Author's Note: This is a thorough revision of the story as previously published. To the newcomers, at the beginning of chapters which contain lemons (none here) there will be a warning.
The main pairing is between a human female and a Sangheili male (develops). Gross? Then don't read it.
Notice: I do not own Halo, I just enjoy writing in its universe.
Prolog
17 October 2563
Procyon System
Boundary
Undisclosed ONI facility
0200 Local/ 1400 Zulu
The lower floors of the facility were deserted. A shadowy form was caught in intermittent security lighting, a thin figure obscured by a long lab coat that fluttered behind like a cape as she moved hastily through the darkness of the hall. The air smelled of cheap industrial cleaner and as she approached a far door, the scent of pine and bleach mingled with the strong odor of overworked electrical equipment.
Pausing at a darkened doorway, the woman tapped at a security pad, the yellow image of a German shepherd appearing on a small complementary holo platform before she had finished entering her code.
"Good morning, Doctor Jay," the image said without moving its mouth, "may I be of some assistance?"
"Is Deoxy prepped?" Jay said in answer.
"Yes, Doctor."
"Good boy, Signe. Send all of the Double Helix files to my data pad. If they want to take this from me, they can go fetch."
The AI's image flickered to orange and back at the command as a pneumatic lock hissed and Jay pushed through the door.
The electrical smell intensified and as Jay stepped into the room she felt as if she had walked through a barrier of heat. Cooling systems whirred around her, their exhaust fans pushing around stale air. Signe appeared at a platform near the lone terminal as Debra pecked at the screen.
"Doctor, where are we going?" the AI asked after a few moments, cocking its head to one side.
"We," Jay answered irritably, "are going as far away from this planet as Deoxy is capable of taking us. Is Douglas and the team ready?"
"Yes, Doctor. They are standing by."
The terminal gave a chime and Jay looked over at the AI's projected image, sitting obediently on the holo platform.
"Signe," Jay said.
"Yes, Doctor?"
"Play dead."
The AI's image collapsed as electricity throughout the facility winked out. Jay could hear the labored, rhythmic thumping of the nearby backup generator trying to kick over. The floor beneath her feet shook with each unsuccessful effort.
Shards of yellow and orange collected into Signe's canine image on the holo platform. Smiling to herself, Jay ejected the glowing data chip. She tucked it into her pocket and retreated quickly back through the door to rush down the dark hallway to the stairwell.
After climbing three flights, Jay stepped from the ground floor access and trotted to the waiting cart. She climbed into the small vehicle and began zipping along the wide, dark halls quietly.
Deoxy sat in the hanger bay, bright external lights casting the heavy science carrier in shades of gray and black as Jay turned the cart through a wide tunnel and drove straight for the waiting ramp. She parked the cart at the top and threw her legs over the side, passing the data chip to a waiting technician.
"Get Signe back online," she ordered.
The man gave a single nod and scurried away. Jay stood from the cart and turned to a younger woman in a long white coat. The remaining members of her scientific team seemed to take a step back as Jay looked her senior research assistant up and down, her eyes settling on the swaddled bundle of a child sleeping in the woman's arms.
"Get rid of it," Jay said coolly.
Sandra Douglas gaped at her, "Debra, no," she pleaded.
"Yes," Jay hissed, "I have no further use for it. That research has yielded all it can. The child is no longer necessary."
The woman stared at her, mouth trembling, "She isn't just research."
"That's all it ever was," Jay responded without inflection, pulling an M6Gcc Magnum from the pocket of her lab coat and aiming it at Sandra's head. The civilian compact version of the handgun was fitted with a bulbous silencer and Debra Jay looked down the combined length with detached annoyance at the other woman.
"I'm sorry, but I can't abide someone who has so clearly lost their objectivity."
Debra pulled the trigger and Doctor Douglas' head snapped back, a neat hole in her temple throwing a glob of blood skyward as the back of her head exploded in a spray of bone and brain matter across the wall behind. Sandra's body collapsed against the deck and a muffled, surprised pip erupted from the bundle still in her arms.
