 |
About This Site
Daily Musings
News
News Archive
Site Resources
FAQ
Screenshots
Concept Art
Halo 2 Updates
Interviews
Movies
Music
Miscellaneous
Mailbag
HBO PAL
Game Fun
The Halo Story
Tips and Tricks
Fan Creations
Wallpaper
Misc. Art
Fan Fiction
Comics
Logos
Banners
Press Coverage
Halo Reviews
Halo 2 Previews
Press Scans
Community
HBO Forum
Clan HBO Forum
HBO IRC Channel
Links
Admin
Submissions
FTP Uploads
HTTP Uploads
Contact
|
|
|
The Sands of Derelict by monitor101
|
The Sands of Derelict Chapter 1 The Final Jihad
Date: 4 January 2004, 11:47 PM
"Fallen, fallen is Babylon the great. She has become a haunt for demons. She is a cage for every unclean spirit, a cage for every unclean bird {a cage for every unclean} and disgusting {beast}. For all nations have drunk from her the wine of her licentious passion. The kings of the earth had intercourse with her, and the merchants of the earth grew rich from her drive of luxury."
-Revelation
"Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God almighty, who was, and who is, and who is to come."
-Revelation
(1700 hours, July 16, 2552 (Military Calendar) / Lambda Serpentis system, 3,000 miles from Jericho V orbit)
A slow moving, low-class civilian shuttle interrupted the relatively calm of space. The dents, rust, and scrapes were obvious signs of age, decay, and over use of the small shuttle.
Inside the shuttle, a deeply tanned man sat in the bridge, holding an old fashioned Israeli made Uzi. Abdul Assad looked up at the readouts and digital displays on the overhead monitor. "Salim, the probe is about to exit Slipstream space. Prepare the retrieval drone."
"Preparing now," a short, Palestinian man dropped his copy of STARS magazine and jumped to prepping the retrieval drone. His hands hovered over the keypad and in a blur, jabbed in the commands. "Drone activated, awaiting order to release."
"Do it," Assad answered, staring at a digital map of the surrounding space. A small blip was in the middle representing the shuttle. Another blip appeared, the retrieval drone. Assad watched as a third blip appeared, this one about 50,000 thousand miles out. The two blips closed in on each other and then met. The now larger blip changed its flight path and headed towards the shuttle.
"Retrieval drone and Slip probe have met. Returning to us...probes boarded and sealed inside. I'm getting spectroscopic analysis and Slipstream data now," Salim Rusan reported.
"Good, did it launch the rocket?"
"Yes, with a lot of interference from the Slipstream. From the spectro analysis, it looks like we hit it," Rusan replied.
"Good, now we wait." Assad leaned back in his seat and stretched out his full six foot one inch frame. He ran a hand through his thick mat of black hair. "God I want to get this over with." Assad had planned and prepared for a mission like this for twenty years. He had trained his men and pushed them, saying that the day would come when Allah would grant them their wish and their people's freedom would come. After years of waiting one such mission came up. His mole in the UNSC government had informed him that the UNSC brass was planning one such mission. An attempt to make peace with the Covenant, the very race that had killed them and showed no mercy. Who in their right mind would think up such an attempt? For a quarter century this war has raged on and killed billions. You would think that they would have realized that peace with such an alien race would be utterly impossible...but no they were still blind. Assad thought of the very comparison he had with the damned aliens: they both were acting on behalf of religion. For a moment he felt a feeling of kinship with the Covenant. He felt that the Covenant was helping him carry out his war. The only thing on the UNSC brass's mind was this war and protecting the human race from utter annihilation. They would never have thought of a terrorist group holding a few very important people hostage.
The plan was in its infancy, but soon it would grow. If everything went as planned then he would have fulfilled his ancestors dream...Allah's dream...the very dream that was driving him to do this.
"Abdul, a ship is exiting Slip space," Rusan jumped in his seat, his voice gave no hint of him trying to conceal his excitement.
"Excellent, ready the men. Prepare to ram the ship," Assad said, getting up and leaving the bridge, his Uzi in hand.
