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Draconic's Fic, Chapter Eight: Every Kind Of Day
Posted By: Kathryne Charles<Ishdakitty@gmail.com>
Date: 3 December 2005, 12:42 am
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Chapter Eight: Every Kind Of Day
Private First Class Alex Maine lit the last cigarette he ever intended to smoke, watching the cherry glow with the same bored fascination he paid the radio clipped to one ear. Every campaign he was in he intended to quit, and every campaign he gave into temptation and enjoyed the contraband cigarettes that Echo Company was famous for finding. He lounged against a weapons crate that had been discarded during their first scramble to obtain this little chunk of high ground, content to let the bustle of camp pass him by. The Spartan's backup had touched down a short while ago, and while Alex was not a cowardly man, as long as that hunter in MJOLNIR armor was parading around he'd just as soon stick behind cover. He took a long, slow drag, and just past the red glimmer he could see the pilot they had rescued earlier sneaking out of the back of the medical tent. Hmm, he's our kind of boy alright.
Maine waved the injured pilot over with his free hand, and offered a half-hearted smile at the suspicious glance he got back. "Shit, kid, I'm not gonna tell anyone you got out. I'd probably crawl out of there even if my guts were trailing behind me." He took another drag, and coughed into his hand slightly.
"Those things will kill you, ya know." Dark limped over, and took a seat against another crate facing the ODST. Maine waved his hand dismissively.
"Only if the covies don't kill me first. Who wants their diaper years, anyway? I'd rather hack out my lungs at fifty than have my grandkids lock me in a home at ninety." Jhonan grinned, scratching at the stubble on the side of his head.
"You have kids?"
"One that I know of."
"You like kids?"
"When I don't have to deal with them, sure, they're great." He looked at his cigarette, as if searching for the meaning of life in its cancerous smoke. Finding nothing, he glanced back up at the pilot. "So, what's your name?"
"Jhonan Dark." He offered his hand, and almost as an afterthought the marine sat forward and shook it.
"Alex Maine. Private First Class or something. Not sure who outranks who when you mix fliers and shooters." He finished the cigarette and rubbed it out on the weapons crate. "Nice landing, by the way."
"Thanks." Jhonan sighed, frowned, and stared back into the camp. One hand idly played with the laces of his right boot. "I didn't really see it that way. Everything just turned into life or death up there. I'm less surprised I made it and more surprised I didn't shit myself."
Alex gave his first genuine smile in weeks with a shake of his head. "A modest pilot? It's a cold day in hell, it is." He reached into his coat pocket and tapped another "last cigarette" out of the box. He lit it up, and offered the box to Jhonan.
"No thanks. Can't smoke in space. I'd rather not get hooked on anything I can't readily have." Alex shrugged and put the box away.
"I hate space. Too cold, to empty. I'd rather take a bullet to the head on the ground than life forever on a ship."
Jhonan brightened a bit to the conversation. "For me it's the other way around. I feel claustrophobic on the ground. There's no room to really move…and I can't stand any situation in a two dimensional environment. Left, right, forward, and back…Screw this shit, where's my up/down?" Alex took a drag and smiled.
"Played a lot of flight simulation vids as a kid, I bet."
"Oh, hell yeah. Full VR Illumitari one, two, three and four." He scowled. "Three sucked though. I hate cliffhanger endings."
"You're in the wrong world, kid." Alex looked up, and waved at another marine passing by. The man stopped, glanced around, and dropped down into what was becoming almost a fort.
"Yo, Maine, what's up. I though you were done with those things?"
"What the hell, Caleb; is the surgeon general paying our camp a visit or something? This is the third time I've gotten shit for smoking today alone." He frowned at the cigarette in his hand. "This is all your fault."
"Oh sure, blame the cancer stick, not your willpower. You gonna introduce me, here?"
"I swear, you are such a woman sometimes. Caleb, this is Jhonan Dark; Jhonan, this is Caleb Jackals. Who we'd probably think was gay if he wasn't sleeping with Crissa. Who is, by the way, one fine piece of ass." He held out a fist, and Caleb knocked his to it.
"I'll 'Hoo-rah' to that any day." He glanced at the pilot. "Sorry about your squad, mate. I was there when the Sarge got the news. Bum luck."
"Yeah, it sucks." Jhonan worked to untangle the mess he'd made of his bootlaces.
"Alex here knows what you're going through. You should talk it out. Do you good." Alex smacked his hand to his forehead.
"Good god, 'talk it out?' Who are you?"
