[I did my best to describe the Covenant through the eyes of someone who has never encountered them before. I might add more chapters if people want me to, I have a few ideas of were to take the story.]
I awoke to the annoying buzzer of an alarm clock reading 8:30am. Reaching over with one hand I hit the "off" button. As I stared blankly at the UNSC seal printed underneath the bunk above me, I sighed when I realized I had been dreaming of Harvest, my home planet. The United Nations Space Command was formed as an interplanetary defense force designed to protect humanity. Not that there was much to protect against, aside from ourselves. During my last deployment on Watchman, the most dangerous thing was a poisonous moss. It only took four stupid teenagers to figure that out. Other than that, there was the insurrection, a terrorist movement bent on colonial independence from earth.
As I climbed out of bed, I looked at the other set of bunks on the opposite side of the room to see one of my roommates still asleep. "Lucky bastard," I said under my breath. Jase didn't have anything to do until 4:30, when we all had to run drills. I was going to be stuck in the armory for the next three hours cleaning equipment. I pulled on a dark green marine jumpsuit labeled with my name, Solomon Bradshaw, and then left the cabin. The four of us had been sharing that same tiny space for three months now. Cramped quarters can make you hate your best friend, so I enjoyed leaving whenever I got the chance.
As I continued down the hall, I passed by one of the many windows on the ship. Although the view of space was obstructed by the spaceport we were docked at, I looked out anyway, hoping to catch a few glimpses of new ships that had arrived overnight. Stalingrad, Seoul, In Amber Clad, Iroquois… no new arrivals. The Staff of Loki was a Marathon class heavy cruiser, the largest class in the UNSC fleet. Armed with two MAC cannons which used rows of electro-magnets to propel projectiles at near-light speed, it also carried several hundred missile pods and forty point-defense turrets.
"Hey, Solomon!" a voice called from behind me. I turned around to see one of my other squad mates, Abioye Chikunga, running towards me with a data pad in his hands. Abioye, a huge brute of a man, shook the floor as he got closer. Abioye was born on Kholo, a large planet settled by Kenya. "Check it out!" he shouted in excitement, showing me the data pad. I looked to see a picture of an African woman holding a newborn baby. Outside the window behind her, I could see the distinct skyline of New Alexandria. "Congratulations!" I exclaimed "Boy or girl?"
"Boy!" he said excitedly. "I can't wait to meet him." Abioye was in a situation shared by far too many servicemen. He had just finished his three weeks planet-side leave, only to have his child born six days later. It would be another year until he got a chance to see his son, if he stayed lucky.
"You can tell me more later. I need to get going," I said as I started back down the hall.
"Sure thing, man. See you at lunch!" he shouted in reply before rushing down the hall, presumably to show Jase. I kept a brisk pace as I moved to the armory. The last thing I wanted was to be late. Gunnery Sergeant Angelini was not a man to be crossed. Once, during a live ammo field exercise, he gave me orders to hold position, but a tree was blocking my view. When, I moved ten meters to the right, he had me flogged for insubordination.
As I walked into the armory deck, most of the other members of my unit were already there cleaning their equipment. I opened my locker and pulled my gear out: body armor, helmet, equipment pouches, a backpack, and night vision goggles. Everything one needed for any situation was included; the UNSC spared no expense. All of our gear was painted a dark green color to camouflage us, with the exception of our shiny metallic black weapons. Our body armor consisted of a chest plate, a helmet, shin guards and, shoulder pads. I knew that cleaning our gear meant we would soon ship out somewhere, probably to some outlying colony to deal with insurrectionists, or maybe even to the planet Reach, the UNSC's main base. As I began dusting off my armor, my third squad-mate, Zhenya, sat down next to me. Zhenya looked like your stereotypical marine, average height, large muscles, buzz-cut, tattoos covering his arms.
"Think they're sending us to Reach?" he asked in his thick Russian accent
"Nah. Probably Harmony," I replied. "I heard insurrectionist activity is on the rise out there."
"They wouldn't have sent Spartans along if we were going to Harmony. That's in the center of space."
My heart skipped a beat "Spartans? When did we get Spartans?" I asked surprised, although part of me didn't believe it.
"They just arrived this morning," Zhenya said, looking at me as he cleaned his rifle. "There were two of them, really tall. Heck, the girl was bigger than Abioye!"
"If the Navy sent Spartans then something big must be going on," I replied, still trying to hide my disbelief.
Now I started to get worried. The Spartan program was designed to create the perfect soldier. I remembered hearing the old reports about the Spartan-I's Project Orion. Several soldiers and marines had volunteered to take part in a new type of warfare program. Using new training methods and the latest breakthroughs in biochemical developments, the soldiers were physically augmented to make them faster and stronger. Of course eventually the Spartan-II program was initiated. No one knew where these people came from, and rumors had suggested that they derived from children kidnapped by the Office of Naval Intelligence or, possibly, robots. Either way, these new super-soldiers were highly capable fighters. The average Spartan-II stood at 7'3'' and had incredible strength. They knew, and had mastered, every detail of warfare, immune to pain, shock, and PTSD. They really were "The ultimate soldiers."
