Chapter 1: Cleaning House

"Incoming!"

Maka 'Fulsamee instinctively ducked, three carbine rounds slamming into the wall where his head had been half a second before. He crouched with two other Elites and one of the humans behind a low barricade, their backs to the control room. A detonation shook their cover, from a Brute Shot grenade, the young Sangheili guessed.

They were trapped, defending the control room against Brute reinforcements while the Arbiter and the human commander conferred with the Oracle. There was something familiar about the Arbiter, the way he moved and spoke, that tickled the back of Maka's mind, but for the moment he found himself thoroughly distracted.

"You would believe killing their Chieftain would hamper their ability to fight," one of the Elites behind the barricade said, a crimson-armored Elite Major.

"Removing their brains sure will," the human replied. Maka found himself agreeing with the creature as he popped up from cover, sighted down his carbine, and fired three shots into the lead Brute's head. He dropped and the others dove for cover; the human rose just then and threw one of their curious explosives, the pear-shaped device landing behind one of the Jiralhanae cover spots. The entrenched group heard a shout of surprise followed by an explosion and cursing from the other side of the hallway.

Behind them another group of Elites rushed forward, plasma rifles blazing. One of them took shelter behind the barricade while the rest pressed forward, trying to force the Jiralhanae to backpedal and allow the Sangheili forces more room for cover. The Brutes did as expected, jumping back and retreating while firing, giving the remaining Elites time to move up out of the control room doorway.

"We have a plan," the new arrival said. "With the Arbiter's aid we shall take this structure and hold it until such a time as our own reinforcements can arrive."

The Major nodded, but Maka was still confused about something. "What of…?" He trailed off and inclined his head at the human, who had risen above the barrier again and was firing at the retreating Brutes with his own rifle.

"We are to… fight beside them," the newcomer said uncertainly. "The Arbiter and the human commander seem to have struck an accord."

All the Sangheili shifted with unease and gave furtive glances at the humans. The one behind the barrier was oblivious, but the others crouched in the control room doorway saw them and glared in return. There was bad blood there, and for good reason: the war between their species had raged for twenty-seven years to date, and suddenly they were caught in the same boat. Maka wasn't even sure what that boat was. Why had the Arbiter, after Tartarus was defeated, told them to withhold from attacking the humans?

Those creatures have done nothing but fight for their species. The Councilor's words came back unbidden. Maka looked away. He had never fought against the humans, never been deployed to the front lines. He had only graduated from Institution a few weeks ago and his ship had stopped over at High Charity, expecting to go to the human home world. Then the civil war had erupted, and he had gotten caught up in the bloodshed.

But he still felt the shame. The shame of his species… and the shame of his family. His father was at the human home world right then. His brothers, though he had never met them, were revered war heroes. Orna had been a Supreme Commander, last the family had heard, and Oriné had survived Halo. If the rumors were to be believed, however, he was dead on the surface of the human home world… but as a direct result of the actions of the Prophets, not the humans. His father may still be fighting above the world, or perhaps he had been shot down, or even already betrayed by the Brutes.

A chilling thought sent a shiver down Maka's spine. How far did this betrayal go? How deep did the schism run?

The Major peered over the barrier. "Move up!" he shouted to the soldiers and they did, quickly hurrying down the hallway, weapons raised. With the Elites and humans on the attack the Brutes were quickly forced back through the halls towards the original entry way. It was still burning from the Scarab's beam but offered unfortunately adequate cover for the Jiralhanae that had retreated. They scowled and shouted, firing carbines and red-colored plasma rifles at the momentary alliance of Sangheili and humans. It was a stalemate.

Just as Maka was contemplating a suicidal charge to draw out their foes a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, and when he looked up he found himself staring into the eyes of a hero.

"Hold your place here, young one," the Arbiter's baritone voice rumbled. There was something so hauntingly familiar about him, buzzing about in Maka's mind, but beyond reach. He just stared numbly as the Arbiter nodded behind him and the human sergeant walked up, grinning devilishly and holding a beam rifle, the same Maka had given him just before the fight against Tartarus.

"Somethin' you want, lizard-man?" the human asked, looking at the Arbiter. Much to the surprise of all the Elites present, the Arbiter did not strike the human for his insolence. Instead he only motioned towards the hiding Brutes. Nodding, the dark-skinned human knelt down and aimed through the sights.

A moment later, one Brute poked his head out and immediately lost it, a steaming hole replacing the front of his face. There were several indignant cries and many weapons appeared, the Jiralhanae blind-firing from their positions. The human hardly flinched; he merely adjusted his sights and fired three consecutive shots, separating three hands from three arms. Brute screams filled the air.

Other humans followed up with grenades, throwing them and bouncing them off walls to get into the hiding spots. A solitary pair of heavy, uneven footsteps were heard retreating further into the burned foyer. The Elites gave chase.