Caleb grinned back. "I'm smarter then you, I'm a nicer guy then you, I'm more attractive than you, and I'm sleeping with the hottest female ODST on the planet. Women love a 'sensitive' man. Does that answer your question?"
"No. Not by a long shot, Dr. Phil."
Jhonan cleared his throat. "Who?"
"Dr. Phil. He was some nice-guy psychologist talk-show host from the pre-slipspace era. Wrote some good stuff." Caleb smiled at the pilot, and Alex shot his eyes heavenward.
"Thank you, oh oracle of useless trivia." He sighed heavily, and took a hard drag on the cigarette. "I changed my mind, I'm not blaming these for my addiction, I'm blaming you."
Caleb glanced back into camp and stood up, brushing dirt off his ass. "Blame whoever you want. I see a woman in distress."
"That woman wouldn't be in distress if you stuffed her in a bag loaded with rocks and dropped her in the ocean." He glanced at the tanned blond surfer-looking woman wrangling with a warthog engine. "Naked."
"Says you. See ya." Caleb sauntered off, and Alex shook his head again, finishing his second smoke with a vengeance. Jhonan finally succeeded with his laces, and retied his shoes. He spoke without looking up.
"You lost a squad too?"
The pause stretched for a good length of time before Maine answered. "Two years ago. Some hotshot lieutenant called in the wrong coordinates to their bombers and dropped a firestorm on our camp. Lost most of Jericho Company in that one stupid incident of friendly fire." He put the cigarette out against the palm of his hand, and Dark winced as he watched. "So yeah, I know how you feel." He tapped the radio in his ear, and frowned at Jhonan. "Sarge wants to talk to you. Says there's someone here to see you."
"Uh, okay." He stood, and glanced around for a few seconds. He coughed and shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "Err…Alex? Thanks."
"No prob, Dark." He watched the pilot walk off, and shook his head. Too many dead kids in this war.
Lieutenant First Class Jonah Matthieson stood calmly at ease in the Master Sergeant's tent, hands clasped behind his back and a rogue smile on his lips. The two men were of an age; although Matthieson had a lighthearted quality about him that the dark haired Taylor lacked that took a few years off his face. Maps were strewn about the table; satellite imagery of the terrain showed a large contingent of Covenant ground troops hunkered down to the north. ONI suggested one of their recently discovered artifacts might be located in the spot, and Demitri was focused on the table, trying to put together a strategy that would combine the offensive capabilities of the Spartans currently under his command and the defensive power of his ODSTs. Should the structure under the covenant camp be infiltrated, their retaliation on the humans would be swift.
Jonah scanned Taylor's CSV absentmindedly on the mini HUD that covered his right eye; discretion was valued by most ONI operatives and he was no exception to the rule. While he was interested to know what he could about the marine personnel around him, he'd rather no one knew he was a so-called ONI "spook." Taylor's history was spotless; a genius for tactics coupled with an excellent physique made the man a legend amongst his peers. He'd been leading Echo Company for much of his long career, passing up several promotion opportunities to stay with his men. There was a small red flag next to his name, and Matthieson selected it; surprised to find the information was actually outside his own clearance. It was marked under Section Three's authority, but before he could probe deeper, light filled the room as someone lifted the tent flap. He closed the window on his screen as Warrant Officer Dark entered the tent with a suspicious glare and a slight limp. The Pilot immediately saluted the Lieutenant and the Sergeant, the latter waving off-handedly.
"At ease." He glanced up, and nodded to Matthieson. "He's all yours, Lieutenant."
"Well than. You're looking rather worse for the wear, Warrant Officer Dark."
"Yes, Sir."
"I take it the Darkfire is considered 'FUBAR,' as it were?"
"Sir, unfortunately, yes. Sir."
"Walk with me, Dark." He exited the tent, the pilot on his heels, and once they were out of the temporary structure, he shot the younger man a rueful smile. "I'm really sorry about you ship. I know how much you cared about her."
Much of the professionalism dropped away from the pilot, as he nodded sadly. "Yeah, tell me about it. She got me down here alive, though."
"I do have one good piece of news for you, however. In the time since we first contacted Taylor we did a full sweep of the battlefield, and we found Camelot in her jettisoned cockpit, still alive."
Jhonan sucked his breath in with a grin. "Tam made it?" The thought of the pale, slender brunette with her sad brown eyes and patient nature sent a jolt of joy through Jhonan that was almost enough for him to hug the Lieutenant. A shred of his professionalism still held, though.
"She's better off then you, technically. Healthier anyway. Oh, and Mom says hello."