"Not to mention they only gave us a six-hour warning before we depart, and we got a direct communication from Admiral Cole," Zhenya said, his gaze returning to his rifle.
"How do you know all this?" I asked curiously.
"I was on guard duty in the CIC, so I heard a few things," he replied in an annoyed tone.
This ended our conversation. When I had finished cleaning my gear, I stowed it back into my locker. We had about an hour to kill before lunch, so Zhenya and I headed up two levels to the Rec room. We had lost some money playing billiards the night before, so we turned on the TV and watched the news. No real stories there, just a homicide here, a new scientific breakthrough there, etc., until a story came up about insurrectionist activity on some colony.
"You ever wonder if, say, we were faced with a never-ending horde of innies, how long just the two of us could hold out?" Zhenya asked as he watched the newscaster reporting a bombing at a navy yard.
Zhenya and I were a sniper team: I fired the gun, while he called out targets and made the calculations. On one mission we had killed twenty-seven insurrectionists, and how many could we have killed if they hadn't retreated?
"Well, it depends on the situation," I said. "I mean if they were in open ground, we could hit dozens of them, but only until our ammo ran out"
"Okay, say we had unlimited ammunition in a five story building surrounded by open ground. You have your sniper rifle, I have my DMR," He replied
"I'd say we could kill sixty at least," I said after thinking for a moment. "I mean, once they get inside, we're screwed."
We continued to watch the news for another half hour before heading down to the mess hall. We were served grilled Moa, a bird native to planet Reach, and mashed potatoes. The food was fresh, most likely brought aboard today. I sat down with the rest of my squad and checked my watch, two hours to cast off.
"Hey, Sandra!" Jase yelled to the cook. "Something is different today. It looks like you put in more food and less ass!"
"Yeah, yeah, just shut up and eat it!" The cook yelled back.
Jase was just a rookie. This was his first deployment, so he didn't know what a good meal meant. Usually before a dangerous mission, the navy would give us the best food they had. After all, a WWII tradition states that if you're going to send someone to die, you can at least give his a good meal first.
I looked over to see the two Spartans Zhenya had mentioned, a man and a woman both fully clad in MJOLNIR armor, but not wearing their helmets. The woman stood at least seven feet tall with a scar on the right side of her face, and she wore olive green armor. She was extremely muscular, and I spied short red hair underneath a red beret. The curves that normally characterized the female figure were lost in her muscle mass and the bulk of her armor. If they had worn helmets the only way to tell them apart aside from armor color, was the guy was even bulkier. A few inches taller, and with slightly more muscle, he had a short black Mohawk and wore dark blue armor. "Damn! Look at those badasses!" Abioye said, looking over my shoulder towards the Spartans.
"Good thing they're on our side," Zhenya as he, too, looked up to watch them. The four of us stared at them, watching them waiting in line for food. They glanced over toward us a few times but didn't seem to care. They received two trays of food each, with four times the portions we had gotten, and both sat down at separate tables alone. They just ate their food and left as soon as they'd finished.
"Well, there they go," said Kimiko, another of my squad mates "Where do you suppose they're going?"
"Most likely to cryo-sleep," Jase answered. Cryo-sleep was used during prolonged periods of space travel, holding non-essential personnel in suspended animation to conserve resources. After lunch, we all went back to our cabins and waited there, for regulations prohibited personnel from being in the halls while a ship was leaving port. After about an hour we heard the PA click on "UNSC Staff of Loki, this is Sigma Station control. You are cleared to depart."
"Copy that, Control," Fenris said. "All hands brace for cast off!"
Fenris was our ship's artificial intelligence unit. He operated the electronic systems and piloted the ship when needed. His holographic avatar resembled a Viking warrior with a cloak made from a wolf pelt. We all held onto the closest thing to us. For me, the bed post. The vessel shook for a few seconds before steadying out.
"All hands are now cleared to move about the ship," Fenris said a few seconds later, before he waved goodbye and his hologram de-materialized. I quickly got up and started for the door.
"Where are you going in such a hurry? We were just about to get the playing cards out," Zhenya asked, puzzled.
"I'm going to talk to Hans, to see if he knows anything about where we're going," I replied.
"All right. Hurry back, or we'll start playing without you," he said, as he reached for a deck of cards sitting on his footlocker.
"I'll make it quick, Zhen," I promised as I walked out the door.
Hansel Jaeger and I had met in middle school and remained friends all through high school and college, before going our separate ways in the military. Despite both of us joining the Marines, he had been selected for advanced training and became an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper or ODST. As fate would have it, we ended up on the same ship together. Most importantly, a warrant officer, higher than I on the superiority ladder, he might know something we didn't.
