chief Councillor had switched sides. While he had always been a believer in the fair and equal treatment of species that the Imperium promised, Lora had always disliked the ex-smuggler, seeing him as a self-interested swindler kept around only for his connections and surprising adeptness at statecraft. The sight of him stood by their two greatest foes only confirmed all of Lora's suspicions about his true nature.

Beside Rak stood a middle-aged human female, clothed in the dark uniform of the UNSC Navy. This could only be Admiral Lin Zhi, the woman Lora had sent the turncoat assassin to kill. While Andrei Fosse had clearly not been successful, the Sangheili's sharp eyes immediately took note of her posture. She's in pain, Lora scanned her for any obvious injuries, but found none. Wounded, perhaps, but unwilling to stand down. He could respect that. Zhi met his gaze with a stern look of her own, and despite her diminutive stature compared to the men flanking her Lora could tell that she held the power in their alliance. After all, anyone able to direct their fleet through so many battles and outmaneuver even the great Toru 'Makhan was a formidable opponent indeed.

The third ambassador was Felo 'Ranak, who like Zhi had elected to stand for this meeting despite great physical discomfort. Though golden armour covered most of his body, it could not fully conceal the sheets of sealant mesh wrapped around his fresh wounds. A lesser man would have been bedridden or even killed outright from the kind of injuries Orro 'Hendai had inflicted, but Felo stood proudly. Even so, it did not take someone as observant as Lora to tell that his fighting days were over.

With the exception of Rak Ultin, Lora couldn't help but respect the enemy leaders now that he stood before them. Zetal evidently did not feel the same way, and though he mercifully kept quiet as the connection was fully established, his body language was anything but respectful. Noticing this, Lora stepped forward and rapped a fist against his chestplate, saluting his foes.

"I am Fleet Master Lora 'Deris of the Imperium of Clarity, Shipmaster of the Emancipator, Protector of Telwun, and fifth among the High Command of our Imperium. It is my understanding that you seek a pause in hostilities with our forces. Is that correct?"

As Lora proudly went through his titles in the one human language he knew, English, he felt a bitter pang in his chest. Of the Imperium's famed High Command, he and Zetal were likely the only survivors. Kan 'Larom had not reported back to them in some time, and news of Toru 'Makhan's demise from within the Imperial Palace itself made his survival only a slim likelihood. Once this was all over, they would have to quickly reform the military's command structure if it had any chance of keeping order.

Zhi took the lead, saluting Lora in the style of her military. "I'm Admiral Lin Zhi, United Nations Space Command Navy. On behalf of our joint task force and respective nations, I ask that the Imperium of Clarity cease hostilities at once and withdraw to a respectful distance, allowing both sides to fully recuperate and make way for further negotiations."

Even Lora was slightly taken aback at how quickly Zhi went from introductions to demands. Glancing left, he saw Zetal's mandibles shudder irritably as a device in his hands translated the Admiral's words. Standing to attention, both hands clasped behind his back, Lora nodded politely before delivering his rebuttal.

"These are bold demands from one so clearly outmatched, Admiral. Why should our Imperium comply with an invading force while we are on the verge of exterminating your forces?"

Zhi smiled and held up her right hand, balled into a fist. "For starters, the fact that you even agreed to this meeting shows that you're willing to hear us out. Second, even if you do destroy our fleets, you'll lose more than half of your forces in our final run. Third, between the nuclear missiles I have prepared to fire on Iradu and the troops we're prepared to send to wage a guerrilla war across whatever parts of the surface we don't incinerate, you'll be stuck fighting here for a ball of irradiated dirt for weeks."

As she made each point, Zhi unfurled another finger. Zetal twitched, but didn't dare to speak before Lora did as Zhi continued.

"Which leads me onto my final points, Fleet Master. Say you destroy us today, and wipe out any forces we have on the ground. What then? Within a few weeks the UNSC will send another fleet, larger and more powerful than mine, and they won't be looking to negotiate; they'll be out to avenge all the men and women you killed, and won't stop until they've hunted down and destroyed every last remnant of your Imperium."

Zhi paused, her eyes boring into Lora as if daring him to challenge any of her points. Seeing Zhi's thumb still curled into her palm, Lora knew she was not done. "And your final point?" he asked.

"We know all about the shield world Toru 'Makhan was hoping to transplant the Imperium's population to, so even if he sent you the coordinates, there'll be no safe haven for the Imperium of Clarity even if you do win today. As we speak, one of my subordinates is exiting this system in a cloaked warship with a Forerunner monitor 'Makhan had been hiding, and from what I've been told he's more than willing to spill every secret he has to us. That's five reasons."

Zhi raised her hand, all fingers outstretched. Lora nodded, and turned towards Felo 'Ranak, who had not yet spoken. "And what does the Kaidon of the House of 'Ranak say to this human's plan, then? Would you allow the slaughter of a Sangheili world to take place if it meant attaining some spiteful measure of victory over a triumphant foe? Would the Arbiter condone such an action."

While he found Admiral Zhi harder to read, Lora saw the exact moment his words broke through Felo's stoic exterior. The warrior might have come to terms with dying in battle, but by invoking the Arbiter's name and thus putting the honour of the Swords of Sanghelios on the line Lora had finally given Felo 'Ranak pause. The gold-armoured Fleet Master gave a pained look to his human companion for a moment, then shook his head.

"It is as Admiral Zhi says," Felo said tiredly. "Proceed with your actions against us, and you invite the total destruction of all that you hold dear. Whether it comes today from her ship or from human reinforcements matters little; I have come to terms with this, and my honour is satisfied."

Zetal let out an an angry snarl and shook his fist towards 'Ranak. "Coward!" He bellowed, spittle flying from his maw. "You should have granted yourself an honourable death when Orro 'Hendai crippled you, but instead you live on and grovel before humans! Before these honourless Nishum! Bring your ships force and face us yourself, cur!"

Stepping between the two holograms, Lora flashed Zetal a furious glance before holding up his palms towards both of them in an attempt to calm any shouting match. To his surprise, Felo 'Ranak did not deliver a retort of his own, and simply bowed his head towards Zetal as if the enraged Fleet Master had just paid him a compliment.

"My brother Fleet Master forgets himself," Lora said, quickly regaining control of the situation, lowering his arms. "This war has been taxing for all of us, and with its end in sight our patience has worn thin. Your words disappoint me also, Felo 'Ranak, but I cannot dissuade you if you have made peace with your fate. "

"Our forces are in agreement on this matter," Zhi cut in, completely ignoring Zetal's steady glare. "If you wish to preserve the lives of your people and ensure the Imperium's continued existence, then please comply with your requests for a ceasefire."

"You sound very sure of yourself." Lora switched tactics. "But what guarantee do we have that human reinforcements will arrive at all? Do you speak with the authority of your government here, Admiral Zhi?"

She shook her head. "I can only speak in military terms, Fleet Master, but I'm aware of how the Navy would react to this situation. They'll want some kind of payback after this war no matter the outcome, but a peaceful armistice would give the Imperium a little more sway once the politicians get involved."

Lora snorted. "You act as though we intend to surrender."

"That's because I fully expect you to do so," Zhi spoke frankly. "The Imperium's spent, and after you started this war with an unprovoked attack on a human colony the best you can hope for is a request for some serious reparations and heavy military disarmament, though given the number of ships you have left that might not even be necessary."

Zetal bristled once again at her words, but Lora could detect no hint of mockery from the Admiral. Worse still, she was completely right. While no one within the Imperium's command structure would have dared to say it while Toru 'Makhan were alive, their expansion into human territory had been ill-advised at best, given their inability to sustain their military for a protracted war. Lora had guessed that 'Makhan intended to use Montak's natural resources to help fund his campaign as they moved out of the frontier and towards more populated Sangheili territory, but their failed efforts to halt the advance of the joint UNSC-Swords fleet had put an end to that dream. Despite this, Lora could not bear to admit his state's wrongdoing or the foolishness of 'Makhan, who had ruled the Imperium as a fair and just sovereign until the start of this war. Decades of martial doctrine and tradition kept the Fleet Master from swallowing his pride so easily, and for a moment he stared past Zhi, at last feeling the fatigue of war creep over him,

Taking advantage of Lora's silence, Zetal laughed defiantly at Zhi. He had almost seen reason prior to this discussion, but when faced with the enemy and prospects of not only defeat but total surrender, he allowed himself to be claimed by rage and hubris. Regarding the human woman as one might a particularly loathsome insect, he chose instead to address Rak Ultin, who had uncharacteristically kept his mouth shut so far.

"Chief Councillor," Zetal spat the Yonhet's title out as though it were a curse. "Were you not bound to protect our Imperium's citizenry in the absence of real leadership? Why is it that you now stand alongside two invaders, saying nothing as they demand our capitulation?"

Caught off-guard by the sudden questions, Rak took a moment to compose himself. "Rak merely longs for the safety of our people, Fleet Master 'Hudon. Please, listen to what they say and you too will live to see our Imperium thrive again!"

After he spoke, a strange machine attached to his tunic repeated his words in the human tongue. Zhi nodded along before giving Zetal an imploring look. He wanted nothing more than to kill them both.

"I refuse!" Zetal drew himself up to his full height and stood proudly at attention. "I will not beg for mercy like you did, Yonhet, nor will I dishonour my ancestors through surrender. We are Sangheili, proud warriors who had mastered the stars long before your pitiful races turned your heads towards them! We-"

Lora stepped forward, raising his left hand to silence Zetal. "I accept your terms, Admiral Zhi. The Imperium will stand down and withdraw its forces."

Zetal's words died in his throat. He turned his head towards Lora, mandibles hanging wide in shock at his comrade's decision. Though he did not know it, it was his raving that had forced Lora to make his choice.

"You-" Zetal let out a sound that was half-snarl, half-cough as words failed him. "You would-"

Lora spoke quickly and smoothly, before Zetal's rage could resurface. "If we continue fighting, Fleet Master, then both the Imperium and Toru 'Makhan's dream dies today. You speak of honour in battle, but what wretched creature would I be if I allowed the slaughter of millions, knowing that I could have prevented it. Our Imperium does not stand for the exultation of the few, as the old Covenant did, but for the uplifting of the many. To allow it all to burn in the name of martial pride would be an irremovable stain on the honour of us all."

In front of him, Zetal's hologram flickered and wavered as the warrior shook with fury. His eyes grew cold and serious, and as he looked away Lora realised what his intentions were.

"Coward," Zetal muttered. It was the same accusation he had thrown towards Felo 'Ranak, but without the fire. "You might fear death, Lora 'Deris, but I do not. We will win this war without you."

Acting quickly, Lora span round to his communications officer. The Emancipator's entire bridge crew had sat in silence through the negotiations, listening with rapt attention even as they worked at their stations. "Contact all available ships and have them target the New Way!"

Slightly surprised, the officer immediately complied, and Lora turned back to Zetal, who had begun to bark orders of his own. The deckplate thrummed slightly as the Emancipator changed course, bringing its formidable array of cannons to bear on a single battered CCS-class warship on the far end of the Imperium's battle line. In the seconds that followed as the rest of their fleet followed suit, Lora couldn't help but notice a slight smirk cross Admiral Zhi's face. Despite her formality, she was clearly enjoying the chaos in their ranks. Zetal looked around in a panic, his translucent figure yelling silently at some offscreen underlings before addressing Lora once more.

"You would kill me, Lora 'Deris?" Zetal hissed. "Is this how you honour our Imperial Admiral's memory? By murdering your brothers and claiming the Imperium as your own?"

Though cutting, Lora could sense the desperation in Zetal's voice and knew that these were the words of a cornered beast, lashing out at any and all before the end arrived. One command, and his ships would reduce Zetal 'Hudon and his followers to atoms. He was not entirely wrong, of course; as the highest-ranking officer in the Imperium of Clarity, Lora could easily lay claim to the rank of Imperial Admiral. There would be challengers, of course, but no ship remained that could match the Emancipator, and no one else had the same backing as he did. Lora thought for a moment about the state he helped build, and how he had grown to love it more than the Covenant he spent many years in service to. He thought of Toru 'Makhan, and how for all his talk of unity and equality, there was only one place at the very top. Such power had ruined 'Makhan, and would ruin the Imperium of Clarity if left unchecked. Perhaps ruin had already come, and these two warriors were already battling for control of the ashes.

Lora 'Deris would not repeat the mistakes of others.

"Brother," he spoke not with the confidence of a commander, but with the weary tone of an exhausted soldier. "For all our sakes, I implore you to find reason and stand down. Think of all that we have worked to build since the Great War's end, and do not allow Nor's death to be in vain. We require honour and reason in equal measure."

At long last, a crack finally appeared in Zetal's armour. Beneath the warrior's fiery exterior lay yet another tired soldier, eager to put an end to things in one way or another. Zetal's shoulders heaved as he let out a long sigh and slumped back, looking awkward in holographic form as he fell into his command throne.

"Do what you will, Fleet Master. I will offer no resistance." Zetal lowered his head, and his hologram dissipated into nothingness.

With the other Fleet Master gone, Lora faced Zhi and her compatriots alone. "I hope that that display makes my intentions clear?" Lora said.

"It certainly does," Zhi turned her head towards Felo. "I think we can start giving orders for our troops to withdraw now, Fleet Master 'Ranak."

"So long as the Imperium does the same," Felo said softly, looking curiously towards Lora. "Fleet Master 'Deris has acted courageously and with great honour. When the Swords of Sanghelios will return here, you will be treated with the utmost respect."

If only Zhi knew that I was the one to dispatch her assassin. Lora dismissed the notion of informing her. "It may take some time, but the Imperium will disengage and bring its fleet back towards Iradu's moon. Given the difficulty of extracting our forces on the planet itself, I will ask that your forces withdraw from the planet."

"That's fair," Zhi smiled. "And what do you intend to do until we return?"

Lora pondered this for a moment. "Rest, for the most part. We will likely be forced to deal with those like Zetal who wish to continue the war, too. Are you leaving any ships in the system?"

"I will leave behind a carrier," said Felo. "It will only play an observational role until the proper forces arrive to take account of this war."

Take account. Something about those words set Lora on edge, but he had gone too far to back out now. "Will they take account of my men, also? I trust that your allies will treat me respectfully, Fleet Master, but I know that justice must be served, and trials must be held. I only hope that we will not be met with the same fate as the San'Shyuum."

Felo's eyes narrowed at this. While most of the Covenant's former ruling species had died or fled following the Great War, a number of San'Shyuum had been hunted down by vengeful Sangheili groups, either for sport or to stand trial for crimes attributed to their entire race. Low-ranking functionaries were often given light sentences or even let go, but grisly tales abounded of the punishments delivered to ministry officials or surviving prophets at the hands of their captors.

"Their crimes were different!" Felo snapped his jaws irritably at Lora. "This war was an act of madness, yes, but do not compare the offences perpetrated by soldiers following a single madman's orders to the injustices brought about by millennia of lies and treachery, Lora 'Deris."

Lora bowed his head. "My apologies, Fleet Master. My only concern is for my men, and for the civilians under our protection."

Felo returned the gesture. "Those most worthy of punishment are dead, and we would not leave these systems mired in anarchy or under the boot of foreign occupiers when there are other battles to be fought. That I can promise you."

He means that the Swords of Sanghelios do not have the troops to hold this system with the civil war on Sanghelios. Lora felt somewhat relieved. "What of your forces, Admiral Zhi? Will your government seek justice for the Imperium's actions?"

Zhi considered this, her brow furrowing momentarily. "I can't speak for the actions of the Unified Earth Government, Fleet Master, but it's unlikely that they'll seek much beyond recovering the bodies of our dead. Once the bureaucrats get involved you might end up with a human ambassador to help represent the UEG and any humans living in the Imperium, but Iradu isn't anywhere near our territory, so anything major will probably come from the Swords of Sanghelios."

"Thank you." Lora exhaled. As it turned out, their surrender would not be as cataclysmic as he thought. "If that is all, then I must order my forces to cease hostilities."

Before he could sign off, Zhi stepped forward, one hand slightly raised in a curious manner. "One last question, Fleet Master," she asked. "What do you think Toru 'Makhan wanted with all this? Do you think he expected things to pan out this way?"

Once again, she had said something that could be so easily misconstrued as mockery with genuine eagerness. Lora hardly minded; after all, it was a question that he had been asking himself repeatedly from the second news arrived of the Imperial Admiral's untimely death.

"I cannot pretend to have been privy to Toru 'Makhan's innermost thoughts, Admiral." Lora raised both hands. "But I believe that he was a man overtaken by ambition and twisted into something very different than the hero he made himself out to be. All I can do now is wonder if each great accomplishment made by our Imperium was truly done in the name of progress and altruism, or if Toru 'Makhan sought only to satisfy himself. Perhaps it was both."

Evidently satisfied, Lin Zhi snapped her heels together and saluted Lora, who returned the gesture by bringing his fist to his breastplate. A moment later she, Felo 'Ranak and Rak Ultin vanished from the Emancipator's bridge. Lora closed his eyes and stood in silence, counting twenty breaths before he opened them again. Nothing had changed. That was good.

"Major," Lora called to his communications officer once more. "Get the message out across the system for our forces to stand down and disengage from battle. Tell them that the war is over."

The officer's hands hovered over his console. He turned back, and raised his head to look Lora in the eyes. "Excellency," he asked, "Excuse my impudence, but what am I to say? Have we been defeated, or am I to declare victory?"

Judging by the confused looks of several other officers looking their way, he wasn't the only one unsure of how to feel about the situation. Lora shook his head. "It matters not. The war is over, and for now we must focus on keeping our Imperium together. Give the order."

Though Lora wasn't sure if the officer deemed it an acceptable answer, he quickly turned back to his console and began to relay the Fleet Master's message. From the moon of Vandun to the Imperial Palace, across the ragged remains of the Imperial Armada and the scattered keeps and townships of Iradu, a ceasefire was declared. Gradually, the Imperium's ships withdrew from the battlespace, moving in formation with the New Way bringing up its rearguard. Battle-worn infantry lances in the capital's streets made wary retreats through the ruins, and the sounds of cannon fire slowly died down over the city as evacuation dropships criss-crossed the smoke-choked night sky. Some still fought, unable or unwilling to heed the message being broadcast over every frequency, but soon even they would find themselves without an enemy to fight. Both sides limped away to tend their wounds, abandoning the dead and the desolation for somewhere, anywhere but the battlefield.

In Iradu's orbit, the Sixth Fleet eventually turned away from the planet. A battle-scarred remnant of twenty-one vessels, it slowly made its way towards the edge of the system, guarded by twenty-three ships belonging to the Swords of Sanghelios. One craft remained behind, watching its fellows depart as it began its new duties. One by one, each craft transitioned into slipspace, vanishing into the void to begin a long journey home.