Jhonan blinked in surprise at his half-brother. "You talked to Mom? She and the new guy still living on Earth?"
"Yeah, still there. She's doing pretty well, although since that attack on Earth three years ago she's been pretty nervous. She asked me to leave the Navy. Again. And she'll probably ask you too. Again." He shook his head and laughed, scratching at the stubble on the side of his head. "You know, I had to take the job of bringing the Spartan's Dropship down to see you. You get to fly Longswords, and I get stuck on ferry duty. You'd better appreciate it."
"Pah. You're just doing your job. I'm sure you've got some other mission down here."
"Don't start. The second someone points out I'm ONI I start getting odd looks." Jhonan grinned.
"So shouting it would be a bad thing? Sir." He snickered as his brother rolled his eyes.
"It is if you ever want to come off medical leave." He started to yawn, and froze. "Did you see that?"
"See what?"
"Something just moved on the edge of camp." He clicked his radio on. "Spartans, I need you in the center of camp ASAP." He looked at Jhonan, fully military again. "Go get to cover. NOW." He radioed the Private on com duty, informing his of the situation, and people started moving hurriedly about.
An almost human-sized figure in MJOLNIR jogged up, a full sized Spartan at it's back. "Sir, Spartan Two-Nine-Two, reporting for orders." The voice was feminine, but edged in steel.
"I think we're about to get company." The bigger Spartan lifted their head, and after a pause, shook it.
"Nothing on thermals, unless it's Elites in camo, we're alone." The voice was masculine, and far more at ease than the petite, intense Chief.
"Elites in…hold that thought." She grabbed Matthieson and shoved him behind her, tossing a grenade off her hip, raising a pistol, and shooting it overhead. People hit the dirt with shouts of confusion, but the rain of shrapnel that followed the ear-splitting explosion lit up a pair of silver tinged shields sneaking towards the Spartans. They froze, and one darted forward. As it faded from view Halley met it's charge halfway, violet streaks telegraphing the movement as she used the Mark Seven Point Five's levitation drive as a boost. She brought her right fist around, and there was a crunching sound as she slammed the Elite's helmet from that side. The warrior dropped, but it's momentum knocked the Spartan down with it. Paul lifted his pistol in the same motion and fired at the invisible Elite, but the second shot missed as it scrambled to the left and vanished.
"Eyes on the dirt," he shot to Kaina as she stepped up behind him, a battle rifle in her hands. She nodded, and crouched, looking for a trace. Halley muttered across the personal com, sitting up. Marines were darting about for cover, weapons raised, and one man gave a helpless screech as he was thrown from his cover with the hissing sound of a Plasma Sword. Kaina opened fire in that direction, and Paul followed suit with both pistols blazing. The Elite screamed in pain as it's shields dropped, and it ducked for the same cover the ODST had been using. Several more shots rang out from the marines, and the telltale cry of the creature dying rose from behind the shield.
In the center of the camp, Halley made a sound halfway between a choke and a shout; a third Elite shimmered into existence as it grabbed her around the neck. She struggled with it and landed a few punches, her firearm useless in the grapple. The Elite became fully visible as she grabbed the tiny shield slot in the center of it's chest and ripped the camouflage generator out with uncanny precision. It paused in the assault as a hand tapped its shoulder. It glanced back curiously, and all it's mandibles fell open in the universal sign of shock. The monster in MJOLNIR behind it actually stood several centimeters taller than it, and he reached out without hurry and grabbed the Elite's head. A quick jerk and the neck snapped cleanly, it's hands falling from the smaller Spartan. Nile dropped the corpse into the dirt, and tilted his head a fraction. "You all right, Chief?"
"Why," she muttered on their private com setting, "do they always feel the need to choke me?"
"Weakest spot on the armor?" Kaina offered, still scanning the terrain.
"The question was rhetorical."
"But there is an answer; making it not rhetorical."
"It's still rhetorical, because while there is an answer, the answer is unnecessary for the conversation."
"Think that's it for them?"
"No…for some reason they always attack in even numbers." Even as Halley finished the statement, a loud pop rang out, and the Elite creeping up behind Paul collapsed into the dirt. All four Spartans turned in surprise to see Sergeant Demitri standing there, as composed as if he was simply out for an evening stroll. There was a smoking pistol in his hand, and a slightly raised eyebrow accented that usual calm frown. Paul whistled on the Spartan's private channel, impressed.
"Damn, he just killed an Elite with one shot to the back of the head. Cleanest shot I've seen since we lost Kim."
