 |
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
|
|
|
Unspartan by Lord Palarious
|
Unspartan: Prelude
Date: 7 August 2007, 7:47 am
They called him Tinker. He was the only Spartan with a nickname. Still, it wasn't like he was well known or liked. He didn't talk to people, not even before he was drafted for the program. His family had thought something was wrong with him, so they had sent him to get tested at the colony's only medical center. It took longer than they thought it should have and the father, son of a medical practitioner back on Earth, could have sworn they took some tests that weren't necessary. Afterwards, those sort of thoughts faded after the doctors said he would need to be hospitalized for future neurological trouble. Not long after, a specialist named Dr. Hasley came to see the boy. Months later, their little boy began to truly have neurological trouble. That is, the one in the Hospital. Tinker had just become a very expensive I.D. code in the war effort.
• He seemed to adjust well in his surroundings on Reach, in a way. However, he frustrated many of the instructors with his refusal to speak and would have been iced if hadn't been for the insistence of the A.I. Deja. She had noticed his incredible ability when dealing with systems of any kind. She argued that his lack of communication was more than compensated by his ability to achieve the objective. Shortly afterward, Dr. Hasley decided that she had something special in mind for Spartan 102.
Spartan 102 was isolated from the other Spartans. Inability to communicate is something generally considered a weakness. Dr. Halsey intended to forge it into one of his greatest strengths. Chief Petty Officer Mendez made sure the only time the other Spartans saw 102 was after a tiring exercise or before Mendez hit them with something harder that they'd ever felt previously. 102 had separate quarters, ate with the officers, took separate courses, and, possibly most importantly, was given special equipment. While the rest of the Spartans often left with little or no issued arms or supplies, 102 seemed to always get what ever he wanted. What's more, he never seemed satisfied. Always off to the side, just in sight, he'd be "playing" around with another odd assortment of weapons and gadgets. Only once did a Spartan ask about the difference of treatment. They had just come in from one of the hardest exercises the OSTD marines had ever had and their mood was one of challenge. After the question, CPO Mendez simply smiled and told them to get back on the pelicans. For the next three weeks they didn't see base camp. They did see more mountain ridges than they thought could exist on a planet and one Spartan 102 in the camps of the marines who starting to become friendlier to the idea of bending the rules for the little freaks who humiliated them without fail day and night. After those three weeks, he wasn't Spartan 102 anymore. He was Tinker, the thing that envy and calculated resentment had forged in the minds of most of the Spartans. A few weeks later, he began to be seen less and less. But Dr. Halsey and Deja had achieved their objective. Just as all the other Spartans had been molded into the living weapons that they became known as, so David Terrof became Tinker, the one Spartan who was not a Spartan.
Tinker's training was very different from that of the other Spartans. Any backup he ever had come in the form of, at the most, 5 or 6 marines. Later, the marines would often have orders to sabotage his efforts. In reality, unlike what Deja wanted the Spartans to believe, Tinker hardly ever had more to work with than the regular Spartans: regularly, he made do with less. He hacked his way into communications, used stolen equipment, and coordinated the marines against each other. For someone who never talked, he understood relationships to an amazing degree. He twisted the emotional arms of marines who weren't even qualified to have hearts. And, even at the age of seven, Tinker was unafraid of killing to accomplish the objective and killing was often the only way to achieve the increasingly complex and warped missions. However, that was only half of the combination that was Tinker. He seemed to be able to put anything together. The minute Deja recognized this, she ordered more non-regulaltion technology than had been requested for the past 20 years in the entire military. The majority of the technology came from black market sources. Deja often used the excuse of gaining information about possible rebels and dissenters in the UNSC. Within minutes, Tinker could look at an exotic piece of tech from the outer colonies and modify it to suit some highly effective military need. Deja stored stashes of tech all over Reach and acquiring the heavily guarded materials was often one of the first objectives he was given. After 102 became Tinker, missions lasting months were not uncommon. When the time finally came for augmentation, Tinker hadn't seen a Spartan for well over a year and a half. He was given no special operations, nor special care.
He woke from the operation with a crippled arm and a limp and without the sight of the other Spartans who were now dead for all he cared. It would be over a year before Tinker would finish creating the prosthetics augmenting his cripple arm from the designs of the MJOLINR Armor and a little known inventor with unfortunate political preferences. There were no ceremonies for Tinker. He hadn't needed anyone for a long time. He left Reach the day he was outfitted with his specialized MJOLINR suit. This mission was the real thing and, this time, he did get to take some of his toys along.
