|
This fanfiction article, Stories from the Sigmaverse/Compromise, was written by Brodie-001. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission. |
Even so, every colony had its share of secrets. Some had scars, and as a single UH-144 Falcon descended, passing a jagged line of rocky hilltops, Asphodel's came sharply into view. Far ahead of them, the once-lush fields and valleys of this particular area had been turned into nothing but scorched, barren earth and desolate stone, still littered with the remnants of an earlier war. It had been close to nine years, but nothing had grown back here. "And there it is." The Falcon's passenger spoke for the first time in their two-hour flight, sounding almost pleased. "This is where we finished the bastards." Captain Frederick King sighed as he gazed at the deserted battlefield, wondering if the two armoured Marines manning the Falcon's machine guns were ignoring him on purpose. He looked very out of place in his white shirt and khaki chinos, and were it not for the MA5K rifle slung over his shoulder and the physique of a man half his age he may have even passed for a civilian. King's headset buzzed, and the pilot's voice came through. "Two minutes, Captain. They've put up green smoke, just like you said." "Excellent. Put us down at a distance." King glanced at the metal case safely secured to the transport's floor. "But not too far away." As the Falcon began its descent, King unclipped himself from his harness and stood up, grabbing a handhold while he unsecured the case, clutching the handle tightly. Soon the craft found itself hovering over a plain of dry grass, blowing debris everywhere as its landing gear gently touched the ground. The Marine behind King shifted out of his seat and reached into one of the upper storage compartments, fishing out a long-barrelled rifle. King tapped him on the shoulder. "You don't pull that trigger unless I give the word, got it?" "Yes sir." The Marine nodded, stonefaced but clearly uncomfortable. With the Falcon's rotors winding down, King stepped out onto the plain, feeling the grass crunch noisily beneath his feet as he approached a plume of green smoke. Three battered Warthog transports were parked at its base, a short distance away from what appeared to be a blocky grey storage container. A grey-haired, moustached man leant against it, smoking a cigarette and watching King's approach with mild interest. He was dressed in a dirty green jumpsuit, with dark body armour that looked as though it had seen better days, "You're late," the man said, looking King up and down. "Two hours we've been waiting here." King's eyes flitted to the treeline behind the crate. "We?" The man followed his gaze. "Got a platoon on overwatch, just where you can't see 'em. Brave of you to come down here in a single bird, though. One Falcon ain't much." "It will be when that M460 starts firing." King flashed a smile. "And besides, they aren't the only eyes on us." King pointed a finger towards the sky. The man looked upwards, then back to him with an annoyed sneer. "Warship?" "Stealth ship. Think your boys could outrun an Archer missile?" The man gave no answer, and instead stubbed the remnants of his cigarette out on the side of the container before yanking at a handle to pull it open. It gave way with a slight creak, and King followed him inside. While on the exterior it looked like the kind of shipping container you would see among thousands at any spaceport, its interior was surprisingly spacious, with shiny black walls and a table and chairs bolted to the floor. A water cooler sat invitingly at the far end. "Close the door behind you," said the man, retrieving two paper cups and filling them with water. "Too damn noisy outside." King did as instructed, and pulled the container door shut behind him. It sealed itself with a faint hiss, and all sound from the field outside practically vanished. Aside from the low hum of an air conditioning unit, they were now in a sealed, silent environment. Nodding appreciatively, King sat down on one side of the table. A cup of cold water was placed before him seconds later, and his contact sat down opposite him. "Is this thing sealed?" King asked. "Totally. Complete Faraday cage. Privacy guaranteed." King let out a sigh of relief. "Good. So how are you, Markus?" His tone grew relaxed. "Not getting too old to be roughing it out in the sticks with a bunch of young Innies." Markus let out a chuckle, and downed his own water in a single draught. "I'm well-respected, sir. It's why when these pissants are running scared and decide to play ball with big bad ONI they ask me to do the talking." "Well then." King set his case down on the table. "Let's talk, Agent Two." Markus leaned back in his chair, folding both hands behind his head. "Well, Agent One, I'd say that it's finally dawning on what's left of the major rebel groups that the Covenant are in fact real and that we didn't do a damn thing to provoke a war with them." "What finally gave it away?" "Madrigal." Markus's face darkened. "Some were in denial for the first couple of years, but when the survivors started spreading the word and videos of the planet burning started making the rounds even some of the hardliners decided to call it quits. Some even joined the UNSC." King nodded. "Morgan Kinsano was a big gain for us. Any news on the URF?" Markus shrugged. "They've been running scared since Watts got snatched up, but actually holding steady. The ones in Eridanus are content to sit in that asteroid field and wait out the war, while men like Graves and Makosky are picking up anyone who still hates us from here to Reach, even if they are being quieter about it." "Got a location on either of them?" As the largest rebel group still around, killing or capturing the heads of the United Rebel Front was always high on ONI's priority list. "Last I saw of them was on Roost, but that's old news." Markus clasped his calloused hands together. "I hate to say it, but they don't often let me sit at the high table nowadays. They got some new golden boy to lead their commando raids, but I've never met the man in person." "Right," King nodded politely, taking mental notes. "Any risks to your own life?" Markus snorted. "Between getting shot by the UNSC or the Covenant dropping in unexpectedly, nothing out of the ordinary. I've been playing the undercover game since before BRUTUS was a thing, sir. As far as the rebels know I'm just some old timer lucky enough to live this long, but thankfully there's enough like me not to arouse suspicion. It's why they still trust me for things like this." "Which brings us to our business today." King patted the top of his case. "Do your bosses agree to our deal?" "One hundred percent." Markus folded his arms. "Used to be that you couldn't get innie cells on one planet to agree with each other, but now we've got nine who aren't going to play ball with the URF's decision to keep the fight going." "And is their information fresh?" "Checked and double-checked myself, sir." Klein held up three fingers. "Slipspace routes, supply caches and a long list of collaborators going as far in as Earth. Act within the month and you'll behead at least five or six groups. Not a bad roundup for BRUTUS, considering." "And in exchange..." King flipped up both clasps on his case, which promptly sprang open. Inside were several rows of neatly-packed credit chips, along with at least half a dozen freshly-printed identification cards and other documents. "Thirty million, enough to buy enough weapons and ammunition for at least fifty militias, and the documents to get yourselves in and out of the Inner Colonies without seeing the inside of a cell." Markus let out a low whistle. "Not a bad deal, considering." "Of course it isn't." King's tone hardened. "I'm not a big believer in redemption, but if your rebel friends can cause enough infighting to destabilise what's left of the hardline groups and bring down some Covenant on the way, I'd say they've earned their freedom. Besides, if they don't play ball, they're sitting on a stash of illegally-obtained money and counterfeit ID's alongside a terrorism charge." "And that's if they see the inside of a court." Markus grinned. "If they don't-" "-then BRUTUS will come for them." King rose from his chair, leaving the open case with Markus. "First check-in in three years, Agent Two. We'll have to catch up another time when you're not playing in the dirt."
|
|||||||||||||