When they emerged into the sunlight they saw the single Jiralhanae escapee, a badly burned and bloodied Major. He turned and snarled, raising a plasma rifle in his one good hand. Before he could depress the firing contact, however, there was a crashing noise as a Fuel Rod Cannon slammed into his back. The body flew in an arc, smacking noisily into the area above the doorway and flopping to the deck. Maka stared at the body before walking forward and peeking over the edge of the overhang; the Scarab was still there, as was the Hunter pair they had left on board. They nodded up to him, and he returned the gesture.

Turning around, he found the human sergeant staring up at him. There was a deep scowl on his face, accented by the visible age lines creasing his face. A pungent thing was stuck in his mouth, one end smoking and releasing a thick stink. With something like a chuckle he shoved the beam rifle into Maka's hands.

"Nice gun," he said simply before turning around and rejoining the other humans. Most of them were dressed in what was identifiably armor, but one, a female, was wearing something far less practical for prolonged fighting. A command outfit? Maka snorted. Females in command? How odd the humans could be.

The Sangheili warrior from before came up to him, touching his shoulder. "This is an odd victory," he said, looking over the bay towards the shore. Still smoking wreckage from several Banshees and a couple of Wraiths lay there, thin black trails spiraling upwards.

Maka could only nod, staring off in another direction. The carrier still hovered there, the Prophet of Truth's flagship Purity of Spirit; Commander 'Vadumee was supposed to be leading a charge onboard to take control of it. He briefly wondered how it was going.

Suddenly he realized that the Elite was staring at him. He rolled his shoulders nervously and said, "My name is Maka 'Fulsamee."

The other smiled. "N'tho 'Sraomee."

"Brace yourselves!"

The deck of the Drowned in Honor kicked beneath their hooves, a plasma torpedo striking one of the lower decks. For a moment the deck felt angled as the artificial gravity hiccupped, but a second later it restored itself.

Balask 'Zakamee shook his head and growled. "How is it the Flood know how to use our ships?"

Ship Master Gersha 'Kaeromee ignored him, focusing instead on the battle at hand: two Flood-controlled cruisers were nimbly working their way through the fleet, firing at ships and generally being a distraction. The golden-armored Elite looked at the monitor, scowling as he saw what it was they were trying to draw attention away from: a small fleet of infected dropships was making a beeline for High Charity.

He quickly signaled for an open communications channel to the entire fleet. "The Parasite seeks to catch us in its ruse! Burn its dropships before it can reach the holy city!" At his word several of the light cruisers in the area turned their weapons against the smaller ships, hurling waves of plasma at them. Quickly they were demolished, but the Sangheili fleet was once again set upon by the troublesome twin vessels.

A pulse laser volley slammed into the Honor's shields, the deck rumbling. 'Kaeromee's own vocal chords rumbled with it. "They dare make a mockery of me?!" He activated the weapons channel. "Prepare our energy projector! We shall burn this Parasite with holy fire."

In one holographic display a charge meter appeared, slowly spinning up to full charge. When it was ready, he gave the order and a razor-thin lance of purple energy cut through the void and laterally sliced the offending cruiser in two. At first there was no reaction, but when the breached plasma reactor detonated it easily vaporized ninety percent of what remained. What was left was sent spinning off by the sheer force of the blast.

The lights flickered as their own reactor struggled to account for the missing energy before it was regenerated. Still, 'Kaeromee smiled: one ship down. Unfortunately, detecting the growing danger the other had taken shelter behind High Charity.

"Cowardly devils," 'Kaeromee growled.

"I would advise against giving chase, Ship Master," Balask cautioned from the foot of the command deck. "It surely wishes to set a trap for us."

"I am aware of that!" He turned his attention back to the fleet. All the Jiralhanae had fled from the region, leaving only the Sangheili forces, those who chose to follow them, and the Flood. He glanced at High Charity. A status screen showed that all the Phantoms they had sent in were pulling out, laden with survivors. Among them would be civilians, women and children, as well as warriors who had perhaps valiantly stayed behind at first but then leaped at the chance to be saved.

However, another display caught his attention. When he focused on it, he realized with horror what it was.

High Charity's weapons systems were coming online and targeting the survivors. He activated both the pilot and weapons runes. "We must cover the retreat of those Phantoms. Let us go between High Charity and them, and raze the Flood-controlled weapons before it is too late!" Almost immediately the ship responded, the appropriate officers understanding the severity of the situation. High Charity had been home to hundreds of thousands of non-combatants; roughly half of all the soldiers in active duty could claim they were sired and hatched within its sacred walls.

The Honor came into position, two cruisers following her, apparently having caught on to the survivors' plight. They arrived just in time; the massive plasma cannons on the city's exterior warmed and fired, setting wave after wave of death upon the meager flight of dropships. With practiced accuracy, however, the Elite ships returned fire, slagging turrets where they could. A few shots got through, and a wing of dropships exploded in a blue inferno. 'Kaeromee winced; how many had they carried? Twenty, or perhaps even thirty each? Of them, how many were women, children?