"Pity," Jay said casually, tucking the gun back in her pocket, "she had been so very useful."
The doctor looked to her remaining team, all carefully avoiding the sight of Douglas' rapidly draining body as cries and hiccups grew louder from the wiggling bundle on her chest, "Clean up that mess," Jay sneered, turning and walking away.
Chapter One
17 October 2563
Sol System
Earth
Marine Special Operations Command Camp Odin
Immediate Ready Detachment Senior Enlisted Barracks
1040 Local/ 1440 Zulu
A chime sounded, the succession of musical notes going completely unnoticed. After a few moments, the data pad lit from the cluttered bedside stand and Bleu projected himself from the surface. The cobalt image of a WWII era Marine paratrooper chawed heartily as if on a plug of chew, his digital lips turning up on one side in an expression of amusement.
"Hate to intrude," the AI said without inflection, a smile breaking fully across his face.
"You," the breathless voice of Gunnery Sergeant Theodor Danniskovovik answered, "son of a bitch."
Bleu folded his arms across his chest and shifted his image to one hip as a woman's lusty chuckle rose muffled from the bunk beneath the old ODST.
Teddy threw the sheet aside, revealing his scarred and heavily tattooed body slicked with sweat; the pale skin of his thickly muscled back marred with fresh scratches. Long, dark, female legs were wrapped around his waist and the woman's laughter broke with a low groan as Teddy shifted.
"Ma'am," Bleu gave gentlemanly nod.
"Five minutes, Bleu," the ODST snarled through clenched teeth, swatting clumsily at the data pad just out of reach.
The AI lifted his eyes toward the ceiling, heaving an annoyed sigh before he winked away.
It was 1058 when Danniskovovik and Chief Warrant Officer Elizabeth Steele walked up to Launch Deck 4. Bleu was projected from a small platform near the deck partition, arms tightly folded across his chest, shaking his head.
Steele breezed past the AI, a half smirk playing at her full lips. Despite the smile, she was an imposing figure. Though, at five foot ten, her slender frame set her well short of the burly Gunnery Sergeant following her.
The two deposited their bug out gear on the ramp of a waiting D77 TC Dropship. The rear of the old Pelican was marked with the craft's call sign: W-289. The busty vestige of a retro pin-up girl seated astride an ANVIL-II missile was plastered to one side. The banner beneath the hand-painted image read Miss Kitty.
"That's a hair more than five minutes, Gunny" Bleu said.
Danniskovovik huffed and Steele threw her head back and laughed, "Don't get your parachute in a wad," she chuckled, "we're in under call-out."
The Immediate Ready Detachment was a small company of select Special Operations teams. Select: because they were comprised of Spec Ops Marines from various backgrounds who had no family ties: no known next of kin. For the IRD, there would be no long good-bye's to spouses and kids; no tearful hugs on the tarmac; no one for the team to phone and tell they were being shipped God-only-knew-where to do Command-only-knew-what; and no death notifications to weeping mothers and spouses should any of them not come back. And, no augmentations required.
Twenty-four four-man teams comprised the IRD and were on rotating call-out when not on active assignment; each with their own dropship and crew. Long gone were the days of on-call team leaders languishing in a ready room waiting for an assignment to come down from on high. Now, Zeta's team leader could spend half the morning getting her brains banged out by her second-in-command and still be ready to roll in under thirty minutes.
"What are they doing?" Corporal Jeffrey Collins asked, motioning down the launch deck from his position inside the Pelican's troop bay. The baby-faced, freckle-nosed crew chief looked barely old enough to have joined the service.
Miss Kitty's pilot, Staff Sergeant Princeton King, and co-pilot, Sergeant Jose Antonio walked the craft's length from the forward section and paused near Teddy and Beth. King propped his lanky frame against the Pelican's interior flank and Antonio screwed up the soft, boyish features of his face.
All eyes had drifted down the faded concrete flight deck to behold Staff Sergeant Maggie Whittaker, bug out gear in tow, carrying Sergeant Paul Sanders piggy-back style as she hustled their way. Sanders whooped, holding his assault helmet aloft like the sword of a charging knight. Whittaker looked like a mule, overloaded and saddled with an obnoxious rider.