"Eyes open, girls and boys. That might have been the last one, but no guarantees." Halley frowned as Kaina walked to the injured ODST, checking his vitals and nodding to herself.
"I can have him patched up enough to be moved if you give me five minutes."
"You sure?"
"I never lose a patient, only my patience."
"You've got five, then."
The Master Sergeant watched the Spartans with some interest, noting their hand gestures and body language; it intrigued him how effective a team they made. Already two Spartans patrolled for other contacts, their medic went to work on the marine, and the small Chief walked his way. She stopped and stood calmly at attention; awaiting orders. "I can see our time here is up. Spartans, when you are done met me in my tent; I have a special assignment for you. Corporal Padilla, you know the plan, straighten the boys up." Taylor walked back to the room he came from, and in moments he was joined by the four Spartans, one of which was so tall he had to stoop to fit in the tent.
"Spartan One-Five-Six reporting for duty, sir." The soft voice that came from the doorway was linked to a pale man with bandages covering his chest, and a battered suit of MJOLNIR that accented an already significant limp.
"Spartan One-Five-Six, you are in no condition to be running back out on the battlefield."
"I apologize, sir, but the medical officer on duty has final say over my 'condition.'" Chris glanced at Kaina, who nodded.
"Well, than, Doctor?" Demitri's voice took a hard edge; he wasn't fond of letting doctors of any caliber decide to send a man back out onto the field. He had a feeling that might be the case here. Kaina looked the injured Spartan over, deep in thought. After a moment, she nodded.
"If you were a marine, I'd say a minimum of three weeks bed rest. As it is," She cocked the shotgun she'd picked up on her way into the tent, and tossed it to Chris, "you're a Spartan. You're fixed up enough for active duty; just take it easy when you can." He caught the weapon, gave a slight smile, and glanced at Demitri for further confimation.
"I have to trust your judgment, I suppose. No one knows the limitations of the Spartans better that the Spartan's themselves."
"Sir. Thank you, sir," Chris said with feeling.
"Sir, with your permission, I'd like to send Spartans One-Five-Six and Two-Seven-Three to go get him suited back up. I'll keep my com open so they can still hear the briefing." Demitri nodded, and Chris and Paul left the tent.
"What I need done sounds simple, but our intel is lacking presently. The structure that the Covenant are holed up in is about seventy kilometers north of our position. Their camp surrounds the building on all sides but one; the east face of the building is overlooking a cliff." Halley shuddered unconsciously. "There is a sizeable ledge about ten meters down that could easily support your weight, and at about the middle of the structure there is some sort of doorway that is electronically locked. I am to understand you have a computer intrusion specialist in your group?"
"Yes sir." Halley replied. She waited a moment, before curiosity kicked in. "Sir? How is it that you have this intel on the precipice? I wouldn't imagine satellite images could quite convey quite that much."
Taylor gave a slightly impressed expression that resembled a smile. "So you really are more than just machines." He couldn't quite be sure, but the diminutive and most animated of the Spartans seemed to bristle slightly at his words. "This isn't to be repeated around camp, but one of my men is an undercover Black Spec Ops agent that I 'borrowed' for this operation. He's been in and out of their encampment for the last day or so, gathering what information he can."
"So they finally perfected the invisibility shielding for non-augmented personnel?" Halley fingered the chip stolen from the Elite's armor; it probably still had enough charge left to give her two minutes or so of camouflage. Typically when an Elite perished, the chip dumped completely. Partially charged ones were a rare enough prize as it was, a full one was almost unheard of. Years of work and Dr. Halsey still hadn't perfected the art of refilling a depleted one, similar to the plasma weapons Covenant favored. She had, at least, thought to include a socket in the MJOLNIR armor that could utilize a chip located in the field. The suit drew too hard on the temporary upgrade, however; the maximum life of the invisibility on a Spartan capped out at five minutes or less, regardless of how pristine it's original condition. Still, they occasionally came in handy.
"For extreme short term, yes. Mostly Shade is simply using stealth techniques and regular camouflage. He was stuck at the door, however, and as effective as the man is and sneaking around, he pales in comparison to the damage a team of Spartans can accomplish with limited means and intel. Your biggest obstacle after reaching the cliff ledge is going to be banshees. If they catch wind of you down there, they'll alert the entire camp. For that I have Jhonan Dark and Lieutenant Matthieson; I'll have them running a diversion in the Pelican Dropship you came down in." There was a subtle glance from Halley in the direction of the biggest Spartan at his words; the Spartan's new dropship was designed for their larger size, and he benefited the most. He remained stoic, however, and Taylor continued on. "Both men are excellent pilots, I'm sure your ship will be fine. In the meantime, I'm going to set my men up here," he pointed to a spot on the map, "and have them lay an ambush for the covenant heading down towards us. As soon as they know you've got the artifact, assuming you succeed, their usual tactics will bring them straight through this valley to get to us and get their item back. If you succeed without the camp knowing your exit way, head to this area where the ledge rejoins the top of the cliff. I will have Jhonan and Matthieson set up your LZ there as long as they are still intact enough to do so."