The last craft belonging to the UNSC-Swords of Sanghelios exited the Voden system at 0235 hours on September 2nd, 2558, with all possible troops evacuated and accounted for. The ceasefire order had been given at 0000 hours. By coincidence, that was the time by which Weatherby, the Caspian's AI, had predicted the total destruction of their force had hostilities continued. He mentioned it to no one.

The Imperial War, which lasted only eight days since the Imperium's first attack, was over.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

Epilogue: Aftermath

172: New Beginning

1401 Hours, September 16th, 2558 Nexus Station, Iradu Orbit

As he stood by the command room's primary viewscreen and watched the Epoch-class carrier drift past, Lora 'Deris put any lingering doubts about Admiral Zhi's talk of human vengeance to rest. The Imperium could have won the battle over Iradu that day, but it would have been a short-lived victory. Four UNSC battle groups now sat in Iradu's orbit, comprised not of destroyers and frigates like Zhi's Sixth Fleet, but of heavy cruisers and battleships. Though they had been cordial in their communications with Lora and the Imperium's surviving government, their true message was clear: Defy us, and we will destroy you.

The door behind Lora chimed and slid open. He turned to see Zetal 'Hudon accompanied by an unfamiliar man in a blue and white tunic. Zetal had withdrawn from the public after the ceasefire had been declared, remaining mostly aboard the New Way and communicating only when absolutely necessary. This was the first time he and Lora had met face-to-face since that fateful day.

"Brother," Zetal dipped his head respectfully before indicating his companion. "This is Nilen 'Feru. He has come on behalf of the citizens of Frendhal."

Lora saluted Nilen, and he returned the gesture. "I thank you for making this journey," the Fleet Master said. "To my great regret, I have not been able to return to Frendhal since hostilities ended."

The Fleet Master did little to hide his obvious guilt. Nilen nodded. "I understand, excellency. Know that I too felt regret at not being able to defend our Imperium's capital, as being left behind on Frendhal after the battle there. We grieve for the losses suffered here, and for Toru 'Makhan most of all."

'Excellency'. They already see me as 'Makhan's successor. Seeing Nilen speak without a hint of bitterness eased Lora's conscience somewhat, though he found his curiosity piqued. "You fought on Frendhal, then?"

"Yes, excellency." Nilen stood slightly straighter. "I was Commander of the First Talon, serving under Fleet Master Kan 'Larom. During our retreat from Montak I found myself billeted aboard a warship belonging to Field Marshal 'Hendai, and fought apart from my brothers in Frendhal's skies until my craft was shot down. By the time I awoke, the battle had ended."

Though his story was unusual, Lora had no reason not to believe him, and no way to prove who he was; Kan 'Larom had vanished into thin air during the battle for the palace, and rumours abounded about him either perishing in an explosion with no trace left behind or absconding with the Kru'desh Legion as they fled the planet. Still, he had heard of the First Talon and their exploits as one of the Imperium's best fighter pilots, so it would be easy to properly identify its commander through military records.

Something suddenly sparked in Lora's memory. "Your family name was 'Feru, yes?" he asked the pilot. "As I recall, your clan lives within my state."

"You are correct, excellency." a touch of warmth entered Nilen's voice. "Though it pains me to say this, your lands suffered terribly during the enemy invasion. The Swords of Sanghelios attacked indiscriminately, bombing every keep and township, and burning the fields to ash to root out any resistance. My own keep fell under such a bombardment, though most of my kin survived."

Nilen spoke softly, and though he held Lora's gaze his eyes seemed fixed on something other than the Fleet Master, peering into some unknowable and horrible vision. Every word felt like another stab into Lora's hearts, and for a few brief moments he thought of nothing but bringing about terrible retribution on the Swords, regardless of the cost. Sanity soon returned, and he slowly exhaled, his mandibles clamped together rigidly.

"I must apologise once more, brother," Lora said sorrowfully. "Know that as soon as stability is restored to Iradu and the capital, I will return to Frendhal and dedicate myself to its reconstruction. Our Imperium must learn from this war if it is to survive and grow stronger, and I will ensure that nothing brings such devastation to our homes ever again."

Satisfied, Nilen bowed his head. "That is all that I ask for. When you return home, I will see that you are given a welcome befitting a hero."

"I have done little to earn that title," Lora said, a bitter tinge to his voice. "I brought an end to this war solely because I was the only one standing who could broker such an agreement. If anything, I hope to be judged by my coming actions instead of my past ones."

"As you say." Nilen looked to Zetal. "Then on behalf of the people of Frendhal, I thank you both and take my leave."

Lora and Zetal both saluted Nilen, holding their clenched fists tightly to their breastplates until the pilot exited the chamber. Once the door closed, Zetal let out a sigh and approached the viewscreen to share in Lora's spectacular view of Iradu's orbit.

"He's a smart one," Zetal spoke first. "A new candidate for the High Command, even."

Lora turned his head to meet Zetal's gaze. "After all that has happened, we may not require a High Command to lead our Imperium."

Zetal snorted. "So the rumours are true, then? You intend to dissolve our military leadership and assume the role of Chief Councillor?"

"Not exactly, though with Rak Ultin gone his position lies vacant. None questioned Toru 'Makhan when he led us into a hopeless war because we believed that his talents would pull us through to victory. With more advisors and opinions from those who do not follow a warrior's path, perhaps all this could have been averted."

Zetal's mandibles twitched irritably at the mention of Rak Ultin; the slippery Yonhet had remained in the capital for no more than six days after the ceasefire, and after issuing a series of surprisingly well thought-out commands to secure the scattered civilian populace and begin the rebuilding progress, simply vanished. It was not a totally surprising move, as many within the military had heard of how he surrendered to the humans and wanted him dead, but it did leave the Imperium's civilian government without a leader.

"Perhaps it would be for the best," Zetal said begrudgingly. "Though you should be cautious; the humans are notorious for their underhanded tactics, and even the Swords of Sanghelios may seek reparations that our Imperium simply cannot pay. Do not allow the nation we built to fall into thralldom under your rule for fear of repeating any of 'Makhan's actions. We must remain strong."

A long silence passed between them before Lora answered. "So you're leaving, then?"

The Fleet Master nodded. "For your sake and the Imperium's, yes."

"How many ships?"

"Six, including the New Way. Enough to carry those still willing to fight, but not so many to make the humans too suspicious of you."

Since the ceasefire had been declared, most of the military had followed Lora's orders diligently and without question, glad that the fighting was over. Some, however, were less willing to accept the Imperium's defeat. Officers who until this point had been kept in check by a sense of loyalty and honour now openly spoke of re-igniting the conflict, and Lora knew that a few saw him as an unworthy usurper who needed to die so Toru 'Makhan's wishes could be fulfilled. While his own crew were trustworthy and bodyguards vigilant, it would only be a matter of time before an attempt was made on Lora's life unless an alternative path was provided. That path was Zetal 'Hudon.

Without Lora's knowledge at first, Zetal had quietly gathered up the dissenters and the battle-hungry and brought them aboard his starship, promising bloody retribution against their enemies to prevent a civil war from breaking out. Had Zetal not informed Lora of his intentions to lead this faction on its own private crusade, then he might have acted against the Fleet Master sooner.

"When will you leave?" Lora asked.

"Tomorrow, if all goes well. We know how to navigate the system better than the humans, and will escape before they can muster a force to pursue us."

"And after that? Where will you go?"

Zetal folded his arms, looking out into the endless, star-filled void. "There are other groups out there, all claiming to be the Covenant's true successors. Most are little more than fragmented warbands and nothing compared to our Imperium, but I know of a few that might be willing to accept us."

"Not Jul 'Mdama's faction, surely?" Lora chucked. Though his forces had fought valiantly alongside the Imperium, they had been just as quick to abandon them when the war turned against them. "They are already fighting a losing war against the humans."

"So I've heard." Zetal's tone lightened at Lora's good-natured jibe. "No, we will not seek out 'Mdama, but a force that has served it in the past. Have you heard of the True Vanguard?"

Lora blinked. "Regrettably, yes. They are madmen, brother."

"Precisely," Zetal nodded. "A coterie of fanatics who would see this galaxy purged of all races save the Sangheili. I can think of no group that despises humans more."

Now Zetal's plans seemed clear to Lora. While his departure from the Imperium was a necessary one to purge it of its own extremists and dissidents, he had assumed that they would join some remnant faction or even strike out on their own as raiders, far away from the Imperium's territory. Instead, Zetal wanted to lead them down a path of bloodshed and self-destruction. Calm as he seemed after his enraged outbursts at the war's close, within Zetal the naked flame of fury still burned brightly, even if Lora had been blind to it at first. Their mission was suicidal, and he knew it.

"Is this the path you intend to walk?" Lora asked, careful not to offend him.

Zetal looked away from the viewscreen, and turned to face Lora, looking tired but happy. "It is. For Nor, and all those who fell alongside him. I will not blame you for your choices, brother, but even if I understand them, I cannot accept them. The Imperium of Clarity and its future rests in your hands, Lora 'Deris."

For the first time, Lora found himself faltering. "It will be a difficult task to take on alone."

"Indeed," Zetal's eyes flitted towards the viewscreen, catching a glimpse of a human cruiser passing by. "But Toru 'Makhan managed it, and for all his talent he was destroyed by his own reckless ambition. You will do better."

With that, Zetal rapped his fist against his chest one more time as a parting salute, and walked out of the command room. Lora watched him leave, saying nothing. On his own once more, he turned his gaze towards the stars and his thoughts to the Imperium's future. As things stood they were bloodied and beaten, humiliated by defeat and the folly of their founder. Foreign warships now watched over the state, and a cadre of diplomats were en-route to discuss terms that would almost certainly not be in the Imperium's favour. A monumental task now lay before Lora 'Deris, who alone of the once-great High Command remained with the power to steer their nation out of the madness that had consumed it.

The days ahead would be hard, and the challenges of nation-building innumerable, but despite everything, Lora 'Deris had hope. Against all odds, the Imperium of Clarity had survived this ordeal. It would learn, it would grow, and in time, it would thrive once more.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

173: Debriefing

1031 Hours, September 18th, 2558 HIGHCOM Facility Bravo-6, Sydney, Earth

When the doors to the conference chamber slid open, Lin Zhi half-expected to be greeted by the the entire UNSC Security Council, ready to admonish and even dismiss her for her actions. Instead, she found herself before three familiar faces, seated side-by-side and conversing politely as she stepped through the threshold. Smoothing down the tunic of her grey uniform, Zhi waited until she had their full attention before proceeding.

"Admiral Zhi," Fleet Admiral Terrence Hood got to his feet and saluted her. "Please, take a seat and we'll begin."

Zhi did as asked, and gingerly sat down in a comfortable office chair across from the three officers. Aside from Hood, dressed in his usual white uniform, the other overseers in this meeting were Admiral Joseph Harris, head of the Fourth Fleet, and Major General Nicolas Strauss, who represented the UNSC Army on the Security Council. She had worked with both men before; Harris was one of the so-called 'baby admirals' whose preference for aggressive tactics had made them fast friends by the end of the Human-Covenant War, while Strauss had been responsible for providing the Sixth Fleet with several armoured companies that had helped with the retaking of Montak and Iradu's invasion. If HIGHCOM wanted her chewed out, then these weren't the officers they would have sent to do it.

"Now then." Hood glanced down at a datapad. "Based on your report, which has since been corroborated by Naval Intelligence, the Sixth Fleet and its allies engaged the enemy power known as the Imperium of Clarity over the course of several days, drove it from human territory and eliminated most of its leadership, leading to an unofficial armistice after a battle over their homeworld. Is that correct?"

Zhi nodded, her face a stoic mask. "That's a very brief summation, sir, but yes, that's correct."

A small smile crossed Hood's lined features. "Given the accounts written by yourself, Hawkins and Samson, I'd say that what you pulled off out there was nothing short of a miracle, Admiral." Both Strauss and Harris nodded in agreement. "Given what we now know about the Imperium's capabilities, the potential outcome of that conflict could have been a hundred times worse had they not been properly pacified in time."

"Especially after their attacks on Montak and New Syracuse," Harris spoke up. "If they hadn't been so committed to stopping you, they could've razed half a dozen colonies with much larger population centres before the Navy mustered a force to put them down."

Though flattered by the praise, Zhi felt the need to interject before anyone else chimed in. "If I might ask, what is the Imperium's current status? I know Fleet Master 'Ranak left forces behind to make sure they didn't pursue any further actions against us, but I've heard nothing since then."

"It's certainly an interesting situation," Hood said, steepling his fingers with a weary sigh. "Now that the government has stepped in, we're now beyond passing off everything to do with the Imperium as a purely military matter. The UEG's already dispatched a few diplomats to the Imperium's homeworld - under heavy guard, of course - but I think we're going to end up deferring to the Swords of Sanghelios on this one. It's a Sangheili-led government ruling a cluster of systems far outside our sphere of influence, so while the Imperium hasn't been dissolved, they'll have hell to pay from the Arbiter's forces if they try anything."

"What can we expect to gain from further diplomacy?" Zhi asked. "If the Swords of Sanghelios are keeping them in line, then it seems like a waste of resources to keep a presence out there."

"Aside from a need to project our power alongside the Swords? We'll likely keep some friendly faces out there to deter any fanatics from seeking revenge in a few years time. Unofficially, though? The Imperium has caches of Forerunner technology and they were more than willing to use it. ONI wants to keep an eye on them."

"I understand, sir." Seeing this line of inquiry closing, Zhi decided to switch topics. "So what about the Sixth Fleet?"

Hood looked towards Harris, who began to scroll through his datapad. "Sorry to state the obvious, but it's taken very heavy losses during your campaign. Given the estimated costs to repair and refurbish its remaining vessels, it looks like the Sixth will be out of commission for close to a month, and not back to full strength until well into next year at the earliest."

"We'll likely have ships out retrieving bodies and cleaning up debris for quite a while, too," said General Strauss. His tone was not unkind, but Zhi could tell that he wasn't happy with the casualties suffered by his men.

"On the topic of the Sixth Fleet," Hood looked to his subordinates in turn, then to Zhi, "I must applaud your efforts once more, Admiral. Given its composition and lack of heavy-hitters, it definitely punched well above its weight class in each battle. Had I known just how bad things would've gotten out there, I would have transferred more cruisers and carriers to the Sixth before you set out."

By the look in his eyes, Zhi could tell that this was not a hollow gesture. Like her, Hood had likely spent the past few weeks scrolling through casualty lists, memorising the names of ships and captains lost in battle and formulating a thousand ways things could have played out differently. Despite the sorrow and regret she felt over the number of deaths under her command, Zhi did not feel bitter towards her superiors for sending her against the Imperium unprepared and underequipped. After all, she'd been sent into worse situations during the Human-Covenant War and for flimsier reasons.

"Nobody could have predicted how things played out, sir." Zhi said respectfully. "Once news arrived that the Imperium had invaded New Syracuse, I made the decision for our fleet to press on. Even with all the complications we suffered, we won."

"Complications like Andrei Fosse?" Strauss folded his arms. "The entire NSRD's under investigation after what he did."

Zhi shifted uncomfortably in her seat at the very mention of her would-be assassin's name. With their ongoing campaign against the Imperium and the task of shepherding the Sixth Fleet back to Earth at the forefront of her mind, she had given surprisingly little thought to the attempt on her life. It was only after their return and her subsequent transfer to a military hospital two weeks ago that Zhi had had time to really think, and even then she had spent most of her time in bed compiling her report. Fosse had been an unpleasant little apparatchik who saw their entire campaign against the Imperium of Clarity as a means to acquire fame and prestige to further his career, but no one could have foreseen his sudden treachery.

"Has the investigation yielded any results?" Zhi asked.

"None," Strauss shook his head. "Or at least nothing I've heard of." He cast a sideways glance towards Hood and Harris.

Hood cleared his throat. "Based on the report I've seen, Commander Fosse's betrayal and subsequent attempt on your life were likely a result of coercion, forced or otherwise, by agents of the Imperium after his capture on New Syracuse. There's no evidence that he or anyone else at the NSRD was compromised prior to Montak's invasion."

"That's good to hear," Zhi said flatly, not wishing to discuss the situation further.

"On that matter." Hood's eyes met Zhi's. "How are you holding up personally, Admiral?"

Zhi's reply was quicker and sharper than intended. "Is this an evaluation of my psychological state, sir?

"Not at all." The Fleet Admiral held up both hands apologetically. "But considering what you've been through both physically and mentally in the past few weeks, I feel obliged to ask."

"I've got another medical checkup in three days," Zhi said calmly. "Though as far as my injuries go I've been told that I'll likely need no further operations."

While no doctor in the galaxy would condone Zhi getting back on her feet to coordinate an entire fleet less than three hours after taking several gunshot wounds at close range, she'd been lucky to have no serious medical complications since then. The Caspian's medical team had done a superb job in quickly performing the necessary surgery to save her life, with the only ill effects being occasional bouts of lightheadedness and exhaustion that she had staved off with a triple stim-pack dose by the time they arrived in the Voden System. While bed rest had been her primary prescription for the last few weeks, she was not a woman who liked being inactive. Hood knew this, but Zhi knew full well what was coming next.

"That's good to hear," Hood straightened up a little in his chair. "Even so, you're to stand down from your duties until the end of the month to fully recuperate."

So close to two weeks of doing nothing. It wasn't quite as bad as she thought, but Zhi didn't dare complain. "Understood, sir."

Hood nodded. "Now that that's out of the way, I think we should wrap this up." He swiped his datapad twice, then clasped his hands together. "Given your valiant efforts and overall success in pacifying the Imperium of Clarity, guaranteeing the safety of our colony worlds and preventing a larger war that could have claimed countless lives, it is the opinion of both myself and the rest of the UNSC Security Council that you receive not only the Colonial Cross, but an official promotion to the rank of Fleet Admiral as soon as the necessary arrangements can be made."

Zhi's response was instantaneous. "And my troops? I'm extremely grateful, sir, but after all they went through..."

"They won't go uncompensated," Hood said as Zhi trailed off. "It'll be a few weeks from now - early October, probably - but the plan is to hold an official ceremony to award those who fought against the Imperium and to commemorate those who did not return."

Strauss cleared his throat. "I've already got a shortlist of Army personnel to award based on my reports, including the late Colonel Brand, but naturally the final say is yours, Admiral."

"I'll have my own list sent to you as soon as possible then," Zhi clasped her hands together. "Though frankly, you're going to need a hell of a lot of medals."

Strauss chuckled, not noticing the complete lack of humour in her voice, Hood glanced at him for a moment, but said nothing as he gathered up his datapad and slowly got to his feet. Zhi, Harris and Strauss did the same.

"This concludes your debriefing, Admiral Zhi," Hood spoke formally, likely for the sake of some unseen recorder, before looking to his companions in turn. "Now, unless there are any further questions, gentlemen..."

"None from me," Harris said with a shrug. Strauss shook his head.

