Disclaimer: I don't own anything. This is a fanfic based on the idea of
'Far Flung Hope', by Bombsquad. This story does not necessarily correspond
with Bombsquad's plan. Please remember that. Finally, unlike my previous
'FFH' fanfics, this human race is not the Imperium of Man, but the Imperial
rule from Dune.
Also, I am writing about a time well past Maud'dib's rule. This is a period when the universe has calmed down slightly. Also, the Sardaukar are back, mainly because, let's be frank, they have such a cool name.
Kudos to those who spot the small in-jokes.
Let it begin...
&&&&&&
There it was, in space. A giant ring, lazily spinning around in space, just in orbit around the larger gas giant. The inside of it was a habitable world of trees and grasslands. It was indeed a Halo.
The universe it inhabited was unusual from all of the other Halos in the parallel existences in that the humans in this reality had completely conquered, explored and exploited the entire universe. There was not one star system or special anomaly undiscovered by these humans. They had become the ultimate rulers.
Thus it was more than slightly unusual when an artificial world of an unknown design had spontaneously appeared from nowhere. The system it was in had been explored many a time before. But back then, it had not been there. Now, it was.
Hence there was a large public outcry. Members of the Houses Major and Minor had sent in agents to investigate. The Emperor, spurred on by the Bene Gesserit School, made a declaration stating that no-one was to land on the planet without further planning. The Spacing Guild enforced this rule by making premiums to the system astronomical in expense. Hence all agents were withdrawn from the area, and the system was effectively put into a casual quarantine.
Meanwhile, the Emperor and CHOAM tried to wrangle some answers out of the Bene Gesserit. Why had they demanded to prevent any landings by any of the Houses? Why had the Spacing Guild made premiums so high? Was there some sort of connection? The Bene Gesserit, in their usual secretive manner, provided no straight answer. The Spacing Guild refused to comment. Silence was all that met the Emperor's ears. Two weeks passed... three weeks... four, then the Bene Gesserit broke the silence.
They stated that the ring was a dangerous object that should be annihilated with extreme prejudice. At the same time, Spacing Guild's premiums dropped phenomenally low, allowing even the poorest of houses to transport large yields of products effortlessly. They were preparing for a mass transit.
While the Emperor pondered this piece of advice, CHOAM agents began whispering in his ear. Why destroy such a device without an investigation? There might be valuable resources present on it. The Bene Gesserit have many a time meddled in affairs outwith their jurisdiction. Why let them rule this time? Secretly, the Emperor agreed. But he knew more about the more sinister side to the B. G. School than the public was allowed to hear. He knew that if he did not act upon their demands, most unfortunate incidents would occur. However... CHOAM did have a point. What to do?
Then the Emperor knew exactly how to appease both sides.
He would commission the use of the largest Heighliner available from the Spacing Guild, ship several legions of house conscripts and some of the prized Sardaukar, maybe at the least ten legions altogether, and ship several atomics at the same time. He would publicly announce that the troops were there to plant explosives deep in the ring, and cause it to break and shatter.
In secret he announced to CHOAM that such orders would be delayed for a long time. A very long time. Of course, now that the Spacing Guild premiums had dropped so low to allow the shipment of so many military personnel, it would be quite alright for several of their agents to accompany them to the planet. Just to oversee the operation, he added slyly.
CHOAM knew exactly what the Emperor meant.
And so, three months after its appearance, finally a ship circled it at high orbit. The largest Heighliner ever made. Large enough to ship all the military units requested. Of course, the Houses all complied without a voice of demur. This way they could ship their own agents without paying additional fees. Even the houses without Mentats could see that.
Temporary Barracks 0025, Deck Five, Intersection Twelve, Time: 0400 hours by Old Earth time.
Trooper Byrnes looked up from his bunk, feeling the dull rumble of the ships engines under his feet. Damn Navigators... he thought. Why couldn't they direct these machines more quietly? He swung his feet round, and sat up, feeling a brief bout of nausea. There were a few more conscripts around him who were suffering the same feelings of space sickness.