"Right away." Rusan typed in the new course and the autopilot took over. The shuttle's engines rumbled and the nose steered towards a larger ship.
(UNSC cargo-ship Revolution, exiting Slipstream space, standing crew 34, cargo: UNSC military weapons/supplies)
The ship's onboard computer sensed the problem; probably a rogue meteor or some other rock had hit the Revolution in Slipspace. The computer automatically followed its programmed safety procedures and brought the Revolution out of Slipspace. It powered up the ships back up power and awakened the crew from Cryogenic sleep.
In the cryo chamber of the Revolution, 34 cryotubes opened and coughs filled the large room. Captain Davis sat up in his tube and coughed up the mucus in his mouth. He ran his hand over his mouth and stretched. "What the hell?" he inquired to no one in particular.
"We must be here," Davis's XO said.
"It sure as hell seems like it," Davis added. A small blinking light caught his eye. The small data pad standing next to his tube blared and a report scrolled across the screen. "Son-of-a-bitch," Davis muttered as he finished reading the printout. "Dan, we're not at Reach."
"What do you mean?" Danielson the XO asked.
"Something hit us while we were in Slipspace. The computer followed safety protocol to the letter; we stopped in the Lambda Serpentis system. We're about 50,000 klicks from the planet Jericho four, AKA Derelict."
"I've heard of this Derelict. It's a desert planet, pretty damn secluded, but not far from Earth or Reach," Danielson said.
"Right, well lets get on the bridge, and see just what the hell hit us," Davis stiffly hopped out of the chamber and walked over to the locker room.
Seven minutes later Davis entered the bridge. He hadn't the time to get into his dress uniform on so he had thrown on his dress slacks, a belt, and a white undershirt. "What's the situation Ed?"
"Sir, the object whatever it was, hit the port side and punctured engineering deck A, which of course is sealed," ops officer Edison reported. "It appears to have caused an explosion because there was a fire, which is under control."
"An explosion...must have hit one of the fuel tanks," Davis concluded.
"Highly unlikely sir, there is no type of fuel pump or tank on engineering deck A," Edison remarked.
"Then what the hell hit us?" Davis demanded.
"I don't know."
"Well, get a team of people down there in pressure suits, have them comb the deck for clues of what caused this explosion."
"Skipper, I can't override the emergency pressure doors. Once its shut it's shut," Edison said.
"Well, they'll have to use a plasma cutter to get it open and to seal it. Get to it."
"Sir, unidentified object approaching us from starboard!" Lt. Wells, the NAV officer blurted.
"Starboard camera," Davis snapped. The main view screen flickered to a picture of a rapidly approaching vessel. "That's a civilian shuttle," he whispered.
"Sir, unknown ship not changing course," Wells said, her voice was filled with panic.
"Get it on the com."
"Sir," the com officer said.
A hiss of static filled the bridge. "Unidentified civilian shuttle, this is military cargo vessel Revolution. Change course immediately!" Davis ordered. No answer.
"Sir, impact in five seconds!" Wells screamed.
"Main thrusters to full power. GET US THE HELL OUT OF ITS WAY!" Davis screamed back. "DAMNIT CHANGE COURSE YOU STUPID BASTARD!"
Before anyone could respond or type in the commands to change course to shuttle hit. The impact shook the entire ship and everyone in the bridge smacked into the deck. If the small cargo ship had an AI then they would have had a chance. There was a loud bang and the tremors shook the ship again. Davis slammed into the deck and lost consciousness almost immediately. The shaking stopped and the ship was still. The only noise was the groan of metal on metal and the humming of the engines. Davis regained consciousness and slowly got to his feet.
"Is everyone okay?" he asked. They bridge crew responded everyone was okay. "Good, damage report?" he demanded.
"Sir, the shuttle struck us on the starboard side. Hull breach in deck eleven." Edison reported.
"Damn, seal it off," Davis said. He could feel blood flowing down the side of his head.
"Sir, small contacts surrounding the hull breach. It looks like a boarding party!"