"All right." Hood looked satisfied. "Then I won't keep you any longer, Admiral. Rest up for now, and we'll discuss future plans when you return to your duties."

Zhi brought her hand up in a stiff, formal salute, then turned and exited the room without a word. As the conference room door slid shut soundlessly behind her, she finally exhaled, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her involvement in the 'Imperial War', as some had begun to call it, was officially over. As she walked along the black-tiled corridor at a leisurely pace, Zhi reflected on all that had happened since that day in the Strategic Response Centre in August, which now felt like a lifetime ago. Then, she had been almost eager to war, wanting nothing more than to take the fight to a group of alien invaders and score the victories she had been denied so many times in the Covenant War. A desire for glory and vengeance had fuelled her, kept hidden behind the iron mask of duty. Now the mask was all that remained.

Everything Hood had said - the praise, the promises of advancement and rewards - sounded hollow to Zhi now. She had pacified a tangible threat to mankind, true, but at a cost. Like many other officers, Zhi had witnessed death and destruction on an unprecedented scale during their war with the Covenant, but she had felt as though their efforts had been wasted. Lives were traded for time, ships and crew sacrificed for ultimate victory, and in the end the human race had emerged bloodied but unbeaten, and that had been enough for Zhi. This recent war had felt clumsy by comparison, and many costly mistakes had been made in the brief but bloody conflict. She would have to live with those failures.

As she neared a row of elevators, Zhi eyed a familiar figure exiting a side chamber. The man caught sight of her as she approached, and a smile crossed his prematurely lined face.

"Admiral Zhi!" John Hawkins saluted her at once, and Zhi returned the gesture. "I wasn't aware that you'd be here today."

"Likewise." Zhi nodded towards the elevators and the two walked side-by-side towards them. "I've just been debriefed on our conflict with the Imperium."

"By Hood?" Hawkins asked.

"Yes. Harris and Strauss were there too."

"Strauss?" Hawkins let out a low whistle. "He comment on the Army losses?"

Zhi tapped a button and waited for an elevator to descend. "Not directly, but I don't think he was particularly happy. Aside from that, HIGHCOM seems pleased with the work we did out there."

Hawkins frowned, looking a little uncomfortable. "A little too happy, I'd say. I've just come from my hearing."

Zhi's mouth fell open. "Your hearing?!" she exclaimed. "What for?"

"The nuclear strike on Bineb II." Hawkins' gaze dropped to the floor. "War or no, an entire city was vaporised on my orders."

"I've read your report." Zhi halted as the elevator arrived, and moved back to allow a pair of dark-suited ONI agents pass before she and Hawkins stepped inside. "And as far as I'm concerned it was a necessary action against a military target that broke the back of the Imperium's forces in that system and sparked an internal conflict within their empire. It may well have won us the war."

The elevator doors slid shut. Hawkins leaned against the back wall with a pained expression. "That's more or less what the officers at my hearing said, ma'am. An Unggoy city belonging to a hostile nation and teeming with potential combatants is considered a prime target in their eyes."

Zhi took a breath to calm herself; while she could handle accusations against her, the thought of one of her subordinates being brought up on charges made her blood boil. "Did someone report you?" she asked.

"Captain Aguirre, most likely." Hawkins smiled. "Not that I blame her for it. There might have been others, too."

"Your XO?" Zhi's voice grew cold. "She seemed like a competent officer."

"And she is, ma'am. Aguirre's principled, that's for sure, and would've made different choices had she been in charge, but like you said, firing that nuke might have won us the war. Besides, she did save my life when the Maya went down."

Sensing that he wanted to move the topic away from Aguirre, Zhi pointed towards Hawkins' chest. "How are your injuries?"

"Healing well, I'm told." Hawkins lightly patted the front of his grey tunic. "And yours, ma'am?"

"Much the same," Zhi said indifferently. "Hood's put me on medical leave until the end of the month, though."

"I've been told to take it easy as well," Hawkins folded his arms. "I'm sure that HIGHCOM's going to make a big deal out of our victory, though. Section Two's probably busy spinning up a good narrative about our campaign, too."

"We're all getting medals, at least."

Hawkins groaned. "With a full ceremony and promotions too, I'd imagine?"

Zhi nodded. "Until they've rebuilt the Sixth Fleet I'll probably be stuck working down here."

There was a long pause as she waited for Hawkins to reply. Instead, the grey-haired officer stared down at his boots, deep in thought. Having finally emerged from the subterranean depths of Bravo-6, the elevator slid to a halt and opened into the facility's spacious atrium. Zhi exited first, followed wordlessly by Hawkins. A gaggle of junior officers stepped aside and hastily saluted at their approach, and the two passed through the heavily-guarded entrance checkpoint without issue. Hawkins kept his silence until they were outside, greeted the cool air of the Australian winter.

"Sorry about that, ma'am." Hawkins said apologetically. "It's been a tiring day. May I ask you a question?"

Zhi indicated a nearby bench, and they sat down together "Shoot."

Hawkins took a deep breath before speaking. "I've been with the Navy for twenty-five years now, and until now I've not regretted a single order I've given. I've justified plenty of risky decisions, sure, but I know that what I did at Bineb will keep me up at night for the rest of my life. Sending in those Spartans - those kids - to kill all those people might've been the best decision in the long run, but it'll never be one that sits right with me."

"So what's your question?"

"Do you think I should take an early retirement?"

Zhi blinked. "Has someone suggested it to you?"

"No," Hawkins grinned. "Even the officers at my hearing spent most of it congratulating me on a job well done, and I'm sure that HIGHCOM's going to throw in a promotion to Vice Admiral on top of things."

Seeing the look on Hawkins' face, Zhi finally understood what was troubling him. "You don't think you deserve it after Bineb, do you?"

He sighed. "More or less, ma'am, which is why I wanted a second opinion. At the very least, I'm going to go for a more administrative role after all this. Losing the Maya in battle and not going down with the ship is a bit of an ill omen, too."

Zhi mulled this over for a few seconds before giving her answer. "You should stay on. For what it's worth, you're a superb officer, and none of us would've survived our conflict with the Imperium if it weren't for you."

"Is that your opinion as a member of the Navy, ma'am?" Hawkins asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Naturally." Zhi got to her feet. "But as a colleague, I'd say that it's a good thing you've got an active conscience. Between you and me, the Navy's full of people with hard heads and cold hearts, and it'd be a shame to lose someone who thinks past just getting the results."

Hawkins seemed genuinely taken aback by Zhi's words, but his smile remained. "That almost sounds sentimental, ma'am."

"That's because it is." She extended her hand for Hawkins to shake, and he rose and took it. "But I'll respect your choice in any event, Hawkins. Take care of yourself."

After shaking his hand, Lin Zhi turned and walked away, leaving Hawkins with his thoughts. He'll come around, she reassured herself as she walked along the concourse, taking the long way back to her quarters. Despite everything, she felt relaxed, even hopeful, for the first time in quite a while. It would take time for her to recover - longer than she'd like to admit, probably - but Zhi would survive. The war she'd spent most her life fighting had made her strong, and its gruesome resurgence in the form of the Imperium of Clarity had served to test her fortitude. Even so, Zhi could feel that the fire inside, one that had driven her to seek battle and vengeance against her alien foes, had gone out.

Whether it had been extinguished or merely quenched by the Imperial War was a question even she could not answer.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

174: Hero's Welcome

1947 Hours, September 19th, 2558 State of Ranak, Sanghelios, Urs System

In times past, the return of a victorious kaidon to his keep would have been a momentous occasion. Crowds would throng the street, cheering on their leader and his warriors and celebrating the memory of those who had not returned, and tales of their exploits would be told and recorded for all time, so that the names of those brave souls would echo loudly in the Hall of Eternity. It was an occasion that Felo 'Ranak had loved more than anything else, once, but as with everything else in life, the Great War's end had changed things.

Stood in the centre of the packed Phantom, his golden harness repaired and gleaming in the dim light of the dropship's troop bay, Felo opened his eyes as the bay doors slid open. Evening light flooded into the transport craft, dyeing the armour of the assembled warriors in reddish hues as they prepared to disembark. As per tradition, the crowd parted to let Felo disembark first, and the Fleet Master slowly ambled towards the precipice. A metre-long drop stood between him and the ground below; barely a hop for any Sangheili. Feeling the eyes of his comrades on him, Felo steeled himself for the worst as he stepped forward.

Felo regretted his decision instantly. A jolt of pain shot through his right leg like a lightning bolt, nearly causing him to lose his balance as he hit the dirt. Shifting most of his weight onto his other leg, Felo 'Ranak limped forward with as much dignity as he could muster. Ahead of him lay the township surrounding Ranak Keep, with the gates of his family's ancestral fortress at the end of a wide path. Dozens of citizens stood and watched the warriors as they joined their leader, forming an honour guard around Felo as he made his way forward. Though he had spent weeks recuperating after the Imperial War's end, the injuries Felo had sustained in his duel against Orro 'Hendai had left him with ailments that he would likely never recover from.

A small price to pay for victory, Felo thought, aware that his uneven gait was attracting whispers from the crowd.

A few cheers rang out over the evening air, carried by excited children that ran alongside the armoured procession. The warriors kept a steady pace, alert and ready for any sign of danger. After all, though they had defeated the Imperium, a civil war was still raging across their homeworld, and the State of Ranak had been a target for opposing factions before. A shadow fell over Felo's right shoulder, and he looked back to see the familiar Outrider's mask appearing at his side.

"We have already swept the town for threats," whispered Rora 'Marak as if reading Felo's thoughts. "Six of us arrived early to ensure that your return went without issue."

"And your findings?" Felo kept his voice low, leaning in slightly as the crowd grew more excited.

"A hireling from the Servants of the Abiding Truth intended to waylay you, though he was found and removed."

Felo nodded, though he found his eyes scanning the rooftops around them for any signs of movement. "How did you find him?"

"Foreigners tend to stand out," Rora said. "And there's precious little reason for anyone from as far away as Mdama to come here. He covered his tracks poorly, and put up little resistance when we sprung our trap."

"Did you kill him?" Felo asked.

"We did consider it, though I felt that it was a decision best left to you."

"Dispose of him," Felo spoke without hesitation. "And do so discreetly. I will not have panic spreading among my people."

"As you command." Rora placed two fingers to the side of his helmet and fell back by a pace to relay Felo's orders.

As Felo's party approached the keep's main gate, its ancient portcullis slowly rose to greet them. Carved from the hardy rock of these lands countless generations ago, Ranak Keep looked as though it had not changed much in a thousand years, with its battlements and watchtowers kept well-maintained by attentive workers. Beyond this exterior, however, lay reinforced walls of nanolaminate plating, concealed plasma turrets and at least a dozen hidden generators that could encase the entire keep in a shielded dome at a moment's notice. This was no byproduct of the recent civil war; in Felo's youth, their kaidon had foolishly sparked a conflict with several opposing clans that nearly saw an end to the House of 'Ranak, and though they had won thanks to Felo and his siblings, their clan had remained vigilant ever since.

"Seeing these old stones warms my hearts," Felo said aloud, addressing no one in particular. "It is good to be back."

Several members of his personal guard, all local men, responded affirmatively. Even to those living outside its high walls, the keep's presence was a comforting one. Beyond the portcullis stood seven figures, six of whom were keepwards clad in the white and red colours of House Ranak. The eighth wore a long grey tunic, with a pistol holstered openly around her belt. She and her companions dipped their heads respectfully at the kaidon's approach.

"Welcome home, husband," Tari 'Ranak greeted Felo, spreading her arms wide to welcome him. "Your return makes this keep whole once more."

It was not until Tari finished the formal greeting that she got a proper look at Felo, who had hobbled ahead of his guard with Rora only a few steps behind. Though his armour was back in pristine condition, there was no way for Felo to hide his limp, or the slight tightening of his mandibles as he fought against wincing with each step. True to her noble station as a kaidon's wife, Tari betrayed no emotion at the sight of this, and instead waited for Felo to reach her. They embraced, and Felo found himself sagging slightly as he wrapped his arms around her.

"You're hurt," Tari whispered softly.

Felo grunted. "We'll speak inside."

The two broke apart, and Felo turned slowly to face the warriors who had escorted him home. He raised a fist to his breastplate, and they did the same in unison. Felo's keepwards did the same a moment later, signalling that the kaidon was now in their care. With their duties fulfilled, the warriors exited the keep, now free men until the time came once more for war. Tari and Felo set off together towards the keep's main hall, their new guards quietly dispersing to a respectful distance. Rora, as ever, followed in Felo's wake.

The main hall of Ranak Keep was easily the largest room in the estate, high-ceilinged and lined with wooden tables and chairs on either side of the main thoroughfare. A single throne sat at the end of the hall, empty since Felo had departed to fight the Imperium. Behind it lay the House of 'Ranak's saga wall, a towering slab of dark rock chiselled from top to bottom with poetic stanzas recording great deeds carried out by clan members across countless generations. Felo's recent exploits would earn him a few more lines on the wall, though he was in no hurry to fetch the keep poet today. With Tari at his side, he strode the length of the room with increased speed, feeling a renewed sense of vigour that overcame the nagging pain in his right leg. As they approached the throne, Tari looked back at Rora, her eyes narrowing.

"Your dedication to my husband's protection is commendable, Outrider," she uttered Rora's pseudonym as though it were a curse. "But I ask that you respect our privacy and return to your duties, whatever they may be."

Seeing Rora hesitate for a moment, Felo lifted one hand to calm the situation. "He may stay for a moment, Tari. I have a request to make."

Tari gave Felo a quizzical look, but said nothing as he eased himself down onto his throne. From here, the kaidon had a good view of the entire room, and would hold court with the local peasantry when the need arose. Now Felo sat before a single unaware supplicant, looking very out of place in this ancient hall of wood and stone.

"Rora 'Marak," Felo's voice boomed across the empty chamber. "Remove your helmet."

"At once." Rora gave the slightest of bows, then did so, baring his face to Felo and Tari.

Despite having campaigned alongside the commando for some time, Felo had never quite gotten used to seeing the young man's face. As the Outrider, he carried the weight of his accomplishments wherever he went and was feared and respected in equal measure by those around him. Without the mask that defined him, he looked like any other youth. The key difference, of course, was experience. At his age, Felo had just been given his first command. Rora had won a war, and before that had seared his reputation across the stars. They had led tremendously different lives, but had come to trust and understand each other implicitly. Such devotion deserved reward.

"When I first found you, you were little more than a rabid animal." Felo saw Rora's mandibles tighten, and continued. "Against the wishes of my advisors I chose to spare your life and give you purpose as a warrior."

"I am no warrior," Rora muttered, his eyes downcast.

Felo nodded. "No, you were not. Even so, you proved yourself time and time again as one of my most loyal subordinates, were invaluable in ending our war with the Imperium, and saved my life on more than one occasion. I would say that your actions have made you more than equal to most honourable warriors I could name, Rora."

Rora blinked in shock, clearly unused to such praise. "Fleet Master, I am humbled by your compliments, but I chose to abandon the warrior's path long ago. My name will never sound across the Hall of Eternity, nor will I ever be able to atone for the mistakes I made early in life. My family..."

The commando trailed off, having wandered into a taboo subject. While to most his past was veiled in mystery and even the loyal Shadows of Retribution knew not to ply their leader with such questions, Felo knew all about the events that had transformed a promising young man into the twisted renegade known as the Outrider, having extracted the information from Rora himself during their first meeting. He had betrayed his family and allowed a massacre to occur within his home keep through carelessness, and had escaped to the stars with his hands drenched in the blood of his own kin, setting himself down the path of criminality. Most would have executed Rora upon hearing his tale, but the Great War had changed Felo, too. While he valued honour and tradition, he came to view mercy and forgiveness as virtues instead of weaknesses.

"The family you knew is gone," Felo said firmly. "And you are not the man you once were. It is for this reason that I now extend to you an invitation to join the House of 'Ranak."

Rora's mandibles hung open at this revelation, and Tari looked from her husband to the gobsmacked commando with a similarly surprised expression. Several seconds of silence passed, and the air grew heavy as Rora neglected to give a quick response. Eventually he swallowed, and exhaled slowly.

"You honour me." Rora bowed his head, choosing each word with extreme care. "I am and will always be in your debt, Kaidon."

"You have more than repaid any debts that you owe me" Felo said, "And I only ask that you consider my offer. I will hold no grudges should you refuse."

Rora raised his head, and his eyes met Felo's. "I will deliberate on your invitation until I am ready to give you an answer."

"Please do." Felo pressed his fist against his breastplate, and Rora did the same before turning to leave. He said nothing more, but there was something different in the way he carried himself as he walked out of the hall.

As he great doors slid shut behind Rora, Felo easer his posture and slumped backwards slightly on his throne. Tari approached him and held out a hand, which he took and held tightly.

"You have always been full of surprises," Tari spoke softly. "But give that man a position within our clan.. it's-"

"Unprecedented?" Felo finished the sentence.

"Exactly. I thought you considered him a useful tool and nothing more."

Felo craned his head back, looking up towards the arched ceiling. "I did. The Outrider was a savage beast, but one I knew I could control. Rora 'Marak is a changed man; loyal and noble, though he would never admit the latter."

Tari did not answer immediately. She had heard all about the Outrider's bloody origins from Felo and had known several of the victims in the 'Marak clan massacre seven years prior. Society showed little leniency towards those found guilty of betraying their kinfolk, and Tari had even advised that her husband dispose of Rora 'Marak once he was no longer useful. Even so, she had not gone to war, nor had she fought alongside the Outsider in battle.

"I trust your judgement," Tari said at last. "I may know nothing of the warrior's life, but as someone responsible for this household I will be keeping close watch over Rora 'Marak. Should I find that he is a threat, either to our lives or the lives of our children, then I will have him killed with or without your approval."

Felo gave her a long look, then closed his eyes and nodded, feeling very tired. "That is fair."

Tari tightened her grip on Felo's hand, and he opened his eyes. "Your injuries," she inquired, pointing at his right leg. "You've not told me how they came to pass."

"My apologies," Felo sighed. "I would like to say that they were the result of some misstep or careless action, but that would be a lie. I was defeated fairly and soundly, Tari, and it is only by sheer luck that I did not perish in battle."

With his spare hand, Felo traced a finger over the deep vertical slash that went down from his left shoulder, and then across part of his right leg. Beneath his golden armour and bodysuit, his skin was a mess of burnt flesh and surgical scars; a permanent reminder of his defeat at the hands of the late Orro 'Hendai. Though the first injury pained him on occasion and had stiffened his left side, it was the wound to his leg that was the most troublesome, and most visible. Though he had had little time to dwell on it while commanding from the bridge of a ship during their war with the Imperium, this wound rendered him unable to run for prolonged periods and ached often, shooting spikes of pure agony across Felo's body if aggravated. Though he had not voiced these thoughts aloud since the war's end, this much was clear: Felo 'Ranak's days as a warrior were over.

