With a hydraulic hiss, the hatch set into the bulkhead slid open, admitting a huge bipedal alien dressed in heavy orange armor- an Elite major. The alien stepped in and halted as the door hissed shut behind him. It stood there, imposing and heavily armored, easily eight and a half feet worth of alien warrior, and stared at the only other occupant of the cell.
The other occupant uncoiled himself from the floor and stood at his full height, balanced, ugly in only the way a combat veteran can be, and returned the creatures stare levelly. He was a big man, six feet four inches and two hundred eighty pounds of UNSC Marine; a Helljumper.
The alien stared a moment longer into the unwavering green eyes of his opponent, and slowly nodded his head a fraction of an inch. Its mandibles clicked, and it spoke. Its voice was heavily accented, by the language was undoubtedly English. "Do you know why you are here, Human warrior?"
The Human smiled fractionally before speaking: "Shane, Jeremiah, Captain, United Nations Space Command Marine Corps, serial number 020-3827JS."
The alien inclined its head again. "I am Val 'Thamamee. I am an officer of the Fifth Fleet of Ascendant Justice; and I was chosen to brief you on your situation due to my previous experience with Human warriors." 'Thamamee tugged his helmet off, and gestured to a long set of scars on the left side of his face. "A warrior much like yourself did me the honor of this wound on the world you know as Harvest. That was our first contact with your people, but not our last." The alien replaced his helmet and pulled out a small disc, setting it on the floor. It erupted into a three dimensional representation of what appeared to be a council chamber. A lone Elite stood in the center, obviously testifying. "The Sangheili you see testifying to the Council is our Arbiter, the supreme commander of all Sangheili."
The image began to move, and sound scratched out of the projector. "These Humans are no cowards as the Jiralhanae so boldly claim. They have fought our ships to a standstill, and taken the world they know as Harvest back not once, but twice now. They fight with skill and fierce determination, easily matching that of our own. I do not understand what the Prophet of Truth refers to as "heresy"; Humans have no knowledge of the Forerunners, and their technology does not resemble that of the Ancients in the least. Even if they were using the technology of the Ancients, is it not our mandate to find species and to lead them on the path of enlightenment? Have we not done so with the Mgalekgolo, the Sangheili, the Jiralhanae, the Unggoy and even the piratical Kig-Yar?" The Arbiter paused for a moment, and a mixed roar of support and derision rose. The Arbiter raised his fists, and the noise died down.
Another figure, a tiny figure, jetted down to the Arbiter. "And what would you have us do, Arbiter? Throw away our traditions? Allow the Humans to profane the Gods?"
The Arbiter stared straight into the eyes of the small humanoid "if the Humans should pass their trial of Combat against us, yes, High Prophet of Truth."
Truth threw his hands in the air. "Impossible Sangheili! There will be no trial for the Humans! You will obey me, or you shall all be severed from the Covenant!"
The Arbiter nodded slowly. "I feared you would say as much. Thus I turn to my brothers, and to all members of the Covenant who would choose to follow the path as the Forerunners intended. Any who can reach a Sangheili vessel and who wish to leave the domination of the San'Shyuum will be welcome!"
As one, every Sangheili sitting in the tiered seats rose and began to file out, and the Arbiter walked out as well. The pad winked out, and 'Thamamee scooped it up once more. "As you can see, Shane, Jeremiah, the Sangheili and millions of former Covenant have left the Prophets. We wish to know if you will stand for your people in a trial by Combat."
Jeremiah looked the alien up and down. "Yeah? And what's in it for me?"
The Sangheili nodded. "You will secure for your species immunity from harm by the Sangheili. We will look upon your species as a worthy race, and as such, you will be unmolested in our war against the remaining forces of the Covenant Empire."
"And if I lose?" Jeremiah kept his eyes locked on the huge alien.
"Then your species and ours will remain at war," 'Thamamee responded.
"All right, you alien son of a bitch. You want a show? I'll give you one you'll never forget, much less survive." Jeremiah squared himself, ready to attack.
'Thamamee laughed a low, pleasant sound very much at odds with the fierceness of the Elite. "Not here, Human warrior. We will make sure that your fight is on even terms, and a tiny room unarmed is hardly a fair set of terms." 'Thamamee opened the hatch and stepped out. "Please, Warrior Shane. This way; I will take you to the armory and make sure the conditions meet with your satisfaction."
Jeremiah thought for a long second. This offer was too good to be true; but if it was truth, it was far too good to pass up. "All right, warrior 'Thamamee, lead the way."
'Thamamee moved through the ship, passing the odd purple marbling of the bulkheads and the trapezoid shape of the hatches. "Here, warrior Shane. This is the
armory."