Halley nodded. "And if they aren't?"
"If I lose radio contact with them I'll send out a couple of men with warthogs to meet you there. You may need to buckle down for a while if that's the case. Regardless of what happens to the ambush point, someone will get you out. ONI has too much interest in these forerunner artifacts to leave you out here alone." Halley nodded, suddenly wondering if the Resplendent's course to Obsidan almost a year ago had gone through the Diphen system as part of a deliberate plan by ONI to check up on the ship and it's covert mission stationed there. It certainly bore consideration. "Get your team underway, Chief. Dismissed."
"All right, we have our orders people, gear up and fall out. Blue Four, what's your armor's status?" Their chain of command was so rehearsed, she didn't even need to assign numbers anymore, the Spartans automatically knew who was who.
"Bent, dented and scorched. Shields are operational at eighty percent of normal, and I'm willing to bet the plating has been compromised, but I can compensate." Chris paused, and laughed a bit shakily. "I wish Aril was around; she'd have this thing running at two hundred percent in a heartbeat." Halley smiled, and it showed in her voice.
"Aww, but she gets to repair a whole flagship in orbit today. You didn't actually think she was going to come down here when such a glorious opportunity was before her, did you?"
"Oh, of course not."
Halley worked to regain her impassive shield of command, but it just never came easy to her. Separating herself from the Spartans under her command was against her nature. How John managed it on a consistent basis was quite beyond her ken. "Alright, pack up everything we need…Blue One, grab all the explosives off our Dropship; if they must take it, we're going to utilize what's ours, at least."
"Yes Sir," Paul responded with something sadly akin to glee at the mention of his specialty.
"Blue Three, make sure the medics on hand here are prepped, only take what we really need." Kaina nodded. "Blue Two; weapons. Convert everything to point four-five caliber ammunition except for the S2 AM, that's already customized as it gets. I want us to be able to trade off the same kind of ammo while we're in there. See if there are any silenced weapons while you're at it, we might be able to keep this op quiet."
"Yes, boss."
Halley sighed. "Nile, you had the same training the rest of us did. I know you hate formality, but for the sake of the people around us, try to keep it official?"
"Sorry, sir. Yes, sir."
"Good. Fall out!"
Miira stood in the lofty library the Teacher had put together over the years; its walls of electronically sorted information gleamed with a fresh cleaning. The room was utterly devoid of dust, and equally devoid of interest for the young warrior. Urza was bent over a thin sheet of glass that scrolled words along its length. It had several chips out of the gleaming surface, and a scorch mark obscured much of the right side. The words were in the language of the Prophets; a prize stolen from their homeworld in the same attack that had ostracized the once glorified Urza Hostominee from the Covenant. Unfortunately, while the scroll detailed the purpose and properties of the so-called "Holy Lights" the information was fragmented and untranslatable by computers. The limited, dysfunctional AIs that operated within the Covenant were unusable by the Heretic Leader, even if they had been able to make sense of the document. Instead, Urza was working to translate it manually, and working with inadequate successes.
"So you see on this image, the artifacts were intended to combat the scourges of the Forerunners. Each served an individual purpose. Alas, the part revealing what each actually did is long lost." Urza looked up at Miira and beckoned her over.
"Why does it say 'Iin partuni re selgarath?' What is the point in mentioning the artifact's great powers if it is only going to add that they cannot utilize them without divine intervention? Far too much of this is religious iconography." Urza snapped his head up, jaws falling partly open.
"You can read the language of the Prophets?"
Miira hissed, amused. "I am born of one of the highest families. I was trained from my first attainment of sentience to be the most effective servant of the Covenant possible. The Arbiter saved me from that idiotic life of worthless servitude when he took me as an apprentice."
"Indeed. What more of this tablet can you make out?" She leaned over, and worked to piece together the religious rhetoric and nonsensical fragments of data into actual words. Her years of training for the machinations of the royal families kicked in, and no expression or body language betrayed the revelation she gleaned.