Outside the damaged ship Assad floated in the black void. He watched as the shuttle impacted with the ship and the Semtex on the front of the small civilian vessel exploded. The brilliant fireball vanished and the destroyed ruins of the shuttle floated away revealing a large hole in the ship's hull. Assad smiled, the hole had to be at least be two meters wide and two tall. "Alright everyone, use your thrusters to board the ship. Wait for further orders when you board the ship," he said over the com channel. He only hopped that his thruster pack still worked; it had to at least thirty years old. He activated it and by some stroke of luck it shot forward. He accelerated towards the hole. To his luck the Revolution had stopped accelerating and was just floating there. Assad covered the distance of 200 meters in little time and when he was two feet from the hole he shutdown the thruster pack and grabbed onto the jagged edge of the hole.
Assad pulled himself in and prayed that the jagged metal would not puncture his pressure suit. The other men behind him formed a single file line and one by one slowly entered. The second to last man was pulling himself in when his suit caught onto a bent bar and punctured his suit. The man screamed as atmosphere escaped from his suit and the deathly black matter of space sucked in. The last man pushed him aside and entered without a second glance.
When they were all inside, Rusan pulled out a portable cutter/welder. He set it against the sealed emergency pressure door and began to cut. He made a large meter and a half square. Atmosphere sucked out of the ship and space sucked in. Each of the fourteen terrorists pulled themselves into the next corridor. Rusan and three others struggled with the cut door and put it into place. He welded it shut.
"Damn, good maneuvering everybody. Now get out of these damn suits and follow me," Assad said. He ripped off his suit and breathed atmosphere again. The thirteen others did the same.
Assad drew his Uzi and slowly walked down the corridor. They came to a pressure door; its status lights were green. They walked through it and entered another corridor. "Okay, I want five of you to find the armory. I want another five to go around shooting every person you see. The other three will come with me to the bridge. Kill everyone, and let no one impede your progress."
They split up. Assad led Muammar Aidid, Ali Hassan, and Abdi Benghazi. They worked their way through several corridors until they came to an elevator. They boarded and chose level 2. Assad felt himself rise and fall as they passed between spinning sections of the ship. The doors parted and Aidid shot out into a corridor covering the right, Benghazi the left.
Aidid opened up as he saw two men walking down the corridor. "Clear," he shouted.
Assad and Hassan stepped into the corridor.
"What way, there has to be at least three doors?" Benghazi asked.
"Well, we go the way the two men came from." Assad answered. They walked past the two bodies and the pools of blood to the pressure door. Assad walked into it and it opened. It was another corridor, and there had to be at least ten doors.
"Fan out and search each door," Assad ordered. The three others walked through each door to check the inside of them.
"Here!" Hassan yelled. The other three walked over to his position. He stood in front of a door. A blue arrow on the ground pointed to it. The arrow was labeled: BRIDGE.
"Good, shoot everyone but the captain," Assad drew his Uzi and walked towards the door. It opened and Assad charged in his Uzi firing.
Edison was instantly killed as rounds tore into him. Hassan drew an old pistol and put a round into Danielson's head. Aidid fired in a quick burst and Wells slumped forward in his station's seat with two rounds in her chest. Benghazi drew his weapon and cut down the com officer. Assad brutally slammed the butt of his Uzi into Davis's head. The captain went limp and slumped to the ground. It was all over in less than ten seconds.
"Good work!" Assad smiled, looking at the four bodies that were drowning in pools of crimson blood. He grabbed the captain and dragged him into a corner. Then he walked over to the com station and transmitted on the ship wide intercom. "Attention ship crew. If you are not dead then you are either on the run or unaware of the situation at hand. My name is Abdul Assad and I am taking command of your fine ship. If you surrender now you will not be harmed. But if not then you will die," He released the transmit button.
A hiss of static filled the bridge via the overhead speakers. "Abdul, we've killed everyone on the ship," Rusan said.
"Are you sure? I checked the ships standing crew list. There are 34 crew members."