Jeremiah walked in, and had to restrain his jaw from dropping. Within the compartment were racks of M6 pistols, ODST jump armor, and on a center table, a battered ODST helmet with a white stripe running along the crown. He stepped up to the table, and picked up the helmet; it was heavy, reinforced with composites and wired for advanced electronics. It had protected his head for six years, ever since graduating from ODST School. "How long until this trial of yours, warrior?"
"Approximately sixty of your minutes, warrior Shane," 'Thamamee said. "There is food and drink in this crate here." The Elite placed a box on the table next to the helmet. "I will await you in the corridor outside, warrior." He turned and strode quietly out of the armory, and the hatch slid shut with a musical bell tone.
Jeremiah turned back to the crate. Inside were MREs and containers of water; Jeremiah dug two out and began to eat. He knew that an engagement against the Covenant would be extremely difficult, regardless of its purpose. He was grateful for the food in any case.
He ate quickly, and drank deeply from the bottles provided. Properly fed, he turned to the racks of armor, quickly assembling a full suit. He slung a harness around his shoulders and waist, and walked down the next rack, grabbing two cans of bio-foam, C-12 foaming explosive, two M9 HE-DP grenades, a single Lotus anti-tank mine, an M6S pistol, and an M7S submachine gun. Finally, he turned and tugged on his helmet, activating its electronics and sealing the suit. He walked to the hatch, and smiled thinly as it opened. He was a Helljumper- whatever was on the other side had better be pissing itself.
An hour later, Jeremiah found himself in the back of a Covenant dropship, on his way down to a planet he had never seen before. Val 'Thamamee was strapped in opposite the Helljumper, giving a pre-drop briefing of sorts. "As you can see from the hologram, you will be dropped off in the middle of the planetary night. The mission objective is very simple; you must reach the evacuation point here;" a golden light pulsed, twenty kilometers away from the drop point, "and board the Spirit dropship that will be waiting. You must not be killed, but you may use any and all means in your power to achieve your objective. You will have until dawn to attain your objective." Val stared at Jeremiah. "Do you understand, Warrior Shane?"
Jeremiah nodded slowly. "Hell of an expensive way to find out that Humans are tough fighters, Val."
"Indeed, Jeremiah. But it is the only way the Council of Elders will see as valid. The Arbiter had to fight hard to get even this accepted." 'Thamamee cocked his head slightly, and then nodded as if someone had spoken to him. "The pilots say that we are thirty seconds from the drop. Good luck, Warrior."
Jeremiah nodded gravely and activated his VISR system. The world erupted in a greenish hue, and the outline of the dropship became marked in vivid red. The doors retracted, and Jeremiah leapt from the craft, running balls out away from the dropship. As he ran he noted his surroundings; he was entering a heavy alpine rain forest, thick trees and even thicker underbrush. It was good country to hide in.
A hundred yards away from the drop zone, he slowed to a careful walk, becoming a silent black ghost in the trees, listening to bird calls, insects chirruping, and the wind sighing through the trees. He had twenty kilometers to go, and a fast, quiet hike seemed to be in order. All the trees were highlighted in yellow wire frames, and Jeremiah knew that anything Covenant would instantly be tagged in red wire.
A moaning, electric sound reached his ears, and he quickly took cover, using his visor's zoom function to find the source of the sound. A dozen Covenant Spirit dropships swooped overhead, some splitting off, and Jeremiah knew what was happening. This was a full on search and destroy mission, and he was the target. He grinned tightly and kept moving; it was gratifying to know that the Covenant thought he was dangerous enough to warrant this level of attention. His grin grew when he realized that the first drop ships were leaving their cargo of troops well behind his current position.
Keeping his head down, Jeremiah stalked through the trees, listening to the forest. It would be his early warning system, his shelter against the enemy. He kept his steps smooth, and his strides long, racking up nearly a full kilometer in just twenty minutes.
Coming up and over a small rise, he threw himself flat on his belly as he felt thumping in the ground. He carefully snuggled his M7 to his shoulder, and peered through his sights. Two massive Hunters stomped along, fuel rod guns glowing brightly. They were flanked by a dozen Grunts, and six Jackals. It was the trio of oddly simian creatures in the rear that concerned him most, however.
Well over eight feet tall, covered in thick fur, and reeking to high heaven, the Brutes were savage warriors, wild and tough customers in any fight. What the hell were they doing in the area of an honor-match set up by the Elites?
A Hunter suddenly roared and charged, blasting into the underbrush with its fuel rod cannon. A hazy shape darted out and swung around, unleashing a brilliant green blast of energy point blank into its back side. The Hunter fell, a huge hole seared into its thick orange hide, and all hell broke loose. Plasma, spikes, and needles flew fast and furious, and Jeremiah felt his eyes widen slightly as he discerned the hunched shapes of Elites busily butchering Grunts and Jackals. A familiar figure in orange armor blasted away at a Brute before snatching a plasma grenade and hurling it.
