The Deserters
01 - Others
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Kaput paused to wheeze, his narrow ribcage heaving with the effort. After a moment of recovery the diminutive alien slowly shuffled his body sideways and cast a wary glance over his shoulder.
It did not take long for the questions to come.
How long had he been running? How far away was he? These variables seemed to swirl unchecked within the confines of the young Unggoy's mind. His race was not built for marathons, although they were far quicker when utilizing all four of their limbs. Panic had served to give vigor to the Grunt's stubby legs though it did little to help his cognitive functions.
Hot air on his face. The rattle of a conical tank. Smoke and fear.
Kaput swallowed some more methane from his already limited reserves. The artificial sky above him looked like a giant mouth, the clouds all teeth and mountain ranges all gaping maw. They seemed to laugh at him as he recovered.
...Was it even true to begin with? Were there other deserters?
That term didn't carry the sting that it probably should have. Considering the possible blasphemies involved Kaput settled on not caring - it wasn't in his best interests to feel guilty over abandoning his station and thus insulting the Covenant in every way imaginable. Running was in his best interest, as far as the Grunt could tell... At least it had seemed like a fair enough idea to begin with.
How long had he been stationed here on the ring world? Kaput had trouble recollecting, as the past few days had been nothing but hazy blurs. His bony knees, shaking with exertion, at last gave out on him and the dark-skinned Unggoy found himself lying heavily on the soil as the novice orange harness of his armor bit into his stomach. Kaput began to work on regulating his breathing again as he inhaled rich methane gas and slowly exhaled back through the rebreather covering his mouth.
In, out. After a few moments his body relaxed and the adrenaline boost slowly ebbed away to a numb nothingness.
Kaput had spent many months stationed in space performing his duties to the bare minimum like any sensible Unggoy would. Most of his time was spent sleeping in whatever nook he could find, whether on duty or off; there were also frequent trips to the food nipple in order to replenish his strength. Other free time had been spent chatting pleasantly with his Unggoy comrades, discussing how despicable their jobs were, who had the strictest Sangheili overseer, how their distant relatives were doing (and who their distant relatives were and where they were from, and by the way were they related to some other Unggoy of distinguished praise that may or may not have ever existed.)
All in all it hadn't been that terrible of an existence barring the whirlwind battle above the heretic world Reach. Kaput might have been able to spend the rest of his days avoiding the stern reprimands of his Sangheili masters, practicing on sleeping with his eyes open and sabotaging his squad brothers' methane tanks for fun.
The sacred ring, however, had changed all that.
A rattling sound snapped the young Grunt out of his thoughts and after a moment of confusion Kaput grunted and wedged a digit into a compartment of his mask in attempts to dislodge the rock that had settled there. With a few growls and some clever claw work, the rock finally popped out, rolling across the rich orange soil and coming to a stop a few inches away from his bone-ridged elbow. He promptly flicked it away and watched it bounce across the dirt until it was lost to sight.
Being an Unggoy, and one of highly unimpressive rank, Kaput naturally hadn't been privy to many of the details surrounding their discovery or settling of the sacred ring. There had certainly been a lot of commotion and excitement among the Sangheili and the San 'Shyuum Ministry... a situation that many of the Unggoy both loved and feared. This meant that the Sangheili were in high spirits, and thus better moods - the downside was that when Sangheili usually got excited, it involved something less than thrilling for the Unggoy.
That traditional correlation was proven correct.
Kaput wearily rubbed at his face with the back of his knuckles as the early dawn light beat down on him. Peering over the rolling horizon, Kaput tried to find the outline of the makeshift base he had left behind, but had no such luck. This was a good thing - it meant he had managed to put some distance between it and him in his hasty exit. To the Grunt's dismay, however, he also saw a thin and curling plume of smoke waft from behind a rocky outcrop.
That would be the nigh irreversibly damaged Ghost he had abandoned in a blind panic. It had been a miracle the rather novice Grunt had even managed to pilot a Ghost this far without having crashed and burned in a fiery death of melted plating. He had only just completed basic vehicular training as befitting his status and had little experience operating anything above a stationary Shade turret. The controls had only been vaguely comprehensible to his scrambled processes - not to mention the terrain here was unfamiliar. He had never had reason to venture this far before.
Not to say Kaput's driving had even been decent. He'd clipped more than a few hills, rocks and shrubs as the damaged Ghost could easily attest to. The Unggoy had abandoned the vehicle as soon as he had neared the long line of hills he had marked as his destination. This was partly because he feared the Ghost was at the end of its line and partly because his panic had caught up with him and he felt like a safer, smaller target with two feet (or more) on the ground.