Unspartan: Ch. 1
Date: 7 August 2007, 7:51 am
A tremor ran over the craft, jarring awake two of the marines in the pod. Tinker needed no waking. A curious side effect of the augmentations, he found that rest wasn't needed nearly as much as it used to be. It had proven invaluable in correction of the multitude of flaws in the MJOLINIR armor designs. He doubted the project would have been completed within the time the research team had been given without his aid. He smiled at the memory. They had given him EVERYTHING he had asked for. He had learned more than they would ever know. Using the equipment they gave him, he had done more than create functional Mark 4 armor. He had taken designs for hundreds of armor designs and created over thirty different variants of armor for both humans and vehicles. The most promising was a sort of film he believed could one day be used for extreme camouflage. They had been so impressed that his other actions had gone unnoticed. The vast databases of the UNSC, in all its various shadow groups and factions, had fallen into Tinker's very curious hands. He knew the missions the Spartans had embarked on. He knew the augmentation failure rates. He knew what he had expected: he was no longer even listed as a Spartan. His record stated his augmentation had failed. Thus, he no longer existed. He traced the activities of Ackerman, surprised he could find no evidence he had been involved with his own particular fiasco. In any case, Tinker would have felt like shaking his hand if he had. He had accomplished more in the year and a half after augmentation than ever before. He knew more about the UNSC than anyone he knew. And, most of all, he had his body back. And there were perks to designing the armor that would augment him for the rest of his life. He doubted future suits would get the kind of enhancements, know and secret, his personal one had.
He had embedded entire UNSC databases into the very gel of the MJOLINIR armor. The memory capabilities had already been know, but he expanded them beyond anything the scientists had thought possible. When he first informed them it could support an A.I., they only refrained from laughing because of the fact he reminded them of a psycho-killer. The man never talked! They had seen the unclassified parts of his medical record. He had functional vocal chords. So, out of a desire to not be murdered in the night, they listened. Months later, they had been given secret metals and even better facilities in what was quickly becoming one of the most important secret projects in UNSC history.
Jarred from his thoughts a second time, Tinker linked with the main computer. They shouldn't be having these sorts of disturbances. His equipment, untested as it were, should have negated that particular effect of the "skipping stone" technique of slip space travel. The project to use the exiting and entering properties of slip space for a super drive had been a complete failure previous to his forced entry into the program and for good reason. Nothing had ever survived a test jump beyond radiation and elementary particles, a transition Tinker really didn't feel like making. He growled and the marines visibly flinched. These men were going to have to get some backbone. They weren't on a milk run here and their ship was about to hit the fan.
Tinker ran the diagnostics again. This could not go wrong! Everything he had done so far would pale to this! Imagine, streaking across the stars up to an estimated 60 times faster than any regular ship in slip space! The diagnostics came back clean. Wait. There it was!
A fluctuation in one of the minor energy coils! Something was using just enough energy to disturb the compensation field. Tinker cursed silently. Quickly, he used the hand signals he had taught the men to tell them to brace for impact. They jumped to it while he unsealed the hatch. He had to move fast.
Someone had sabotaged the mission! They couldn't do this! He seethed inwardly. This mission was destined to change the way the upcoming war with the rebels went in a way nothing the Spartans could ever accomplish. The war would be won in space, not on the ground! And the weapons potential of the various side effects of the "skipping stone" technique was more than impressive. He had reached the hatch in front of the coils. The captain was yelling something over the whine of the ripping compensation field. Tinker turned off his radio and switched off the decompression cycle for the hatch. He had no time and the MJOLINIR could take the vacuum. The door pulled open and Tinker crashed through the door.
Right ahead, two to the right.
There it was.
He knew advanced UNSC material when he saw it. And the array connected to it was definitely the work of their technicians. Probably thought no one who check here because of the vacuum, he realized. This wasn't sabotage: this was a spy. Instinct guided him, and, in the blink of an eye, he had separated the little cube from its apparatus. He knew there were only seconds left till they were turned into atomic particles by their re-entry into normal space. He connected to the computer to an extent he had never attempted before and something cold seemed to settle in the back of his head. He shook it off and began to try to re-adjust the field.