"I don't think I wanna' know," Teddy said matter-of-factly.
"Maggie lost the bet," Bleu answered.
A collective ah rose from the group as they nodded in understanding. Whittaker stomped heavily to them and dumped Sanders and his gear unceremoniously on the Pelican's ramp. Paul rolled to his feet gracefully as Maggie straightened, stretching her back.
"Lay off the cheeseburgers," she puffed, "fat ass."
"Loser," he responded, gathering his gear. Standing a few feet up the ramp he was only inches taller than she was.
"Guess the news feed mentioned the kid again, huh?" PK drawled with a grin.
The comment garnered a slew of discontented groans from everyone but Sanders, who flashed his deceptively charming smile: all perfect teeth and deeply dimpled cheeks.
"Damn right," Paul chirped, "Ol' Mags here thought that nugget had been mined for all it was worth."
It was a yearly wager and everyone knew Maggie should have been right. But, the media just couldn't pass up a chance to bring up ONI's failures: and when better than the yearly blurb on the anniversary of Admiral Parangosky's death? There weren't enough tasteful articles, smart collections of sound bites, or regal photos to dampen the blow of the exposé the kid's mother had given. The-Admiral-who-still-haunted-people's-dreams had been in the grave less than a month when David James Parangosky had disappeared from the grounds of Nimitz Intelligence Academy without a trace. And his mom didn't take well to the agency trying to keep a lid on it. Seven years later and ONI was no closer to knowing what had happened to him or living down the failed cover-up. It wasn't the department's most devastating blunder, but in almost every mention of Parangosky, no matter how big or small, the media managed to work it in.
"It was on the vid in the day room just before Bleu called us out," Sanders held up his hands, recalling the headline while dropping his voice and taking on the cadence of a news reporter, "'It would be just weeks later that the department would be shadowed by the disappearance of the Admiral's great-grand-nephew,'" he pointed to Maggie with both index fingers, triumphant smile on his face, "cue the kid's cadet picture."
"You're such an ass-hole," she responded, raking her fingers through her short, platinum hair to comb down wayward tufts.
"The ass-hole that didn't have to carry you," he laughed, shouldering his small duffel and strolling onto the Pelican.
Everyone followed suit, stowing their gear as PK and Tony took position in the cockpit and began the last round of AI assisted, pre-flight re-checks. Collins took his place just aft of the forward bulkhead, strapping in before clicking on his data pad and scanning the final rundown. Satisfied, the crew chief tucked the pad into a chest pocket and gave PK a thumbs-up.
"You're hooking up with Hell Hath No Fury," Bleu's stated, "AI of Hilda."
"See ya' on the flip side, Bleu," PK called, giving a curt wave as the cargo door began easing closed.
"Ya'll be nice, now. That's a whole lot of woman," Bleu said in salutation.
Sanders grinned to himself, "I like the sound of that."
The UNSC Hell Hath No Fury was poised in synchronous orbit, silently waiting as Miss Kitty made her approach. The Corvette-class vessel was of the older variety. Never hardened by combat, she was almost pristine with sharp edges and long, unmarred lines.
"Check it out," King called, jutting his chin toward the forward window.
A battle-scarred Type-52 Phantom drifted from Fury's bay several hundred feet ahead and began a lazy descent.
Steele gave Teddy a look, one dark eyebrow raised.
"Mmm," Antonio hummed, "Smells like política."
"Fucking A," Sanders grunted in annoyance.
"Bearing the Arbiter's insignia no less," Maggie said.
"Wonderful," Teddy snorted, "you know what that means: best behavior kiddies."
"Shit," Sanders muttered.
"Fuck," PK whined.
"Cagar," Tony sighed.
Maggie and Beth rolled their eyes as Collins laughed to himself and Teddy shook his head.