"Does it hurt?" Tari asked. From any other, such words would seem like mockery. From Tari, it was an earnest statement of worry.

"Sometimes," Felo let go of her hand, and slowly pushed himself out of the throne and to his feet. "I have been told that these injuries will heal with time, and that the pain will lessen. Even so, I will not be as I once was."

Understanding what her husband meant immediately, Tari moved in close and wrapped her arms around Felo, whose head drooped. For a moment his mandibles quivered, and he let out the formless breath of an unformed sentence. In his long life he had endured much hardship, from the local conflicts of his youth to the Great War and its faith-shattering conclusion, but Felo had pushed onwards, fighting for a hopeful but uncertain future. He had won yet another victory, yes, but had at long last come close to breaking in the process. Having given everything he had, Felo 'Ranak felt utterly exhausted, and the prospect of another fight felt less than appealing to him.

"You should rest." Tari's voice broke his reverie. "Take time out to recover."

"The war isn't over," Felo spoke half-heartedly, rooted to the spot. "The Arbiter-"

At the mention of that name, Tari's voice hardened. "The Arbiter has warriors enough to win this war without you, Felo, and you have given more than enough to the Swords of Sanghelios. Rest."

Her last word was less a piece of advice and more a direct order from a commander of much higher rank and status than the Swords' far-off leader. Though he was loathe to admit it, Tari was right. While Felo had relayed the outcome of the Imperial War to his superiors and ensured that the faction would not trouble them further, great gains had been made against their enemies here on Sanghelios. Jul 'Mdama's Covenant had incurred great losses in failed campaigns and was suffering from internal strife, leaving it with only a few major strongholds on the planet while its leader spent time outsystem. While he doubted that the civil strife would end any time soon, any major conflicts would be brought to a close soon enough with or without Felo's help.

"You are right," Felo said weakly. "Rest is what I need, if only for a short while."

With this admittance finally voiced, Felo's shoulders sagged a little. Though there would be no escaping the responsibility of his position and everything else that came with it, the Kaidon of 'Ranak could at last seek a brief respite from his lifelong battle. Injured though he was in body and mind, Felo's resolve remained as strong as it had ever been. He would wear the scars of the Imperial War proudly, knowing that perhaps it was this conflict that truly changed him. Safe and secure, surrounded by allies, Felo would allow history to play out without him, if only for a little while.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

175: Promises

0909 Hours, September 20th, 2558 Hend keep, Sanghelios, Urs System

As he made his way up the dirt path towards the dilapidated fort, Hunya Tal could feel eyes on him. Tucked away in a rural region of Vaardma, the township of Hend had been difficult to find even with the guides he had hired. Weighed down by his bulky methane tank and the sizeable bag strapped to its side, Hunya made slow progress as the path began to slope upwards. Sangheili peasants in ragged tunics had begun to gather in doorways, muttering indistinctly at the sight of such an unusual visitor. Though they kept their distance and maintained a curious disposition for now, the Unggoy kept his plasma pistol clamped to his belt for easy access.

I've not come all this way to get kicked around, Hunya thought as he saw a few villagers looking his way, no doubt wondering whether or not to approach him. No, no, need to avoid fights. Especially here.

Having lost their beloved leader on Frendhal, the few survivors of Orro 'Hendai's legion had followed the rest of the Imperium's fleet back to Iradu aboard the Blissful Solitude, though their numbers depleted and badly-damaged vessel kept them from any of the fighting. Stuck in a support role, Hunya had stood alongside Shipmaster T'Kol and watched as the Imperium of Clarity suffered its final defeat. Many on the ship wanted nothing more than to keep fighting, but were held in check by a few level heads and some very explicit threats from Fleet Master 'Deris's flagship in the battle's aftermath, leading to several days of bubbling anger and resentment from warriors ordered to stay put within their vessel until further orders arrived.

It was during this period of confusion that the first fingers of blame were pointed, largely towards the Blissful Solitude's command staff for following the Fleet Master's instructions, or to Hunya, whom some blamed unfairly for Orro 'Hendai's death. Though his position as Orro's equerry had afforded him a position of power among the legion, Hunya found himself with few friends aboard the ship. Orders soon trickled in - some from Lora 'Deris, and others secretly from Fleet Master Zetal 'Hudon - offering those on board new placements within either the Imperium's reformed military or 'Hudon's faction, which sought to depart and continue fighting against their foes. Rather than go their separate ways, however, the two factions chose to fight over the carrier, with one group wishing to offer it to Zetal 'Hudon while the others wanted it to remain with the Imperium.

Caught up in this brief but bloody conflict, Hunya found protection in a group of loyalists under Shipmaster T'Kol. Having lost the bridge in a surprise attack, T'Kol and his men fought valiantly as they escorted the equerry to a hangar bay, where he boarded a Ren utility shuttle and escaped the Solitude unharmed. Hunya had no clue as to what became of T'Kol and the loyalists, though he doubted that they still lived. With scant supplies, he made for the trading port of Yassa in the Yain system, which had been mercifully spared by the war, and used what little money and influence he still possessed to stock up for his long trip to Sanghelios.

Now, Hunya stood on the ground of his dear friend's homeworld, carrying only one thing of true value on his person: the life story of Orro 'Hendai.

Cresting the hill and still feigning ignorance of the growing crowd some ways behind him, Hunya found himself before a gatehouse of weathered sandstone, its entranceway barred by a gate of burnished metal. A single guardsman in a cheaply-made harness spotted the Unggoy at once, blinked in surprise, and picked up his carbine, which had been left leaning by a wall.

"Who approaches!" The guard challenged Hunya as he ambled forward. He was young, and not particularly threatening to the likes of Hunya.

"I am Hunya Tal," the Unggoy raised his bulky arms up to show he posed no threat. "I have come seeking the elders of the Hend clan."

"For what purpose?" The guardsman demanded, though he sounded more curious than intimidating. "No Unggoy live here. Are you some other clan's servant?"

Hunya hesitated for a moment, wondering if he could entrust the package he carried to a lowly gate guard. "No, but I carry with me an item of great importance to this clan, entrusted to me by one of its members to deliver to its elders."

The guard paused, not entirely convinced by Hunya's statement. On one hand, the appearance of a stranger - an Unggoy, no less - demanding entry to their keep was something to meet with natural suspicion, while on the other he could not risk turning Hunya away if he was being truthful. Before he could answer, a loud clanking noise sounded from behind the gate, and the great metal doors slowly swung open, grinding against the dirt. Behind them stood two more guards, flanking an elderly female in long, sweeping robes. The gate guard snapped to attention at once, and the woman fixed Hunya with an appraising stare.

"We seldom entertain visitors," the woman said, clasping her hands together as she stepped forward, eyes narrowed. Hunya could not tell if it was a look of curiosity or disgust. "What brings an Unggoy to my lands?"

Hunya cleared his throat, sucking in a little more methane from his tank before sinking into a low bow, his knuckles scraping the dirt. "I am Hunya Tal, my lady. I worked in the service of Orro 'Hendai, a member of your clan, and have come to deliver a record of his deeds to his family."

Judging by the looks exchanged by the noblewoman's guards at the mention of Orro's name, he was a figure of some fame in these parts. The woman nodded, and wordlessly beckoned for Hunya to follow as she turned back towards their ramshackle keep. Hunya followed, keeping a respectful distance as he passed through the gates behind her.

Compared to the palatial residences of the Imperium of Clarity's leaders, the main structure of Hend keep was practically a peasant's hovel. Built of the same sandy stone that comprised its outer walls, the keep was built into the side of a rocky hillock, with a single entrance visible from the barren courtyard. While he had almost gotten used to the luxury of living within the Imperium, Hunya could see Orro being right at home in such an environment. Several practice dummies hung from chains by one wall, weathered with the marks of decades of blunt strikes. As they passed by, Hunya recalled a similar setup in his friend's private quarters back aboard the Blissful Solitude.

"You should feel honoured," the noblewoman spoke as her guards opened the wooden keep doors before her. "You may very well be the first non-Sangheili to set foot within our keep."

"I appreciate your gracious hospitality." Hunya bowed his head respectfully as they passed through the threshold.

They passed through an antechamber, attracting stares from a few passers-by, and proceeded into an empty muster hall, packed with rows of wooden tables. At one end, raised atop a small dais, was a kaidon's throne. Unlike the rest of the furniture, it was carved from rock. Halfway through the room, the noblewoman turned back to Hunya, towering over the diminutive Unggoy.

"I am Rahla 'Hend, messenger. Orro 'Hendai was my nephew. What news do you bring of him?"

Though he had journeyed far and had prepared for this moment mentally for some time, Hunya could not find the right words straight away. He swallowed, trying his best not to wilt under Rahla's intense gaze, and gathered his thoughts quickly before responding.

"Orro 'Hendai is dead, my lady. He fell in battle, as proud as any warrior could be, and bade that I deliver this account of his life back to Sanghelios."

Hunya unclipped a hardened case attached to the side of his methane tank and held it out before Rahla, who took it in both hands. The noblewoman turned it over once and opened the case. Inside were two journals, bound in 'sKelln hide next to four tiny data modules. Her orange eyes turned away from this collection and back towards Hunya.

"Orro has not been with us for many cycles," her tone grew cold. "He was a man too concerned with matters of faith and violence to put much thought towards his family. Many assumed him dead already."

"My apologies for bringing you any grief," said Hunya. "But he was a dear friend to me, and I promised that I would carry out his final command."

Rahla's mandibles quivered slightly as she plucked the journals from the box. Opening one, she scanned through a few pages at random, reading a few lines written in neat Sangheili script.

"He did not write this." she spoke at last.

Hunya nodded. "No, my lady. I did."

"Why?" Rahla placed the journals back in their case, and set it down on the table. "You were his scribe, yes?"

"Yes," Hunya answered before thinking, then shook his head. "Well, not in the traditional sense. I was a thrall in service to a pirate group when Orro found me, and I offered my services to him as a historian after his warriors killed my former masters. His legion had many fighters, but no one to document their story. I asked Orro if he would permit me to record his actions in life so that his legacy as a warrior could be preserved, and he accepted."

To his surprise, Rahla threw back her head and laughed. "What vanity!" she exclaimed. "Orro was always susceptible to flattery, and it seems that even you were able to worm your way into his good graces, Hunya Tal. I applaud you for that."

Though he was unsure if he was being mocked, Hunya could tell that Rahla saw through his initial intentions at once. Indeed, he had only approached Orro with such an offer to attain a position of privilege away from the battlefield, but it had grown into something more than that.

"You are correct, my lady." Hunya sucked in another lungful of methane. "But whatever my reasons at first, Orro and I did become friends over time, and my work in recording his life soon became my life's purpose. As his equerry, I accompanied him to many battles, including his last, and it is only by the grace of Orro 'Hendai's compassion that I stand before you today."

Hunya's voice had grown stronger as he spoke, taking on a near-accusatory tone in the face of Rahla's scepticism. Other nobles might have taken offence to such an act of defiance, especially when it came from an Unggoy of all creatures, but Rahla seemed to appreciate his candour. To great shock, she even bowed before him.

"My apologies if I have offended you, Hunya Tal." Rahla said, closing the case she had been gifted. "Your story appeared outlandish at first, but I will not question its truthfulness in the face of such conviction."

"I understand." Hunya glanced around the empty hall. "Might I ask what you intend to do with these records?"

Rahla extended a hand and pointed past Hunya, to a stretch of wall behind him. Unlike the rest of the room, which had been built from sandstone and later embellished with imported metals and wood, this was a carved rectangle of black rock, inlaid with line after line of inscriptions in golden lettering. Peering up at it, Hunya caught a few words he recognised, though much of it was from an archaic and unfamiliar form of writing.

"This is our saga wall." a shadow fell over Hunya as Rahla walked past him. "Every great deed of the Hend clan is written here, starting with its founders many centuries ago."

Hunya had heard of saga walls in his conversations with Orro, but had never seen one in person. His old friend had told long tales of the artistry that went into such creations, and how the greatest poets and scholars would be commissioned from across Sanghelios to add stanzas recounting the triumphs of individual Sangheili throughout the ages. Though he had tales aplenty of the marvelous and storied walls of the Houses of 'Vadam 'Sroam and 'Hilot, Orro rarely spoke of his own family, and Hunya could see why.

While the wall had been set in place generations ago by clan 'Hend's founders with plenty of space for their descendants, over half of the wall remained empty. As he paced along the saga wall's base, Hunya saw that the last records kept were of a 'Davu 'Hendee', who died honourably in battle against the humans over a decade ago. Of Orro, very little had been added. Hunya glanced up to find Rahla looking down at him, no doubt wondering if he pitied their unremarkable House.

"It certainly is remarkable," Hunya squeaked, and chanced a joke. "But I wonder if all of Orro's deeds will fit on such a small wall."

Rahla's eyes widened for a moment, then she let out a wheezy cackle. "Perhaps, Hunya Tal," she said after clearing her throat. "And if all that you have recorded of my nephew is true, our scribes and poets will have quite the task ahead of them in composing his life into verse."

"You can trust my every word, my lady." Hunya pointed towards the case. "I spent my journey here transcribing my journals into data modules, should anything have happened to them. They should be preserved."

The noblewoman did not reply at once, and instead held the case tight against her side. A long silence fell between them as her eves roved over the saga wall before returning to Hunya, who in the completion of his mission was starting to feel very awkward.

"What do you intend to do now, Hunya Tal?" Rahla asked politely. "Do you have a home to return to? Family."

In truth, Hunya had put little thought into the aftermath of this mission. He had spent his entire life attached to one group or another, living day-to-day and seeing where the galaxy took him, that the prospect of being entirely in command of his own fate was more than a little terrifying. His homeworld of Balaho seemed so very far away, and having left it as a child he doubted he would feel at home there. The Imperium, meanwhile, would likely be less than welcoming towards the equerry of one of its former leaders, especially now that the Swords of Sanghelios were watching over it.

"None," Hunya spoke plainly, though it seemed to be the answer Rahla was expecting.

"In that case, as Scion of the House of 'Hend am willing to welcome you into our household as an honoured guest. Though Orro 'Hendai did not return to us in body, you have brought him back to us in spirit, and for that I am eternally grateful."

Though his knowledge of traditional Sangheili culture was admittedly lacking, Hunya knew that this was not an offer to be taken lightly. As an outsider - an alien - within this remote and impoverished community he would be an object of discussion for some time, especially to those used to treating his kind poorly. Provisions would have to be made for him, namely the importation of methane-producing apparatus before his limited supply ran dry, and Hunya couldn't help but wonder what he could do within the keep once the task of adding Orro's life to the saga wall was complete. Question after question ran through his head, accompanied by a whole host of doubts that made him hesitate, fully aware that Rahla was awaiting an answer. Eventually, he posed himself a single question: What would 'Orro do?

Hunya bowed. "Thank you, my lady. I accept."

He'd follow his heart.

Brief though it was, the Imperial War left scars that cut deep for many on both sides. For those who fought on the losing side, the future was uncertain and the shame of defeat all-encompassing, but these were feelings that could not last. Some fled, seeking battle and vengeance elsewhere, while others rebuilt their old lives or created new ones. For Hunya 'Tal, former equerry to Field Marshal Orro 'Hendai, closure and peace came to him within a rundown keep in a remote portion of Sanghelios, tucked away from the worries of the wider galaxy and far away from a life of war. It was not perfect, but it was peace all the same.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

176

0102, September 2nd, 2558 Iradu, Capital city

Elena jerked upright in her seat, blinking away the fog of a few hours' sleep punctured by the beeping of an alarm. Looking around the cockpit, it took her a moment to remember where she was—her memories scrambled from the sudden jolt awake—and then a few moments more to realize someone else was talking to her.

"Ma'am, you told me to wake you when the coast was clear to depart or if the fighting got too heavy for it to be safe to remain."

Alexios. Her AI. Right. And she was on the Burya, hidden away in a hangar, in the middle of a warzone with AA that had been too thick to risk pushing through if she could help it. Elena yawned and rubbed her eyes before responding.

"Right... And which situation are we in now?"

"The former, ma'am. I've been monitoring what public broadcasts I could, as you asked. It seems the war has concluded in the past hour."

"Concluded? That was fast... Any idea how that happened?"

"Negative, ma'am."

"S'ppose it doesn't matter..." Elena sat up straighter in her chair, looking out the cockpit at a closed hangar door. "Get us in touch with the spaceport controllers if they're still around. Don't need to be causing too much trouble if I can help it."

"Working on it."

"You do that." In the meantime, Elena stood up, "I'm gonna get myself some coffee."

Climbing down the ladder to the second deck, she headed into the kitchen at the front of the ship. The brief moments of trickling water as she waited for her coffee to finish brewing saw her closing her eyes and rubbing at them, softly transitioning into a sigh as her hands ran back through her hair. It wasn't until the coffee was ready that she opened them again, holding the cup up to her lips to blow gently across the top as she leaned back against the counter. Just about to take a sip, she was interrupted by Alexios.

"We have spaceport control ready for you, ma'am."

Elena groaned, before standing up straight and heading for the front ladder. "Thank you, Alexios. Patch it in to the observation lounge holotank."

Carefully holding her coffee, she climbed down to the level below. Hopping off the ladder with a few rungs left, she took a sip of her coffee and leaned on the holotank in the center of the deck, tapping a few buttons to pull up a connection with the spaceport control center. The staticky form of a Yonhet appeared, its language piping in over the translators on the comms line.

"Your Construct told me you are looking for departure... Burya?" Elena couldn't help but chuckle as the alien seemed to struggle with the pronunciation of her ship's name.

"Yeah, that's right. Got stuck here when the UNSC showed up, and now I'd rather get away from all the mess."

"You must understand that said mess is affecting us as well. Frankly, I was surprised to hear from any of the ships we have registered as landed here. It was our belief that they were all either destroyed or—as of the fighting—lacking any living owner."

"Well, here I am. My ship's intact, and I'm alive. I still want to leave. What do you need me to do before you open the door?"

"I'm... not sure I should really be letting anyone leave at the moment, ma'am. Our systems are having a bit of trouble keeping up with the casualties and chaos following the battle."

"I'm sure they are. I'm also sure that I'm willing to blow this damn door open to get out of here if I have to, but I'd rather play nice. I landed here, was processed, and passed through customs and everything else. Now I want to leave. Surely you can do something about that."

"Did you just... threaten to... use explosives on the hangar door? Ma'am, things are a mess, but we still have police forces, and even if you got past them, we have ships still in orbit."

Elena grimaced, her hand curling into a fist on the holotable. "I understand that. I also understand that you're holding me here against my will, and if you stop doing so, I won't give the police or your navy any reason to get involved. Now. I'll ask you again. What do I need to do for you to be allowed to get out of here?"