But by and large the shots struck the ships that had come to the Phantoms' aid. The carrier's shields shrugged most of the impacts off, suffering only 26% damage. The cruisers were slightly worse off, one of the pair losing its aft shielding and taking several hits to the Engineering section. 'Kaeromee saw small jets of white atmosphere being vented out into space, but the cruiser kept up its barrage regardless of its own damage.

When all Phantoms had safely boarded other ships the group of three pulled back and retreated, all the while the Flood chewed up their backsides. Finally they got out of range and entered the grouping of ships that had begun to circle in a wide ring around High Charity.

"Damage report?" 'Kaeromee asked, hoping it was minimal.

The reply came back after a short pause. "Inconsequential, Ship Master. The shields were never penetrated. A few generators have overloaded from the strain, but the Huragok are already hard at work repairing them." The golden-armored Sangheili nodded and turned around to face Balask. His black Special Operations armor was scuffed and burnt from the action he had seen on High Charity during the Schism and the Infection, yet he stood just as tall and proud as if it were shining new, as if he hadn't just spent several hours in constant combat. Were the situation calmer he would have commanded the Senior Officer to bed, to catch what sleep he could before the fleet decided what the next best choice of action was.

However, there was a curiosity that required investigating.

"Is your team ready for deployment?"

Balask 'Zakamee nodded. "They can be prepared for an outing within five minutes."

"Then have them so. Commandeer a Phantom from the hangar and take it to High Charity. Infiltrate the Parasite's defenses and report back to me. Go with the Gods." The warrior clenched a fist and pressed it to his chest in a salute before turning and striding out off the bridge.

He did not ask why, 'Kaeromee noted, turning back to the holographic displays. He already knows what purpose this mission serves. When the Forerunner Dreadnought left, presumably with the Prophet of Truth aboard, it had left the city incapacitated and dark; without its power source only the most basic of life support systems could function. Yet the Flood had somehow been able to amass enough energy to run the defense systems. If they could activate the weapons, what else could they do?

'Kaeromee had to know how the Flood was powering the city. And if it could get enough power, then it could perform a Slipspace jump out of the system and go anywhere in the galaxy.

When the dropship appeared, everyone took cover in the foyer, two Elites crouched near the door, holding liberated Fuel Rod Guns, taking careful aim at the incoming craft. It slowed to a stop and hovered over the balcony. A tense moment passed, the two sentries aiming up at the beetle-shaped vehicle, waiting to see what it did. Its cannon slowly rotated… away from them, to target out over the bay, towards the beach where the wrecked armor lay. It repositioned itself and disgorged a team of soldiers.

A team of Sangheili soldiers.

Everyone inside let out a simultaneous breath that none of them had realized they were holding. Maka held a hand over his heart in thanks to the Gods… but then stopped. Were there still Gods to pray to after they had been excommunicated from the Covenant? He didn't know.

Two of the newly arrived Elites stepped into the foyer, their eyes briefly taking in the destruction before settling on the Arbiter. Both saluted and bowed low. "Arbiter," one of them said in a deep, tired voice, "we have come on behalf of Commander 'Vadumee. We are to take you and your soldiers back to…" His voice trailed off as he saw the small group of humans; immediately his speech was forgotten and he raised his Carbine, sighting down the barrel and aiming right for the female officer. Immediately the humans reacted, raising their own weapons, to which the remaining newcomers prepared themselves for battle.

Before any shots could be fired, however, N'tho stepped between the two sides. "Brothers, wait!" he said. "Do not fire!"

"Stand aside, young one," one of the Elites said. He sounded older than N'tho, but his face and body were covered by the crimson standard of Ranger Major armor. "If you sympathize with these humans, you shall be executed right here."

N'tho bristled, but the Arbiter stepped in. "Lower your weapons," he commanded. "Don't you see we do not take up arms?"

The Ranger didn't falter in his aim, but his head did incline slightly as he surveyed the room, seeming to notice for the first time that none of those who they had come for were aiming weapons at the humans; in fact, the humans were included in the group. Maka watched for several seconds, his hearts in his throat, before the crimson-armored Sangheili lowered his Carbine. The others followed suit, though Maka could see no lack of confusion on their faces.

The Arbiter seemed to see this as well. "All shall be explained," he told them, "but we must hurry away from this place. Undoubtedly the Jiralhanae will return to extract vengeance on the death of their chieftain."

"It is reassuring to hear Tartarus is dead," the Ranger said, "but no Brutes will come. After they took control of many ships they escaped into Slipspace, following the Prophet of Truth. Those that remain on the ring are either captured or in full retreat."

Murmurs passed through the crowd as the Sangheili discussed the latest turn of events, but it was the female human who stepped forward to speak openly. "Where did he go?"

The Ranger became visibly agitated, but the Arbiter placed a hand on his shoulder. After exchanging a glance, the crimson-armored Elite forced himself to look at the human. "We do not know for sure, but I conjecture it might be your home world they seek."