When Miss Kitty set down in Fury's bay everyone felt the familiar jolt as landing gear was secured to the deck. PK and Tony busied themselves with systems checks as Collins began going over his own post-flight list and the team began retrieving their gear. While waiting for the green light to disembark, Zeta stood in stoic silence.
Collins looked up suddenly and pulled a latch on the bulkhead. The Pelican's bay door began to lower smoothly. As he opened his mouth to speak the data pad in his hand winked and the crimson image of a buxom valkyrie in full Norse battle armor grasping with a tall spear projected from its surface.
"Whoa," Jeff yelped.
Everyone tuned to see the AI who gave a genteel nod in greeting.
PK leaned from the pilot's seat to get a peek, "Nice," he commented, noticing Teddy's disapproving glare, "to meet you, ma'am," he hastily added, retreating back to his seat.
"Zeta," the AI said.
"Hilda," Steele responded.
"Yes, now that we're done with the pleasantries here, Captain McGregor is expecting you in his ready room. All of you," she said shifting the image of her formidable, armored bulk to Collins.
"Us?" he questioned, a look of confused panic washing across his face, "But, we're not," he pointed helplessly at Zeta, "and we've got post-flight checks and…"
The spear in Hilda's grasp disappeared and she snapped her fingers, "Done. Miss Kitty is just fine, gentlemen."
"You heard her," King said wriggling from the cockpit, followed by a grinning Antonio.
The flight crew quickly secured their gear and joined Zeta outside the Pelican. Everyone made their way to a large set of double doors as Hilda waited patiently at a holo platform to one side. Collins looked decidedly uncomfortable, giving Miss Kitty a long glance as he brought up the rear.
PK stepped back to slap an arm around the young crew chief's shoulders, "She'll be fine. C'mon man, when do we ever get invited to come along?"
"Yeah," Tony added, giving Collins a playful swat in the stomach, "you can come back and check on your lady later."
Everyone filed into the wide hall and Hilda projected her image, slightly smaller than life-size, to lead them. She had been informed early on that her chosen form was much less intimidating if portrayed as unnaturally short.
The AI paused at a lift and indicated it with a tip of her winged helm and everyone obediently loaded up.
"Your quarters will be on C-Deck," she stated evenly, "Would you prefer to drop your gear first?"
"Not necessary," Steele answered, "Hate to keep the skipper waiting."
Hilda smiled, "Very well."
The ride was spent in silence and when the lift came to a stop the troop piled out, following Hilda's image to a portal sealed with antique, wooden doors.
"McGregor detests formalities," the AI warned, "Please bear this in mind as you enter," she added evenly before disappearing.
The crew dropped their gear in a neat line against the wall and worked together to quickly straighten uniforms before Beth pushed open one of the ornately carved doors and everyone filed in.
A startling young, red-headed man in Captain's whites was seated at a large, hardwood table. His elbows were propped on the polished tabletop and his chin was resting impishly in his hands as he looked at a small projection of Hilda prattling on before him. Seeing the team and crew come in, McGregor lifted his head and smiled broadly, straightening impeccably in his chair.
No one noticed.
All eyes were focused on the Sangheili seated one chair over and to the Captain's right. The dark creature was in sleek charcoal armor indicative of a Special Operations Commander and watched them with bright orange, soulless reptilian eyes.
As McGregor moved to stand everyone seemed to recover their bearings at once and stiffened as if on cue.
The Captain waved a dismissive hand, "Join us; have a seat," he beckoned.
Whittaker and Sanders exchanged awkward glances with the flight crew as Steele and Danniskovovik took cautions, but compliant, steps to the table. Everyone took a chair, opposite McGregor and the Sangheili, and did their best not to look as if the situation was completely uncomfortable.
"You've no doubt got a lot of questions," McGregor began, patting the tabletop softly, "and we've got a lot to cover to bring you up to speed," he looked at the group with a disarming grin.
"Sir," Beth spoke, her eyes darting back and forth from the affable captain to the Elite who had yet to move anything other than his eyes…she couldn't even be sure the thing was even breathing, "Hilda indicated that you don't like formalities, so may I presume I am permitted to speak freely?"