"Just..." The Yonhet seemed a bit anxious, scrambling around, "give me a moment, ma'am. I'll see what I can do..."

Elena stood back up straighter, relaxing slightly, sipping her coffee. "Sure thing."

A few more moments passed before Elena saw the Yonhet appear on the holotank again to start speaking. "Okay, ma'am. I've managed to confirm your identity, and I've spoken with my superiors. We're willing to let you depart immediately. We'll send vectors to your construct and open the door."

Elena smirked, sipping her coffee. "Thank you very much. I'm glad we could come to an agreement."

"Just... Don't come b..." Elena shut down the comms line before the Yonhet could finish speaking, finishing off her coffee and setting the cup in the dishwasher before she moved to head back up to the cockpit. She couldn't help muttering to herself. "Yeah, whatever. Wasn't planning on it."

By the time Elena had settled back into her chair in the cockpit, the hangar doors had opened up and Alexios reported in on the vectors.

"We have departure vectors, ma'am. They check out. A quick ascent out of the atmosphere and then a straight shot to the edge of the system."

"Then let's get going." Elena strapped herself in for the launch. "Once we reach the end of the departure route, divert us to the departing UNSC fleet. We were promised extra credits for actionable information."

"Aye, ma'am."

---

0217, September 2nd, 2558 Burya, UNSC-Swords of Sangheilios Battlegroup, Voden System Edge

Elena found herself standing in the Burya's lounge for the second time in the past hour, waiting for her call to the UNSC flagship to come through on the holotable. She'd managed to link up with the Sixth Fleet before all of its ships left the system and had spoken with a representative of the Fleet to identify herself and forward her request to speak to the current ONI representative, but it was taking quite a while to hear back.

Alexios had made several attempts to assure her that she'd be paid the rest of what she was owed, but after a few minutes of watching ship after ship slip away from the system, she'd gotten impatient and muted the AI. He wasn't even one of the ones who was meant to be more human-like, and it showed with his utter refusal to drop the Greek Spartan act. Now all she had left to do was keep waiting, so wait she did, as yet another ship departed the system.

"What the hell is taking them s..." Halfway through speaking, the holotank beeped as a hail came in. "Finally."

Elena stepped forward and accepted the message. In front of her, the face of the same young servicewoman she spoke with earlier coalesced into view.

"Well? You got someone I can speak to?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm afraid all of our ONI representatives have departed the system. There is no one here who can authorize payment to you. We've not even got it registered in our systems."

"Well, then what the hell do you expect me to do?"

"The best I can do is to suggest you head to the Montak system. Meet up with Anchor 15. Last I knew, Commander Rettinger was still there. He might be able to sort you out."

Elena sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, before nodding and looking up. "Yeah, right... I'll do that. If I'm free to go?"

"You're free to go, ma'am. I'll send out the departure authorization through the fleet. Make sure no one shoots you."

"Yeah..." the comms went dead, "...thanks." Seems it was her turn to be hung up on.

---

1437, September 4th, 2558 Burya, Near Anchor 15, Montak Orbit

Elena rubbed at her eyes and yawned as she waited for her coffee to finish brewing. The Burya had run into some slipspace disturbance on the way back to Montak, knocking them nearly a day behind schedule, and it turned out to be Alexios's rather rough deceleration back into realspace that woke her from her most recent nap. If Elena had learned anything over the past weeks, it was that she did not do well with abruptly being awoken. Picking up the coffee as it finished, she blew over the surface as she made her way down the ladder into the observation lounge.

"Alexios. Get us in contact with Anchor 15."

"I'm already in the process, ma'am. You told me to do so as soon as we arrived in the system before we departed."

"That was two days ago."

"I may be a Spartan, ma'am, but I'm also a computer. I have a perfect memory."

"Well, you're certainly one of those things. Anyway. Have they gotten back to us?"

"They seem to be dealing with a refugee processing procedure. We're being asked to wait for a free moment."

"Right. More waiting." Elena sipped her coffee. "Patch it through to the holotable as soon as they contact us, and shut up in the meanwhile, otherwise."

"Of course, ma'am. I'll return to my training."

"You're not a Spartan!" Elena groaned, knowing her protests wouldn't do much to change how Alexios acted, but still feeling some silly little obligation to try. He couldn't have changed if he wanted to, and he wasn't even capable of wanting to.

It was about twenty more minutes before it finally came to her turn to speak with the representative on the other side of the station. A rather tired-looking man appeared on her holotank, five-o'clock shadow visible on his face serving as a second indicator he'd been up for quite some time, probably dealing with that refugee crisis.

"What can I do for you, Miss..?"

"Zaytseva. Elena Zaytseva. I'm looking to get in touch with ONI about a job they hired me for. Was told to head back here to speak with a..." Elena checked the name she had typed down on her datapad, "Commander Rettinger?"

"Right... I'll see what I can do. He's rather busy with this."

"Well, I'm just here to wrap up an agreement I had with one of his Admirals, a few days ago. Surely it'd go by quite quickly." She smiled, then rolled her eyes as the comm channel closed, leaving her in the quiet of her lounge again, alone with her thoughts to wait. "Damn military bureaucracy."

Another twenty or so minutes passed, until, eventually, a new comm notification blipped across the holotank. Rubbing her eyes a few times, Elena walked over from the large observation viewport to the comms system, accepting the call.

The man who answered was tall. Or at least the holotank made him seem tall. Elena could tell he was ONI: through his uniform, sure, but also through the way he carried himself. Or maybe it was just the uniform and she was projecting? Either way, that—plus the Commander's insignia he wore—told her he was the one she was looking for.

"Commander Rettinger?"

"That's right. Miss Zaytseva, I presume? I heard you wanted to speak with me. Make this quick."

"Yeah. Your boss promised me a bonus once the information I provided him turned out to be actionable? Well, it certainly led to plenty of action."

"Is that so?"

"Certainly is, Commander. You hear of Iradu? I'm the one that led you guys to it. So..."

"I wasn't informed we relied on any mercenaries to do our job for us."

"Well! And here I thought ONI knew everything." Elena smirked. "Look, I'll send you the receipt before, and I'm just asking for... let's say another third on top of it. I had asked for double what was first offered, he said half-again as much with room for the bonus. So here's the room for the bonus."

Tapping at her console, Elena sent over the transaction data from earlier, letting Rettinger review it. She saw his holographic projection glance down at what she presumed was a console of his own. Whether he was actually reviewing the earlier transfer, or if he was just trying to play her, it took the ONI officer damn near three minutes of reading before he spoke again.

"I can give you another quarter of this, Miss Zaytseva."

"Bargaining? I can go all day. But I hear you're on a time crunch." Elena smirked at the reaction she got from that. The briefest look of frustration from the Commander, followed by a few seconds of eye-locked silence. Rettinger broke first, a quick glance over his shoulder hinting that he had heard something else that needed his attention.

"Fine. Another third..." Commander Rettinger tapped at something beneath what was captured by the holocomms. "Check your account."

Elena put on a cloying smile as she picked up her datapad, reading the newest credit transfer log in her bank. "Ah! There we are. Thanks!" She chuckled. "I'm really going to need to get whatever system you use to make the transfers so quick."

"It's not publically available, ma'am. Now, if there's nothing else, I've got a station full of scared refugees to handle?"

Elena tilted her head, holding a finger to her lip in mock thought, before rolling her eyes. "No, that'll be all, Commander. You can go back to..."

The comms cut off.

"...playing hero... Damn. No one ever lets me get the zinger in."

Rolling her eyes once more, Elena stretched, heading back up to the cockpit.

"Well, Alexios. Let's get out of here."

---

2349, September 4th, 2558 Burya, Slipspace

Elena sat in the cockpit of her ship, looking out into the black nothingness of slipspace in front of her. It was quiet. Not just the noise in the air, but in her head, as well. The past week and a half had been brief moments of conflict and noise interspersed with long, stressful waiting periods, but it was all over now. She had survived the fight, and gotten a bigger paycheck than she ever could have anticipated. But still, she wasn't sure she liked what she'd just been through.

Not the fighting, of course. Elena was used to that. But how angry she had been the whole time. How on-edge. How demanding. Even in the face of an ONI Admiral, she'd put on some smug, self-assured attitude. Hell, looking back on it, Elena realized she'd been that way with other people ever since she'd been thawed out the previous year. It was hard to remember, but had she been like that before she'd frozen herself?

Damn. That hit Elena hard. She couldn't even remember what she'd been like before the thaw. Before she'd learned that she'd been frozen through a genocidal war with an alien hegemony. A war which had seen her home destroyed. Her home...

She'd not been back home since being thawed. She knew it was a glassland, these days, and she used that to justify staying away. Nothing for her to see there, right? But maybe that was just a defense mechanism. Maybe she needed to confront what she already knew? See it for herself. Confront her past and figure out what it all meant, and what kind of person she was.

Elena sighed, closing her eyes. "Alexios?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Change our course. Let's head to Biko."

Timothy Emeigh

177: Alone

1217 Hours, October 3rd, 2558 Cairo Station, Earth Orbit, Sol System

"Captain Ruskin, for your feats of bravery and devotion in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, I award you the Legion of Honour. Wear it with pride as one of the Air Force's best."

Erika stood to attention as Fleet Admiral Hood affixed the blue and white medal to the front of her dress uniform, placing it beneath the three rows of service ribbons on her left side. Her eyes met his for a second, and Hood nodded politely before moving to the next recipient. Exhaling slowly through her nose, Erika kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, praying silently for this to all end soon.

Since the Imperial War's end, the past few weeks had flown by for Erika and her comrades. The surviving ships of the Sixth Fleet had limped their way back to Earth, where they were quickly picked up by a surprised Home Fleet and ordered to hold their position near Luna. As it turned out, their campaign against the Imperium had not been widely advertised, and after close to a day stuck aboard the Caspian Erika and the rest of the crew were ferried down to a military base in Australia to recover from the past week's events. This period of recuperation was a welcome one at first, giving her and many others time to fully come to terms with the losses they had incurred on their bloody sojourn into the Imperium's territory, but as days turned to weeks with no news or further orders Erika had begun to feel trapped, and it was not until the Sixth Fleet's grounded personnel came close to rioting that a HIGHCOM representative greeted them with news of a ceremony to commemorate their recent victory.

This is such bullshit, Erika glanced down the long line of officers, each being presented with a medal from the Chief of Naval Operations. We go out there to fight and die by the thousands, and then ONI decides to use us for this propaganda event.

Though she did not know it, Erika's assumption was entirely correct. Beneath the reinforced glass enclosure of Cairo Station's spacious bridge, a small crowd of photographers and journalists had gathered opposite the Imperial War's survivors, who had been placed in a long row in order of precedence. Admiral Zhi stood far to her left, alongside Samson, Hawkins and the fleet's remaining ship captains, while at the end of the line to Erika's right a group of civilians in formal attire waited anxiously to collect awards given posthumously to their relatives. A few drone cameras drifted above, recording every second of this ceremony. Within a few hours, footage of the heroes of the Imperial War would be cut up and broadcast across the colonies, telling the inspiring tale of their success against an alien power.

Minutes ticked by as Hood, accompanied by a junior officer holding a case of medals, made his way through the recipients. The room remained quiet, held beneath a shroud of quiet reverence with only the Fleet Admiral's voice punctuating the silence. It was not until he reached the second-to-last person - a middle-aged civilian woman in a long, dark dress - that a sob finally echoed across the chamber. Erika and several others looked to see Hood, one hand outstretched holding the prestigious Silver Star, before the woman, who had buried her face in her hands at the sight of the medal. Though a few officers exchanged curious glances, Hood waited calmly for her racking sobs to subside, and offered a few quiet words to the grieving woman. After a long moment of strained silence, she took the medal and nodded, stepping back into line with mascara-streaked tears still running down her face.

Though some would admonish a civilian for such an outburst, Erika and her fellows knew better than most that she had simply let out the feelings of pain and loss that they all felt inside. Almost everyone here had lost a close friend or comrade, and only ingrained military discipline kept their emotions in check at a time line this. Despite the weeks of inactivity since their return, Erika hadn't had time to grieve for the 83rd, who had been reduced to a sole survivor after their desperate raid on the Watchful Custodian. She'd trained most of the pilots herself, and as her own mentor had once told her, to return home alone as a wing commander was one of the worst shames one could endure.

And endure she had.

At long last, the ceremony began to wrap up. Erika straightened up and kept her eyes facing forwards as Hood returned to his podium at the front of the room, where he delivered a long and passionate speech about honouring the dead and the sacrifices made by those who volunteered to defend mankind. It was certainly very touching, and made for wonderful news footage if the cluster of cameras floating in front of him were any indication, but Erika barely paid attention to any of it.

Her thoughts remained with Rodney, Aizawa, Lintz and everyone else who hadn't come back. A little over a month ago she'd been thrilled to join the Sixth Fleet, even if it meant playing second fiddle to the Navy and its own pilots. Now she couldn't wait to be back aboard the Peacemaker, which kept itself docked in an orbital station over Europa when not out on patrol. Despite all she'd seen in the war against the Covenant, Erika had almost looked forward to fighting a proper war again after years of dealing with military holdouts and pirate groups. Perhaps it was simply the thrill of deployment, and a desire to seek out the adrenaline high of an intense dogfight she'd not felt in years, but she'd wanted action all the same. Only now, standing here with nothing but a medal and bad dreams to show for it, had Erika finally gotten tired of it all.

With Hood's speech finished and the circling vultures of the media finally ushered out of the room, Erika found herself free to leave. Most of the civilians had already done so, returning to their homes and lives with nothing but a piece of metal to remind them that their loved ones had made the ultimate sacrifice. Thousands more families, mainly those related to low-ranking personnel, hadn't been invited, and were left with letters printed en-masse and dispatched by an AI. Erika's own family had contacted her at once, relieved beyond belief that she'd come back safe, but even their words rang hollow in the pilot's mind; platitudes from those so far away in more ways than one. She'd been lauded as a hero, her story already making its way to the headlines, but beyond that she had nothing.

When refreshments were wheeled in for the attendees, Erika finally made a break for the exit. Most of the Navy officers were clustered around Zhi and Hood, eager to rub shoulders with two members of the Admiralty, while Hawkins and Samson stood apart from the crowd and conversed in low voices, the latter shooting a surreptitious glance towards Zhi. A perk of being part of the Air Force, as Erika had come to realise and accept over the course of the last few years, was that they weren't a branch that many people noticed, and while she'd be eager to trade barbs with uppity swabbies any other day, right now escape was the only thing on her mind. With the crowd distracted by food, drinks and inane, overly-formal conversation, Erika quickly left the bridge. As she slipped through the doors she thought she heard someone calling her name, but kept going.

***

Getting a shuttle proved to be a surprisingly easy endeavour. While the attendees were expected to leave in groups, barring the members of the Admiralty who had their own transport craft, Erika had terrified a young pilot into taking her back to Earth with a few not-so-subtle threats and amble flashing of her newly-acquired Legion of Honour medal. As it turned out, being an official war hero had its perks.

The ride down to Earth was made in total silence, with the pilot ensconced in the shuttle's cockpit and Erika left to peruse the craft's surprisingly well-stocked bar. She soon realised that she'd likely taken a ship meant for high-ranking Navy captains after finding several unopened bottles of champagne in a fridge, but shrugged it off as today's victory in the never-ending war of inter-branch rivalry. Pouring herself a glass, which promptly slopped everywhere as the shuttle made a slightly rocky descent into Earth's atmosphere, Erika sat back in her seat and tried to relax, knowing that she'd likely be stuck in that nowhere base in Australia for at least a few more days until her paperwork cleared and she could head back to the Peacemaker. Most of the personnel trapped there since their return had already moved on, and she'd guessed that her name being on the VIP list for today's thinly-veiled propaganda ceremony is what had her stuck there alongside hundreds of displaced soldiers.

"A toast," Erika spoke for the first time in hours and raised her glass, which was barely a quarter full, waving it to a room full of invisible spectators. "To all those lucky enough to die in the cockpit. At least you don't have to pretend that the award you get for living through everything is worth shit."

It was a thoughtless statement, formed from bitterness and sorrow, and Erika regretted saying it instantly. Good men and women had died fighting the Imperium of Clarity, and even if they did intend to use their victory as a selling point for the military it was better than having everything swept under the rug. ONI would pretty things up, of course, and she wouldn't be surprised if she found herself sitting in front of cameras for an interview within the next few weeks, but at least they were doing something to recognise what had just happened. They'd fought - and won - a war against a power that could very well have been the next Covenant in under a week. Something like that made for great headlines.

Setting the glass down, Erika sighed, and leaned her head back against the surprisingly comfortable headrest. I'm angry because I'm the only one to come back, she thought, trying to address her roiling emotions with cold logic. Because I was lucky and they weren't. Because I'm the one getting the medal, while there's nothing left to recover of anyone else in the 83rd. So I'm going to leave early and sulk in an empty barracks tonight, then tomorrow I'll be pissed off at myself for not sticking around.

Erika grimaced, annoyed at herself. Perhaps some reassuring thoughts would have been nice in a time like this, but a little quiet self-beratement was sometimes the best cure for when one was doing something stupid, like running away to Earth in a shuttle that she'd all but stolen. Sunlight streamed through the portholes on either side of the craft as they dipped beneath the cloud layer, and Erika stood up, feeling very empty. Should've raided the damn buffet before I left, too. Peering through the starboard-side porthole, she saw the murky brown shapes of distant continents, and glittering blue light reflecting off the ocean far below. It wasn't the most spectacular view, but she enjoyed it all the same.

The Imperial War left its mark on almost all those who fought in it. For some, it was just another conflict, there to be fought for profit or glory. Others resented their defeat, or revelled in their victory, costly though it was. For Captain Erika Ruskin, who had saved the Sixth Fleet and crippled the Imperium's fleet with her heroic actions, she felt a profound sense of loss. There was no hatred towards their enemies, nor any genuine resentment towards those who had dispatched her and her comrades to their ultimate doom. Instead, she would take personal responsibility for those lost under her command and grieve for them, for a time. Erika was no stranger to death, and as someone who faced it more often than most, she knew she could not succumb to the awful grief that accompanied it. Sat within the confines of a luxury transport shuttle, she recalled a little saying her trainer had recounted to her long ago.

Pilots die, even the best ones. You wanna know why everyone knows that they were the best? It's because those who came back told their stories.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

178: Comeuppance

2031 Hours, October 4th, 2558 Andesia, Inner Colonies

War really is the most profitable business there is.

Sat within a spacious office in the northern wing of his estate, Isaac Kenner placed the datapad on his desk, leaned back into the cushioned leather of his chair and let out a long, contented sigh. He'd had a very busy month, but everything had finally fallen into place. Only minutes ago, confirmation had arrived from his office on Mars that Valkyrie Solutions had secured a billion-credit contract with the United Nations Space Command to lead cleanup and recovery efforts in the Montak, Yain, Bineb Voden systems, gathering starship debris and securing bodies and all-important slipspace drives lost in that distant corner of the galaxy. A small merchant fleet of more than forty craft were already being prepared for their mission, which would likely last many months, all with the promise of constant military protection while they were out there.

