Disclaimer: I do not own Halo or Mass Effect.


Chapter 1: Harvest

August 3rd, 2597 (Military Calendar)

UNSC Transport Romper Stomper

Epsilon Indi System

En route to Harvest

To dream during cryo-sleep is a bizarre experience. They weren't real dreams; rather, they were a strange intermixing collage of memories and dreams. It's rare for someone to recall their dreams with clarity after waking from cryo-sleep, but when they do, they often spend hours at a time just trying to discern what was reality and what was a distortion of the subconscious mind.

Kamille.

Once, this dreamer recalled dreaming a strange sight: a classroom , full of children, all boys except for a girl, with golden-blonde hair and wearing a sapphire-blue dress. Highlighted by a spotlight shining from the ceiling, she was seated at the centre of the room, the object of scorn and derision from her fellow classmates.

Kamille Soran.

Another time, the dreamer saw the little blonde girl being cornered by two giants; one, was a man with a shark's grin plastered on his face, poisonous fumes smelling of alcohol puffing out from his lungs, his hands clenched into fists. The other giant was a woman, with a shadow covering her eyes, who couldn't see nor hear the little blonde girl, no matter how loudly she screamed when the grinning giant laid hands on her.

My name is Kamille Soran.

The final dream, this dream, was of the blonde girl, not so little anymore, running through a jungle carved from onyx, carrying weapons on her back, weighing her down, while fleeing from a pack of red-eyed dogs. And yet, despite her disadvantages, she escaped her pursuers and was accepted into the brotherhood of state-sanctioned murderers. This was the one dream which granted Kamille happiness and pride.

Too bad that it didn't last long enough.

Private Kamille Soran woke up, the curved hatch of the cryo-pod creaking open, wisps of fog billowing out. His vision blurry, Kamille took a deep breath of the frigid, cold air, and began violently coughing. Struggling out of the cryo-pod, he bent down, with his hands on his knees, and coughed up the bronchial surfactant needed to protect his lungs during cryo-sleep; now that he is awake, it is merely bile that needs to be disposed of, and quickly. Straightening up, he groaned as his joints ached from being on ice for eight days.

Working out the stiffness in his joints, Kamille noticed that the rest of the occupants of the cryo-pods were waking, too. There were five others in the cryo-bay, two men and three women of similar age. Kamille didn't know much about them, except that, like him, they were fresh out of boot camp, and that they'll be serving their first tour of duty together as a squad.

Private Halfrid Dieter is a woman of German descent, judging from her name. Unusually tall for a woman, slightly taller than Kamille, she has short, light-brown hair, greyish-blue eyes, and when the mood strikes her, she has shown to have a kind, motherly smile. Or, at least, what Kamille thought a motherly smile would look like-he wouldn't quite know.

Private Angus Collins is a man with fair skin, dark-brown hair, black eyes, and a lean build. He also displays a stuck-up, pompous attitude; which means, he's either from Earth, an Inner Colony, or he's rich. Kamille would bet a million credits on the latter-that Collins is spoilt and rich. As Kamille, himself, was raised in a wealthy household, he is quite familiar with those types.

Private Brannagh Hickey is a beautiful woman, no doubt about that. With her fair skin, long flaming-red hair, and emerald-green eyes, and ample breast, she is the stuff of dreams, and Kamille has had several already, with her as the star. Though beautiful, she isn't soft by any means; although at the average height for a woman, she's tough enough to give any man a bloody nose and a bruised ego.

Diego Bautista is a man with pitch-black hair cut short, tan-brown skin, and dark-brown, round eyes. He is very tall, standing at over six feet tall, and as strong as a bear. He is notable among the greenhorns for being a devoted Catholic, a dying religion found only on a few frontier colonies.

Private Alkira Djinba is a woman of average height and build, with dark brown skin, tar-black hair pulled into a bun, full, pouting lips, and misty-green eyes. She speaks with a dull, bored voice, and displays a passive, apathetic attitude.

They all quickly got dressed, grabbed their belongings, and filed out of the cryo-bay, heading for the hangar. There, they found a shuttlecraft taking up all the available space in the Romper Stomper's hangar bay.

"Allright, people," called out the shuttle's pilot as Kamille and the others stepped on board. "Sit down, strap in, and hold tight." The shuttle was nearly full, mostly with Army personnel transferring from other postings.

Stowing his gear, Kamille sat in one of the few remaining seats, pulling a U-shaped restraint bar over his shoulders as Halfrid Dieter sat in the seat next to him, the others also filing in and taking their places. Soon enough, the shuttle fired up its engines, lowered won through the airlock in the hangar's floor, and took off, its powerful thrusters propelling the shuttle through the void. Prepared for the long ride down, Kamille took out an old-fashioned book to read, called Through Hardships, To The Stars; a historical account of the colonial era, when Humanity first began exploring and colonizing the galaxy. For centuries, people have mostly used E-Books to read text, with paper-books going out of style, except for people like Kamille, who enjoy the feel of a book in their hands.

"Do you know anything about Harvest?" Dieter asked, raising her voice so she could be heard above the roar of the engines. Unlike Kamille, she didn't have any way to pass the time, other than to strain her neck to try and get a glimpse of the colony through the cockpit's canopy. Kamille sighed; he would have preferred to read his book, as he isn't the most social type of person. But, then again, he'll be spending months working with this woman, so he might as well try and get to know her, and develop a rapport.

"Quite a bit, actually," Kamille stated, his voice going into 'lecture' mode. This was his element, history. "Harvest is the fourth planet from the star Epsilon Indi; the star itself, is located two-hundred and fifty light years from Sol, inwards along the Orion Arm, towards the Galactic Core, and is the remotest Human-settled star system in the UEGs sphere of influence.