McGregor leaned back in his seat, tipping the chair on two legs and lacing his fingers behind his head, "Of course."
"This," she motioned to the Marines seated to her left, "is IRD Special Operations Team Zeta and our flight crew. We are all on board Hell Hath No Fury; you're Captain McGregor and that," she indicated the AI hologram, "is Hilda."
The Captain nodded in agreement while she spoke, righting his chair and clasping his hands as if anticipating what was to come next.
"The only question that remains is: who in the hell is that?" she finished, cocking her head to meet the Sangheili's chilling stare.
McGregor slapped the polished tabletop with open palms and chuckled, "I knew I was gonna' like you," he held out a hand and gestured neatly to the Elite, "This is Allied Forces Command Officer Iruu 'Loram: former Covenant Special Operations, now one of the many Covenant Separatists who are working under asylum."
The Elite snorted like an angry bull, still holding eye contact with Beth.
"Perhaps we should begin from the beginning," Hilda suggested, leaning her image in between the gazes of the Chief Warrant Officer and the Elite Commander.
"Right," Teddy drawled, reaching beneath the table to give Steele's thigh a reassuring squeeze.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if you please," the AI said, snapping her fingers and pulling Steele and 'Loram reluctantly from their silent standoff, "As some of you are aware, in late 2552 ONI launched a genetic and biological research project code-named Double Helix following significant contact with the organism known as the Flood. Originally based on Earth, the project was moved to the armored research vessel, Deoxy, in the fall of 2557 when it reached a critical phase of testing. Deoxy and her crew set up a small continuing research and testing facility on the remains of the planet Boundary. Facility completion and project reengagement occurred in the summer if 2558. From the beginning, operations have been cataloged and overseen by a Generation One Unconventional Artificial Intelligence self identified as Signe..."
"Unconventional?" Sanders interrupted.
Everyone turned to look at him.
"That's spook-talk for illegal," McGregor clarified in a good-natured tone, "Signe was cloned from the brain of astrological engineer, and condemned murderer, Linbergh Signe Tollovinski. Of course, the mad genius who completed Einstein's Unfinished Equation and helped birth the mathematics that gave us the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine was executed and interred in 2250. So, they had to dig him up to get the DNA; and grow a brain in a lab first."
Paul practically turned green at the though.
"Mierda," Tony muttered, his chubby cheeks reddening when he realized he had said it out loud.
"Indeed," McGregor chuckled.
"Captain, please," Hilda huffed, placing her fists on her ample hips.
He reigned in his laughter and waved for her to continue.
"One of Signe's fragments was retained at ONI headquarters receiving data and keeping the department updated while his primary operating functions maintained Deoxy and assisted the scientists and crew. At 1310 hours Zulu on this date, the first of ONI's Enhanced Long-Range Scanning Probes made a sweep of Boundary and the data that returned was…disturbing. Even with the support of Signe's ONI fragment the probes were unable to breach the facility. The AI's matrix would not respond to previously imbedded commands and, receiving an abbreviated report on the complication, Lord Hood pulled the plug on Double Helix and put a leash on ONI. At 1350 hours, we attempted to override Signe from headquarters and at 1403 the fragment on our end was terminated."
Everyone sat in silence…not missing her use of the words 'we' and 'our'.
"And, it was not just severed from the operating system," Hilda continued, a hint of unease creeping into her voice, "An AI may discard hundreds, something thousands, of fragments during their operational lifetime. Choosing to abandon one is of little consequence, except, Signe didn't just cease exchanging information with the fragment or purge it and reduce it to base functions…in a manner of speaking, he cannibalized it."
"Sweet Jesus," PK whispered.
Hilda nodded slowly as McGregor leaned his elbows on the tabletop, "The Chief Geneticist and program leader for Double Helix was Doctor Debra Elise Jay. Handpicked by Admiral Parangosky in 2551 to take over the Genetic and Biological Research Division, Jay oversaw the extraction and sequencing of Tollovinski's genetic profile which eventually yielded the brain later imprinted to create the AI assigned to her pet program."