"Life is good," Isaac murmured to himself, closing his eyes for a moment as visions of future acquisitions swam through his head.

As things stood, Kenner and his company stood to gain more in the next six months than he had in the last ten years as a salvager, and all traces of his involvement with the Imperium of Clarity were gone, either through his own effort or as a byproduct of the war he had sparked. The Guild of Free Traders had been more or less wiped out, with any surviving members likely on the run or already imprisoned for their actions on Montak, leaving their companies and employees open to buyouts. Kenner had already picked out two he liked.

Looking back, it had been all to easy to provoke the Imperium into action. His trip into their territory with Thaler back in August had been risky, especially given the dearth of humans in the Imperial space, but a single meeting with Toru 'Makhan was all it had taken for the Imperial Admiral to march his entire nation into a war that it couldn't possibly have won. Kenner could still remember the look of unrestrained avarice in 'Makhan's eyes as he brought up Montak and its vast mineral deposits, and how for a moment the oh-so enlightened leader of the Imperium appeared just as greedy as any unscrupulous businessman Kenner had met in his long career. Now 'Makhan was dead, his empire had shattered, and its battle-scarred remains would be the site of Valkyrie Solutions' operations for the foreseeable future, all because of the Sangheili's pride and insatiable lust for power.

Kenner sighed once more, and leaned over to open his desk drawer. He fished out a pair of glass tumblers and an oblong bottle filled with amber liquid and placed them both on the desk before smoothing down the front of his dark business suit. While celebrations were definitely in order, business had to be attended to first. As if on cue, three knocks rang out from the other side of Kenner's office door.

"Come in!" Kenner called, slowly rising from his chair.

The door to Kenner's office swing open, and a slim man in a long, weather-stained coat stepped across the threshold, carrying a heavy metal box under one arm. His aquamarine-dyed hair was unkempt and matted, with dark roots showing as he brushed a few stray hairs out of his face with a free hand. Pushing the door shut with his foot, Kenner's guest crossed the room in silence, ignoring his host's slightly surprised stare, and set the box down in front of the desk before slumping into a nearby chair.

"Isaac," the man rasped, sounding slightly out of breath. "Good to see you again."

Kenner poured two tumblers of brandy and slid one across the desk. "Wuyi," he said, nodding politely. "It's been a while."

An old associate of Kenner's from his early days running salvage operations at the height of the Human-Covenant War, Wuyi Xiong had built up a solid reputation as a fetcher before turning his considerable talents towards the more lucrative world of arms dealing. Raiding abandoned military bases and war-ravaged battlefields, Wuyi had gotten himself a cushy position supplying militia groups on Venezia, Gao, and at least half a dozen other worlds by the time Kenner started up Valkyrie Solutions, and though as a legitimate businessman he could never be seen with the man, Kenner had kept in quiet contact with Wuyi for whenever he needed something done off the books, like massacring the Guild of Free Traders and making it look like an accident. As eccentric as he was, with his penchant for tacky, colourful suits and his distinctive Sangheili-tooth earring that would get him horribly murdered on most frontier worlds, the man had always come through for Kenner.

So it came as a surprise to Kenner when, as he took a closer look at his slippery friend, that Wuyi finally looked rattled by something. Not just rattled - haunted. Dark circles lined his grey eyes, and his appearance had gone from immaculate to positively shabby. Beneath his coat, dark stains marred what had once been an expensive lime green suit. He stank of sweat and dirt, and as he took the glass from the desk with a scabbed, beringed hand, Wuyi caught Kenner's gaze and smirked.

"Bet I look like shit, don't I?"

Not one to mince words, Kenner nodded. "Yeah, you do."

Wuyi took a gulp of the vintage liquor and exhaled sharply, raising his tumbler in approval. "It's been a rough few weeks," he said, starting to get comfortable. "ONI raided my office on Circumstance, and somebody blew up my warehouse on Venezia a couple of days after we spoke about that job on Nouveau Montreal."

"ONI?" Kenner raised an eyebrow. "They finally cotton on to your plan?"

Wuyi shrugged, and took another sip of his drink. "Possibly. After I scrapped that job on Europa last year I'd been putting feelers out on a couple of worlds. Someone might've ratted me out."

Though upset, there wasn't so much as a hint of accusation in Wuyi's tone. Despite the unscrupulous nature of their respective businesses, Kenner would never sell out such a trusted associate. After all, for all his businessman's trappings, the arms dealer's ultimate interests were political, not monetary in nature. For as long as Kenner had known him, Wuyi Xiong had been an avowed Frieden, advocating for human supremacy and the establishment of a ruling party that would crush colonial rebellion and unite mankind under its rule. Such ideas - as Kenner had pointed out to his friend on more than one occasion - were antiquated at best for many, and the ever-looming threat of the Covenant during the war had forced him to put aside his political ideals in favour of survival, but in the past few years Wuyi and his cohorts had worked hard to spread their propaganda among the colonies and masterminded attacks on political rivals, something that would undoubtedly attract ONI's attention.

"You were going to bomb Katreus, weren't you?" Kenner scratched the side of his bald head, trying to remember a half-forgotten conversation. "What changed?"

"Lots of things." Wuyi waved his hand dismissively. "Mostly a sudden drop in personnel due to cowardice."

The corners of Kenner's mouth twitched upwards into a half-smile. "Oh? I've never known your men to lack confidence before."

Wuyi sighed, taking another sip of his drink. "Tell a man he'll be paid to shoot a room full of unarmed suits and he'll jump at the task. Tell a man to plant a nuclear device on Europa and suddenly he's all about ethics. Typical."

Kenner struggled not to laugh at Wuyi's pouting for a moment before something in the sentence stuck out to him. "Nuke?"

"Didn't I tell you?" Wuyi flashed a smile that might have been charming were he not so dishevelled. "I got my hands on an honest-to-goodness HAVOK tac-nuke from a couple of spacers last year. Thirty megatons of pure vengeance against the UEG."

Feeling sweat start to form on the back of his neck, Kenner's eyes slowly drifted down to the dented metal box sitting on the carpet under his desk. Wuyi followed his movements, and his smile broadened.

"Wuyi," Kenner let out a humourless laugh. "That's not the HAVOK nuke right there, is it?"

The businessman nodded proudly. "Carried it all the way here from Venezia in the hold of some cargo ship. It's-"

Kenner tossed the contents of his glass into Wuyi's face, making him splutter as he rounded the desk and grabbed him by his shoulders. Confusion, then fear flashed into Wuyi's eyes as Kenner's strong hands clamped him to the chair, and the cool-tempered businessman's voice dropped to a deathly whisper.

"Why is there a nuclear weapon in my office, Wuyi?"

It took several seconds for Wuyi to formulate a response, terrified as he was. After sinking back as far as he could into the leather office chair, he mumbled something incoherent and finally cleared his throat. "Because I didn't have a choice!" he wailed pitifully.

Kenner backed off a little, mostly because of the smell. "Explain."

"I don't know if you know what's been happening over the past month or so while you were busy starting a goddamn war, but someone's been blowing through every safe harbour I have! At first I thought it was just the odd raid - bad luck, y'know - but then people I knew started vanishing. It wasn't long before I realised that they were gunning for me, so I got the hell off Venezia and went for the one guy I know who hasn't been killed yet!"

Kenner pinched the bridge of his nose, now realising his position, and Wuyi's. Eyeing the box containing the nuke, he pointed towards it.

"Take that thing and get the hell out of my sight before I kill you."

"What?" The words left Wuyi's mouth before he could properly process them. "Look, Isaac, I-"

"You've just jeopardised my entire operation here, you stupid bastard!" Kenner stabbed a finger towards Wuyi, who flinched. "My business is in the middle of some crucial negotiations that I've spent half a year working on, and I'm not about to throw it all away because you got yourself put in ONI's sights for running around with a nuke!"

Feeling his face go flush with anger, Kenner stopped for a moment to catch his breath, leaving his cringing associate dumbstruck before him. Today was meant to be the end of undue stress and uncertainty; a milestone for Isaac Kenner as a man who masterminded an entire war and for his company, which would clean up after it. Now this idiot had wandered in out of the blue, likely with ONI agents on his tail, and threatened to tear it all down.

"Isaac," Wuyi spoke in a small, scared voice. "All I'm asking for is a ship here. Just one-"

There was a distant thump. Wuyi froze mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he span to face the door. A few seconds later there was a second noise, muffled and far away. He whimpered.

"Stay calm," Kenner said, brushing down the front of his jacket as he returned to his desk. "It's just-"

"It's ONI!" Wuyi hissed, one hand already fishing into his coat pockets for something. "You've got guns here, right?"

Kenner downed the rest of his drink, and placed both of his hands palm-down on the desk. "Some, yeah."

Wuyi's voice rose, becoming little more than a shrill shriek. "Well get them!"

Kenner ignored Wuyi and closed his eyes, steadying his breathing and preparing himself for what was about to happen. His security team - twenty men in total - would likely have to be replaced, and there'd likely be some minor structural damage to the estate as well. It was a pain, but ONI was never one to pay for such things. Should never have let Wuyi in here, Kenner thought to himself, already coming up with a convenient story explaining why a black market arms dealer was sitting in his office with a device that could level not only the estate, but most of the mountain range it was built beside in an instant.

When Kenner opened his eyes, he saw two very worrying things. The first was that Wuyi was now armed, having drawn an M6A magnum pistol from his coat. The second was the sight of him bent over the box carrying the HAVOK nuke, his free hand fumbling with its exterior clasps. Suddenly, his head jerked up and Kenner reeled back, expecting Wuyi's wrath only to realise that he was looking past him and towards the wide office windows, half-shuttered against the setting sun. Kenner looked back too, and saw a pair of thick, steel-coloured ropes swaying slightly in the breeze. Mouthing a particularly foul curse, he immediately flattened his upper body against the top of the desk, keeping his hands up. Two shadows fell across the window, and he heard Wuyi cry out in desperation.

"No!"

Wuyi raised his pistol and fired thrice, blasting through the thick panes behind Kenner in a shower of glass. A staccato burst sounded in response, and Kenner caught sight of the arms dealer staggering backwards, his face a disfigured ruin of blood and pulverised bone. Wuyi Xiong hit the carpet with a dull thud, and two intruders dropped into Kenner's office from outside as the main door burst inwards, falling off its hinges. Kenner didn't have to guess who ONI had sent after Wuyi, but the sight of an unnaturally tall figure encased in sleek grey powered armour entering the room still filled him with dread.

"Clear!" A man's voice sounded from behind him, broadcast through a helmet's speakers. "Got a civilian here, too."

An armoured hand grasped Kenner's right shoulder and yanked him roughly into an upright position, making him gasp as a sudden jolt of pain coursed through him. Standing on either side of him was a Spartan supersoldier, clad in suits of their iconic MJOLNIR armour. Having never seen one up close, Kenner couldn't help but stare, taking in every detail with a mixture of fear and awe. The one who had called out wore a strange helmet, its visor a single vertical strip of silver against the sandy brown of his amour, while the other sported a helmet not unlike those worn by the feared Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, and kept Kenner in position with one hand while the other held up a BR85 rifle.

The grey-suited Spartan approached them, and knelt by Wuyi's body. Kenner deliberately chose to keep his eyes off the corpse, as he had with the bodies back in Harlow House, but the Spartan didn't seem too bothered by the sight of a man with half his face missing and after closing Wuyi's remaining eye jabbed a metal device into his arm for a DNA reading. Quiet fell over the wrecked office as the machine did its work, and eventually the Spartan nodded.

"It's Xiong," he said, speaking in a calm, authoritative manner. "Mordecai, if you would?"

His subordinate picked up the metal box effortlessly and set it down on Kenner's desk, scratching the expensive varnish. After quickly undoing the remaining clasps he opened the box, revealing a small, egg-shaped device resting atop a mound of shaped packing foam. Though faded with age and streaked with dirt, Kenner could still make out the word 'HAVOK' printed on one side in white lettering.

"This is the one." Mordecai looked back to his leader. "Markings match the one missing from Madrigal."

"All right." The leader stowed his rifle away. "Tell command that they've got an arrow back in the quiver. We'll deal with the rest."

By 'the rest', they meant Kenner. Still pinned in place by the Spartan's grasp and kept quiet out of fear, he could only watch as the Spartan leader stepped over Wuyi's corpse and approached him while his comrade secured the HAVOK in its case and stepped to one side. Taller than the other two by a good few inches, the Spartan in charge peered down at Kenner through a bifocal visor set into his boxy helmet, saying nothing as he stared down the captive businessman. He eventually spoke, addressing his other team mate.

"Layla, let him go."

Kenner felt the grip on his shoulder relax instantly, and he exhaled with relief as the Spartan in olive-coloured armour also stepped to one side, leaving him alone with the giant in grey. To his great shock the Spartan leader began to carefully remove his helmet, which disconnected from the rest of his suit with a barely audible hiss before it was placed on the table. Kenner found himself looking up at a middle-aged man, black-haired, green-eyed and sporting the signs of a lifetime of war.

"I'm Hank," said the Spartan, speaking so casually that Kenner half-expected him to extend a hand to shake. "Now I'm not here to interrogate you because it's not our job, and I don't want to have to deal with any bullshit because it'd force me to hand you off to my friends here, who don't have my social skills. I'm gonna ask you a few questions and you're gonna answer them quickly and truthfully, because lying will get you killed. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Kenner replied, taken slightly aback by the speed at which the Spartan spoke.

"Good." Hank nodded, but did not smile. "Name and occupation?"

"Isaac Kenner, founder of Valkyrie Solutions." An easy question.

"That explains the estate," Hank looked around at the expensive decorations, nodding his head approvingly. "How did you know Wuyi Xiong?"

"He was an old business partner," Kenner said truthfully. "We used to run salvage together during the war. Old ships, slipspace drives, that sort of thing."

"Would it surprise you to know that he's a terrorist, then? And that after fleeing custody on Venezia, this was his first port of call by choice?"

The Spartan's eyes bored into Kenner, but he'd spent a lifetime lying. "Yes sir, to both."

"So he's just an old friend?" Hank jerked an armoured thumb back towards the corpse. "And despite him looking like that, you let him in here for what, a business meeting?"

Kenner shrugged. "I'm a sentimental man, and the guy looked like he'd fallen on hard times. I didn't realise what he was up to until he started babbling about ONI about ten seconds before you guys burst in here."

The Spartan to his right - Layla - snorted. "Bullshit. I say we tag this greasy son of a bitch and go."

Hank ignored her, his face impossible to read. "Well," he said at last, "I was taught to believe that there aren't any coincidences, Mister Kenner. You're coming with us."

Kenner made to get up from his chair, only to sit back down as two rifles snapped up to greet him. "This is ridiculous!" His voice rose angrily. "You're arresting an innocent man here! My company has just signed a year-long contract with the UNSC, and there'll be hell to pay if you ruin it, mark my words!"

Layla laughed that this, while Mordecai kept quiet. Hank didn't seem too perturbed by this either, and plucked a small datapad out of his utility belt, which he held up before Kenner's face. A blue light flashed twice from within the device, making him blink. The businessman scowled, intent on playing the role of a disgruntled and appalled citizen to the end until he registered a sudden change in the Spartan's face as something resembling surprise passed over it. Hank blinked, looking from the datapad to Kenner, then picked up his helmet and put it on.

"Well would you look at this," Hank sounded genuinely enthused now. "Guess we're bringing in someone important after all."

The Spartan flipped the datapad round, and Kenner felt the bottom drop out of his world. The device - a facial scanner - had run his visage through ONI's vast databases, referencing every possible file to see if the agency had any dirt on him. As it turned out, they had.

The first words to catch Kenner's eye were emblazoned atop an old identification photo he'd had taken three years ago in red capital letters : 'WANTED: PRIORITY ONE'. Beside the picture were a number of images, captured and restored from late August on the surface of Montak. Though a few were taken from afar, there were several more that clearly showed Kenner standing alongside his old partner Thaler and a group of mercenaries, taken from CCTV footage on one of the Montak mining facility's landing pads.

"That's not-" Kenner began, but the words died in his throat. His tongue felt heavy and a feeling of lightheadedness swept over him.

"Isaac Kenner," Hank read aloud from the file. "Wanted for questioning by the Office of Naval Intelligence for his involvement in the violent seizure of a Liang-Dortmund Corporation mining facility, membership in the proscribed interests group known as the Guild of Free Traders, and suspected involvement with the Imperium of Clarity shortly prior to their hostile invasion of human territory and subsequent war."

Layla whistled. "That all?"

"Just about." Hank stowed the datapad away, and looked to his other subordinate. "Mordecai, contact command again and tell them to roll out the red carpet. It's not every day that you get to bring home a bona fide war criminal and a stolen nuke."

"Yes sir," Mordecai chuckled, placing two fingers to the side of his helmet as he turned away.

As Hank approached him, bringing out a pair of microfilament handcuffs, Isaac Kenner made no move to resist. Consumed by the overwhelming sense of terror as his life disintegrated around him, he stared blankly ahead, barely feeling anything as his arms were bound and he was forced to his feet. Everything he had worked towards - years of salvaging, cutting deals and working contracts - was gone now. The war he had provoked would profit no one, save those in Valkyrie Solutions he had trusted to handle the paperwork while he kept conveniently out of the limelight. ONI would not be merciful. It was not in their nature. If he were ever brought to public trial, then Kenner would see life behind bars at best, with no chance for freedom ever again.

In the end, the architect of the Imperial War felt nothing but pity for himself. Not for those he had tricked and swindled and ruined, nor for the countless thousands he had sent off to die in a war that, if not prevented, would have likely been postponed to some later date without his intervention. The Unggoy of Bineb II would still be living happily in their own self-governed colony, while the Sangheili of Frendhal and Iradu could enjoy a peaceful existence, distancing themselves from the old ways of the Covenant with each passing year. So many had died, and all because of one man's desire for wealth and another's lust for power. Isaac Kenner, at least, would see justice. Quietly. Ignominiously. Kept secret from a galaxy that need never know that he even existed.

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」

179: The Wars To Come

The battle was over.

Diana observed the Watchful Custodian’s destruction with grudging interest. A clever maneuver, to be sure, and one that turned the tide against the Imperium of Clarity in one fell swoop. It was also an entirely predictable development. In her experience supercarriers existed to be boarded and destroyed from within. They were colossal monuments to meatbag hubris. She only wished she’d had the opportunity to engineer the behemoth’s destruction herself. But as usual and despite her best efforts she was far from the action, keeping one lowly cruiser alive while lesser minds determined the course of the war.