He reached for a nearby water container, and had a brief drink from it. He saw one trooper, one with blue-on-blue eyes glare at him. Ah, he thought. An Arrakis native... observe the Eyes of Ibad. He pondered over his presence. Then again, anything would be better then that desert hell- world, except... Salusa Secendus...
Before this train of thought could be continued, there was a sudden klaxon blare, and the harsh lights of the cabins activated, flooding the barracks with a grimy and unsettling glare. The cabin door opened, and the sergeant walked in.
"Well, men, what are we waiting for? Breakfast in bed? It's another beautiful day in the conscripts. Everybody get prepped and ready. Breakfast starts in twenty minutes. I want everybody down there to fill your bellies. This is the proverbial it. This is the day we finally leave this place, and feel real gravity under your feet! So get some hustle on!"
"About time sarge!" A orange-haired man called out from one of the bunks. "We were getting sick of this bloody place. And be sure to tell the Navigator that his driving was terrible!"
The sergeant smirked. "I'll be sure to pass your comments on, Private. Now get a move on!" He turned, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.
"Finally!" "Great, I was tired of this feeling in my stomach all day..." Voices broke out around him, all gibberish, but all conveying relief. Even the Arrakis natives were expressing relief in their religious and pious manner.
Byrnes slipped on a tight vest and rubbed his eyes lazily. Another wonderful day in the life of... he thought slothfully.
Navigator Quarters, Time: 0800 hours by Old Earth time.
"When precisely will we be allowed to ferry our troops down to the surface?"
Guildsman Herbert turned to face the soldier, and smiled condescendingly. "Captain Idaho, you must surely be aware that although your men may be slightly..." he trailed off, searching for the correct term, "ill at ease staying on this ship, you must remember that the flight control of one frigate is hard enough to manage on its own. Three at once..." He shrugged.
Captain Idaho paced the deck angrily. "May I remind you that we have direct orders from the Emperor to land on this place as soon as possible?"
"The Sublime Padishah Emperor may wish many things, but he does not have the knowledge of the complexity of the Navigators' work." The Guildsman tipped his head to one side and smiled at the Captain. "Do not concern yourself with our workings. We shall have these ships landing soon."
"Do you have an estimate as to how long that will take?"
Herbert shrugged slightly. "At least another two hours, Captain." He flicked his hand carelessly at the soldier. "You are dismissed."
Captain Idaho glared at the Guildsman, then spun on one foot, leaving the room with an angry march.
Guildsman Herbert sighed. "What a vulgar man..."
"He would undoubtedly act that way towards anyone who patronises him." A voice called from a nearby chamber. "He is an Idaho. It is well known that Idahos are a proud and ancient family."
"Still, he should know his place. He is just a soldier." The Guildsman turned towards the direction of the voice. "Are you sure it is wise in delaying the landing ships for so long?"
"I will not have those damnable Combine Honnete Ober Advancer Mercantiles representatives dictating what the Spacing Guild can and cannot do." The voice retorted angrily. "We shall delay this landing as a little reminder as to who controls the movement of cargo around this universe. They may have a stranglehold on the economic market, but we control all shipping, and I wish to remind them of that, despite what the Emperor orders."
"Still, we risk incurring his wrath if we delay too long." Herbert pointed out.
"Do not worry, this little delay will not cause any severe problems for the shipment of troops. After all, this is just a simple demolition mission. What could happen if there is a slight delay?"
Herbert smiled slyly. "I concur, sir."
Mess hall 020, Deck Six, Intersection Seven, Time: 0830 hours by Old Earth time.
Byrnes looked up from his food – although admittedly 'food' was being generous. So would the term 'gruel'. Most people would find water thicker – to find the orange-haired private laughing outrageously loud at some comment another conscript made. He stirred his food absent-mindedly. There was the bitter scent of rachag stimulant in the air. In short, the room was crowded, noisy and intrusive.
The conscripts were having their breakfast after the morning reading from the O.C. Bible. The dish they were served was apparently some type of Pundi rice dish, but the troops weren't fooled. Not even the worst of cooks could pull of something quite as poor as this dish, even with Pundi rice.
The tannoy system crackled briefly, and Captain Idaho's voice crackled over it.