"Not a thing but garbage. Reading this is a colossal waste of good time." She added just enough sullen youth to her tone to grate on the older Sangheili's nerves. "I am going to go change the energy cores in my blades. I recommend you search for a less profligate pursuit." She turned and marched off, leaving the annoyed teacher to his musings. She passed a turn in the hall and took off at full speed for her chambers. She halted with a slight skid as she came upon a pack of Sangheili Elites ganging up on one small Unggoy who was trying futilely to back away. The warriors were close to her own age, and utterly disrespectful of the small creatures who's purpose it was to die in waves before the onslaught of humans. She had always felt differently; while cowardly by nature, the Unggoy had the tenacity to die in the aforementioned waves, al for the sake of whatever cause they believed in. Miira felt a true leader respected even the least of his followers. This is just what I need; another impediment to my plan.
"I have always wondered how long an Unggoy could survive without methane…" The biggest of the pack chortled and leaned in towards the quivering creature. Miira took two large steps and intercepted his intimidation with a flat, preoccupied look.
"Go find a worthy adversary to ridicule, fool. Unless you have so little honor that you feel the need to find a cowardly Unggoy to prove your prowess against." His face turned a lurid purple, and he clenched his hands into fists. "Or better yet, find a shield-less Kig-yar, I have heard that they will quake before a weakling."
He screamed in fury. "Challenge issued, female scum!" Before he could even reach for the plasma rifle at his hip, her right hand blade sprung into brilliant life.
"Challenge accepted." She ran him through almost casually; his peers danced back several paces in shock. As violet blood poured over her hand and burned on her blade, he looked down in utter disbelief. "I was raised a warrior Royal, idiot. For my status, and that alone, do you die with some semblance of honor." She opened her mandibles with a ferocious growl, and brought the blade out of his stomach with a twist and jammed it through his throat, bending him backwards and pinning his body to the floor in that position. Miira lifted her head slowly, her eyes blazed and the rainbow patterning on her skin shifted in the light of the gory sword. Terror was etched into the faces of the young Elites. "To the next of you who think the Unggoy are unworthy of the Teacher's employ, I say this. You will die for any action against them. On the blood of your pack mate, I so swear." She deactivated the sword with a flick of her wrist, and the twitching corpse dropped free to the deck. She turned her back to them, greatly daring, and looked at the Unggoy who looked oddly thrilled by the whole thing.
"Lady Miira, General Miira; Tehgli and his broodmates will remember your name! We owe you a boon, only ask, great one." She tilted her head, amused, and shook it.
"No needs at this time, little one." He nodded and bowed again. He backed off several paces before he turned and darted down the hall with their bizarre, waddling run. The pack of Sangheili retrieved their companion's remains and departed without incident. Alone in the hall, Miira gave herself a congratulatory smile and continued without hurry to her chamber. Once there, she settled into the hammock hanging in the back of the room. She couldn't imagine how some races could lie on a flat, unmoving surface. She let one leg dangle down as she keyed her personal pass code into the hand-held communications device that the Arbiter had given her. She waited a moment for the holograph recorder to hum into active mode, and cleared her throat. In stilted, imperfect form, she spoke the human language into the recorder. "We must meet in haste. Message private." She had learned the basics of their speech from the Arbiter for cases just like this one. She halted the recording, and set it to send the transmission on a high frequency psuedo-slipstream beacon. It would take the small device the better part of an hour to build up enough charge to send it, but it would send nonetheless. The Arbiter would most likely receive it within a week. Content that her duty was done, Miira relaxed and changed the power packs as she said she would.
It was as her father always said, "The key to a perfect lie it to wrap it in the truth." Of course, he also thought females were useless, but Miira picked and chose what advice she used. And now here she was, on a covert mission for the Arbiter. Already she had made progress. That it would please him brought her smile back, and she kicked the hammock into motion.
It had been a really good day.
The five Spartans that crept along the ledge under the covenant camp almost uniformly held their breath. The rationale that one could make less sound when not breathing was flawed; but when nerves were stung as high as this, even small comforts were still comforts. They could hear the whine of the Pelican's engines as it departed, quickly followed by a Doppler shift scream as the Banshees raced in pursuit directly over the heads of the hidden Spartans. As soon as all the vehicles were out of view, the Spartans resumed their trail. Halley had point, but after a moment Paul caught up with her and tapped her shoulder. He pointed to her, then made the "Okay" gesture with his fingers, then lifted his palm up to shoulder height. She nodded and made the "Okay" sign back. She drew a smile on her faceplate and clapped his shoulder, a clear "Thanks for asking." He dropped back again. He knew from her body language that she was still nervous about the height, but she was a Spartan. She'd get over the fear.