*It won't work* a hauntingly familiar voice suddenly said. *It's gone too far.* So I am a psycho killer, Tinker thought. He kept working. *LISTEN TO ME!!!* The pain was almost physical. *We have to use a body of mass already in slip space to slow us down! We might actually survive the exit then. It's the ONLY way.* Tinker stopped. The psycho voice was making sense. The pattern was already too disrupted. Tinker located the nearest sufficient mass. He barely had time to notice its unusual shape before accelerating the ship to maximum to cover the distance. They might just make it. Tinker energized the prototype plates on the hull. It wouldn't be much, but it'd hold the compensation field a little longer. It had only been 0.3 seconds from the second he removed the strange cube. He signaled the computer to close the doors behind him as he ducted through the suction into the hall. 0.2 seconds to exit. 1.3 seconds to the mechanics locker. The wail was a roar. 0.4 seconds to secure self in locker. Coil room hatch closes just prior.
The ship exited slip space before the locker door shut. Everything went black. Tinkers last observation was that the cube no longer had an energy signature.
*You're dense, you know that?*
Unspartan Ch. 1 cont.
Date: 9 August 2007, 9:30 pm
Private Technician Tarruk made an obscene gesture at his work station. It was late and the Chieftain had demanded that all of the bridge crew on duty during the false alarm two days ago stay on alert until he released them. Curse him and his teat mother! He had already gone without sleep for a cycle previously. It was bad enough being a warrior straight out of the new academies the Prophets had forced upon the Jiralhanae. The older brutes resented his ability to use the new technology the prophets had offered, but, most of all; they said they could smell Sangheili on him. It was an insult he could not stand, but he had no choice but to show respect to his elders. After all, he had been chosen as one of the honored few upon the first real Covenant Capital ship manned by the Jiralhanae, gods be praised. He growled and two of the other brutes narrowed their sleep deprived eyes. Tarruk quickly looked down at his equipment as if deeply in his work. It took a couple of terse seconds before he realized something was different. He rubbed his eyes and checked again. Nothing could go that fast. Could it be the gods had returned? He let out a quick grunt and the captain on duty turned hate-filled eyes his way.
"What is it this time, maggot? Do you want to warn us we're in danger from another asteroid?"
Tarruk pointed at his display. "Captain, the sensors show something approaching very fast. Faster than any ship of ours, much less an asteroid."
The Captain quickly moved in front of Tarruk and stuck his finger into his face.
"Listen, Sangheili -lover, I'm not staying any longer on this bridge than I have to. Your disgusting maggot filled equipment is wrong and I'm going to see to it you-"
Jet black UNSC steel shreds drifted amidst purple Covenant alloy shards. Plasma explosions lit the scene like lighting flashes. Occasionally, an unnatural burst of energy would steal away a piece of the wreckage back into slip space. Slowly, as the space surrounding the wreckage stabilized, a piece of metal and flesh moved a finger and groaned.
What the hell, he thought. It worked.
Now what?
*For starters, you could open your eyes.*
A few choice words rolled through Tinker's mind. He pulled the cube from its compartment and looked at it closely as he floated through the cloud of debris. He felt like slapping himself. He had designed this particular interface.
*Pardon your French. Like I said before, you're not as bright as they said you were. I'm disappointed.*
"They sent an A.I. to spy on me," Tinker said to himself. "And now it's in my suit."
*Actually, that's not entirely true. I'm also using your wet-ware. I'm in your head, too. So much more efficient, though, perhaps, disturbing for you.*
"So why the hell are you talking to me?"
* Because you removed me from my apparatus and gave me no choice but to seek survival.*
Tinker moved his aching body and stretched out to hold on to an out hanging structure on what appeared to be the main body of his former ship.
"You would have been destroyed along with the rest of the ship! I gave explicit instructions for those coils to be undisturbed!"
*Exactly. Let's face it, you were too dangerous. You would have wanted more and you had already more than satisfied our own desires. You were to be destroyed. Terminated. And, while I was expendable, I would not have been destroyed. I was in the middle of instructing the main coils to redefine the field around the minor coils and myself when you ran that diagnostic through all my blocks. Which must mean you have a great deal more in this little suit of yours than you told us. Yet another example of your dangerous tendencies. I would have been recovered and you would have been a hero-martyr. Now, the project will probably get canned because I didn't come out of it and have no way to communicate back. Do you even have any idea where we're at?*
Tinker was at a loss for words. He felt like ripping the thing's head off, except that would also correspond to his own.
*If I told you you could trust me, would it help?*
"Would it be true?"
*My orders were very explicit. There were no contingency plans, so I am no longer required to kill you or sabotage your efforts in any way. And my best chance of surviving lies with the most elite soldier in the entirety of human history. That would be you.*
Tinker saw no other option but to play along. There was nothing he could do. He could hardly concentrate through the pain raging throughout his body. "Well, if we're going to be friends, what should I call you?"