I tried his cabin first, but he wasn't there. I left and began making my way to the weight room two levels down, passing several sailors who seemed to be in a hurry. On the way I saw one of the Spartans walking down the hall towards me. He didn't say a word, just walked right past me, but I noticed on his shoulder pad was a name plate that read, Travis-114. I wondered if they even had real names. I walked into the weight room to find Hans on a bench press. Hans was six feet tall with an almost bear-like frame, and even by marine standards he was very muscular. He had short blonde hair in a crew-cut, with blue eyes that added the only splash of color to his pale face. Hans had been born on Emerald Cove, a planet with low light levels, but he had moved to Harvest when he was thirteen years old. When he looked over and saw me, he set the weights down and stood up. I gave a salute as I walked closer.
"Hey, man, what's up?" he asked. Even though he surpassed me in rank, we were still friends, so he didn't mind if I got too informal when speaking to him.
"I was wondering if you knew anything about where we're going," I replied, as I leaned against a nearby rowing machine.
"All I know is the ship is heading to Refuge, but I can't tell you why."
This frustrated me. "Refuge is a just a small mining planet with only six hundred colonists. Why are we going there?" I asked, obviously sounding a bit angry.
"Look, I can't tell you. I don't even know the whole reason either. Everything is on a need-to-know basis." He held up his hands. "Chances are the bridge or Sgt. Angelini will tell you when we get closer."
I sighed. "Well, thanks anyway, sir." I saluted before walking back out. As soon as I crossed the bulkhead and into the hall, a voice came on over the announcements and told everyone that we were headed to Refuge. My trip to see Hans now appeared pointless, but then the captain ordered all unessential personnel to report to their assigned cryo-pods. This was it. We were preparing to jump to Refuge. The alarm sounded, and I ran to the cryo-deck, to find my squad already there.
"Everyone in, now! Go! Go! Go!" yelled Sgt. Angelini our squad leader. He stood atop a crate ordering us to our pods. A short stocky man with olive skin, Angelini spoke with an Italian accent that had made him the laughing stock of the base where he first served. Once promoted to sergeant, however, he soon earned a brutal reputation. When we were all safely inside our pods, Angelini climbed into his own pod. A doctor came to each pod and gave us an injection of cytoprethaline, a drug designed to stop ice crystals from forming in our blood stream.
"Fenris, close pods in room 2-32b," the doctor said.
The hatches slowly began to close, shutting us all into pitch black cocoons. I could start to feel cold as the hissing of the cryogenic gas now releasing filled my ears. I took a deep breath in and felt the chill spread through my chest, as I lost feeling in my limbs. By the time I realized my eyes were closed they already felt too heavy to open. The last thing I heard before succumbing to the cold was Fenris' voice saying, "All active personnel brace for slip-space jump."
Slipstream space, or slip-space for short, was a set of seven dimensions existing in a small bundle. By moving matter from the three "normal" space dimensions to Slipstream space, through use of a Shaw-Fujikawa slip-space drive, one could change the laws of physics for a piece of matter or, in this case, a ship. When the drive activated, it moved the ship into slip space, a region not governed by the laws of physics, and the ship could turn a two-hundred-year voyage by normal means into one of just about a week. Almost all ships had a slip-space drive, as it was essential for practical interstellar travel.
In what seemed like seconds later, I awoke to the buzzing alarm of the pods opening. We all climbed out, some people throwing up or coughing as a side effect of the drugs. The PA clicked on, telling all squads in 2nd company to arm up and assemble in the hangar. We had reached Refuge. All of us in 2nd company assembled into our squads and ran to the armory. We were twelve in all, including me and Sgt. Angelini. Opening our lockers, we began strapping on armor plating and filling our pouches with ammunition before grabbing our weapons. I used an SRS99 sniper rifle. Although heavy and bulky, a single shot at 2000 yards could still penetrate fifteen feet of flesh and bone, making it a formidable weapon at long range.
We all assembled in the hangar as Pelican-class drop ships and Longsword-class fighters, being prepped by navy men, lined the edges of the hangar. Through the force field, we could see Refuge, a huge greyish green marble, with patches of blue dotting the surface. We lined up in rows of twelve. Each squad had its own row, with the commanding officer on the leftmost side. My squad wound up pretty far to the back. We saw a warthog jeep drive by and park in front of all of us. In the passenger seat sat Captain Donovan Mitchell. A very fit man for his age, the 54-year old Captain Mitchell captained the Staff of Loki. He climbed on top of the warthog's roll-cage and stood up.
"Let's see a show of hands," he began. "How many of us are, or know someone who is from Earth?" He raised his hand and looked around. Out of the seventy-two of us, only one other hand up. "Okay, so not that many of us. The insurrectionists say that the people of one planet owe nothing to the people of another planet! The insurrectionists say that E arth is in the past, and the past is dead! Well, not so long ago all of humanity lived on a single planet! Hard to imagine, isn't it? But try to think of what it must've been like to be a human back then, to know only one world. Each one of you contributes to a unified Earth government. But how is that fair? Why should I give anything to Earth if I don't even live there? Without us, without the UNSC, colonies starve, planets die, and for what? The insurrectionists say they would rather risk the lives of millions of colonists than do their duty to the trillions of humans spread out across this galaxy! But not me. Me? I say we are all in this together. Now get down there, and show those terrorists what real humans look like!"