"Yes I am sure. The weapons team got to the armory cargo. We are in business."
"Good work, do a quick check of the ship then met me on the bridge, out," Assad killed the link.
He looked out to space via the main view port. The task that him and his men had just accomplished had taken years of planning and waiting. It was not easy, it demanded near impossible feats. First they had to send out an old probe (which they had stolen from a remote monitoring station) into Slipspace and launch a barely running missile into a passing by UNSC military cargo ship carrying arms that would be vital for their plans. After that they had to blow a hole in the ship and board it. It went better then Assad had planned and with only one casualty. Now it would soon be time to launch the master plan...the holy war...the Jihad.
To Be Continued...
The Sands of Derelict Chapter 2 Takeoff
Date: 14 January 2004, 10:59 PM
(0930 hours, August 26, 2552 (Military Calendar) / Earth, UNSC Central Command HQ, New York New York, UNSC Security Council meeting room)
The normally crowded UNSC Security Council Meeting Room was empty except for the first few rows of risers. A group of people stood behind the podium in the middle of the room.
"Lady's and gentlemen, please be quite so we can begin," General Jacob Yaddin shouted over the voices of the twenty-four people surrounding him. The room fell silent and those who stood sat.
"Good, now let me begin by saying that this meeting is of great importance. What you are about to hear must be for your ears, and your ears only. I will get right to it, each of you has been hand picked by Secretary General Danforth, herself. As all of you know, the Spartans are going to launch an attempt to capture a Covenant ship and take the commandeered vessel to the Covenant home world and capture the Covenant leadership. Well if they succeed, then we need someone to negotiate with the leadership. Someone who has experience in peace talk and all the things that go with that, and that someone is you...all of you. You are the select few delegates who are going to be there to make a deal with the Covenant leaders. Now you have no say in this, but this is important to the future of the UNSC...the future of the human race."
Ripples of uneasiness swept through the twenty-four people. Some stirred in their seats, others engaged in talk with their fellow delegates.
"Now your security is of uttermost importance. This is why I have hired a long time veteran of Covenant ground engagements. Major David Brin will be the head of security, Major."
Yaddin stepped off the center podium and a tall, tan skinned man replaced him. "Hello, I am Major Brin. Your security is my first priority. I have the best security personnel the UNSC can offer. We also have another strong point." Brin stepped off and an even taller man replaced him. His seven-foot tall stature, black dress suit with an unmistakable insignia, square jaw, short black hair, and bulky arms, were all telltale signs that he was obviously a Spartan.
(1800 hours, August 16, 2552 (Military Calendar) / Epsilon Erandi system, planet Reach, Spartan training facility)
Spartan Nathan 106 stood in the large weight room, pumping a 450-pound dumbbell. He wore knee low sports shorts and a Tee shirt. His arm muscles rippled as he lifted the weight with ease. Nathan was one of those Spartans that liked to stay out of the spotlight. He chose to stay in his armor and follow orders. He was one of the more muscular Spartans, with a washboard stomach and muscles that popped out.
"Petty Officer!" a voice boomed into the room.
"Sir!" Nathan set the weight down and snapped to attention. He crisply saluted as Master Chief John-117 approached.
The Master Chief stopped a meter and a half from Nathan. "Well Nathan, it looks like you've been called to Earth," John said.
"Sir?"
"I don't know either, but get into your armor, get what you need, and get onto the transport," John said. "Good luck with whatever it is." He saluted, spun on his heel, and left.
"Yes sir, thank you sir," Nathan returned the salute and headed for the showers.
(2300 hours, July 23, 2552 (Military Calendar) / Earth, New York SpacePort, New York)
Nathan exited the SpacePort and examined his surroundings. The night was growing old, but the lights of New York were keeping the darkness at bay. The night was active, more than normal. Nathan walked over to a limo and stared down at the pitch-black vehicle. Nathan turned his gaze to the truck behind the limo; men were loading a tall case that contained his armor and his other belongings onto the trucks. Nathan's eyes adjusted to the darkness and saw two men walk up to him. One opened the limo door and Nathan entered.