A look of panic washed over the human's face, but the dark-skinned human walked up and began talking with her in hushed tones.

The Ranger turned back to the ceremonially-armored hero. "Arbiter, I demand an explanation! Why are these humans unrestrained and armed? They are too dangerous to be allowed to walk about freely."

Strangely, Maka did not agree with the observation. He thought back to the fight to escape the control room, and indeed the battle with Tartarus: the humans had fought bravely and efficiently for each step, spending their own sweat beside the Sangheili. Obviously there was detectable tension, and a lot of it, but so far the two species had fought side-by-side with mild success. For a moment, the young warrior envisioned a battlefield on which both humans and Sangheili fought a unified front again the Jiralhanae; he could not deny the adrenaline rush such a thought brought to him.

The Arbiter was in the process of telling the Ranger something along the same line when one of the other Elites raised a hand up to the side of his helmet, held it there for a moment and let it drop. "Arbiter," he said, "we must go. Commander 'Vadumee wishes to leave the surface of the ring quickly; there are reports of Flood movement away from the Quarantine Zone."

Now with an objective, the surviving Sangheili and humans crowded together and ascended in pairs up the Phantom's gravity lift, the Oracle trailing behind the humans. Once everyone was inside the dropship the craft began its flight back to the Purity of Spirit. The Ranger raised his hand and toggled his communications channel.

"This is Major Usze 'Tahamee," the Ranger spoke. "Excellency, we have rendezvoused with the Arbiter and his…" He paused and glanced back at the humans. "… forces. We shall be among you again soon."

'Vadumee's response came back across the open channels. "It is good to know some of you survived," he said, his voice slightly slurred. At some point, Maka did not know when, the Special Operations Commander had lost two of his mandibles; popular theory was that it had happened as a result of a fight, though the specifics were constantly in flux. "There is room for you on board," the commander continued, "but, Arbiter, I would have a word with you."

"And I you, Commander," the Arbiter replied, looking at the humans. "There is much to discuss."

"Then we need not waste further time."

"We are nearly there, Excellency."

Balask nodded his approval at the young Kasa 'Yonomee and retreated from the Phantom's cockpit, walking up the small sloping ramp to the main troop deployment bay. Opom, Sesep, and Nunot were preparing their equipment for the excursion: a plasma rifle and two grenades each. The acting team leader walked across the smallish room and plucked a Carbine from the wall, checking to make sure it was loaded and seizing additional clips of ammunition. Then he secured a plasma rifle to his hip; he would not deny its potential against the Flood.

With that finished he turned and regarded the team. Since Oriné had been killed on Earth and his sub-Commander with him, responsibility for the team had fallen to Balask as the Senior Officer, and it had been a heavy burden to bear. His team, Blessed Unit, had been fighting constantly since the Jiralhanae had turned on them by the orders of the Prophets. That their own Hierarchs' treachery had caused the deaths of countless Sangheili warriors and their ignorance allowed the Parasite to gain control of High Charity was maddening and humiliating.

However, they still had a mission: the Flood had taken the city, and with the surviving refugees shuttled out of the way it was time to perform a fact-finding mission. Somehow the Parasite had been able to power the city's defenses even though the power source had escaped into Slipspace. Balask had no doubt the Flood was providing its own power, but how it was doing so was unknown.

The cockpit door slid open once again and Kasa exited, tugging uncomfortably at his new armor. The team leader could empathize, but the use of Assault armor was a necessity. The Parasite was undoubtedly filling the air within with spores and converting the atmosphere, making it impossible to breathe. Because of their dependence on external breathers already, the Unggoy were ironically better prepared; the two Sangheili, however, had required a sealed atmospheric alternative to the standard Combat harness they usually wore.

"The Phantom will land itself in one of the hangars, Excellency," Kasa said. "Whatever powers the city now has also restored energy to the automatic flight subsystems, be it purposefully or by mistake." He crossed to Balask's position and retrieved a Carbine and plasma rifle. After securing them to their magnetic holds he fumbled with the helmet, barely managing to properly open it and clasp it shut around his head. He motioned for the team leader to double-check his seal. "Gods be good, how am I to breathe in this thing? Or speak?"

Balask confirmed the oxygen seal was solidly in place before beginning to secure his own headgear. The entire harness was, in truth, a much older model of armor used before even the Combat harness had been put in place; however, after the encounter with the Flood on the first Halo, the Special Operations teams had begun to put them back in service because of their ability to become completely airtight and operate in hazardous conditions. In addition, with thicker plating and stronger kinetic dampeners the Assault harness could take more punishment. These particular models had been adjusted to contain active camouflage units that would prove vital to this infiltration.

Once the helmet was secured, Balask understood the younger warrior's complaints. The helmet was very claustrophobic, making it seem like his breathing was restricted, and the mandible guards were very tight. When he spoke he felt the helmet press in on them.

"It is not so bad as the alternative," he reminded Kasa. A visible shudder passed through the Junior Officer's form before a light in the cockpit began blinking.

