 |
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: Ch. 1 pt. d
Posted By: Lord Palarious<duct_walker@yahoo.com>
Date: 9 September 2007, 8:17 pm
Read/Post Comments
|
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.
|