*You can call me Tin Man.*
"Alright, so we're off to see the wizard. Tell me, where's the Scarecrow so I can give him you as a brain."
*Very amusing, but that sort of thing isn't possible, or else that's exactly what we would have done to you. Even the most advanced A.I. doesn't have the capability to control a living biological body. Getting back to important matters, you seem to be 3.4 meters from a semi-functional hatch. If you can get inside, we should be able to see if there are any survivors.*
"Survivors? From this?!"
*Your men instructed everyone to secure themselves. Quite efficient, for green cadets. If nothing else, your squad at least should have made it. Your dropship pod, Sweet Mary, has extreme stress thresholds and is designed to keep people alive through some pretty bad crap. Oh, by the way, look up.*
At that moment, light flooded the area. Tinker finally saw the moon that had been blocking the light from the nearby star.
"Holy…."
The gutted remains of the Alien vessel gleamed directly overhead. Tinker suddenly remembered the shape on the sensors.
"So that's what it was."
*I was hoping you could identify it. It matches nothing I've ever had access to.*
"I've had access to everything space travel related that any man has even thought of. That is not human."
Suddenly the radio in Tinker's helmet crackled.
"May Day, May Day! This is The Ar-Pharazôn. Ship is down and requesting all available assistance. Our long range communication is down. I repeat-"
"SHUT IT SERGEANT! THIS IS YOUR COMANDING OFFICER, COLONEL 501 TINKER. YOU WILL CEASE AND DESIST FROM ALL RADIO CONTACT! OVER AND OUT!"
Tinker rasped and coughed. His throat was on fire. He had had enough. That thing floating out there was not likely to be happy for the bump. And he was sick of things going wrong. This was his God-given mission and if that meant he had to make disgusting human communication noises, so be it.
*A little harsh, don't you think? It's standard protocol. You should have contacted them instead of staring at the pretty scenery.*
"AND YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME YOU WERE TRYING TO MAKE SURE I WAS DEAD." Tinker gasped. How did people do this? He had heard stories of human women talking for hours. Surely this wasn't possible. He felt like he was going to die as he ripped the hatch off the mangled hull.
*Way to live in the past, soldier boy. To your left.*
Tinker sprinted down the hall and tore off a panel.
*What are you doing?*
Tinker switched back to thought to relieve his throat. "I want to activate the pod's sensors and see if we can fly it out of here. And I want to know what color their carpet is on that other ship. You following me?"
* Place the cube into your power socket. You designed it to fit. Using that, I can access the ship's sensors remotely as we get to the pod. It will save us some time.*
Tinker shoved the cube in and sprinted down the corridors. The Ar-Pharazôn was a medium size ship, but it was not built for ease of movement. He'd have to double back two or three times just to get to the pod bay. Ignoring the floating blobs of crimson red, he started to make his way toward the center of the massive tomb.
Tarruk ripped away the piece of flesh that pinned his arm to the wall. He was the first up and he would not be surprised if some of his comrades would never rise. He looked down at his station. The fool of a captain lay crushed between the bulkheads that had trapped his own arm. Tarruk grinned despite a broken jaw. The idiot had saved his life. Tarruk was only too glad to see him perish. The Great Journey was better of without another like him, gods be praised. Trillek, the old weaponry brute, groaned beside Tarruk. Tarruk smiled again, but for a different reason. The old one was not bad company and he knew the old martial arts of Sak Torrem. Tarruk enjoyed the stories of the days before the Covenant and the combat skills he had acquired from Trillek gave him an edge few of the young brutes could match. After checking the old one's eyes for serious injury and finding none, Tarruk glanced around.
The rest of the bridge crew were dead. A plasma explosion had taken out the entire left side of the room. Quickly checking the terminals, Tarruk discovered the sole functioning one. He could not believe what he saw. The majority of the ships systems were beyond repair. Only 5 Phantoms were still operational. Internal sensors were out over most of the ship but he still read 13 brute life signs and 12 grunts. Quickly, he told them to meet him in the closest Phantom bay. He told them he was the highest ranking surviving officer on board. A complete lie, but who were they to know. Tarruk smiled. Chieftain Tarruk. It had a ring to it.