"We are about to land, Excellency," Kasa said.

Balask nodded. "Shields and active camouflage," he ordered. Sparks ran up his spine as a thin film of energy was briefly visible over both he and Kasa, and then the Elites and Grunts began to fade from view. "We do not know the Flood's capabilities at this point, so full caution must be observed: radio silence, hand gestures only. Our first objective is to find a data terminal and determine where the energy is coming from. Once we do so we will find the source and attempt to destroy it, then we shall escape via this Phantom." The Phantom settled to the deck within, and doors along the side opened up. "Forward!"

The group split up, the two Elites going out the port side and the Grunts the starboard. Immediately Balask knew that much had changed: the floor beneath his hooves felt soft, malleable; when he looked down, he saw that the entire surface had been covered in a semi-thin film… no, a membrane. The thought sent chills through his core.

Though he could not see his comrades, his helmet dealt with that issue itself by overlaying tags where the others moved: B02, he realized, was Kasa; the others, B03 through B05, were the Grunts, though he didn't know who was who. Regardless, all the tags were moving towards the dropship bay's exit, and he followed suit. With a practiced movement he reached behind him and drew his Carbine. When in active camouflage, not only could one not see teammates but he could not see himself. Thus, in training, countless hours had been dedicated to the act of learning the exact location of all his equipment and practicing how to retrieve exactly what he needed without the aid of his eyes. It had been difficult but now he, and every Special Operations unit deployed, was an expert.

As the team proceeded through the hall, Balask took note of two peculiar things: the first was the membrane. It was all encompassing, covering every surface and turning it into a murky green-brown, with what looked to be dark veins running throughout. When he reached out and touched it, it was solid and soft, yet not overly so. Here and there, however, were large lumps, usually part of both the floor and walls, with some definition left to them: here, combat forms had molded together, adding their calcium into larger mounds in which other grotesque soldiers could replace their reserves or join the blob. It was similarly fascinating and revolting.

The second thing of note was the total lack of active Flood forms, combat or otherwise. Spores floated through the air, parting for the invisible Sangheili, and he was suddenly even more appreciative of the protection his helmet offered his lungs. The air within was stale, relying on a single atmospheric recharger to cycle the oxygen he was breathing, but it was definitely better than inhaling the Flood spores. If enough were introduced to a body it would succumb to infection, possessed by one of the bulbous infection forms or not.

Pressing forward, the team cautiously made its way down what had once been a geometrically designed hallway but now was more akin to the intestine of an animal. The doors had been forced open by the growth and Balask could just make out slight contusions in the fleshy substance where the doorways were, almost as if something were forming there. He ensured the small camera in his helmet captured the anomaly before turning his head away and continuing down the corridor; there were more pertinent things to be concerned with, first and foremost being the mission.

They traveled over the course of the next several minutes, encountering absolutely no resistance whatsoever, until they reached a terminal set into a wall. The Grunts immediately formed a delta-shaped defense, each taking a point of the triangle and aiming outward while Kasa decloaked and began to access the network; Balask stood immediately behind him back to back, sweeping above the Grunts' heads with his Carbine. Still no sign of the Flood. The Senior Officer was growing agitated by this development, or lack thereof, but did not let it show.

"Kasa, have you penetrated the network yet?" Balask asked over his shoulder, barely moving his head.

"Yes, Excellency," Kasa replied, though he was hesitant. "There is a massive power source in the city, though the network is not able to assign a designation to it and I am unable to decipher what kind of power it is." He keyed through a menu. "However, I do have a fix on its location: tower eleven."

A knot rapidly formed between Balask's stomachs. Tower eleven had been where the human ship crashed after it had managed a Slipspace jump inside the city, allowing the Parasite within to begin to pour into the holy city. Its reactor could possibly still be functioning, which could account for some of the power, but the rest…

"Where is the power going?"

Kasa paused for a minute to consult a table. "So far there is power for almost all subsystems, the only major exception being the air purifiers. If the Parasite wishes to turn this area into a hive then it would not want such devices in operation. They could weaken it."

A plan began forming in his mind, hope of a slight chance. "Can you bring them online?"

There was a moment as the Junior Officer attempted to work the terminal. A buzzing sound followed his movement. "Negative, Excellency. The network has become corrupted and fragmented. I cannot undo the damage done without risking detection."

"Very well," Balask said. "We shall proceed to tower eleven. Find us a course through the city that will bring us past the purifier control; we may be able to disrupt the Flood long enough to destroy this power source and stop their progress here." Kasa nodded and downloaded a path through High Charity, displaying it on the holographic dashboard of both himself and Balask. Two markers appeared: one was the air purifier, the other the crash site of the human vessel. With a hand motion the Senior Officer motioned the team into movement.

As they moved forward, one of the Grunts fell back, B04. "Excellency?"

Balask recognized the timber of the voice. "What is it, Opom?"