The pulsing blew charge adhered squarely to the Brute's face, and in instant later the simian alien's head vanished in a blast of light and a spray of atomized blood. Val 'Thamamee turned and poured fire into the remaining Hunter, and a half dozen Elites joined him.
Jeremiah shook his head and took to his heels. He had seen enough to know that there really was some kind of civil conflict going on within the Covenant; maybe the rest of 'Thamamee's story was true as well. Either way, with the bloody struggle down ridge of him, he could easily get around these Covies and proceed on mission without having to engage. He edged around the fight, and surprised a Jackal that was busy shooting a Covenant Beam Rifle at the Elites. The Jackal never even had time to squawk before Jeremiah's strong hands locked around its head and snapped its neck. Moving quickly, Jeremiah disappeared once more into the trees.
For six hours, Jeremiah stayed lucky, weaving in and around the Covenant patrols, dodging firefights and on one notable occasion, just joining a file of Jackals as they marched through some sort of advanced camp. It never ceased to astound him that so many creatures just ignored what they didn't want to see.
Finally, however, with dawn just a half- hour away, Jeremiah found himself staring through a small clearing. There was a dropship there, as advertised, but there were three Ghosts with Elites mounted on them, eight more Elites around the ship, and nearly two dozen Grunts running a perimeter search around the ship. They hadn't moved for the last thirty minutes, and Jeremiah knew that this was it; the do-or-die portion of the mission. He took a deep breath, sighted in on the furthest Grunt patrol with his suppressed M7, and began his bloody work.
Grunts weren't particularly hardy creatures, and they depended on methane to breathe. A single shot from the M7 lanced through the Grunt's gas tank, causing it to erupt in a gout of flame. The grunts squealed and began to run, jabbering in their dialect, and Jeremiah quickly sighted another. He kept his fire meticulous and careful, dropping eight grunts with eight shots before shifting his position.
He careful drew and primed a can of C-12 foaming explosive, and coated it with a spray of adhesive. An Elite in blue armor came shooting across the clearing, blazing away at something, probably the local equivalent to a rabbit, and Jeremiah tossed the can. It stuck to the housing, just behind the Elite's right arm. He grinned and pressed the detonator.
A harsh blast of white light and thunderous sound blew the elite and his vehicle apart, and just like that, the fight was on in earnest. Jeremiah sprinted through the woods, using the thick trees to shield himself from the Covenant barrage, as he hunted down and killed the Grunts. They fell swiftly, entirely outmatched by the huge Marine. Finally, the Elites brought their remaining Ghosts around, carefully supporting their brothers on foot as the massive aliens carefully raked the trees. Jeremiah knew that they were in communication with their fellows; he had only minutes to finish this and make the transport before more Covenant arrived and killed him.
The Ghosts were close, and Jeremiah pulled his second detonator out, waiting until the exact right instant… now! He squeezed the spoon savagely, and the remaining can of C-12 blew, knocking down a wide-boled forest giant. The tree toppled, and landed squarely on top of the right-most Ghost, crushing it, its rider, and three Elites under it. Jeremiah jerked the Lotus mine out, primed it, and hurled the explosive at the confused pilot of the sole remaining Ghost. It landed with a loud clang and detonated with an even louder blast, shredding the vehicle and the remaining Elites. Jeremiah jumped up and sprinted for the drop ship.
A blast of plasma forced him to dive behind a Covenant crate. Something was still out there….
"You have fought well, Human Warrior," a voice grated out. "Much better than I had anticipated. Show yourself now, and you will live."
Jeremiah shook his head. This guy, whoever he was, wasn't terribly smart. There was no way in hell he was going to stick his head out when a Covenant soldier said so. Instead, he carefully reloaded the M7 and checked his grenades. He slowly crawled around the crate to another, and peeked out. His VISR showed no contact, but that didn't mean there was no one out there, it simply meant that whoever it was had a cloaking device.
Wait… there. A small disturbance in the bushes… and yes; his VISR resolved the silhouette of an Elite. Jeremiah drew a grenade, pulled the pin, and let fly. The Elite let out a startled warble and tried to roll away, but Jeremiah led him, and the grenade went off with a heavy whump that stripped a nearby pine tree of half its needles. The Elite was thrown to the ground, and Jeremiah was on him, blasting the downed alien with his M7, pounding the alien without mercy. Its weakened shield flashed, and the alien howled in agony as the tiny, super-hard slugs punched into him, seeking something vital. The Elite managed to scramble towards the trees, and hurled a plasma grenade.