"Listen up, people. We've just heard from the Navigators when touch-down is going to start. I want the First and Second legions of the Conscripts at the dock, ready to board the frigates at 1000 hours. The rest of you are to go down slightly later on the smaller dropships. Don't worry, this is going to be an easy mission, people. We'll be back home soon enough. Captain Idaho out."
The orange-haired soldier rolled his eyes. "Well, whoopty-fuckin'-doo. Another delay." Byrnes snorted in agreement, and ate a spoonful of his food, then regretted it.
"Oh yeah, those lucky guys get to go down on highly-hostile soil without any back-up and without knowing what may or may not be on the surface." The sergeant added. "They have all the good breaks."
"Actually..." another conscript added. "...I think it's because those guys ain't conscripts."
"Well, what are they then?" The orange-haired man asked sardonically.
"Well..." the soldier lowered his head, and whispered confidentially. "They do have the hint of S. S. around them..."
Byrnes snorted in laughter, and the rest of the table laughed outrageously. "Oh yeah, right." Byrnes added, "the Emperor would send some of his most feared soldiers on a trip to basically demolish a space station." He rolled his eyes. "I can see that happening."
"Say what you want." The soldier muttered, stirring the rice-meal in front of him. "That's what I think..."
"Oh, this day is going to go flying past, I just know it..." The orange- haired man muttered.
Upper Orbit around Halo 58, Time: 1015 hours by Old Earth time.
The three frigate slowly flew out of the Heighliner's docking bay and moved ponderously towards the Halo's surface. Small trails of fiery-red etched their edges as they entered the atmosphere. Slowly... slowly they descended, seemingly getting smaller and smaller to those on the Heighliner, and then they landed, each one equidistant from the other.
Guildsman Herbert nodded in self-satisfaction as he saw the craft land in perfect unison. The people they transported had no respect for stellar transport. They thought it to be all 'plot course and activate engines'. It was a seldom appreciated work of art which dictated the highest of skills. Of course, it could hardly be expected that such skills would come cheaply...
He turned to the Navigator. "Sir, has word been sent from the surface declaring the condition of the landing craft?"
There was a rasping sound, and the voice was heard again. "Word has been sent back to us. The frigates landed perfectly, and already troops are being arranged. Our agents are managing to get the military to do their jobs quickly."
Herbert smiled. "Exactly what CHOAM wishes not to happen."
"Exactly, Herbert." There was another rasping sound, then; "Inform the Mentats that their transport is ready. Ensure that the atomics are sent down with them. We want this job done as fast as possible, and damn the CHOAM's wishes."
"Aye, sir." Herbert muttered. He transmitted this information to the tannoy, then turned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Sir, do you think we can trust the Bene Gesserit's word on the purpose of this ring?"
"I would never trust any Bene Gesserit witch with anything." The voice snapped back. "However, it has been noted, by several Navigators with prescience, that the future timelines look bleak if this ring is used. It has been decided that we should follow the B. G.'s advice... up to a point."
"Very good, sir." Herbert nodded. "Now, if you excuse me, I shall break my fast with the remainder of the command crew." He turned and left, leaving the remaining person alone. The person slowly consumed a Melange tablet. His blue-on-blue eyes peered out the viewscreen at the object in space.
Heighliner 20, Time: 1030 hours by Old Earth time.
"What do you mean we're not allowed to go?" The orange-haired man whined, adjusting his helmet.
"You heard the Captain," the sergeant called out over the shouts of dismay from the conscripts, "we have to wait until the Mentats and the atomic charges have reached the surface before we can move in."
"So why were we called to be all armed up, then?" another man yelled, his fair complexion stating he was a Caladanin native.
The sergeant raised his eyes heavenwards. "I don't know, okay? Maybe they wanted us to get on the planet as soon as possible without any equipment delays."
"Then why haven't we been sent now?" Said orange hair.
"Look, just shut up all of you! Shut up now!" barked the sergeant. "Look, just be patient, and I'm sure we'll be down there as soon as possible." He paused, then looked at the orange-haired conscript. "For that little outburst, Private Pardee, you and the rest of this unit can check all of your equipment again."