Of course now that he was at his destination the Unggoy quickly realized the possible repercussions of his actions. He had surely left a blatantly obvious trail with his horrible driving, and abandoning the Ghost so close to the hills was a dead giveaway to his hiding place. Dumb, his thoughts chattered.
But Kaput couldn't afford to worry about such things now. His days had been numbered as soon as he had been drafted into the service of the Covenant and his lifespan had been shortened further still as soon as he had set foot on this 'sacred ring.' Death was not a fate that the Unggoy was unfamiliar with and he couldn't spend time contemplating it.
But there was one saving grace. If the rumors he'd heard were correct, he shouldn't be the only one here in the hills.
It was at that moment that Kaput felt something tap at his finned methane tank. His nerves already worn thin, the Unggoy responded by squealing and practically launching himself off the ground in a blind rush. A million crude images of his imminent death clouded his thoughts as he suddenly found himself tripping over his own sturdy feet and landing with a thump back on the ground. Despite the inconvenience his hands were already moving.
Kaput was halfway through with fumbling for his trusty Needler when a quick bark disrupted his thoughts. In a bit of confusion, the Unggoy looked up to see a familiar alien form hovering beside him.
"Nawat?" Kaput inquired dubiously, blinking rapidly into the glare of the sky. The form moved.
"Me Nawat," the other Grunt replied, looking just as surprised as Kaput was. To Kaput's pleasure his rescuer suddenly reverted to the Unggoy's natural language, a chain of dialog consisting of more growls and barks that were considered primitive by other Covenant races. "Did you leave, too?"
Kaput nodded dumbly and only just realized that Nawat had stretched out his clawed hand and he had taken it. Standing with a shake, Kaput rubbed clumped dirt off the chitinous skin of his forearms and knees.
Nawat, dressed in the dull red harness of a more experienced Unggoy, peered over Kaput's shoulder into the distance. "You drove a Ghost? How did you manage that?"
Kaput only shook his head, still trying to stifle the after effects of his quick panic. Seeming to realize this, Nawat motioned toward the pockets of hills behind them, changing the subject. "Did you bring methane?" he continued.
Kaput blinked once, then suddenly swallowed a cold lump that rose in his narrow throat. Slowly, the Grunt shook his head in a negative. Methane! He'd nearly forgotten about it. His tank was running on empty with just a couple hours of gas to spare. He'd thought about bringing a few extra tanks with him, but with the tense escape...
Nawat barked in his throat, a passable Unggoy laugh though it lacked something carefree. "Then you're in luck. We have a few extras."
Kaput breathed again as the lump shrunk. Gathering his nerve, he finally decided to introduce himself. "My name is Kaput. Was part of 'Ikpamee's squad..." He swallowed again. "You're Nawat. You were with 'Lodamee?"
Nawat nodded and his features darkened. The Grunt turned, motioning once again at Kaput as he replied, "It dangerous out here. Come on."
The younger Unggoy obeyed. Waddling oddly behind Nawat, Kaput tried to mentally trace their path through the outcrops of rock and hill they were passing through.
It was still difficult to comprehend that everything they were seeing, from the foliage to the earth to the sky itself, had been meticulously crafted and arranged by physical hands. It was the Forerunner who had designed this graceful arch of beauty that floated so harmlessly in the unforgiving fabric of space - why the immortals had chosen to create such extensive structures when there were whole worlds before them was a mystery to the simple Kaput. The gods themselves were mysteries to him, only given light once by an older Unggoy in a Deacon's tunic.
Kaput remembered being impressed by the Deacon's clever choice of words and eloquent speech as found in those who had been educated in the halls of High Charity. Kaput remembered being impressed by the tunic the Deacon had worn symbolizing his respected position in the arm of the Ministry. There had been light and noise as the Deacon had preached, outstretching his knobbed arms toward the crowd of Unggoy young during their orientation into the military. You are all covered by the gods, he had said. The Forerunner shine kindly upon those who are willing.
I wonder if they shine kindly upon those who are dead, Kaput wondered. The memories faded and the image of outstretched limbs was replaced by barren rock against an illusionary sky. Nawat shuffled in front of him as they walked, the older Grunt's tank wobbling back and forth.
Memories had no place here, intangible realities within a tangible illusion.
And Nawat had said we, hadn't he? Kaput was about to ask about the presence of other deserters when he received one of the biggest shocks of his relatively short life.
Just as he was stepping around a large boulder a heavily booted hoof landed on the dirt beside him. Flying into the panic mode his kind was infamous for Kaput vaulted backward and fumbled for his Needler. "Nawat! We been found!"