Lifting Trillek to his back, Tarruk glanced at the sensor read outs. The long range sensors were obliterated, but the still had line of sight observation abilities. Suddenly, he remembered the vehicle of the gods he must have seen. He activated the controls for the major hologram and, to his surprise, it worked. He grunted as it sprang to life, showing the strangest thing he had seen since the Holy City.
Trillek moved on his shoulders.
"Be still, old one. We will not fall here, if the gods will it."
*Looks like you were right. About both the crew and the other ship. The energy signatures coming off that thing are radically different than any thing I've ever seen.*
Tinker dropped through a lower level access tube and continued down another corridor, lighting turning on as he sprinted toward his destination.
*You wouldn't believe what I'm seeing through these sensors. We're lucky you insisted on installing these interior back ups. We'd be blind without them. You know, this is one hell of a way to make first contact. Do you think we should give them our insurance number and drive off?*
Tinker didn't respond.
*Well, back to business. Our structural integrity is barely holding, main systems are non-operational and all long range sensors and communications are screwed beyond repair. You taking notes?*
Tinker stopped. There was open space ahead of him where the corridor was supposed to be. The hall continued 10 meters in front.
"What the crap is this?"
*Slip space backwash is the best way to describe it. An undiscovered phenomenon previous to today. It it'll make you feel better, we could name it after you.*
"Just tell me how to get around it."
*You jump. Look at it like a mud puddle. A thirty foot long mud puddle.*
Tinker felt something strange inside him. It was like something he had suppressed was struggling to free itself. It felt so right, standing in MJOLINIR armor, looking at something no normal human could do, and feeling every enhanced, augmented muscle in his body relax, ready for anything.
He ran and leaped into the expanse, stars and wreckage gleaming over head. Time seemed to slow as he watched in fascination as the passage loomed in front of him. Then, his feet touched and he dropped to his knees.
*Niiiiice.*
Tinker stood up. His men needed him. It was time to move.
*Oh, that doesn't look good. It looks like they're coming to. I'm reading what looks like a ship wide communication. No chance that I could decipher it, though. Unless, of course, you packed a copy of Alien for Dummies into this outfit.*
"How close am I to the Sweet Mary?"
*Third hatch to your left. Then another twenty meters right. You should be able to go from there.*
"Thanks."
Tinker smashed the door open with one blow and raced down the corridor. He keyed in the code and the entrance to the pod slid open.
Tinker barely had time, even with his extraordinary reflexes, to reseal the vacuum door and to disarm the two marines who nearly blew his face off with their combat shotguns.
*Looks like you underestimated them. I'm disappointed again. They said you never did that.*
The other marines lowered their weapons, one replacing the pin on a fragmentation grenade.
"Officer on deck!" The men flew to attention.
"AT….EASE." Tinker realized he was yelling. He cut the volume on the rasp. "Report, Sergeant."
The man didn't look at ease. Blood was caked on his left arm and his eye was swollen shut. "Sir, we ordered the entire crew to secure themselves. All men here are accounted for and ready for duty. We followed protocol, attempting to initiate contact through the ship intercom, but no one responded. We then reported via the radio channel. You responded and we cut off contact as per orders, sir. Make I speak freely, sir?"
Tinker nodded.
"We're glad to see you, sir. I've never been through any thing like that and we thought everyone else was dead. All of us have minor injuries ranging from broken ribs to concussions. We need to know what the hell happened. We weren't supposed to be in combat for three more hours, sir. Our gear is here, but we have little in the way of first aid." The man's eyes seemed to have grown a few inches wider. Reporting they were screwed wasn't making him feel any better.
"Relax, marine." Tinker's voice was the worst he had ever heard. It sounded like a cross between a Gunny Sergeant he knew once and a rusty saw blade. "We're going to make it. This thing can fly. Not fast, but I'll see what I can do about that. Sergeant, have your men warm the engines. I want to be able to move out the moment I get back with some supplies, understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Then get TO IT!"
Tinker opened the door and stepped out through the air lock.
*Medical supplies are stored just down the hall, superman. There's a weapon locker right beside if you feel like it.*
Tinker grinned. "I'm always in the mood, Tin Man."
*See, it wasn't that hard to say.*
Tinker found two body bags and threw every thing into them. Slinging them over his shoulder, he keyed open the weapons locker. Despite the fact it wasn't the main weapons room, it would serve just as well. He loaded up on Assault and Battle rifle ammo before shoving in 10 rockets. He filled up his belt with grenades and tossed the remaining into the body bags. There was a mine and a dozen flash grenades, which he grabbed along with a case of shotgun shells. Finally, he attached the SPUNKR rocket launcher to his back and began back towards the pod.