"We are afraid," he said. "What shall we do if the Parasite falls upon us unexpectedly?"

The thought had occurred to Balask. He and Kasa may yet be saved by their shielding and superior weaponry, but the Unggoy would be easy pickings, especially for the spry and powerful combat forms. There was a great potential for casualties in such a dangerous mission, but Balask had known that coming in.

Did they?

"Do not fear, little one," he finally replied. "You and your comrades will be fine." Balask could not see the Grunt's silent reaction, but he felt his presence leave.

Their difficult and nerve-wracking trudge continued. As it so turned out, the map was of little use other than pointing them in the general direction of their objectives. The interior geometry of the city had begun to be warped by the dark and twisted mind of the Flood. Passages were often filled with organic matter where once there had been a way through, and in other places the Parasite had somehow dissolved its way through layers of battle plate to make a new way. Already the once familiar layout of the city was almost completely erased. More often than not Blessed Unit had to negotiate a way through the membranous corridors, delaying their already hindered progress.

It was easily two hours before they were finally able to find the room where the purifiers were located. Of all the changes they had seen so far, this room was the least altered, with the holographic controls still flickering and the manual openings leading down to the units themselves. In addition, there was still a door in operation, and once past they made a specific effort to lock it down. Once secure, the entire team deactivated their camouflage.

"Cover the doorway," Balask ordered the Unggoy. "Take cover where you can." He turned to Kasa. "Quickly, reactivate the purifiers. Once we do, I am certain the Parasite will converge on this location, but if we are swift enough then we may be able to avoid them and continue unimpeded to the power source." Kasa nodded and hurried to the terminal, calling up and scanning through the diagnostic data.

"The systems are still in place, Excellency," he said. "There is a blockage in the tube. A grenade should be able to—"

He was cut off as an unearthly shriek exploded through the small room. At first Balask tensed himself, preparing himself for the Parasite rush that was preceded by such a call, but realized that, though tortured, it was not the same anguish-laden cry of the Flood. It was much sharper and possessed of only one voice, as opposed to the like shrill-and-bass conglomeration of vocals that usually made up their battle cry. A moment later the sound repeated itself, its tone changing; it sounded so painful that Balask found himself cringing and almost raising his hands to his ears were it not for the realization that he couldn't have reached them through the helmet.

"What is that?" Nunot screamed.

"Excellency!"

Balask turned at Kasa's urgent voice, and his breath caught in his throat. The Junior Officer had fallen back from the terminal where the holographic controls had hovered mere moments before, yet now they were something else entirely. The hologram was shifting, moving, warping itself into a different shape. At first it merely looked like a cone, reaching out of the terminal towards the terrified Kasa, but it suddenly twisted and aimed upwards. From there it began to take a much more definitive form, four appendages suddenly sprouting and resolving themselves into obvious arms and legs. The main cone slowly took an hourglass shape that then changed into a body… a human body. A head emerged from the point, said apex resolving itself into a round neck.

It was a human female's image, but Balask knew that it was an artificial intelligence. Though the humans' hardware was primitively effective at best, their grasp of electronics had astounded even the Covenant. Their AIs were renowned as being a tide-turning presence in battle, capable of causing mass chaos and destruction in a Covenant fleet without a human ship ever firing a shot. They could tangle networks, override and block out communications channels, even choose specific areas of a ship to decompress. Balask had always assumed them to be vast, horrifying beasts of cyberspace with bladed tentacles and huge mouths like black holes.

Instead, this one was unique, fair, glowing with an internal light… hauntingly beautiful, in a sense. It glanced around nervously as eyes formed, each feature twitching in what Balask could only assume was fear. There was a presence to her, one of a chaotic knowledge. For a moment he was distracted by the realization that he had no idea how it had gotten in the network.

Finally it seemed to take notice of Blessed Unit, focusing its now fully visible eyes at them. Lights and symbols flowed across its curved body. "Survivors?"

Kasa glanced back at Balask, who could only return the look before the construct started speaking again. "You shouldn't be here. You have to get out! Warn the Elites that the Gravemind—"

It was cut off as a shudder ran through the decks beneath their hooves. A deep voice reverberated through the small room, echoing impossibly. "Lattices of light and data you make, but with steady patience I shall break," it said. Suddenly the construct looked even more horrified and looked around as if whatever was speaking was in the room with them. The voice continued: "We had reached an accord, you and I, a deal which need not be broken; for the home we were wrongfully denied by words our enemy had spoken."

There was a change in tone, yet Balask suddenly felt as if the voice was aware of their presence. The AI turned to him. "Quick, you don't have much time!" Its voice was distinctly feminine and very pressing. "Get out of here! Tell your leadership that the Flood is space-worthy! You have to destroy High Charity to stop it from spreading throughout the galaxy."

"That is why we are here, construct," Balask replied, though he was unsure as to why he was doing so. "We must find how the Flood is powering the city and destroy it."