Before the novice could level his only halfway loaded weapon at his unknown assailant, Kaput noticed that Nawat was jumping up and down while waving his arms. Why would he be dancing when their very lives were at stake? The Covenant didn't take back those that fled!
"No! No shoot, Kaput!"
Something heavy clipped Kaput's shaking hand and he blinked as his Needler skidded across the ground away from him. The poor Grunt was now more than a little confused as a spike of pain shot up his arm from where he'd been struck. Now unarmed, he stood rooted to the ground, finally bringing himself to stare dumbly up at the Sangheili officer before him.
The Elite was tall, as was most of their kind. He towered over the shaking Unggoy before him, his crimson red armor reflecting stray rays of light. Kaput stared at the Sangheili's face in his stupor; it was shadowed under the sweep of the Covenant combat helmet, a little scarred, and currently revealing little emotion. The smaller Grunt felt his teeth chittering noiselessly together. He had come this far and only a few minutes in he was going to be killed.
He awaited the deathblow with as much virtue as a simple Unggoy could muster.
"He not after us," Nawat explained and Kaput vaguely realized the other Grunt had been babbling all this time in a mix of squeaks and Common. The words sailed through the air and bumped off Kaput's rebreather in a confused cloud of noise. Neither he nor the Sangheili had moved and the air was thick with indiscernible tension.
And then the Sangheili finally spoke. "So another has come."
Realizing that his head was still attached made Kaput begin to relax. He nodded quickly, not even sure what the Major Domo was referring to, but deciding it was in his best interests to agree anyway.
As quickly as he had appeared the Sangheili turned and strode away, his booted hooves clacking smoothly across the soil. Kaput sagged in relief as Nawat hobbled next to him.
"That Officer Saro 'Nolamee," the older Grunt explained, and after a moment of pause Nawat reached over and gingerly picked up Kaput's dropped Needler. Nawat handed it back to his friend who took it after a moment's contemplation. The pink shards glistened noiselessly.
"He is Sangheili," Kaput replied with a hint of doubt. His deep-set eyes, dark and round, flitted back and forth.
Nawat was quiet for a moment before he twitched his head in a nod. "He is Sangheili. It surprises you, like it surprised me. Why would one of them run away, you wonder? I not know. But he is here, and he doesn't kill us." The older Unggoy took a quick breath. "He's not the only one, either. There one more, but he's just a rookie. Not right in the head..." Nawat made a circular motion with a digit to the side of his mask, a gesture he had picked up from studying the Humans. Kaput wondered if that was punishable, but since no one was around to care, - and since no one had ever cared about them - he shrugged it off.
"What about Unggoy?" He was digesting this information slowly, not wanting to get his hopes up.
"There are seven here, nine with us," Nawat replied with a hint of pride in his otherwise scratchy voice.
Eleven in all. Kaput worked that number around in his head, wondering if he should be happy or disappointed. Relief eventually won out. After all, his situation could be aptly described by a certain Human phrase; beggars can't be choosers.
Nawat then led Kaput out into a small opening in the hills and the younger minor was pleased to see a scattering of fellow Unggoy. Most were curled up sleeping around the area, one was fiddling with his plasma pistol as he sat on top of a boulder and two more were playing a game with some pebbles out in the middle of the clearing.
"Come over here and we'll fill your tank," Nawat advised as he waddled past his friend. Kaput could see a small gathering of spent and untouched methane tanks and other equipment in a shadowed corner. It must have been quite a feat for his stocky brethren to have salvaged the material and made their escapes. Would anyone besides other Unggoy miss it, he wondered?
A sense of renewed hope settled on Kaput and he began to follow his unofficial guide - that was until a shadow passed over him, too close to be comfortable and too long to belong to an Unggoy. Kaput froze in mid step and jerked his head up to identify the shadow's owner.
It was not the Major Domo named Saro but another Sangheili wearing the novice blue armor of a Minor. He was smaller, more willowy and a bit less intimidating (if there was ever a time an armored Sangheili wasn't intimidating to an Unggoy.) And while Kaput didn't fancy he had any sort of keen intuition, the Grunt quickly realized that something about him wasn't just right.
Kaput took a habitual step backward and the Sangheili took a small step forward. The Minor leaned down, his hazel eyes glinting from under the shade of his combat helmet.
"Have you seen them?" he asked without warning. Kaput noticed the Minor's long hands working in and out of quick fists. This was not a good sign in general.
"See what?" Kaput managed to babble, looking around for a quick escape route in case things turned ugly quickly. Rock, rock, more rock, bush hedge... Hadn't Nawat mentioned something about this one? The Sangheili nictated at the response, his mandibles pulling tight.