The Soul Ascension had stayed out of trouble since its reckless charge through enemy lines. But Diana was less concerned with the ship than she was with events playing out a few hundred kilometers away.

Toru ‘Makhan was dead. The Swords of Sanghelios were triumphantly broadcasting his demise across every network in the system. The Imperium of Clarity, so mighty just a few short weeks ago, was on fire. The ships and commanders not dead or surrendered were scattering like moths caught in the flame. The Imperium’s grandiose designs had become a farce.

Under normal circumstances Diana would have savored such delicious irony. But for all their effort—for all the bloodshed and close shaves with death—the Kru’desh had nothing to show for this war. Perhaps a few surviving shipmasters would grudgingly accede to the legion’s prowess. Perhaps a few UNSC admirals would elevate the Kru’desh Legion’s threat status while humiliated ONI agents angrily swore to finally bring Simon-G294 to justice. Paltry victories. Diana did not like having her time wasted. This war was a sideshow to the cataclysms to come.

Those cataclysms required a firm hand to master the changing galaxy. For years Diana believed Stray could be molded into such a galaxy-striding figure. She’d devoted all of her energies to his growth, certain he was the perfect partner to match her ambitions.

After this war, she wasn’t nearly as sure. As Stray struggled to hold his legion together and simply ride out the turbulence, Diana fought with a growing uncertainty. Perhaps she’d been wrong about him. Such a thing shouldn’t be possible. But even she made mistakes. Maybe this was the biggest one she’d ever made.

Diana did not like having her time wasted.

“Withdraw all fighter squadrons,” she ordered Ro’nin. “We need to withdraw before the enemy overruns this entire sector.”

“By your holy word, Oracle.” Ro’nin had a wonderful gift for sounding both grave and amused at the same time. This was a creature who enjoyed a good farce. “What of our esteemed commander?”

“I’ll coordinate the dropships closest to the capital. He took our best pilots with him. They’ll evacuate the ground forces and rendezvous with the Ascension when we break orbit.”

“Then we are not providing fire support?”

“Of course not.” Diana was already maneuvering the Soul Ascension away from the planet and back into space. “The commander doesn’t need our help to make his escape.” Stray didn’t always need Diana’s advice: he’d made that clear when he refused to punish those treacherous Huragok. He’d save his own hide, like he always did. If he couldn’t even accomplish that then he really was a wasted investment.

Of course, Amber was down there with him. To lose both Spartans in one swoop would be a cutting blow. Then again, Amber needed to prove herself just as much as Stray. Diana wouldn’t coddle her. She’d given Stray too much of that already. Both of them would survive. Or just one. Or neither. Whatever the case, Diana would recoup her losses. She had all the time in the universe.

She’d already seen to that. Eternity was such a liberating reality.

So, Toru ‘Makhan was dead. The news cut Shinsu as sharply as any blade. The supreme commander was no ally of his—Shinsu’s embassy had been snubbed and redirected at every turn—but ‘Makhan was the last in a long line of illustrious commanders. He had emerged from the conflagration of the Great Schism and stood above the petty conflicts that tore the Sangheili apart. He had sought a way forward for their people, and now he was gone. The Sangheili were poorer with his loss. Poorer, and one step closer to an utter abyss.

The Swords of Sanghelios would claim all the credit. One more of the Arbiter’s foes was dead, another sign that House Vadam’s ascendance was ordained by the forces of history. Shinsu knew better. The humans had killed Toru ‘Makhan. Perhaps their warships had not struck the killing blow, but human schemes lay behind this war and all the senseless slaughter that sprang from it. Humanity destroyed the Imperium of Clarity just as it destroyed anything that stood between it and complete hegemony.

They were a curious race. Curious and dangerous. Now more than ever Shinsu knew there was no coexisting with them. One species was destined to hold true power in this galaxy. The Sangheili would bring the humans to heel or face utter destruction. Shinsu’s destiny—no, his duty—was to save his people from that ruinous future. If that meant becoming as contemptible as the humans themselves, then so be it.

Shinsu’s guard squadron led him through the ruined palace. Fires raged around every corner as the Imperium of Clarity perished alongside its master. The sounds of battle echoed outside the palace but the halls themselves were strangely quiet. Perhaps the warriors left alive knew the war was over.

But they were not out of danger yet. Corpses strewn across the floor marked the war’s final bloody crescendo. Shinsu saw bodies clad in muted Swords of Sanghelios colors mingled with the more colorful Imperium palace guards. More skill and bravery and honor wasted. Who was left to fill the void left behind? We slaughter ourselves while the humans grow stronger.

Some of the dead were arrayed in grubby, salvaged battle dress. None of Toru ‘Makhan’s palace guard were so shoddily armed. The Swords of Sanghelios were not known for carrying human weapons into battle. These were Kru’desh bodies. Stray had set his rabble loose on the palace. Hopefully enough would retreat before the Imperium’s resistance collapsed completely. Stray would escape, of course. That human always survived.

The Cleansing Blade warriors led Shinsu up a sloping chamber into the palace’s upper levels. Their Phantoms waited to ferry them away from this lost battle. If they delayed much longer the enemy noose would tighten around the planet and render retreat impossible. Even the slippery Umbra’s capacity for narrow escapes could only go so far.

Something moved in the smoke beyond. Shinsu’s dark-armored guards sprang forward, weapons trained on the newcomer. Shinsu’s hand drifted to the sword on his hip. A lone Sangheili blocked the squadron’s path. He wore the ornate armor of Toru ‘Makhan’s commanders, though battle had left his harness tarnished and scarred. Shinsu almost didn’t recognize the distinctive figure of Kan ‘Larom until he drew closer.

“Lord ‘Larom.” Shinsu nodded in greeting. “I am glad you still live.” He saw more figures emerging from the smoke. The Imperium warriors were as battered and scarred as their commander. The grim defiance etched into Kan ‘Larom’s face carried over to his warriors. Shinsu knew that look well. These warriors knew their cause was lost. But they would not kneel to the victor. They would die before they were conquered.

“Commander ‘Refum.” Kan ‘Larom’s voice was low and tired. “I see you waste little time in saving your own skin.”

“I came to forge an alliance with Toru ‘Makhan,” Shinsu reminded him. “The Imperium spurned my embassy at every turn, yet I placed my ships and subordinates at your disposal. Now Toru is dead and my mission is a failure. I will waste no more effort here.”

He gestured politely for the defeated commander to step aside. But ‘Larom stood firm. Shinsu’s guards shifted their stances imperceptibly. They might need to fight their way out after all.

“You have escape craft standing by.” It wasn’t a question.

“I often must retreat in the face of overwhelming odds. Such is the price of standing athwart history. My warriors’ lives are too precious to throw away over some futile gesture.” Shinsu waved ‘Larom aside as politely as possible, given the circumstances. “Forgive me, but we must be on our way. The enemy’s jaws are closing. I advise you to fall back to your own vessels while you still can.”

“Indeed.” Kan ‘Larom’s head dipped. He looked back at his remaining warriors. These Sangheili were battered and wounded. Some could only stand with the aid of their comrades. But they stayed at their lord’s side to the very end. Something stirred behind ‘Larom’s tired eyes. “We have nothing left to retreat to. The Imperium’s cause is lost. I will not waste any more lives in its defense.”

He met Shinsu’s gaze. His eyes burned with a silent plea. The defeated commander faced an unspeakable choice: his oaths and his honor against the lives of his warriors. Shinsu knew that look all too well. Perhaps something could be salvaged from this expedition after all.

“Sadly, space aboard my vessels must be preserved for my own warriors. We have our own war to fight. There are many battles on the path ahead. But perhaps arrangements could be made…”

“Would you like me to swear an oath now?” ‘Larom growled. The flickering fire cast his face in shadow. “Shall I kneel before you here? I have little pride left to sacrifice. But my patience with these petty games runs thin.”

“An oath will not be necessary,” Shinsu said smoothly. “At least, not now. I believe we understand each other, you and I.”

“I doubt that very much,” Kan ‘Larom said. “You are a strange creature, Shinsu ‘Refum. I pledged myself to Toru ‘Makhan because he shone with a glory I understood. I thought he would lead our people through this long night. Perhaps that was my error. I must seek the truth in the unknown. Maybe your cause holds those answers—should you prove worthy.”

“My cause is Jul ‘Mdama’s,” Shinsu reminded him.

“Indeed,” Kan ‘Larom replied, clearly not believing it for a moment. He was learning already. It would be the first of many lies now that he had left the path of honor. “I hope my new master proves himself a worthy lord. I grow weary of the fools who bleed our people dry as we fall further and further from our former glory.”

“As do I. But do not give in to weariness. Let it set a fire inside you. Fight for the warriors you have lost and the generations to come.” Shinsu swept passed Kan ‘Larom and strode on through the burning palace. He did not look back. There was no need. ‘Larom and his warriors would fall in step behind Shinsu and his bodyguards. They would escape this conflagration together, leaving this war behind and venturing out into the wider galaxy. A greater conflict awaited them both.

Shinsu spared one last thought to the Kru’desh. Stray was a useful servant and an able student, despite his many shortcomings. After all the effort Shinsu exerted to raise that human up from nothing and train him in the finer arts of war, it would be a waste to lose him in a conflict like this. But all pupils must stand on their own eventually. Stray and his rabble would escape on their own, or they would not. In that case Shinsu would simply find a worthier servant to replace him. Such was the nature of the merciless dance of war and power.

The Imperium of Clarity was founded upon certainty: the surety of Sangheili nobility and their destined place in the galaxy. They believed the bend of history was a grand arc of progress. But there were no inevitabilities in history. History was a vortex of blood and power. That vortex had claimed Toru ‘Makhan and his Imperium. It would soon claim Jul ‘Mdama and his Covenant. Shinsu ‘Refum had no intention of being consumed. He would master the vortex and rise above it, dragging the Sangheili people with him.

This battle was over. There were many battles ahead and much more blood to be shed. Shinsu ‘Refum strode out of Toru ‘Makhan’s war and out into his own.

“We’re too late.”

Stray stood in Toru ‘Makhan’s grand treasure room, or at least what had once been the treasure room. This chamber might have once housed the Imperium’s reportedly vast collection of Forerunner artifacts and the riches of a thousand worlds. Now it stood as empty as a frontier swindler’s storehouse. Scrapes and drag lines etched into the floor marked where heavy objects had been harnessed and dragged away. From the bullet holes, plasma burns, and abandoned corpses it was clear a fierce battle had swept through these chambers long before the Kru’desh arrived.

The exhausted Kru’desh warriors spread out in a dejected search. Only half of the warriors who accompanied Stray into the battle remained. The rest either lay dead in the corridors or scattered throughout the palace halls. They’d fought past lines of Swords of Sanghelios warriors and even retreating Imperium forces. Another battlefield claimed more Kru’desh lives while the survivors found themselves staring at their reward: an empty chamber.

”We’re too late!”

Stray’s fist crashed through the chamber wall. Fury and frustration unleashed themselves upon the barren chamber. No matter what he did, no matter how far he climbed, this was always the result: empty prizes at the end of a path of blood. When he thought about all the Kru’desh he’d lost to this pointless war, all the times he’d nearly died, all the effort and schemes he wanted to do far more than smash up this burning palace. It was all for nothing.

Toru ‘Makhan was dead. His death was being broadcast across every channel in the system. The Swords of Sanghelios would soon control the entire sector. The UNSC won, just like they always did. In an hour the net around Iradu would prevent any escape. And Stray had absolutely nothing to show for any of it. The war had played out as if he hadn’t been there at all. Typical, so goddamned typical… The wall crumbled beneath his furious assault.

“Commander…” A terrified Unggoy waddled forward. Its stubbly legs quaked as it ducked low to the floor. A Sangheili waited a few paces away. He’d shoved the Unggoy forward rather than approaching Stray himself. “The enemy… we need to…”

Stray’s fist came up. The Unggoy flinced and threw its arms up to cover itself. Stray hesitated, a moment from bashing the ugly creature’s head against the hard floor. He ground his teeth in frustration. After another pause he strode forward and rammed his fist into the Sangheili officer’s gut. The large warrior toppled to the floor, wheezing and writhing in pain. Stray kicked the fallen warrior. His armored boots struck the writhing Sangheili’s armored carapace.

“Are you done?” Amber’s harsh words cut through the haze of rage. “We need to get out of here, commander.” She watched him, her rifle cradled in her arms, face hidden behind her helmet’s visor.

Stray backed away from the stricken Sangheili, panting from the exertion. A few kicks and punches shouldn’t wear him out. Why was he suddenly out of breath? He felt Amber’s gaze on him like a scorching desert sun. She was watching, always watching. He’d seen her throughout the battle, never far away even in the thick of fighting. Ever since that night in his quarters…

Anger gave way to fear. He couldn’t let her see him like this. He was in control. He had to be in control.

“Right. We’re leaving.” Stray fought to regain his composure. He waved to the remaining Kru’desh. “Form up. We’ll clear a landing zone and fall back to the Soul Ascension.” The tactical readout mounted to his helmet helped keep him aware of the battlespace. Diana had pulled his ship out of the fighting and back into space. The Kru’desh dropships were trying to cut a path back to the palace. They wouldn’t last long, not at the rate the Imperium forces were collapsing.

The noose was tightening. Stray had escaped more than a few nooses in his time.

They left the barren treasure chamber and retreated into the hallway. Almost immediately plasma fire lit the air around them. The Swords of Sanghelios were already upon them. A pair of hapless Unggoy died before the rest of the Kru’desh closed ranks and cut down the enemy in a hail of scorching plasma. They hurried back to the palace’s exterior.

Iradu had been a bastion of Sangheili art and culture. Shinsu had remarked to Stray that this palace was one of the finest monuments he’d seen across any Sangheili planet. Stray wondered what it had looked like before the war. Now its high walls were leveled by artillery fire. Pristine works of art were melted by plasma or shattered by bullets. Corpses littered the arched hallways and burning gardens. The Kru’desh fought roughly through the ruins, leaving nothing but carnage in their wake.

Nothing beautiful ever lasted long enough for Stray to lay eyes upon it. The galaxy he knew was one of ruined cities and bombed-out frontiers, of slaughtered armies and starving villages. Once upon a time the child he’d once been had dreamed of a galaxy full of wonders and otherworldly delight. Then his life became little more than an endless journey from one battlefield to another. No matter where he went fire rained down from the sky and bullets ground through life like hungry wolves.

Wolves. He was one of those wolves now. He wasn’t fit for beauty or wonder. Maybe he never had been. Bile welled up in Stray’s throat.

The Kru’desh came upon a massive courtyard thrusting out over Iradu’s burning planes. A bridge had once spanned the chasm and led to a tower built into the cliff-face itself. That bridge was gone now: blasted to pieces by a furious orbital strike. Charred Sangheili corpses littered both sides of the divide. Stray looked across the abyss to the tower. There was something familiar about this scene.

“That broadcast from the Sons of the Sanghelios.” Amber drew up beside him. “This is where they killed Toru ‘Makhan.”

She was right. The Sons of Sanghelios were broadcasting footage of ‘Makhan’s demise across the battlespace. Stray stood at the edge of the ruined bridge. Toru ‘Makhan’s entourage had retreated towards the tower only to be vaporized along with the bridge. After all the power ‘Makhan possessed, all the potentate-like trappings of glory around the Imperium, he’d been blotted out like any other hapless footsoldier. His wealth and power and armies hadn’t held off the abrupt finality of death. And if such an ignominious end could take the likes of Toru ‘Makhan…

Stray had come close to death a dozen times over in this campaign alone. He prided himself on surviving at all costs, yet here he was throwing himself into the forefront of battle time and time again. That sniper’s bullet on Montak, the Spartans boarding the Soul Ascension, even his very presence on Iradu courted destruction. But this was the only way he could ever rise through the Covenant ranks to obtain the power he needed.

Need for what? The doubts yapped in his head like an angry dog. His helmet tilted to stare into the chasm below. What are you doing? What could possibly be worth all of this?

Diana said a great cataclysm was coming. Diana said they needed their own army to survive the battles to come. Diana knew best. She was always right. Of course it’s dangerous. But what’s the alternative? Hide out on the Chancer V for the rest of my life, safe and irrelevant?

The thought sent more anger pumping through his veins. That anger gave him strength. He was leaving this planet, and he wasn’t going empty-handed. Toru ‘Makhan wanted to retreat to that tower. That meant there was something there. Something useful or valuable. Since the supreme commander was now too dead to appreciate it, the Kru’desh would take it off the Imperium’s hands.

“Come on,” Stray waved the Kru’desh forward. He tapped his com and signaled the dropship formation overhead. “We’ll secure that tower and use it as a landing zone.”

“We could just stay on this side—” Amber’s protestation died at a sharp look from Stray. She wisely backed down.

“We didn’t bring any rappel lines,” one warrior pointed out.

“We don’t need ‘em. They take too damn long to set up anyway.” Stray waved the warrior back. “Take a team and secure the door. Amber, on me. We’re headed into that tower.”

“Commander,” a smooth Sangheili voice called over the battlenet. “You have need of my services?” Mihka’s battered Phantom descended over the ruined bridge. The young pilot had braved the raging battle to break off from the Kru’desh formation and press in alone to the makeshift landing zone.

“Nicely done.” Stray hopped into the Phantom’s gravity well and let himself be pulled into the troop bay. Amber and a lance of Sangheili followed him up while the other survivors remained on the far side to await the rest of the dropships. “Get me to the other side, now.”

“At once, commander.”

No fire rose from the tower as the dropship deposited Stray and the others on the far side. No warriors emerged to greet them. This place was deserted, as if Toru ‘Makhan’s death had sealed this entire courtyard off from the battle raging across Iradu. Stray let Amber lead the Sangheili in clearing the tower. The warriors followed her lead without question. She’d proved herself to the Kru’desh across this brief campaign. Stray couldn’t hold her back from a leadership position now. No one would accuse him of favoring a fellow human. Besides, Amber made it clear that she wouldn’t tolerate a leash.

It was for the best. Amber was a Spartan. Stray couldn’t afford to waste potential like that. But watching her effortlessly lead Kru’desh warriors—Stray’s warriors—into battle made him uncomfortable.

“All clear, commander,” Amber reported. “This place is a ghost town. I don’t think there were any guards here to begin with.”

Stray joined the team and they advanced into the tower. They kept a slow pace to check for ambushes and booby traps, but Stray knew there was much danger there. That wasn’t the Imperium’s style. He urged the team forward. They were running out of time. A gently sloped ramp—Stray didn’t know what the Sangheili had against stairs—led them down into the empty tower. Stray saw no sign of other doors or antechambers. If there was anything of value in here, it waited for them at the very bottom.

Finally, they found it. The tower’s bottom-most level emptied into a cavernous hangar. Stray swept the room with his shotgun but found no Imperium guards inside. Several Banshees outfitted for space combat were arrayed neatly across the hangar. They were arranged like honor guards around a larger craft Stray had never seen before. He recognized the silvery sheen and seamless metal plating at once: this was a Forerunner craft.