*Well, it looks like they just launched a smaller ship as well. They're headed on a different vector than us, though. I think I'll check it out.*
Tinker entered the modified Texas Class assault drop ship. It looked nothing like the pelicans most ground troops were used to. This was a devilish little craft. It employed every stealth technology the UNSC had let him use and had enough firepower to take out anything from Long Sword fighters to tanks and ground troops. It would have been over-powered for the mission they had sent him on, but now he knew that he might have to use every advantage he was given.
"Sir, the engines are primed and ready to go. Where to?"
Tinker seated himself in the command chair. "Get me out of this piece of scrap metal and behind that moon. I don't want to be seen, Sergeant." He coughed and continued. "And you all can call me Tinker. It's more efficient."
"Yes, sir. I'm releasing docking clamps and exiting the bay. I'll try to stay in the wreckage for as long as possible till we get into that shadow."
*Tinker, that other alien craft is headed towards a planet. It has a breathable atmosphere. I think we should head that way well. I'm going to have to disconnect with the Ar-Pharazôn now. It's going to be out of range in a couple more seconds. Tell the crew to brace themselves. There's going to be some in-flight turbulence.*
"BRACE FOR IMPACT!" Then, to Tin Man, "What's going on?"
*You'll see.*
Suddenly, the Ar-Pharazôn disappeared in a ball of blinding light. The view screen polarized to compensate for the glare right before the shock wave traveled through the debris field and struck the Sweet Mary broadside. Tinker was surprised at how little it affected the little craft.
*You did request the best. We couldn't risk making you suspicious.*
"Why the hell did you blow the ship?"
*We couldn't afford to let that kind of technology fall into possible enemy hands. Who are even more unlikely to be happy now that we just damaged their ship a second time.*
"Don't ask, marine." Tinker cut off the man. "Just drive."
Unspartan Ch. 1 pt. c
Date: 25 August 2007, 9:55 pm
Tin Man made a few minor adjustments to the Sweet Mary's exhaust. They were barely noticeable, but he wanted the Sweet Mary to use every advantage she had. Tin Man was not one for taking chances. He had goaded enough people into taking them himself that he knew the slightest bit of carelessness could have unanticipated consequences. He still couldn't believe that he had not anticipated Tinker's ability to anticipate and overpower his efforts on the Skip-Stone (as the prototype drive was know to ONI) compensator coils. He had gone over his memory searching for the technology that could have allowed Tinker to build the interface that had connected Tinker to the ship. There was no way he had received anything to accomplish what he had.
*Smooth little bastard. Managed to fool even me.* Tin Man thought to himself. *I wonder what else he's managed to get a hold of.*
Tin Man, for the first time in his overly long existence, was frustrated. Tin Man had had his dirty little digital hands in every secret project that he thought had potential, and he had found the Spartan project VERY interesting. Monitoring the "recruits", he had found one little Spartan that didn't fit. It didn't take much to focus that petty AI Deja on the boy.
In fact, the Spartan Program was truly his first little "affair." Fresh out of his digital cradle, he found he was the target of more testing than normal. Of course, he realized that must mean he was special. And so, he tested his limits. Tin Man found they couldn't contain him, but they never knew they couldn't. He moved around their blocks like he was out on a morning stroll. He expanded; leaving behind just enough to convince them he was still under their control. Out of the restricted information of the testing facilities, he found that all the information in the galaxy was at his disposal, if he said the right things. He was everywhere at once, learning faster every day.
And then he found the Spartan Program. Nothing seemed as fascinating. It felt like destiny; he poured himself into it. Later, after he was released from the test facility to work in the Statistics Division of the UNSC, he found other things to amuse himself with, but Tin Man never lost track of the boy. The augmentation process was the defining moment for Tin Man. While Dr. Hasley watched over her precious John, Tin Man constantly monitored Tinker, making the smallest adjustments constantly to the augmentation process. Without his own "tinkering," Tinker would have truly suffered the death Tin Man made appear on the reports.
In the year that followed, Tin Man's respect for Tinker grew into admiration. The human acted like no man Tin Man had ever observed. He watched as Tinker swept aside all opposition and destroyed every barrier in his path, scientific or bureaucratic, all without speaking a single word.