There was general cries of annoyance, and Byrnes shifted his rifle in front of him. He checked the firing chamber and barrel, removed and then re- inserted the magazine, checked the secondary magazine was correctly clipped onto the side holder... He glared at Pardee, who merely shrugged, and then grinned inanely, swinging the rifle over his shoulder, and drew out his side arm with a nonchalant ease.
Time: 1035 by Old Earth time.
"Navigator!" An aide yelled over the private intercom. "We have detected a massive energy spike emitted from the ring! What's going on?"
The Navigator paused, breathing in the cinnamon-like scent of Melange as he saw the ring sending out pulses of white light, all of which converged in the centre of the ring.
"Send a message to the landing parties. Inquire as to their status." The Navigator muttered back through the intercom. He peered back at the phenomena cautiously, seeing the light build up in volume, becoming almost indescribably bright, then the light suddenly cut off, leaving a purple afterglow in the Navigator's eyes.
There were four sleek, purple ships, almost beetle-like in shape flying out from the ring. A sudden crackle came over the tannoy system. A harsh voice barked out in crude-sounding English; "Your destruction is the will of the gods...and we are their instrument." The Navigator looked back at the ships, and saw, with a horrified clarity a large sphere of burning- white energy speed towards the ship. There was a horrible lurch, and a scream of tortured metal as the plasma burned through the outer hull. He turned back to look at the ships again, and noticed another sphere heading towards his ship. This time, it was headed directly towards the bridge.
Deck Six, Intersection Nine, Time: 1036 hours by Old Earth time.
The ship lurched to the left, sending Byrnes and several other conscripts to the deck floor. Pardee looked up in anxiety. Klaxons started to wail unexpectedly. The sergeant marched up to the intercom system and tried to find out what was going on from the Navigator. Static was the only response.
Covenant Cruiser 'God's Own Wrath'.
Ship Master T'lasarnum looked at the ship displayed in the tactical readout in front of him. When his picket fleet had transported through the Halo and come across a ship almost as long as a planet's diameter, they were understandably cautious. However, preliminary scans showed no discernable weapons systems. A few plasma spheres fired from the fleet backed up this evidence. They had managed to destroy the main command post, and the ship hadn't even moved.
"Ship Master?" one of the bridge crew asked. "What shall we do now?"
T'lasarnum looked up from the readout, and thought briefly. "Arrange boarding parties." He snapped. "Attempt to capture the ship. We don't want to waste plasma torpedoes." He stood up and paced the deck slightly. This was going to be too easy...
Heighliner 20.
There was a dull 'crunch', and the ship lurched again.
"What was that?" Pardee cried. "Did something just hit us?"
"Check your weapons, men!" The sergeant yelled, drawing his side-arm.
There was commotion up ahead. Some soldiers were waving at Byrnes' group... then there was a flash of blue, and a brief wave of heat flowed above them. A gaping hole, it's edges ringed white with heat, was now in the hull. Suddenly a small, squat creature scurried out from the hole, and looked at the squad in front of him. There was a brief pause as both species looked at each other in some bizarre stand-off. The small creature suddenly shrieked and held up a small device which spat green spheres at the conscripts. One soldier was struck in the face, and he fell howling, blinded in one eye.
The sergeant raised his pistol and fired, sending a slug straight into the creature's head, killing it instantly. There were some more scuffling sounds from the hole, and suddenly, many creatures emerged, firing at the squad. Three men fell, burned to death before the conscripts could react.
Pardee yelled incoherently and raised his rifle at the creatures, sending a hail of metal towards them. Byrnes accompanied him, his gun leaping wildly in his hands. Then the rest of the squad joined in.
Tracer rounds etched the eyes with after-images. Smaller, unseen rounds smashed into the smaller aliens. Some dropped dead, the other fled, screaming in their high-pitched voices. The larger aliens bellowed in deeper voices, and followed the other creatures, sending bolts of blue fire at the squad.
The group remained at the junction, some still not having moved from when the aliens first arrived. Pardee cleared his throat. "Well, I think I speak for everyone, sarge, when I yell: WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"
The sergeant shook his head unsteadily. "Boys, I think we may be in a slight more trouble than what I first thought..."