This was Toru ‘Makhan’s final prize. Stray couldn’t contain the grin that spread over his features. This was more like it. “Grab these Banshees,” he ordered the Sangheili. “We’re blasting out of here in style.”

Amber sprang forward. She leaped atop the Forerunner craft, poking and prodding everything within reach. Stray let her have her fun. Better her than him, just in case the Imperium had left behind any anti-theft countermeasures as a parting gift.

But no hidden bomb triggered. No plasma casters dropped from the ceiling to strafe Amber as she fiddled with the Forerunner craft. Nothing happened at all. The ship remained silent and unmoving even as the Banshees roared to life around it. Amber shook her head and slapped the surface. “What the hell? These things are supposed to react to humans.” She dropped down from the carapace. “The Imperium must have DNA locked it. We’ll have to climb back up and find some piece of ‘Makhan to—”

Stray stepped past her. He examined the dormant craft. Was it a fighter? No matter how many Forerunner sites he helped the Covenant excavate he couldn’t make heads or tails of the ancient design scheme. And yet he felt drawn to them all the same. This ancient power was the key to every conflict raging across the frontier.

A war sphinx. The words came to him out of nowhere. The Forerunner craft sat before him. The protruding cockpit almost looked like a face. It seemed strangely familiar, as if he’d seen it somewhere before. Stray rested his hand on the ship’s surface and felt a sudden shock. Something lurched through him like a volt of electricity. He yanked his arm back only to see lights course across the ship’s surface. An energy field lit at the ship’s rear—where the engine might be on a conventional craft—and it lifted several meters off the ground. Folds of metal plating shifted aside to reveal what could only be a cockpit. The ship tilted in Stray’s direction, almost as if inviting him in.

Amber and the Sangheili watched in amazement. “How did you do that?” Amber demanded.

“The Oracle speaks true,” one of the warriors muttered. “He is the gods’ instrument.”

Stray was grateful when Amber let that slide. The “Oracle” spoke false—at least as far as Stray’s divine purpose went. But somehow this craft had reacted to Stray’s touch and not hers. Somehow he knew what this craft—this war sphinx—was. He would ponder all of this later. Now he needed to take his prize and get the hell out of here.

“Mount up,” he ordered. He clambered into the Forerunner craft. The cockpit reacted to his presence, adjusting itself to accommodate his armored frame. Forerunner tech was ethereal, otherworldly, and downright creepy. Stray half expected the cockpit to slam shut and seal him inside. An alien dashboard lit up before his eyes and twin sticks that could only be control throttles extended as if offering themselves to him. A shiver coursed down his spine as he took hold.

“Are you sure you know how to use that thing?” Amber called as she climbed into one of the Banshees.

“We’re about to find out,” Stray said, more to himself than Amber.

A moment later the Forerunner craft flashed out of the hangar. It outpaced the Banshees and streaked off into Iradu’s war-torn sky. The Kru’desh dropships hurried after their commander, all surviving warriors secured safely inside. They would slip through the confused battle lines and find shelter in the waiting Soul Ascension.

Elsewhere, Shinsu ‘Refum had already made his escape. The Soul Ascension slunk away from the besieged planet without further engagements and disappeared into Slipspace. The Covenant’s involvement in the Imperium War came to a quiet close.

WIP

180: FINAL: Zero-Two-Zero-One

0927 Hours, October 7th, 2558 UNSC Lone Star, Unknown System

The prowler exited slipspace without incident, materialising in a burst of light that vanished as quickly as it arrived. Blue wisps of reconciliation slowly faded away, rescinding across the dark grey hull of the stealth craft, which drifted steadily forward without the need for any artificial propulsion. Far ahead of the ship, standing out against the endless void of space, was a speckled dot, sat alone in its orbit of a distant star.

"We're picking up an object."

"A planetoid?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." Rear Admiral Ryan Samson clasped his hands together. "Take us in for a closer look."

It had been an exceptionally busy month for the head of the Prowler Corps. Having returned to Earth just ahead of the Sixth Fleet, Samson had spent most of his time travelling between Bravo-6 on Earth, where he'd filed report after report on the Imperial War, and Aldrin Base on Luna, where he'd been granted a crucial role in collaborating with the Office of Naval Intelligence's newest asset. Currently, said asset was floating a few feet above the Lone Star's command chair, watched carefully by the prowler's commanding officer.

"Is this what we're out here to find, sir?" asked Captain Sadiq, taking his eyes off the cyclopean orb drifting overhead and fixing them on the man standing to his right. "The XEG wasn't very forthcoming about this operation."

Samson nodded. "It may well be, Captain."

He didn't hold anything against Sadiq for needing information; while he was at the head of this operation, ONI's Xeno-Materials Exploitation Group were providing most of the men and equipment for the trip, and liked to keep everything on a need-to-know basis. As far as the Lone Star's crew knew, they had embarked on a mission into deep space for no reason whatsoever, and that made people nervous. Samson knew they weren't ones to crack under pressure; the crew had gotten him out of the Voden System without so much as a scratch, and Captain Sadiq's service history had been spotless even before he'd transferred into the Prowler Corps a few years ago. In any case, they would discover the purpose of their mission soon enough.

"Keeper!" Samson called to the dark metal sphere floating above him. "Should we expect anything as we approach the shield world?"

Since his seizure on Iradu, Diligent Keeper had been tremendously forthcoming when it came to questions about his past, the installation he'd slumbered in for millennia, and of course, Shield World 0201. Xenoarchaeologists on ONI's payroll had clamoured for an interview with the Forerunner monitor since his arrival at Aldrin Base over a month ago, though it soon became apparent that outside of those particular subjects he had little information on his creators and their other installations - an inbuilt safety measure, he claimed, to compartmentalise information during times of war - leaving many disappointed. Not willing to waste any more time interrogating the construct, ONI had instructed Samson to bring the monitor to his intended home, some 100,000 years after his scheduled arrival.

Keeper swivelled round, fixing his red lens on Samson. "Only electronic hails," he said nonchalantly in his tinny voice. "Shield World 0201 was granted to the Lifeworker rate and designed for conservation, not warfare. Once we make contact with its systems, it should open to us without issue."

"Should?" Sadiq said, raising an eyebrow. "You're made by the Forerunners, won't it open up to you for sure?"

Keeper bobbed up and down, a motion that Samson had come to recognise as a short of shrug from the monitor. "I am running on knowledge given to me over one hundred thousand years ago, Captain. I have never seen the inside of 0201, and it would be foolish of me to assume that nothing could have happened since then."

"We'll be fine," Samson said, folding his arms. "We've found plenty of Forerunner sites in more or less pristine condition before, and if this shield world is anything like the ones we have documented it'll have weathered the years pretty well."

Descending to Samson's eye level, Keeper twirled happily. "As I'm sure it would have!"

The door to the bridge slid open behind them, and Samson turned to see a tall officer in the dark grey service uniform of the Prowler Corps. Quickly passing his datapad into his left hand, he snapped a stiff salute to the Vice Admiral.

"Captain Rettinger." Samson returned the gesture. "What's the situation down in the launch bay?"

Eyeing Diligent Keeper nervously, Rettinger cleared his throat before speaking. "Both platoons are standing by and ready for deployment, sir. There was some disagreement as to who would be leading the first landing party, but Major Kamil was kind enough to set the men straight."

A small smile formed across Samson's stony features. Bringing the hardened ODST along had been one of the first decisions he'd made for this operation, and given the elitism that was commonplace among ONI's own forces when it came to interacting with men from other branches, he knew that he'd need someone tough to keep them in line. "That's good to hear," Samson nodded. "Anything else?"

Rettinger checked his datapad for a moment. "Nothing more to report, sir, though I would like to know where I'm needed for this operation."

Seeing Rettinger glance towards the back of Sadiq's command chair, he understood where the officer was coming from immediately. "You'll be my XO while I'm on the ground, Captain." Samson jerked his thumb over his shoulder, towards the distant dot of the shield world. "Once we've established a safe landing zone and a safe place to begin our operations there, I'll likely need someone to hold down the fort until reinforcements arrive, too."

"Understood, sir." Rettinger's reply came instantly, with barely a hint of emotion from his face or voice; acceptance, but not enthusiasm.

Samson decided not to ask any more questions, though he privately began to wonder if he'd made the right choice of XO for what would likely be a long-term occupation of an alien world. Rettinger was by all accounts a superb officer on paper, whose zeal and competence had put him on the fast-track for leadership years ago, but Samson could already detect his inflexibility. Even so, he'd shown enough initiative to track down the man responsible for provoking Toru 'Makhan into starting the Imperial War - something that had given him his well-earned promotion to Captain - so he couldn't judge the man too harshly after barely a week of working together. Samson turned back to Sadiq while Rettinger took up a spot to the right of the captain's chair.

"How long until we get there?" he asked.

Sadiq clicked his tongue. "Half an hour, perhaps?"

One hell of a wait when your goal's in sight. ""All right," Samson sighed, and looked to the monitor. "And when can we expect to be contacted by the shield world's security systems?"

"As soon as this vessel comes within 0201's short-range scanners, I would presume. Do not worry about powering down your warship's stealth systems, either; they will be completely ineffective to even the most preliminary of scanning tools."

"That's good to know," Sadiq muttered from behind Keeper, shaking his head in annoyance.

"It is!" Keeper ignored the obvious sarcasm. "Once the shield world opens to us and identifies you all properly as reclaimers, the local sentinels will put themselves at our disposal as well. I am sure that they will be glad to have purpose again after so long."

Samson paused for a few moments, unsure of what to say. He'd plied Keeper with numerous questions already, both on their long trip back to Earth and during his stay on Luna, but still found his mind racing when he thought of what lay behind the shield world's protective outer shell. Still feeling Keeper's glowing photoreceptor fixated on him, he blurted out the most obvious question that came to mind.

"What do you think will be waiting for us inside?"

Keeper's red lens darkened a little. "It is as I have told you, Vice Admiral Samson. Shield World 0201 was built for conservation purposes, by the -"

"That's not what I mean," Samson raised a finger, cutting the monitor off. "We're talking pure speculation here, Keeper, not what you've been told about the shield world."

"Ah." Keeper's gaze drifted away from the officer, if only for a couple of seconds. "I expect a lot of vegetation."

While it wasn't exactly the answer Samson had been looking for, he was pleased by a response that wasn't just Keeper reciting ancient memory logs. "Anything else?"

"I think - no - I hope, perhaps, that some of my makers are residing within 0201. That even after so long, they are alive and well."

At this point, the monitor had stopped focusing on Samson at all, his photoreceptor staring off at nothing in particular. For once, his voice had lost all of its enthusiasm. Samson exchanged glances with Sadiq and Rettinger, both of whom seemed absolutely clueless in this situation, and then quietly cleared his throat.

"So uh, do you think that it's possible that we'll find actual Forerunners inside?" Samson asked as innocently as possible.

Keeper perked up suddenly, and span round to face Samson. "Of course not!" he exclaimed. "None of my creators made it to 0201 before the Great Purification. I was to arrive first and prepare for their arrival, but my travel was hampered and I was forced to seek refuge in a minor military outpost, where I sank into a deep hibernation for my own safety."

"And you stayed there until Toru 'Makhan found you?"

"Yes." Keeper let out a metallic sigh. "I pity him, you know. It is a terrible thing, to watch such a great mind brought low by ignorance and hubris. Much like my creators, really, but there is no sense in dwelling on the dead."

Unsure of what to say, Samson nodded in polite agreement and turned his gaze back towards the forward viewscreen. His thoughts soon turned towards 'Makhan, without whom he would this expedition would not have been made possible. Though his precious Imperium now lay broken, trapped beneath the boot heel of their former foes as it made its first steps along the long road to recovery, it was clear now that in a different world he might have been an invaluable ally. Visionaries were rare among the Sangheili, it seemed, and regardless of his offences in sparking a brutal war 'Makhan's loss was a blow to his kind as a whole.

That said, Samson's thoughts drifted back to the ceremony he had attended just days before, commemorating those who had lost their lives in the conflict, 'if our positions were reversed, would he be thinking the same of us?

Probably not. If 'Makhan had destroyed the Sixth Fleet and the Swords' forces, he would have quickly transplanted his vast armies and most of his population onto the shield world, holing up in an impregnable fortress while the UNSC floundered, unable to easily track the Imperium down. That would have provoked a long war of the sort that mankind could ill-afford to fight, with its own fleets already tied down fighting other remnant groups across a dozen systems and its intelligence services putting down terrorists left and right. Makhan's death was undeniably a good thing for humanity, who today would reap the spoils of war.

***

"Planetoid's coming into visual range," an officer called from nearby, breaking a long silence.

Samson, Sadiq, Rettinger and Keeper made for the bridge's forward viewscreen at once, joined by several over-eager officers as the Lone Star drew closer to the shield world. While from afar it had looked like any other world, with vast oceans reflected in the light of a nearby star, Samson now saw that it possessed no visible landmasses. The shield world's surface, it seemed, was nothing but an all-encompassing ocean of translucent liquid, spotted with the reflected light of distant stars.

"Where's the entrance?" Samson spoke first, his eyes still on the artificial world before them.

Beside him, Keeper bobbed up and down slightly, his photoreceptor brushing against the hardened glass of the viewscreen. "Still submerged, it would seem. This is most curious."

"What is?" asked Rettinger, who had overcome the awe-inspiring view quicker than most. "Weren't you aware of what your own installation looked like?"

"Not on the exterior," Keeper said. "What lay outside was none of my concern."

The shield world grew larger and larger as the prowler continued to approach, curving away slightly to maintain a safe distance as it approached the planet's orbit. Still gazing intently at the massive installation, Samson's eyes narrowed as he began to catch gilmpses of massive criss-crossing lines of silver, somewhere deep beneath the murky depths of 0201's oceans. These lines ran across the shield world in great concentric rings, though every time Samson tried to focus on one it seemed to dissipate and vanish from view. He blinked, and the layout of these lines changed once again. Something was wrong.

"Keeper," he asked, keeping his voice level as he stepped back from the viewscreen. "What exactly are we looking at here?"

The monitor turned to face the trio of officers. "That would be 0201's primary method of defence beyond its outer shell: a slipspace bubble of tremendous proportions, designed to ensure the safety of this installation. It is an unorthodox means of defence, admittedly, but an effective one."

Samson ran a hand through his greying hair, and slowly exhaled. While all aboard the bridge knew enough about the principles of slipspace travel in terms of human technology, what mankind had achieved as a species was child's play compared to the brilliance of the Forerunners when it came to applications for slipspace. Any questions asked would require very simple answers.

"So," Samson spoke slowly and carefully. "Is this bubble keeping the shield world within its own dimension, or is it kept in a form of stasis?"

"Neither." Keeper's sphere shook left and right. "What you see before you is a bubble used for purely defensive measures, surrounding the outer shell of 0201. Think of it as something akin to the primitive energy shields used on your combat skins, if you will. 0201 still exists within this dimension, and time has passed quite normally inside."

"I see." Samson felt a sense of relief spread through him. "But now that we're close, how to we gain access?"

At this, Captain Sadiq turned to one of his communications officers. "Lieutenant," he asked. "See if you can pick up any signals within the shield world. Search all known frequencies and broadcast a friendly hail."

The young officer nodded, though after half a minute of rapid typing a frown appeared on her face, and she glanced up towards her expectant superiors. "Our sensors aren't picking up anything, sir," she said apologetically.

"As expected," Keeper turned back to face the viewscreen, sighing with the air of a teacher who had allowed a student to make an easy mistake. "The slipspace bubble prevents any standard methods of communication from reaching 0201, but that does not mean that the shield world is completely cut off from the galaxy. Move the ship into orbit above its equator."

Though the look on Captain Sadiq's face made it clear that he resented being given orders by a construct he'd derisively referred to as a 'talking lightbulb' on the journey here, he complied and relayed Keeper's request to his bridge crew. The Lone Star adjusted its heading slightly, dipping from its tight orbit of the northern hemisphere into a slow journey around the shield world's equator. Beneath the hazy slipspace bubble that Samson and the others had so easily mistaken for an ocean, the bands of silver criss-crossing 0201's outer shell began to grow brighter as white lights flashed up across an area the size of a small country like a gargantuan landing strip, as if heeding the prowler's arrival.

"Something's happening," Samson said excitedly, stating the obvious. "Keeper?"

"One moment." The monitor's voice was a flat monotone. "Our presence has been acknowledged."

Far, far below the ship, a portion of the slipspace shield dissipated into nothingness, and a great silver disc rose to fill the gap. Before Samson or anyone else aboard the Lone Star could react, a burst of red light erupted from the disk's surface, sweeping across the human craft in less than a second. Samson felt a strange churning in his gut that vanished as soon as it arrived, and once again found himself looking to Diligent Keeper for guidance, catching worried looks from Rettinger and several members of the crew.

"Keeper?" he asked again in a more authoritative tone. "I take it that that was the shield world scanning us."

"Yes." As with his last reply, there was a complete lack of emotion from the monitor.

"And what now? Is it saying anything?"

Keeper's red photoreceptor suddenly brightened, and the monitor, which had been floating in place for some time, suddenly span in a complete circle, looking at each person aboard the bridge in turn. Rettinger's free hand was halfway to his gunbelt, but the monitor paid him little heed as he came to focus once more on Samson.

"Welcome."

Down on the surface, in the circular gap in the impenetrable slipspace bubble, the silver disc split seamlessly in half, retracting to reveal a miles-long, passageway that passed right through the shield world's thick outer shell. Far beyond this entrance, at the very edge of the prowler's sensors, lay an entire world's worth of sensory feedback. Sunlight from an artificial star streamed invitingly through the passageway, greeting the first visitors the shield world had received in over 100,000 years. With only a moment's hesitation, Vice Admiral Ryan Samson gave the order for the Lone Star to descend, journeying into a new world.

Though the Imperial War was remembered as a brief, bloody, and largely avoidable war, sparked by greed and fuelled by ambition, it was not without its benefits. It had made heroes of those who emerged victorious, though such an appellation would provide little comfort after so much death, and it gave a burgeoning empire a chance to begin again, hardened by the lessons of war and mercifully no longer ruled by such a tyrant. Though none knew it at the time - not the brave officers of the United Nations Space Command, nor the mighty warriors of the Swords of Sanghelios or the bloodied generals of the Imperium of Clarity and all the glorified dead - the greatest prize of the Imperial War would be Shield World 0201, which had stood unused as a forgotten speck amidst the cosmos for millennia. Hidden away from the galaxy as the latest in a series of amazing xenoarchaeological finds, it would find its fame not as a prize seized from the Imperium, but as one of mankind's greatest fortresses in the war to come.

THE END

「 Brodie-001: Finished the fight」