The door in the center of the ledge was a curved indent, silvery metal three meters high in the center and about three at it's base. The center of the door was the gleaming red aperture that locked the building. Halley knelt, and put her hand against it. She shook her head, and pulled a small socket out of her pouch, sliding it into the armor hear the base of her neck. She pulled a second one out and slid it into the "key" hole, twisting the segmented device to make a proper fit into the alien technology. After a moment, she tilted her head as signals raced through her brain, intuitively sending back a confirmation code. It took her only a few moments longer than a genuine AI with the same intrusion software as the one wetwired into her brain. She'd downloaded it accidentally from Cortana during their merge, and occasionally idly wondered what the blue AI had gotten out of the experiance. The door cracked open with a hiss, and she removed the plugs.
Blue One headed in first, signing back "all clear," and the Spartans filed in quietly. After the door slid shut again, Blue Two knelt and ran a thick finger through the dust on he floor, holding it up for review. The Chief clicked her com on. "This place is fully shielded, I'm not picking up any more Covenant signals outside."
"This much dust in a sterile environment? Something big as hell must have decayed in here." Blue Three opened her med kit and scooped some dust into a vial. "Can't hurt to check it out. This place isn't open to the outside; there's no reason for that much to be in a fully metal structure."
"How long ago?" Halley was situated at wall that sat distinctive from the others.
"If it's been completely dry down here, it's like mummification. This dust could be millions of years old, for all we know. Carbon dating will narrow that down; at least if the substance has any carbon."
Halley ran her hand over the wall, and got hit by a flashback. Dr. Adalis was smiling down at her, and her head was splitting with pain. "There, there, sixteen. It's all over now. You're all fixed." He called out to an assistant, and Child-Halley looked to her left, where a prism and the remains of a memory-core processing unit lay discarded. Her thoughts were chaotically fast, but that prism…it glowed with an inner light, and something was whispering to her…the vision ended, and Halley let out a forgotten breath.
"Chief, you okay?" Kaina sounded concerned, and Halley nodded.
"I'm fine." She touched the wall again, and this time something previously unused in her mind turned over. The air popped away from her, and walls of light sprung up like holographic panes of glass in the space around her. The Spartans turned, concerned, but Halley waved them off. She tapped the wall to her right, and was astonished as the letters danced under her fingertips. "What the he—I can read this. Oh….my god…" Nile and Paul exchanged a look, Halley wasn't much one for religious oaths. "The dust...those poor people…" She let in a ragged breath. "They died here. A whole community of people died hiding from the flood down here. The Forerunners set off the Halos…" She let her hand drop, and Kaina stepped in as the holographs vanished.
"Can you record that data?"
"Not safely. It's terribly decayed. I got as much as I could." Her voice was still unsteady, but she shook her head and pulled herself together. "Alright, fan out. It's obvious the Covenant didn't get down this far, meaning the Artifact must be on the top levels."
The Spartans moved on quietly, and though no one would admit it, every step through the dust felt almost like desecrating a tomb. No one was totally at ease anymore.
Several minutes went by in the cockpit of the Pelican before Jhonan spoke up. "You really kinda suck as a pilot."
Matthieson glared at him a moment, dodging the Banshees on their trail. "I'm not supposed to fully get away. We're running a diversion. Shut up and man the guns." His younger brother rolled his eyes and got a firing solution. He suddenly broke a grin.
"Why didn't you tell me this bird had such big balls?"
"AHEM."
"I mean guns. Sir. Heh, you're recording our flight with that itty-bitty ONI camera, aren't you?"
"Yes, it's called being professional. Shoot those banshees down, or I will get very unprofessional on your a—"
Caleb lay flat on his stomach, watching the terrain with a sniper rifle on max zoom. As the first hints of Covenant progress came into sight, he radioed back and crept down the hill to where Echo Company was situated. He slid down next to Private Barrett Foster, and glanced at the man with one eyebrow cocked. The man's headphones were blaring even in spite of the dampeners built into them, and Caleb smacked his shoulder to get his attention. "You moron, the battle is about to start."
"Okay."
"Flip music is crap anyway, why do you listen to that nonsense?"
"It calms me down before a battle."
"Bar, it's loud guitars, fast drums, and guys screaming about how much they hate the world. That is not calming. That stuff is antiquated with good reason."
"I tell you, it's going to come back into style. Every trend does."