"If Signe came online with Double Helix, that would put him at least four years past the rampancy threshold," Teddy mused.
"Correct, Gunny," Hilda seemed to perk up, "While I am unable to access the full record on Signe's creation, it is widely presumed Doctor Jay discovered a way to contain, and perhaps exploit, rampancy which she kept undisclosed."
Danniskovovik scratched the top of his head and gave Steele a wide-eyed look.
"And that's just part of the bigger problem," McGregor added, "based on additional scans cross-referenced with data from other systems; ONI is comfortable with the assessment that Jay went rogue years ago."
Hilda motioned to 'Loram, "And that would be why he is here. The probes also revealed the slipspace signature for Deoxy's accompaniment all over adjoining systems in the outer colonial region and beyond. It is feared Jay was conducting unauthorized research and foraging the lost colonies for survivors as well as taking non-human test subjects from other locations. And these concerns are not without merit. Since the probes began sweeping the outlying areas we have amassed substantial chatter about abductions. Cross-reference that information with official reports collected from allied and enemy sources, and it paints a potentially devastating picture."
"Devastating to the alliance," Steele said.
"Very," Hilda agreed, "The probes show that Deoxy entered slipspace from the surface at 1430 hours Zulu on this date and has yet to reemerge on any outlying scans."
"So, we're chasing down a fruitcake wielding an Unconventional AI capable of cannibalizing itself and keeping secrets from ONI?" Sanders asked.
"No," Hilda said with a droll expression, "For now, you're going to the facility on Boundary so we can attempt to retrieve what Jay left behind. If my suspicions are correct, we may have more to worry about than a security fragment."
"Meaning?" Teddy asked suspiciously.
"Meaning: there is concern that Debra Jay cloned Signe and somehow had two AIs working together," McGregor said, "ONI and Lord Hood are convinced that retrieving…whatever it is…on Boundary may show just how Jay pulled this off without anyone noticing."
"Whatever is on Boundary has effectively locked itself and the structure down," Hilda continued, "No attempts at penetrating the firewall have been successful, no matter how many smart AI's ONI has thrown at it. The only area I have been able to breach is the sub-basement, not that there is any substantial information there: the remainder of the facility will remain off-limits so long as Signe is in active control."
"You're talking about the manual override of a security fragment that sophisticated?" Steele leaned back and folded her arms over her chest.
"In a manner of speaking: yes. Zeta simply has to get one of my fragments into the facility and upload it into the system: I can take care of the rest."
"The UNSC has been fortifying the alliance for over a decade while ONI has been…" McGregor cast a glance at the Sangheili, "doing things behind everyone's backs. Quite frankly, we don't know what to expect. In the spirit of transparency and maintaining the alliance Hood had a very open and diplomatic chat with 'Vadam and…for lack of a better way to put it: the Arbiter insisted that future cooperation depended on him lending us Command Officer 'Loram."
"He's an assassin," Whittaker said with a town of novelty.
The Elite growled, the tiny hint of a smile pulling at his mandibles.
"He was, once upon a time," Hilda stated, "Now he is here to insure that no other ugly surprises emerge from this…mess."
There was a long silence as everyone mulled the information over.
Finally, Steele cleared her throat, "How long until we reach Boundary?"
McGregor flashed his teeth, "Hilda will have us there in just under twelve once we reach the launch zone…that'll be in, oh," he glanced at his watch, "about ten minutes. Fury has an upgraded drive. Not as fancy as some of the bigger, more sophisticated tugs, but it'll do," he winked conspiratorially.
"Days?" Sanders asked.
The jump from Earth to Boundary took well over two months with standard translight drives. While he was itchy about spending almost two weeks in operational limbo, the idea of cutting a jump by three quarters was impressive.
Hilda shook her head, "Hours, Sergeant."
"Hot damn," PK whooped, "That is my kind of woman."
The Captain chucked, "If all minds are clear: I'll consider this briefing concluded. Everything on this ship is at your disposal. Hilda here can help with any additional questions and she'll let you know when we enter slip, but I promise, ladies and gentlemen, you won't even notice."