"You don't have the strength to do that!" It was growing more insistent and visibly agitated by something, glancing around at things that weren't there. "Your only option is to bombard the station from outside, glass the city! Before it's too late!"

Balask was about to argue the point further when suddenly the construct's knees buckled, its head arching back in a loud scream, exactly what they had heard earlier. The hologram immediately exploded, sending lances of light every which way to fade into the air; the original control terminal did not return.

There was a moment of silence as the entire team looked at the missing hologram. A fierce chill ran down Balask's spine, and he knew it was no fault of his suit's atmospherics. Quickly he crossed to Kasa and helped him up, the warrior having been on his rear for the entire display. Before they could say anything, however, the deep and pounding voice returned.

"She has exposed you and left you defenseless," it growled, and it didn't take Blessed Unit long at all to realize it was speaking directly to them. "Embrace my progress now. Become perfection, no longer striving to attain it impossibly." Suddenly the room darkened, the artificial lights dimming and flickering. There was a fierce pounding at the door, and immediately the team refocused and trained their weapons on the source. Balask could see the damage being inflicted as the door caved in slightly at the center, other strikes bending the metal at other locations. I know of no Flood that can do that, he thought, but shuddered at the idea.

When the door gave, Blessed Unit opened fire. Three plasma rifles and two Carbines emptied at the encroaching Flood, burning through the initial Infection and Combat forms, the torched and twisted bodies collapsing to the ground. Behind them, however, more waves pushed in. After a moment the Grunts began staggering their fire to avoid simultaneous overheating while the two Elites fired in tandem, hoping their shots would be effective enough. When struck in the chest, the Infection form nestled within the Combat form would pop.

For the briefest of moments it appeared as if, barring an ammunition shortage, the small unit could hold back the onslaught.

Then Hell burst through the doors.

It was at first preceded by a swell of Infection forms that skittered on the walls and ceilings, forcing the Elites to redirect their fire. While their attention was diverted it struck, a mass of necrotic flesh and muscle smashing into the Grunt line. Sesep cried out as he was picked up and flung to the side; he struck the wall with a terrible force and dropped to the floor, followed by a smear of blue. He disappeared below a tide of Infection forms.

With the realization that one of his team was down, Balask refocused his fire on the massive new foe. At first he didn't recognize it, and then didn't want to believe it: a Brute Combat form. He had seen human and Elite forms, but never one of these beasts. Hair and mottled flesh mixed together in a disgusting texture that covered its entire body; one of its already massive arms had been broken apart and replaced with three writhing tentacles.

However, at least like all Combat forms, the sensory tentacles of the Infection form burrowed in its chest still poked out and twitched its commands to the body. Balask and Kasa immediately took aim and fired three rounds each, the depleted uranium pellets biting deep and popping the small devil. The heavy body fell to the deck with a thump as more of its comrades tried to scramble over it in their haste to get at the uninfected unit.

"Grenades!" Balask's cry managed to sound over the clamor of the Flood and the team activated their plasma grenades and let fly. Much to the surprise and delight of the warriors the charges adhered to the walls and ceilings, detonating shortly thereafter and engulfing the Flood in a wash of blue fire. The unit mopped up all survivors, and for a moment, there was an opening to escape.

"Quickly! Forward!" Balask rushed to get his team out of the confined space of the purifier room. "Back to the Phantom!" As they made their way out of the room and over the corpses of the Flood, the team leader took note that none of the Unggoy made the mistake of trying to bring Sesep's immobile corpse with them; they merely glanced at their poor mauled friend and kept moving. It was Kasa who hesitated.

"Excellency…"

"Keep moving," Balask said gruffly, giving the Junior Officer a shove to reinforce his point. After clearing the doorway the unit ran at full speed through the halls, shooting while moving at the Combat forms that leaped at them. However, as they neared the hangars, resistance thinned out, allowing them to slip through easily.

They rapidly climbed into the Phantom, did a quick sweep to ensure no Flood had gotten aboard, and sealed the side doors shut. Kasa and Balask rushed to the cockpit as the Unggoy secured themselves in the troop bay, pulling off their helmets as they did so. The Junior Officer quickly fell into the pilot's seat and began easing the Phantom backwards out of the troop bay, setting the forward plasma cannon to auto to ward off the incoming Combat forms. It blazed away at the Flood as the dropship escaped, stopping as they rapidly left its effective range.

Balask looked at High Charity. It still looked like the city he had known in his childhood, a place of peace and devotion, where things were simple and clear-cut. Back then, there had been no enemies except those in training, and they had only been armed with toy guns; the Senior Officer could remember a time when even the noise of the faux weapons had frightened him.

Now his home had been engulfed. And there would be no getting it back.

"Blessed Unit to the carrier Drowned in Honor," he said into his radio.

"Mission failed. Returning to the dropship bay."