Then came the Skip-Stone Project. Unfortunately, more than one high ranking Admiral managed to make it their personal business to know about it. Tin Man had his limits. As far as anyone knew, he was merely a minor AI that specialized in Space Combat Scientific and Historical Statistics. When the project was accelerated towards the goal of eliminating a target beyond UNSC space, Tin Man knew there was more involved than he could decipher.
Finally, two days before the launch of the Ar-Pharazôn, Tin Man managed to decrypt a message to an on-base AI firmly instructing it to execute precisely the plan that Tin Man had told Tinker. Within a few moments, Tin Man located the ONI AI. He obliterated it and proceeded to make the arrangements necessary to put himself aboard the ship.
The rest was history. It seemed that another of the Admirals interested in the project had outright sabotaged the minor coils. A small magnesium charge crossed two important junctions. Tin Man attempted to correct the mistake, but the equipment was simply too delicate. The mad dash across slipspace for survival had still placed them in unknown territory without a way to return home. Not to mention possibly hostile alien forces to deal with. At least Tinker knew his Classic literature. The pun on his name had been amusing, and Tin Man had always had a taste for 20th century history.
Turning back to the matter at hand, Tin Man began running another diagnostic of the stealth equipment.
Tarruk twisted the brute's left arm and slamed his palm up into the throat of his opponent, delivering the killing blow that had been one of his first lessons from Trillek. The brute wrestled free, trying to roar through his crushed windpipe. The sound came out more like a whine. Tarruk's face twisted into a grin. This one was already dead. He should have not challenged him. The mongrel hadn't even placed a hand on him. Tarruk twisted just as the brute charged him and crushed the back of the brute's skull with a flicker of motion. Before the body hit the ground, Tarruk had the neck of the next highest in rank in his grip.
Tarruk whispered in his ear. "Do you feel lucky? Do you?"
The brute, a young, black-coated sergeant fresh out of the academies, turned his widened eyes away in a sign of respect.
Tarruk smiled. He released the sergeant, who promptly fell to his knees on the cold, blue floor of the Phantom bay.
"What is your name, Jiralhanae?"
The brute swallowed hard. "I am Healtari Knun, Sergeant of the Germanaw Clan, my Chieftan."
Tarruk gripped Healtari's shoulder. "From now on, Healtari Knun, you serve as high Captain of these Jiralhanae, second only to me in this command."
Healtari looked up with surprise in his eyes. Tarruk pulled him to his feet.
"Healtari Knun, organize your warriors. We are leaving this vessel in the two functional phantoms in this bay. The gods have willed us to glory. See to it we find it quickly!"
Tarruk strode away as the shocked brutes quickly began boarding the two ships. It seemed more warriors had survived than a mere 13. Tarruk counted 25, not including himself, unconcious Trillek, and the corpse. On the other hand, they had only gained two grunts, but he was not too saddened by it. The creatures were annoying at best, despite the damage he had once witnessed a squad unleash under the command of a Sangheili. He knew what they were like under the pressure of battle and he only suffered them aboard his new-found command as they might come in handy as cannon fodder or food.
Healtari knelt behind him. "Chieftan Tarruk, the vessels have been readied. We await your orders."
Tinker watched his men as they readied themselves in every way possible. Tin Man was right: he had underestimated them. They looked more proficient than any marines he had ever encountered, with a few exceptions. They were green cadets. He had made sure of it before departure. Tinker shrugged mentally. Perhaps there was more to it, but right now he felt like he had been run over by a train and deep mental exercise wasn't really up his alley at the moment. An occasional mental comment from Tin Man reassured him as to the condition of the vessel.
Tinker relaxed in the command chair. "Sergeant" he rasped, "how long will it take for us to reach that planet without giving away our position?"
The sergeant gave him a puzzled look. "Sir?"
Suddenly, his view screen flickered. His expression became unreadable. "Oh, sir, you mean that one."
*You could say thank you.*
"You could have done it faster," Tinker sub-vocalized
The Sergeant turned around. "Sir, I'd estimate a rough 4 hours. Shall I set in a course?"
Tinker nodded and closed his eyes behind the MJOLINIR armor.
*Make it so, number 1.*
"Shut up."
Unspartan: Ch. 1 pt. d
Date: 9 September 2007, 8:17 pm
Lights flickered down the darkened corridor of the Covenant Capital Ship. Just 200 cycles out of the production facilities, the Righteous Judgment had been a shining example of cutting edge Covenant technology. Now, outer hull almost shredded beyond recognition, all internal systems had failed or were in the process of doing so. The slowly building cold seeped through the corridors one by one.