. The two men entered and sat opposite of him. Both were dressed in expensive Brioni and Kiton suits, both suits had UNSC stitched on the breast pockets.
"I'm sure you don't know why you're here. Well my name is Fincher and this is Wilson. We're both aides to Deputy Secretary Yaddin," Fincher, who was sitting on the left, said.
"Sir, I am Spartan Nathan-106!" Nathan blurted. He tried not to hit the roof of the limo; the interior was cramped and small. The limo started up and sped away from the Spaceport so did the truck they sped into the city.
"Yah, we know who you are. No need for an introduction," Wilson said.
"Well, we'll get right to it. You've been selected to help lead security for an upcoming mission. Your fellow Spartans back on Reach haven't been informed yet." Fincher quickly laid down the specifics on the mission and Nathan's role in it. "You are going to help Major Brin lead the security forces."
"Sir, why me?"
"Well, you come highly recommended by the other Spartans. They say that you are the one who always volunteers to run double guard duty. And that you have a sixth sense for spotting Covenant ships in space," Wilson lied. They had never talked to any of the other Spartans.
"But sir, when I was informed by my CO of leaving Reach for Earth, he said that he had did not have the slightest idea as to why," Nathan said.
"We never talked to your CO, only a select few."
"When?"
"Two days before you were informed of your trip to here," Wilson said.
"Really, so how long have you been planning this?" Nathan fought down a smile. He loved playing these mind games with people, especially with civilians and high-ranking ONI officials. The only person who won (besides him) was doctor Catherine Halsey.
"For some time, " Wilson said with a sharp tone, Nathan-106 was starting to swim in too deep of water.
"How long is 'some time'?"
Wilson was about to shout something when Fincher cut in. "So Nathan, what do you think of this mission?"
"Well its very unexpected. I am very happy to be a part of a mission of this...scale."
The limo pulled up to a massive building. It had several flags of different old countries and one dominated the others...the flag of the UNSC
Nathan, Fincher, and Wilson climbed the tall flight of steps and entered the massive building. They entered the reception room and walked over to an elevator.The three entered the elevator and went up five floors. Fincher got out, leaving Wilson and Nathan in the elevator. They rode up to the 14th floor and Wilson showed Nathan his room. Nathan thanked him and Wilson left. Nathan quickly scanned the small room and prepped himself for a hot shower. Fifteen minutes later Nathan was out the door and heading for the UNSC HQ's Security Council Meeting Room.
(1000 hours, August 26th, 2552 (Military Calendar) / UNSC Spacedock, orbiting Earth)
"Well, this is going to be one hell of a trip," Major David Brin grumbled, looking through a view port at the ship outside.
"C'mon boss, it won't be as bad as you think...well if things go wrong and you run into some Covies, then they will," Lieutenant Cove laughed at the Major's hate of space travel. "Don't be afraid of a little old cryotube, it won't hurt, except for when they thaw you out of the freezer."
"Thanks for lifting my spirits," Brin sarcastically smirked. He stepped away from the view port and took a seat in one of the waiting room's many rows of chairs.
"Uh sir, looks like trouble!" Cove said, eyeing a women walking towards them.
Brin shifted uneasily in his seat, instantly recognizing Julia French, a delegate whom he had a bad history with. He looked away as if he didn't notice her as she walked up and stopped in front of him. She was wearing a knee-high skirt and a red collared shirt.
"Mr. Brin, I would just like to point out that since this mission is of high importance and that everyone should get to know one another for morale reasons, I would like to know if we could forget our differences and straighten things out, between us?"
Brin hesitated, he hopped she didn't see the beads of sweat form on his forehead running down his face. He was never good with women. "Uh-huh, sure, what ever suits you," he croaked.
"Good, now I'll see you on the ship," French walked off.
Brin looked at her as she went away. She was defiantly a striking woman with a smooth face and tall body. She walked away without a second glance. Brin turned away and stared at the ceiling, listening to the clicks of her heels.
