Crossing Borders

Majestic jade green and sparkling deep blue shine brightly against the sun as the planet slowly revolves on its axis. The light brown masses of continent blanketing the oceans remind Bior of the numerous tattoos covering the coarse beige skin of the Elites on board.

"Beautiful ain't she?"

Bior looks back at the San'Shyuum awkwardly limping towards him. Pardons, they called her, leans on her walking stick as she slowly makes her way to the metal handrails.

"For a long time my kind had conquered galaxies and subjugated numerous species," she solemnly laments before turning to Bior and smiling. "Makes you wonder the irony when such a simple and small planet on the fridges of empty space signifies the very survival for all of us."

Bior grimly nods his head. For four years, seven months, and three days, they have traveled across known and unknown space for a sanctuary from the turmoil created when the Covenant collapsed.

Three fleets with a handful of covenant battle cruisers, human frigates, and various smaller warships protect the sizable armada of transports carriers, each carrying thousands, if not tens of thousands, of refugees ranging from the prolific Grunts to the near extinct Prophets.

Bior rests his palms on the cool steel bars and lowers his head. They have endured long years, struggled against outrageous odds, even suffered countless losses and sacrifices, but finally their efforts were not in vain.

Some of them were here to escape the constant upheaval between the Insurgency and UNSC, while others were here because of the power struggle happening within the failing Covenant. Still, even others were here for various reasons so infinite Bior couldn't even begin to bother to understand them all.

All that mattered now was the planet, with scans indicating it habitable for life, in front of them. Like an oasis in the middle of a desert, or like the island a ship adrift has set upon, the planet beamed out of the abyssal black as if it were a lighthouse and the fleet its patrons.

"What do you think we'll find?" Bior asks Pardons. His voice resonated a calm aura, almost befitting his confident stature. However, deep down innumerable possibilities and worries plague at his brain.

What if the scans are wrong? What if the fauna and food are inedible? What if there is a disease that spreads into an epidemic?

Bior feels a soft touch on his arm. Looking at the source, he sees Pardons looking up at him with the same expressions in her eyes. Four years, seven months, and three days together have taught them many things about the other. There was no way Bior could hide his thoughts from the Prophet, and likewise there was no way Pardons could evade Bior's sharp intuition.

"We've made it this far," she calmly states, "Staying away from the bridge to ponder meaningless questions bear no fruit in our mission."

Bior silently nods. He could always count on her to break him out of the dangerous trance of self-doubt and loathing.

They make their way to the bridge of the ship. Guards at attention smartly salute them as the heavy metal doors common, but these specific ones outdated, open at a leisurely pace.

Bior hurriedly walks past the entrance before the hatch was fully opened. Not waiting for Pardon he automatically begins barking out orders. As San'Shyuum's physics did not mirror human flexibility, Pardon had to wait for the doors to be fully extended. No matter though, to her it was not something to fuss about. Bior has a job to do and given the circumstances and history, trivial gestures and customs can mean the difference between tragedy and fortune.

"You're sure about this?"

Bior reaches the helm and examines the holographic model of the planet with red blotches pinpointing certain regions.

"You're absolutely positive?" He gravely asks the survey technician again.

"I ran the checks three times already," the technician responds. Bior notes the sweat trickling down the man's forehead. "I don't want to believe it either but our systems brought us this far. Can't be faulty now."

Bior looks through the vast windows at the planet. Metal screens were not deployed as there was no need, but with this new report all ships in the fleet might have to become battle active once again.

Bior turns to Pardon, who had just entered.

"I'll provide a shuttle for you to return to the Aspiration," he grimly tells his companion.

"Is something the matter?" Pardon asks in alarm, "You look like you've just seen death."

"We've all lived in the abyss," Bior quietly mumbles. He could feel blood drain from his face as more and more land on the continent is covered with red. "But nothing is more demoralizing than seeing false sanctuary."

Bior beckons the confused Pardon over to him and hands her a report of the dilemma. Pardon lets out a small gasp.

"You can feel the optimism being flushed down the gutter."

In the report, a space shot of boundless mountain-like buildings across the world protrude high above the surrounding terrains. Smaller looking buildings and lairs litter countlessly, as if they were goose bumps, near the vicinity of these massive structures.

"Scans show that they are alive and active too," Bior continues, "these organisms are apparently prolific and worse, are acting collectively. Almost as if they were sentient."

"Like a colony," Pardon muses. To Bior's surprise, he could sense a hint of curiosity in Pardon's reaction.