Please R&R. I shall write up another chapter when I can.
Also, I am writing about a time well past Maud'dib's rule. This is a period when the universe has calmed down slightly. Also, the Sardaukar are back, mainly because, let's be frank, they have such a cool name.
Kudos to those who spot the small in-jokes.
Let it begin...
&&&&&&
There it was, in space. A giant ring, lazily spinning around in space, just in orbit around the larger gas giant. The inside of it was a habitable world of trees and grasslands. It was indeed a Halo.
The universe it inhabited was unusual from all of the other Halos in the parallel existences in that the humans in this reality had completely conquered, explored and exploited the entire universe. There was not one star system or special anomaly undiscovered by these humans. They had become the ultimate rulers.
Thus it was more than slightly unusual when an artificial world of an unknown design had spontaneously appeared from nowhere. The system it was in had been explored many a time before. But back then, it had not been there. Now, it was.
Hence there was a large public outcry. Members of the Houses Major and Minor had sent in agents to investigate. The Emperor, spurred on by the Bene Gesserit School, made a declaration stating that no-one was to land on the planet without further planning. The Spacing Guild enforced this rule by making premiums to the system astronomical in expense. Hence all agents were withdrawn from the area, and the system was effectively put into a casual quarantine.
Meanwhile, the Emperor and CHOAM tried to wrangle some answers out of the Bene Gesserit. Why had they demanded to prevent any landings by any of the Houses? Why had the Spacing Guild made premiums so high? Was there some sort of connection? The Bene Gesserit, in their usual secretive manner, provided no straight answer. The Spacing Guild refused to comment. Silence was all that met the Emperor's ears. Two weeks passed... three weeks... four, then the Bene Gesserit broke the silence.
They stated that the ring was a dangerous object that should be annihilated with extreme prejudice. At the same time, Spacing Guild's premiums dropped phenomenally low, allowing even the poorest of houses to transport large yields of products effortlessly. They were preparing for a mass transit.
While the Emperor pondered this piece of advice, CHOAM agents began whispering in his ear. Why destroy such a device without an investigation? There might be valuable resources present on it. The Bene Gesserit have many a time meddled in affairs outwith their jurisdiction. Why let them rule this time? Secretly, the Emperor agreed. But he knew more about the more sinister side to the B. G. School than the public was allowed to hear. He knew that if he did not act upon their demands, most unfortunate incidents would occur. However... CHOAM did have a point. What to do?
Then the Emperor knew exactly how to appease both sides.
He would commission the use of the largest Heighliner available from the Spacing Guild, ship several legions of house conscripts and some of the prized Sardaukar, maybe at the least ten legions altogether, and ship several atomics at the same time. He would publicly announce that the troops were there to plant explosives deep in the ring, and cause it to break and shatter.
In secret he announced to CHOAM that such orders would be delayed for a long time. A very long time. Of course, now that the Spacing Guild premiums had dropped so low to allow the shipment of so many military personnel, it would be quite alright for several of their agents to accompany them to the planet. Just to oversee the operation, he added slyly.
CHOAM knew exactly what the Emperor meant.
And so, three months after its appearance, finally a ship circled it at high orbit. The largest Heighliner ever made. Large enough to ship all the military units requested. Of course, the Houses all complied without a voice of demur. This way they could ship their own agents without paying additional fees. Even the houses without Mentats could see that.
Temporary Barracks 0025, Deck Five, Intersection Twelve, Time: 0400 hours by Old Earth time.
Trooper Byrnes looked up from his bunk, feeling the dull rumble of the ships engines under his feet. Damn Navigators... he thought. Why couldn't they direct these machines more quietly? He swung his feet round, and sat up, feeling a brief bout of nausea. There were a few more conscripts around him who were suffering the same feelings of space sickness.
He reached for a nearby water container, and had a brief drink from it. He saw one trooper, one with blue-on-blue eyes glare at him. Ah, he thought. An Arrakis native... observe the Eyes of Ibad. He pondered over his presence. Then again, anything would be better then that desert hell- world, except... Salusa Secendus...