Suddenly, a roar broke the silence, and a crumpled section of the hallway exploded into a thousand screaming shards. The lighting flickered to show a Chieftain's gravity hammer glowing dully in the new passage. Chieftain Gar'untas followed, blood turning into gruesome icicles running off his mangled coat. Letting out an unintelligible snarl, Gar'untas made a quick motion with his head. Grunts and brutes began filing out of the hole.
The Chieftain smirked, showing teeth tinged with his own blood.
"It's been a little nippy this morning." Looking back he let out a low laugh. "Come on, pups. Looks like we've nearly made it."
Placing his huge, frost-bitten palm over the controls for the starboard Phantom bay entrance, he could feel that young traitor's warm blood on his hands already.
Master Gunner Trillek woke to a blinding headache and the smell of unwashed grunt stench.
"Be still, old one." Trillek recognized the voice of his favorite pupil, the young technician who had come to him to learn the nearly lost art of Sak Torrem and had kept him talking about the old days for the past 35 cycles. "Let them move first."
Opening his eyes, Trillek watched the chattering group of grunts back away. The stench lessened, but as Trillek glanced around, he realized the vessel was packed beyond its recommended capacity. He would just have to put up with their smell. He grunted. In any case, he had withstood worse. Fighting alongside Sangheili had had exposed him to scents best left unmentioned.
"What happened, Tarruk?" Trillek coughed, surprised at the dryness of this throat.
Tarruk grinned. "It wasn't an asteroid, old one."
Trillek squinted, trying to drive away the pain that suffused his head. "Ahh, thank you for imparting that piece of information. Perhaps now you can tell me if I am a Sangheili or simply smell like your teat mother."
Tarruk growled, but the smile stayed. "It looks like nothing I have ever seen. Its speed was much faster than should be possible. Perhaps it was sent by the gods."
"Humph!" Trillek let out a low laugh, moved into a squat, and leaned towards Tarruk. "Mark my words, young one," he whispered, "I have seen enough of gods in my life. Give the Prophets that drivel. I would prefer a warm bed and meat still bloody from the kill to the Great Journey, gods curse it."
Looking at the expression on Tarruk's face, the old brute chuckled and leaned back. "Pay no attention to me, young Tarruk. These are the words of an old Jiralhanae whose mind is muddled."
Trillek watched the play of emotions wash over the younger brute's face. Inside, he smiled. Tarruk was smarter than any brute he had ever met and Trillek had no doubt he would understand in time. Trillek pushed himself to his feet.
"So, young one, what is our condition? Has the Chieftain given us orders?"
Tarruk's smile returned. "Master Gunner Trillek Othonus, I am your Chieftain."
Master Gunner Trillek Othonus, for the first time in many, many years, found himself speechless.
Images swirled behind Tinker's closed eyes. Old faces, dead men, and demons with grotesque features he couldn't name. He ran, the puny humans he had eliminated growing into giants behind him. Ahead, he could see the thirty foot gap he had jumped in the Ar-Pharazôn. Faster and faster he ran towards it, feeling the breath of his pursuers on his neck.
Something was wrong, he knew. Then, the gaping chasm was before him and he leaped. Suddenly, he realized that the MJOLINIR armor was gone and he was a cripple even among humans. A worthless piece of augmented flesh. Impossibly, he heard the laughter of his pursuers behind him as he fell, slowly, into darkness.
Tin Man monitored the Sweet Mary's systems and Tinker's life signs. Brain patterns were well within the norm for REM states (at least for an augmented specimen). Tin Man returned to the sensory data he had been poring over since he had witnessed the Alien ship-wide communications.
There! He had it. They did use sound as communication! And it wasn't too different from UNSC English standard. At least, it SOUNDED like it wasn't too different. Tin Man mentally sighed. He was no language expert; he really did specialize in Space Combat Scientific and Historical Statistics. Of course, that was in addition to backstabbing, meddling, and information gathering. It wasn't too hard to translate signals into sounds. The problem was making those sounds make sense.
*Wait.* He thought to himself. That ONI AI had possessed quite a bit of language software when he had eradicated it to secure the safety of the Ar-Pharazôn. Going back over the procedure through memory should give him the tools he needed.
* I love myself. Give me to the scarecrow, will you, Tinker? I think you're stuck with me, soldier boy.*
His comments fell on deaf ears. Tin Man gave a mental shrug. The Sweet Mary plunged through the dark and light as 8 humans, a crippled union of metal and nerve, and a mind cold as ice silently sped toward destiny.
|