"Whatever. Got your guns, at least? Might have figured you'd leave them behind in favor of your headset." Barrett punched at him, and Caleb rolled out of the way, laughing softly. "They're almost on us, just be ready."
"Alright boys, here's the deal." Wilson was grinning, and his voice, even whispering, still held reverence for the routine last words before the battle. "First man that dies, hold the seats on the bus to heaven for the rest of us. Tell them to have the bruskies ready, and assuming it's not me that gets it first, start sweet-talking them for me. I'd rather not burn if I can help it." There were soft laughs from the men, and even Sergeant Taylor nodded. The first wave of Grunts moved into the valley cautiously, and Barrett looked to Demitri, awaiting orders. The Sergeant held up a hand, and waited. Several Elites followed the Grunts in, and he brought his hand down in a chopping motion. Barrett stood, hefted a rocket launcher, and dumped two rounds as fast as the firing mechanism would allow into the rear guard of the forces. He dropped back, and reloaded rapidly. The remainder of Echo Company along with most of Tango Company rose from behind the opposite hill and poured thousands of shots into the Grunts in the lead. In the confusion, the forces were funneled into the center of the vale, the forces in front trying to retreat back and the forces in the back trying to push past. Caleb waited for the dust to clear, and singled out the bright green glow as two hunters pushed towards the opposite hill with it's visible attackers. He eyed up their armor, and took four clean shots into the one that trailed in the rear. He targeted the small, orange gap above it's hip-like segments, and as the final shot rang out it slumped into the dirt. It's companion didn't seem to notice.
Caleb reloaded as Barrett stood again, and the second salvo of rockets took out the last of the elites. The Hunter looked up in his direction, and he dropped the final shot right into it's face. It got it's shield up easily, and as he reloaded, he kicked Caleb in the shin.
"Ow! The hell?"
"Hunter, coming our way."
"Aww, shit, they're harder to hit from the front." The hill shook as the Hunter used it's plasma cannon to smoke them out, and as both men finished, Caleb nodded. "Lets do this." The stood in unison after the second, somewhat closer plasma blast hit, and while the hunter's weapon was recharging Barrett unloaded another blast into the terrain at it's feet. It stumbled back from the superheated dirt that exploded up under it's feet, and Caleb took the distraction to hit the orange spot right below it's neck. It toppled under it's massive weight, and both men cheered. "I hear promotion!"
Demitri heard a different sound. He looked behind the two men standing on the ledge, and his heart plunged. A Banshee, broken off from the attack on the dropship, was screaming up to flank them. Given the tilt of it's nose, it was heading right for the ridge. Taylor threw himself out from behind cover, body-checking both men down the safe side of the hill, and raised his pistol, firing at the Banshee. It turned to the left, and a green glow of plasma filled Demitri's view. He took an unhurried breath, aimed for the volatile battery pod on the Banshee's underside, and fired once more.
Before the green blast consumed his world, he had the satisfaction of seeing the Banshee explode in orange flame.
"I don't believe this." Halley shook her head, placing a hand on the pedestal in the center of the lofty hall; it's bright colors gone dark and dust filling the hexagonal gap where the artifact should have been sitting. "It's long gone." There were Elite tracks into and out of the chamber; apparently they had recently discovered the same thing. Paul stepped up and shook his head.
"Snipe hunt."
"Wait a second…what is this?" Halley looked over to where Chris was kneeling, brushing dust off something black that gleamed on the floor. "Hals…this is a broken zipper." He looked up, voice puzzled. "given the amount of dust caked in it…it's been here for years."
"Wonderful. Someone human already came here, and took it." Nile sighed. "I guess we leave, then."
"Yes. I think I have an idea of who it might have been, though." Halley's voice was utterly emotionless, and the other four Spartans looked in her direction at the dead tone of voice. She only ever sounded like that when referring to one person. "Dr. Adalis and I need to have a chat."
Lieutenant Schroeder MacNeer glanced at the elderly man typing away on a datapad and humming "Francehelle's Third Symphony" to himself. Beside the doctor was a small, hexagon prism, and every so often the doctor would tap it and think, before resuming his typing. The ONI operative was less that thrilled to be stuck on babysitting duty for the newly resurrected Section Twelve project, and the AI hovering in the back corner seemed equally irritated. The doctor was elderly, the AI was bordering on it's seventh year breakdown, and there was a pile of paperwork a mile high that the lieutenant was in charge of sorting. He sighed, opened a classified folder, and ran his fingers over the letters COMET emblazoned at the top of the page.
It had been a really lousy day.
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