Before this train of thought could be continued, there was a sudden klaxon blare, and the harsh lights of the cabins activated, flooding the barracks with a grimy and unsettling glare. The cabin door opened, and the sergeant walked in.
"Well, men, what are we waiting for? Breakfast in bed? It's another beautiful day in the conscripts. Everybody get prepped and ready. Breakfast starts in twenty minutes. I want everybody down there to fill your bellies. This is the proverbial it. This is the day we finally leave this place, and feel real gravity under your feet! So get some hustle on!"
"About time sarge!" A orange-haired man called out from one of the bunks. "We were getting sick of this bloody place. And be sure to tell the Navigator that his driving was terrible!"
The sergeant smirked. "I'll be sure to pass your comments on, Private. Now get a move on!" He turned, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.
"Finally!" "Great, I was tired of this feeling in my stomach all day..." Voices broke out around him, all gibberish, but all conveying relief. Even the Arrakis natives were expressing relief in their religious and pious manner.
Byrnes slipped on a tight vest and rubbed his eyes lazily. Another wonderful day in the life of... he thought slothfully.
Navigator Quarters, Time: 0800 hours by Old Earth time.
"When precisely will we be allowed to ferry our troops down to the surface?"
Guildsman Herbert turned to face the soldier, and smiled condescendingly. "Captain Idaho, you must surely be aware that although your men may be slightly..." he trailed off, searching for the correct term, "ill at ease staying on this ship, you must remember that the flight control of one frigate is hard enough to manage on its own. Three at once..." He shrugged.
Captain Idaho paced the deck angrily. "May I remind you that we have direct orders from the Emperor to land on this place as soon as possible?"
"The Sublime Padishah Emperor may wish many things, but he does not have the knowledge of the complexity of the Navigators' work." The Guildsman tipped his head to one side and smiled at the Captain. "Do not concern yourself with our workings. We shall have these ships landing soon."
"Do you have an estimate as to how long that will take?"
Herbert shrugged slightly. "At least another two hours, Captain." He flicked his hand carelessly at the soldier. "You are dismissed."
Captain Idaho glared at the Guildsman, then spun on one foot, leaving the room with an angry march.
Guildsman Herbert sighed. "What a vulgar man..."
"He would undoubtedly act that way towards anyone who patronises him." A voice called from a nearby chamber. "He is an Idaho. It is well known that Idahos are a proud and ancient family."
"Still, he should know his place. He is just a soldier." The Guildsman turned towards the direction of the voice. "Are you sure it is wise in delaying the landing ships for so long?"
"I will not have those damnable Combine Honnete Ober Advancer Mercantiles representatives dictating what the Spacing Guild can and cannot do." The voice retorted angrily. "We shall delay this landing as a little reminder as to who controls the movement of cargo around this universe. They may have a stranglehold on the economic market, but we control all shipping, and I wish to remind them of that, despite what the Emperor orders."
"Still, we risk incurring his wrath if we delay too long." Herbert pointed out.
"Do not worry, this little delay will not cause any severe problems for the shipment of troops. After all, this is just a simple demolition mission. What could happen if there is a slight delay?"
Herbert smiled slyly. "I concur, sir."
Mess hall 020, Deck Six, Intersection Seven, Time: 0830 hours by Old Earth time.
Byrnes looked up from his food – although admittedly 'food' was being generous. So would the term 'gruel'. Most people would find water thicker – to find the orange-haired private laughing outrageously loud at some comment another conscript made. He stirred his food absent-mindedly. There was the bitter scent of rachag stimulant in the air. In short, the room was crowded, noisy and intrusive.
The conscripts were having their breakfast after the morning reading from the O.C. Bible. The dish they were served was apparently some type of Pundi rice dish, but the troops weren't fooled. Not even the worst of cooks could pull of something quite as poor as this dish, even with Pundi rice.
The tannoy system crackled briefly, and Captain Idaho's voice crackled over it.