"The abominations," he insisted.
"Me no remember seeing any," Kaput replied shakily, wondering what this Sangheili was talking about. There seemed to be a fairly large chunk of the universe that he was missing and that certainly didn't look beneficial at the moment. For a second he wondered if there was such a thing as an abominable rock.
"The abominations, and the Demon..." The minor hissed between his jagged teeth, his fists clenching and his hoofed toes digging into the dirt. Kaput swallowed as Nawat looked on helplessly from a few paces away, reluctant to interfere. The weight of the Needler at Kaput's side seemed suddenly too distracting.
Another large shadow fell over the novice Unggoy's back and his insides twisted uneasily. He didn't have to look around to know who was behind him and he quickly abandoned the insane notion of using his only weapon.
"I thought you were on lookout duty, 'Falsomee," the gruff voice barked.
The Sangheili minor paused, his gaze trailing up from the bewildered Kaput to meet the firm glare of Saro 'Nolamee. After a moment of silence the minor lowered his head in respect, his mandibles relaxing. "Of course, your Excellency," the youth replied before ducking back a unit and then turning to stride away.
Kaput breathed again and quickly glanced back to Saro. The smaller alien wasn't completely sure why the Elite officer had intervened but the Grunt was thankful for it regardless. Kaput didn't expect the Major Domo to stick around so he was surprised when the officer remained rooted in place. He was peering down at Kaput, his thoughts carefully hidden away behind slitted eyes.
The Unggoy felt nervous, as was usual when an officer was paying special attention to him. He wasn't sure if he should walk away or remain standing. Kaput knew nothing about Saro 'Nolamee and as such he felt at a great disadvantage. Was there such a thing as polite exit etiquette?
"The other waits for you," the Major grunted after a moment. Kaput nearly jumped out of his hide at the sudden tone but managed to control the impulse.
"Y-yes, your Excellency!" Kaput replied, his whole being jittery. "Thank you, your Excellency!" With that the Grunt backed up a few steps before making a mad dash to his previous destination. When he glanced around the officer had once again disappeared.
Saro 'Nolamee slowly cracked his knuckles, the steely tendons stretching visibly. With his hands feeling nimbler now the Major carefully picked up his plasma rifle and tested its familiar form in his grip.
According to our station, all without exception!
Words from the past echoed through his mind to embed themselves in his thoughts. The irony of those words seemed to laugh at him, like jeering faces slipping in and out of thick mists. There was something about this lush but barren landscape that made him turn inward.
On the blood of our fathers, on the blood of our sons, we swore to uphold the Covenant!
Saro remembered being an initiate fresh from College, taking the Covenant oath with the passion and resolve of a thousand hardened fleets. He could still recall the faint scent of alloy, war and adrenaline in the air as he and his comrades-in-arms recited the Oath from hearts. Saro had been ecstatic to join the service and had been more than willing to prove his worth in the war against the heretics. A promise of paradise had brushed against his soul, filling him with the fire of determination he would use to crush his foes.
Even to our dying breath!
Saro was indeed proven to be a capable warrior, one of the best in his class. The war with the Human infidels was escalating, more wondrous gifts from the gods had been discovered, and after participation in a few tricky campaigns on Jericho and elsewhere Saro had eventually been promoted to Major. He vividly remembered the day he had brushed fingers against his newly acquired armor for the first time. It had seemed too good to be true, like something out of a passing dream. With it came honor, a sense of excitement, and due responsibility.
Those who break this oath are heretics, worthy of neither pity, nor mercy!
The Sangheili switched the plasma rifle to his other hand to test its weight. A stray breeze whistled past, causing the officer to breathe a quick sigh through his mandibles. All the promise, all the glory, all the passion and the toil and blood - and here he was. Camped out in the hills, a deserter, and an ultimate traitor to the Covenant and all he had worked to uphold. He might as well have spit on the Forerunners' feet and thrown all their relics into the abyss of oblivion.
We will grind them into dust! Wipe them as excrement from our boots!
Saro briefly swept his eyes over his two plasma rifles, Carbine and allotted plasma grenades. When he had been promoted Saro had dreamed fondly of one day leading troops into battle with such weapons, demonstrating their use with lethal efficiency. Now that dream was just that - a passing fancy. He would never be promoted again. He would never again walk the decks of a streamlined cruiser, or chuckle at the antics of his subordinates, or exchange outrageous jests with his fellow officers. Never again would he feel that slip of paradise brush against his soul, or the might of the Forerunners infuse his spirit with strength.
He was a lost soul now, without meaning or purpose. He was, of all Sangheili, most miserable and most wicked; more lowly than a Heathen, if such was possible.