"I don't think you handled that very well," Cove said.
"I never do," Brin stood up and walked off.
Nathan sat uneasily in one of the many chairs in the waiting room. He wished he was with his other Spartans and not in a crowded room above space. He sat stiffly, going over the security procedures. He saw Wilson talking to one of the delegates. He got up and strode over to him. "Sir, do you know where my armor and personal effects have been taken?"
"They have already been put on the ship, just like the rest of the people's stuff," Wilson replied.
"Sir yes sir, will I have easy access to them?"
"Yes,"
"Thank you sir," Nathan snapped to attention, spun on his heel and went back to his seat. Nathan sat down and took a deep breath. He looked around the room. The delegates were bunched up in a corner of the room, talking. Brin was staring out of a viewport, smoking a cigarette. The fifteen security personnel were talking in another corner. And he was here in between the two groups. God he wished he had at least one Spartan with him. He leaned back and set the wish aside, it was time to get serious and he played over all the possible scenarios. He didn't find any logic in the mission, why would they need a Spartan to escort a UNSC delegate's board across space to Reach. They were taking the long way from Earth to Reach. Nathan stiffened as Brin walked over to him.
"So Spartan, can I count on you to take extra care of us all?"
"Yes sir, you can count on me," Nathan stood and saluted.
"Ah, no need for chain-of-command right now, Spartan," Brin sat down next to Nathan.
Captain Feral sat in the command chair of the Corvette. "Alex, when will the engines come out of shake down?" Ferrell asked.
On the holopanel on Ferrell's right an image of Alexander the Great flickered into periphery. "Captain, the engines will be out of their final shakedown mode in three point two seconds...engines out of shakedown mode. Running final systems check...all systems are green."
"Good job, warm up the Slipspace generators and cryochamber B."
"Right away, captain."
"Lieutenant Etzler, prepare to castaway from the orbital docking station, and find us a good exit trajwctory, one that's not crowded with incoming and outgoing traffic," Ferrell said to the NAV officer Lt. Etzler.
"Aye sir, I think I got one," she replied.
"Well the, put it to memory and plot it in when we exit," Ferrell said.
"Captain, Slipspace generators warmed up, cryo B tubes warmed up," Alexander's image popped up onto the holopanel.
"Good, now send the passengers in and tell them to get into the cryotubes," Ferrell said, leaning back in his command chair.
Brin sat next to the Spartan. He wasn't much of a talker, seemed shy and liked to keep to himself. Brin didn't blame him; he had no other Spartans with him, had been pulled from his duty station faster than a humming bird flaps its wings, and was rushed to Earth. Man, talk about being rushed, he thought. Brin took a long pull on his cigarette just as Alexander's voice filled the waiting room via overhead speakers.
"Will all waiting delegates and security personnel please board now. Please follow your guide to cryochamber B and prepare to enter cyrotubes."
"Ah shit," Brin whispered as took one last pull from his cigarette and flicked it into a trash bin. He followed the rest onto the ship and followed a 'guide' to the cryochamber.
Outside the ship technicians were making last minute adjustments to the ships outer hull. One such man on the bottom of the port side was finishing up welding on a piece of steel reinforced Titanium-A battleplating. He looked over his shoulder and pulled out a small black, square object from his utility belt. Joseph Rorhbach took the small charge and planted the side covered with strong adhesive behind an edge of the plating. He took a role of EB tape and rolled it onto the charge until it was completely covered. The he sprayed some more adhesive from a bottle to make sure that it didn't rip off in the phenomenal speeds of Slipspace. "All techs return to the dock," a voice filled his helmet. Rorhbach pushed off from the Corvette and with his thruster pack, maneuvered back to the docking station.
Nathan was already in the cryotube as it closed and a mist filled the inner chamber. His vision blurred and he fell into a long slumber.
The Corvette caste away from the dock turned around 360 degrees and sped outsystem. Green motes of light surrounded it and it disappeared from regular space, into another dimension of space-time. Away to change to coarse of history...or...
To Be Continued...
|