"Listen up, people. We've just heard from the Navigators when touch-down is going to start. I want the First and Second legions of the Conscripts at the dock, ready to board the frigates at 1000 hours. The rest of you are to go down slightly later on the smaller dropships. Don't worry, this is going to be an easy mission, people. We'll be back home soon enough. Captain Idaho out."
The orange-haired soldier rolled his eyes. "Well, whoopty-fuckin'-doo. Another delay." Byrnes snorted in agreement, and ate a spoonful of his food, then regretted it.
"Oh yeah, those lucky guys get to go down on highly-hostile soil without any back-up and without knowing what may or may not be on the surface." The sergeant added. "They have all the good breaks."
"Actually..." another conscript added. "...I think it's because those guys ain't conscripts."
"Well, what are they then?" The orange-haired man asked sardonically.
"Well..." the soldier lowered his head, and whispered confidentially. "They do have the hint of S. S. around them..."
Byrnes snorted in laughter, and the rest of the table laughed outrageously. "Oh yeah, right." Byrnes added, "the Emperor would send some of his most feared soldiers on a trip to basically demolish a space station." He rolled his eyes. "I can see that happening."
"Say what you want." The soldier muttered, stirring the rice-meal in front of him. "That's what I think..."
"Oh, this day is going to go flying past, I just know it..." The orange- haired man muttered.
Upper Orbit around Halo 58, Time: 1015 hours by Old Earth time.
The three frigate slowly flew out of the Heighliner's docking bay and moved ponderously towards the Halo's surface. Small trails of fiery-red etched their edges as they entered the atmosphere. Slowly... slowly they descended, seemingly getting smaller and smaller to those on the Heighliner, and then they landed, each one equidistant from the other.
Guildsman Herbert nodded in self-satisfaction as he saw the craft land in perfect unison. The people they transported had no respect for stellar transport. They thought it to be all 'plot course and activate engines'. It was a seldom appreciated work of art which dictated the highest of skills. Of course, it could hardly be expected that such skills would come cheaply...
He turned to the Navigator. "Sir, has word been sent from the surface declaring the condition of the landing craft?"
There was a rasping sound, and the voice was heard again. "Word has been sent back to us. The frigates landed perfectly, and already troops are being arranged. Our agents are managing to get the military to do their jobs quickly."
Herbert smiled. "Exactly what CHOAM wishes not to happen."
"Exactly, Herbert." There was another rasping sound, then; "Inform the Mentats that their transport is ready. Ensure that the atomics are sent down with them. We want this job done as fast as possible, and damn the CHOAM's wishes."
"Aye, sir." Herbert muttered. He transmitted this information to the tannoy, then turned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Sir, do you think we can trust the Bene Gesserit's word on the purpose of this ring?"
"I would never trust any Bene Gesserit witch with anything." The voice snapped back. "However, it has been noted, by several Navigators with prescience, that the future timelines look bleak if this ring is used. It has been decided that we should follow the B. G.'s advice... up to a point."
"Very good, sir." Herbert nodded. "Now, if you excuse me, I shall break my fast with the remainder of the command crew." He turned and left, leaving the remaining person alone. The person slowly consumed a Melange tablet. His blue-on-blue eyes peered out the viewscreen at the object in space.
Heighliner 20, Time: 1030 hours by Old Earth time.
"What do you mean we're not allowed to go?" The orange-haired man whined, adjusting his helmet.
"You heard the Captain," the sergeant called out over the shouts of dismay from the conscripts, "we have to wait until the Mentats and the atomic charges have reached the surface before we can move in."
"So why were we called to be all armed up, then?" another man yelled, his fair complexion stating he was a Caladanin native.
The sergeant raised his eyes heavenwards. "I don't know, okay? Maybe they wanted us to get on the planet as soon as possible without any equipment delays."
"Then why haven't we been sent now?" Said orange hair.
"Look, just shut up all of you! Shut up now!" barked the sergeant. "Look, just be patient, and I'm sure we'll be down there as soon as possible." He paused, then looked at the orange-haired conscript. "For that little outburst, Private Pardee, you and the rest of this unit can check all of your equipment again."