Jeremiah saw it coming, but for an instant found himself frozen in horror. The grenade adhered itself to the smoking barrel of his submachine gun. He hurled the gun away, and dove for cover. The grenade went off with a harsh blue flash, and destroyed the weapon utterly. Jeremiah cursed to himself and drew his M6, carefully edging around the crate. There was an impression in the soft loam of the alien's body, but the Elite had vanished once more.
Jeremiah gritted his teeth angrily. Nearly getting tagged by that grenade had been a rookie mistake, and it had almost killed him. Now he was hunting a wounded Elite at night with his sidearm; this night was rapidly getting more and more dangerous by the second. He carefully sighted down the M6, and began his hunt.
A sudden roar from across the clearing snapped him around. Three hulking figures, all outlined in blood red, surrounded a fourth in yellow. That had to be the Elite in its camo-generator. The Elite was mixing it up with three Brutes, including one that was swinging a honking huge hammer. Jeremiah snatched his last grenade and hurled it at the Brutes, blowing one of its feet and staggering another. The Elite had been sheltered by the Brutes, and he stabbed a plasma sword through its guts, sending it down in a flash of steam and smoke.
The last Brute took advantage of the opening and smashed its hammer into the Elite, sending it flying. The Elite crashed down just meters from Jeremiah, and it laughed. "Look, Human. See what the Elites offer you. I am Jiralhanae, and I claim you and your species as my prey. I will kill the Elites, but I will not kill your people until I am finished with his. What say you?"
The Elite gasped and spat, purple blood staining its carapace armor. "Do not listen to him, Warrior Shane. He will not spare your people. I do notpromise to destroy others first; I promise to respect warriors as warriors, and it does not matter what species. You brought me down, Warrior, me, the Arbiter of my people. You have won your people's freedom, and their place in our rolls as honored warriors. The Jiralhanae can make no such claim."
Jeremiah stood for a long second, staring down the Brute. The bastard wouldn't quit, he suddenly realized, and with a flash of understanding, he remembered a report made by a Colonial militia man from Harvest. The Militia trooper had said that the first hostilities had been undertaken by a huge, simian creature, one that had no mercy, and no remorse. This had to be the same species.
Without another instant's hesitation, Jeremiah charged the Brute. His boots dug into the soft loam, and sent black dirt flying behind him. The Brute roared out a challenge and charged as well, hefting its hammer high. As Jeremiah drew even with the downed Arbiter, the alien threw Jeremiah his plasma sword, which sparked to life in his hand. With each step, Jeremiah fired his M6, sending .50 caliber rounds smashing into the Brute. Its shields flared, and finally died just a step outside melee range.
The Brute swung its hammer in a flat waist-high arc, but Jeremiah was ready for it. He sprang up on his right foot, somersaulting over the hammer, and drove his full weight into the Brute, riding the double points of the plasma sword. The Brute howled in agony as the sword pierced its chest, severing the heart and turning its lungs to ash. Jeremiah continued the vault, and locked his left arm around the brute's throat.
With soft thuds, the M6 discharged its last two rounds into the Brute's head, spraying its brains out everywhere. The Brute collapsed, and Jeremiah stood breathing heavily, black armor splashed with blue-black blood. "I win," Jeremiah said.
"Yes, you do, Warrior," the Arbiter said. "Board your dropship, and it will take you back to the fleet." The Arbiter coughed again, spraying more purple blood from his mouth. It was obvious to Jeremiah that the Arbiter was not long for this world if he didn't get some care in a hurry.
Jeremiah walked to the Arbiter and knelt, pulling out biofoam and a medical scanner. "All right, Arbiter, let's take a look at you."
"What… what are you doing, Warrior?" The Arbiter managed.
"Saving your ass, or trying to anyway. Your people have killed a lot of mine, but maybe, just maybe we can find some common ground. I've seen what Brutes do to Human captives, and I've seen what those so-called prophets want to do to us as well. Fuck that. Your Sangheili seem to be about the only ones willing to put a stop to this foolish, bloody war. You're sure as hell the only ones willing to let Humans have a decent fighting chance to survive. So shut up, save your breath, and focus on living." Jeremiah carefully searched for and found the holes in the Arbiter's body, and filled them with stinging puffs of biofoam. "There. Now you won't bleed to death. Now shove with your legs and I'll drag your ass onto the boat."
"I would rather help you by carrying him aboard, Jeremiah Shane. And quickly, the Jiralhanae will be arriving in force soon enough." Val 'Thamamee emerged from behind the dropship, and carefully hoisted the Arbiter aboard. Jeremiah took one last look around, and smiled. He didn't know for certain, but something simply told him that this was it; the turning point where Mankind achieved its first real traction in this war. Walking to the dropship, Jeremiah paused long enough to pick up the plasma sword the Arbiter had tossed him. He turned it in his hands, and smiled.
He mounted the ramp, and the ship began to lift. Jeremiah grinned. "From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli…."