Once aboard the Purity of Spirit, Maka 'Fulsamee felt the deck rumble beneath his hooves as it began to climb out of Halo's atmosphere, but he had little time to ponder Commander 'Vadumee's rush to escape the ring. As soon as they disembarked the Phantom they were caught in a whirlwind of activity as the Engineers swarmed around the dropship bay, repairing vehicles and weapons while Healers rushed wounded away. Several of the Sangheili who had been with them in the control room allowed themselves to be escorted off, but Maka followed the Arbiter; he was joined by N'tho, Usze, and the humans.

They rushed through the halls, ignoring the uncomprehending stares they got from the soldiers around them as those who had been their mortal enemy ran past. However, their glares turned to slack-jawed stares as the Oracle hovered behind them. To them the Oracle still held religious implications, and its presence was nothing short of divine. Maka wondered if such an advantage could be exploited… or, perhaps, he realized, it already had been. Who had declared Oracles holy in the first place? The Prophets had said they were the "divine messengers of the Forerunners," keepers of their holy message. Was that, too, a lie?

Now, however, it was buying them unmolested passage to the command deck.

When they arrived, Maka was nearly floored by the presence. A Hierarch's command deck was significantly bigger, certainly, but he hadn't expected it to be quite so… luxurious. Trees were growing along the sides, arching up with the walls into the apex of the dome in which was set a large glowing disc, like a smaller version of the one on High Charity. Various scenes were carved into the walls, most depicting the discovery of Forerunner artifacts by Prophets or the surrender of treasure by the lower castes. The monitors, tactical holograms, and battle stations seemed to be secondary thoughts to this otherwise grandiose room.

Commander Rtas 'Vadumee stood in the center of the dome, arms crossed and gaze locked intently on the forward screens. At the sound of their entrance, he turned to greet them… only to have his salute die in his throat as his eyes fell upon the humans.

However, unlike Usze, Rtas kept his calm. "Arbiter?" he asked. "Why do you bring humans to the command deck with you?" The Oracle floated in and once again Rtas's attention was rendered elsewhere, but to the hovering sphere he said nothing.

"As I said," the Arbiter said, "there is much to discuss."

Rtas nodded and motioned towards the forward view screen. "We are leaving the atmosphere now to link up with what remains of our fleet in orbit," he said. "When the Brutes rebelled they were able to seize many ships before following the Prophet of Truth into Slipspace." He paused. "I am still unsure as to what exactly has been transpiring above us, but hopefully the survivors will be able to bring us up to speed."

The Arbiter stepped up onto the raised command platform to stand beside Rtas. "Much has transpired here as well. I'm sure you experienced the…" His voice trailed off, unable to think of how to word it.

"The so-called Great Journey?" Rtas huffed indignantly. "Yes, I witnessed the farce. These Prophets have led us astray, believing in something that was naught but a glimmer in the air. We will have our revenge for their lies."

Maka saw the Arbiter mentally pause and roll what Rtas said over in his mind. "Yes," he finally said. "We will."

"Excellencies!" A crimson-armored Sangheili at the front of the bridge called from his station. "We are being hailed by the fleet!"

Rtas and the Arbiter nodded. One of the forward screens was filled by a burly Sangheili in golden armor, with Ship Master ranking bars on his shoulder. "Commander 'Vadumee, it is good to… the Arbiter?!" Unrepressed shock registered on the Ship Master's face. "I… We thought you were dead!"

"Many have," the Arbiter replied. Maka noticed the edges of a grin tugging at his mandibles. "Yet here I stand. What is the status? Are you the acting Fleet Master?"

The Elite on screen shook his head as if to dispel an incantation. "No, Arbiter. The Fleet Master's ship was overrun with Brutes and taken, gone with the Prophet as he fled. I am Ship Master 'Kaeromee."

The Arbiter opened his mouth to say something, but Rtas abruptly cut him off. "The Arbiter shall take command," he said, glancing back at the ceremonially armored hero. The Arbiter's eyes widened with surprise. "He is quite capable of the task and is a recognized leader among the ranks."

All eyes were suddenly on the once-shamed hero, Maka's included. They were all waiting to see if he would accept the mantle. For a while he was silent, contemplative; finally his head rose to meet 'Kaeromee's and nodded. "I will accept this duty until such a time as it can be passed to one more worthy."

'Kaeromee nodded. "Very well, Arbiter. I shall relay this to the other ships. What are your orders?"

"What is High Charity's status?"

"I sent a Special Operations unit over to investigate," the Ship Master replied. There was remorse in his eyes, but his tone remained level and professional. "According to them the Flood have begun to turn the city into one of their wretched hives and may soon have Slipspace capability."

"How many ships do they control?"

"Not many, but a handful."

The Arbiter nodded. "Rally all available ships to quarantine this area of space. Call any fleet you can reach and tell them, by declaration of the Arbiter, they must come and help contain the Parasite."

'Kaeromee saluted. "Yes, Arbiter."

"And be sure they're prepared for a parley." The Arbiter turned and looked over his shoulder at the humans and the Oracle. "There are going to be many radical changes in the near future."