There was general cries of annoyance, and Byrnes shifted his rifle in front of him. He checked the firing chamber and barrel, removed and then re- inserted the magazine, checked the secondary magazine was correctly clipped onto the side holder... He glared at Pardee, who merely shrugged, and then grinned inanely, swinging the rifle over his shoulder, and drew out his side arm with a nonchalant ease.
Time: 1035 by Old Earth time.
"Navigator!" An aide yelled over the private intercom. "We have detected a massive energy spike emitted from the ring! What's going on?"
The Navigator paused, breathing in the cinnamon-like scent of Melange as he saw the ring sending out pulses of white light, all of which converged in the centre of the ring.
"Send a message to the landing parties. Inquire as to their status." The Navigator muttered back through the intercom. He peered back at the phenomena cautiously, seeing the light build up in volume, becoming almost indescribably bright, then the light suddenly cut off, leaving a purple afterglow in the Navigator's eyes.
There were four sleek, purple ships, almost beetle-like in shape flying out from the ring. A sudden crackle came over the tannoy system. A harsh voice barked out in crude-sounding English; "Your destruction is the will of the gods...and we are their instrument." The Navigator looked back at the ships, and saw, with a horrified clarity a large sphere of burning- white energy speed towards the ship. There was a horrible lurch, and a scream of tortured metal as the plasma burned through the outer hull. He turned back to look at the ships again, and noticed another sphere heading towards his ship. This time, it was headed directly towards the bridge.
Deck Six, Intersection Nine, Time: 1036 hours by Old Earth time.
The ship lurched to the left, sending Byrnes and several other conscripts to the deck floor. Pardee looked up in anxiety. Klaxons started to wail unexpectedly. The sergeant marched up to the intercom system and tried to find out what was going on from the Navigator. Static was the only response.
Covenant Cruiser 'God's Own Wrath'.
Ship Master T'lasarnum looked at the ship displayed in the tactical readout in front of him. When his picket fleet had transported through the Halo and come across a ship almost as long as a planet's diameter, they were understandably cautious. However, preliminary scans showed no discernable weapons systems. A few plasma spheres fired from the fleet backed up this evidence. They had managed to destroy the main command post, and the ship hadn't even moved.
"Ship Master?" one of the bridge crew asked. "What shall we do now?"
T'lasarnum looked up from the readout, and thought briefly. "Arrange boarding parties." He snapped. "Attempt to capture the ship. We don't want to waste plasma torpedoes." He stood up and paced the deck slightly. This was going to be too easy...
Heighliner 20.
There was a dull 'crunch', and the ship lurched again.
"What was that?" Pardee cried. "Did something just hit us?"
"Check your weapons, men!" The sergeant yelled, drawing his side-arm.
There was commotion up ahead. Some soldiers were waving at Byrnes' group... then there was a flash of blue, and a brief wave of heat flowed above them. A gaping hole, it's edges ringed white with heat, was now in the hull. Suddenly a small, squat creature scurried out from the hole, and looked at the squad in front of him. There was a brief pause as both species looked at each other in some bizarre stand-off. The small creature suddenly shrieked and held up a small device which spat green spheres at the conscripts. One soldier was struck in the face, and he fell howling, blinded in one eye.
The sergeant raised his pistol and fired, sending a slug straight into the creature's head, killing it instantly. There were some more scuffling sounds from the hole, and suddenly, many creatures emerged, firing at the squad. Three men fell, burned to death before the conscripts could react.
Pardee yelled incoherently and raised his rifle at the creatures, sending a hail of metal towards them. Byrnes accompanied him, his gun leaping wildly in his hands. Then the rest of the squad joined in.
Tracer rounds etched the eyes with after-images. Smaller, unseen rounds smashed into the smaller aliens. Some dropped dead, the other fled, screaming in their high-pitched voices. The larger aliens bellowed in deeper voices, and followed the other creatures, sending bolts of blue fire at the squad.
The group remained at the junction, some still not having moved from when the aliens first arrived. Pardee cleared his throat. "Well, I think I speak for everyone, sarge, when I yell: WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"
The sergeant shook his head unsteadily. "Boys, I think we may be in a slight more trouble than what I first thought..."
Please R&R. I shall write up another chapter when I can.