"As it is already, the fleet is running on fumes," Bior states with seriousness, "There isn't enough resources for us to search for another habitable planet."

Pardon somberly nods her head in agreement.

"Than I'll prepare my forces for deployment," Pardon begins.

"No need," Bior politely declines, "Scouting forces are already on the ground. Until we know exactly what we're going against the less boots we have on the ground the better."

"Afraid it'll be more than just a purging operation?"

Bior stares intensively at the projected hologram. The upgrades they made while in empty space seem to have paid off. Bior could make out the tiniest details on what he guesses was the organism's main, or "heart" building. Ridges and talons measuring kilometers embed the tissues of the structure, and the entire summit seems to fluctuate in and out almost as if it was alive.

No, Bior thinks to himself, it is alive. The long time out in the unknown has taught Bior to trust his instinct when knowledge, or lack of it, in this case carries an air of suspicion.

"Hope," Bior calls to his ship's AI. Immediately the silhouette of a blue-grey figure flickers briefly before solidifying into a holographic woman.

"You called, your Autocracy?" the AI monotonously responds.

"Put the fleet on call."

"You're live."

Bior positions himself as the rest of the crew and Pardon wordlessly but attentively focus their attention on him. Standing upright with his hands resting comfortably behind his back, anybody would've easily guessed he was the authority figure.

His confident stature was no feint either. Bior had learned to feel comfortable in his position even before the fleet started its journey.

"This is Autocracy Bior Magistrate of the Thread of Destiny," Bior addresses the entire fleet, both alien and human. "After four years, seven months, and three days we have finally reached our destination. A lone planet orbiting an orange sun at the exit of unforgiving empty space which we are all too familiar with."

Bior takes a pause to let the words reach and sink in to each member of the fleet. After all, this will be the first time many of them will have seen a "safe" planet in years, some even for the first time.

"Our mission from now on will be an even harder one," Bior continues into the virtual microphone, "an inhospitable force lies between us and survival. This by itself is no exaggeration. To ensure not only the continuation of our lives, but also the future of our generations to come we must methodically and willingly eradicate anything that stands in our way. Your companions depend on you, your families depend on you, the fleet depends on you, and the very essence of the mission rests on each and one of your shoulders to do to the very best and beyond your abilities."

Broadswords and Pelicans fly in formation at the planet toward specific points marked out just minute's prior. These spots were hastily drawn, and decided only on the foundation that there was less buildings and organism present. Usually protocol dictated that careful analysis and examination be made before such a substantial deployment of resources was conducted. However, today Bior trusts his instinct and his instinct tells him that the longer the fleet loitered aimlessly in such a vulnerable state, the worse the catastrophe he was sure to come was going to be.

Bior looks around the bridge and studies the faces of all the comrades that laboriously toiled with him to get this far. Each person carried a different expression with them, as Bior examines, he recognizes those of pessimism, those of confidence, those of fear, anxiety, and cheerfulness, and those that remained expressionless and hid their inner feelings with professional efficiency.

"Good luck."

Hope logs the ship out of communications right after Bior mutters those last two words.

Bior helps Pardon onto the upper deck of the bridge. The ship had a special airlock for fast travel between representatives of the Covenant and Human governments; it had been constructed out of necessities for fast in-persons communication.

Bior turns to Pardon before she departs on the Phantom.

"Have you're Unngoys prepare for orbital drop," he instructs her as she painfully lifts her leg onto the lowered ramp.

Usually it was not Bior's place to issue a direct order on Covenant forces, much less to their leader. However, he had been granted special allotment of seniority over the entire fleet since last year, when a calamity claimed the lives of everybody aboard twelve noncombatant starships.

"Just a moment," Pardon replies as she fiddles with a holographic tablet. "Done. I also issued the CCS class battle cruiser Golden Ambition to provide ground support for your troops."

"That won't be necessary-"

"I think it is."

Bior doesn't argue with her. On the contrary, he was grateful for his friend of saving him the potential headache when she offered one of her own to him. She knew it too.

"Thank you," Bior bows to Pardon as the vent closes.

After briefly waving his goodbye he turns and addresses Hope again.

"Thread of Destiny to all ships," he announces. Hope, already guessing his action had automatically connected him to the armada again. "Battle stations. The light is green."

Another pause. This time, it was because of Bior's ambivalence as he resolves himself to utter the last three words he had waited so long to articulate.

"Let's go home."