And continue our march to glorious salvation!
Saro knew he would die soon, whether by execution or circumstance. It would be a traitor's death, without honor or respect. What would happen to his soul? Saro wasn't sure; the scriptures seemed jumbled in his mind. Perhaps he would cease to exist, or be brought down into an endless, harrowing hell.
But the warrior accepted this with a twisted ease. He had accepted this fate the moment he had picked up his belongings, excused himself from his station and turned his back on the Covenant with all the ease of a knife in the back.
There was really only one central concern that was at the forefront of his mind - the fate of his family. Shortly after he had entered the military Saro had found a bondmate in a female he had been interested in since his early childhood. And, not too long ago, he had learned she had brought forth a son into the glory of the Covenant. Saro was proud of his young child though he had never even physically touched him. He had been born after the warrior's promotion and Saro had already been stationed away from his mate on a subsequent tour.
So often achievement and sacrifice come hand in hand.
The male sank back onto a flat cropping of rock and set the plasma rifle aside. Touching his forehead with a long finger his mandibles pulled so tight his entire neck began to ache.
He would never see his family or clan again. He had tainted their names - the names of innocents - and done an unfathomable evil to his lineage. His actions were a blight on everything he treasured. The only solace came from the fact that the Covenant fleet was engaged and panicked at the moment, and his well-planned exit so strategic and unnoticed it would take a long time before any suspected him of treachery. Until the day all was done and settled he would simply be one of many listed as missing in action.
Yet Saro fought grief. The lead weight of sorrow lashed wildly about in his chest cavity, causing him to feel weakened and ill. It did not matter if the justices knew, or even if his family knew of his deed. Saro knew his own wickedness and that was enough to bring him shame. Above all, the knowledge that his son would never know his honor made the Major's entire spirit threaten to rip at the seams.
"Excellency?"
Saro's head jerked up with a snarl, angry that his moment of reflection had been interrupted but also inwardly relieved to be distracted from his sorrow. The interloper, Osa 'Falsomee, backed away as his startled eyes focused on his only superior.
Saro took a moment to store away his emotions before standing and stretching his thickly muscled legs in the process. He narrowed his eyes at the Minor but refrained from looking too aggressive less the already unstable youth be further unsettled. "What do you need?"
The minor lowered his head, his right hoof scuffing at the top layer of soil beneath him. "I wanted to seek your forgiveness."
There was a rumble within his chest as Saro carefully studied the Sangheili before him. After another moment he replied, "For what?"
"I have not been..." Osa paused, seemingly trying to pick out suitable words. "I have not been behaving properly, your Excellency," he finally managed. "I have been a poor warrior."
A poor warrior. Saro decided not to let on that of all poor warriors he must be one of the most destitute. "You must deal with your fears, 'Falsomee."
"But the abominations!" Osa exclaimed, his whole form suddenly tense, "How can we continue to remain here where they might lurk? I know - we have read, in the scriptures, and there have been rumors about the Parasite - this last and blackest test - but never did I..."
The younger male then realized he had fallen into an outburst right before a higher-ranking officer. Deeply ashamed, Osa looked away, his fists quivering slightly at his sides. "Forgive me," he mumbled.
Saro 'Nolamee resisted the urge to berate the Minor. What did it matter now? In the spirit of technicality, since they were no longer part of the Covenant, their ranking was null and void - and yet the minor still recognized him as his superior. Osa still needed a superior.
"If the parasites are indeed a test of the gods, then there is nowhere on this ring that we may go to be safe," Saro replied with firmness. "Do not fear death. For though we forsook the arm of the Covenant, we may still die with what personal honor we have left. You could not expect a better death by returning."
Osa was silent before he looked up to meet Saro's unwavering gaze. Perhaps the youth was remembering executions he had seen of accused heretics and the fates - often highly public and grisly - they received. The gods knew Saro had seen many of those individuals before and during their walk to certain death and damnation when he had been a simple jailer in the illustrious halls of High Charity. Perhaps it was those visages, so ghostly and grim now, that had made his dreams so dark.
There was a slight pull of Osa's mandibles; the shadow of a weary smile. "If only I had a fraction of your resolve, Excellency," the youth mumbled. "...But you are right. Perhaps I may regain something by remaining resolute now."
To the minor's surprise, Saro leaned forward and placed his right hand firmly on Osa's shoulder. The gesture was one of close comradeship and rarely bestowed on whim. "Your admission means you are already halfway through the battle. Do not waver, 'Falsomee."
A mist seemed to lift from Osa's hearts as a small spark of defiance filled its place. The youth bowed his head in humility, already feeling the faintest traces of redemption.