"Colonized in the year 2468, it was settled by people of North American and Scandinavian descent; this has led to many locations on the colony to being named for elements of Norse Mythology. Harvest is renowned throughout the galaxy as one of the UEGs most productive frontier colonies, with the highest per capita of any Outer Colony, and it produces major crops which nourish the inhabitants of five Inner Colonies , such as corn, wheat, watermelons, peaches, apples, grapes, and other products which I can't name off the top of my head." By this point, Dieter was gaping at him, astounded by his accurate and detailed narration, something which caused Kamille no small amount of pride and self-satisfaction.

"In the year 2531, Harvest had the dubious honour of being the first 'ag-world' to come under attack by the New Colonial Alliance during the infamous 'Breadbasket Campaigns.' As Harvest was a peaceful world on the very edge of Human Space, there wasn't anything in the way of a strong fleet presence, and it took nearly a year for the UNSC battle-group Sigma to arrive and relieve the colony; plenty of time for the NCA to trash the farming machinery, burn the crops, pilfer the harvested food, and generally make life tough for the colonists. But, while the NCA was able to get the drop on Harvest, the UNSC had sent battle-groups to other 'ag-worlds', to fortify and protect them, and so, the NCA had to fight tooth and nail across dozens of those colonies for twelve years. Ironically, Harvests misfortune saved other colonies from the same fate, as it served as a warning for the UNSC, who then took decisive action to protect the other ag-worlds from the NCA.

"But, that was merely the first of tragedies to strike at Harvest, as it became a prime target for pirates in the 2560s; with the UNSCs fleet presence non-existent in the Outer Colonies, Harvest, and many other valuable colonies, became the private fiefdoms of pirate warlords. Real nasty bastards, they were." At the mention of pirates, Dieter's face tightened, and Kamille decided to change the subject; if his assumptions about her Germanic ancestry are correct, then it's highly likely that she's from the Outer Colonies, as that's where most Germans emigrated to. As such, she'd probably know more about pirates than him.

Kamille opened his mouth to continue, but he was cut off by a shudder which wracked the shuttle and rattled Kamille's teeth; the shuttle had begun entering Harvest's atmosphere, flames flickering up the cockpit's canopy. And as quickly as it began, the shuddering stopped, the shuttle's descent smoothed out, and then began to glide serenely through the skies of Harvest.

Kamille exhaled loudly, and then turned to the similarly winded Dieter, who then quirked an eyebrow at him, as if inviting him to continue with his lecture. Kamille smirked, happy to oblige. "Anyway, after the Insurrection ended in 2587, the UNSC labelled the ag-worlds as 'strategically-significant,' and began to beef up their defenses. The end result: Harvest has a rather large military presence, in comparison to other Outer Colonies." Kamille narrowed his eyes in thought. "I think that, in general, Harvest has about one-hundred and eighty-thousand soldiers stationed to protect the colony, which is, I think, about three per cent of the total colonial population on Harvest."

"Wow….just wow," said Dieter, an odd inflection in her voice; Kamille couldn't be sure if she was genuinely impressed or was being sarcastic. "You actually know what you're talking about."

Kamille blushed, pleased by her praise and the awe in her voice. "Well, it helps that I read up on Harvest before going on ice, and that I've got an eidetic memory. I'm also a history buff; if you want to know anything, from the Colonial Era to the Insurrection, then I'm your guy."

"I'll bear that in mind," Dieter said absently, her attention elsewhere.

Was she even listening to me, then? he thought with a spark of irritation, and then turned his head to the cockpit's canopy, to see what caught her attention. In the distance, far on the horizon, he could make out a city with sparkling, towering skyscrapers.

Utgard is the capital of Harvest, and is composed of ninety per cent of Harvest's total colonial population. Rail lines crisscrossed the city, stretching across the surrounding country-side, connecting the great metropolis with smaller settlements dotted across the main continent. Speeding across the rails were Mag-Lev trains carrying large cargo containers, filled with goods to be transported off-world. Others pulled passenger carriages, filled with commuters on their way to the farmlands.

Kamille then turned his attention to the seven towering space elevators rising up from Utgard, reaching out to the heavens. Regarding these great, monolithic structures made by Human hands, he thought of the old biblical myth about the Tower of Babel: united in rebellion against God, Mankind sought to build a tower that would reach the heavens, but God punished them for their defiance by confusing their languages, and they scattered to all the corners of the Earth. The people of the ancient world always looked up at the night sky and saw the Universe, with its great canopy of stars and galaxies, as the domain of the Gods, and always reached up to them, but always falling short. Kamille had always wondered: was the Tower of Babel a Space Elevator? Did ancient Humans, with their swords and stone pyramids, actually know more than modern Humans give them credit for? How much is myth, and how much is reality?

"Interesting." Shaken from his thoughts, Kamille turned to Dieter, who was observing Utgard with a contemplative look on her face. "The city down there doesn't look like it's gone through a terrible ordeal," she continued, referring to Kamille's overview concerning the hardships forced onto the people of Harvest. "It appears to be thriving." She then turned to Kamille, her eyes penetrating. "It just goes to show, that no matter how many times people get knocked down, they'll keep picking themselves up. Its Human nature, isn't it?"

Kamille didn't answer her, but he most certainly agreed. His eidetic memory is both a gift and a curse, as he can't forget some memories even if he wanted to; as such, Kamille could remember every single time, throughout his childhood and teen years, when that man forced him down to his knees and tried to keep him there, but Kamille always got up, stood tall and proud, and soldiered on.

He felt the shuttle decelerate and saw Harvests Colonial Militia Base, where he'll be stationed for the next six months, and Kamille couldn't shake off the impression that the base was the size of a small city, with its hundreds of buildings, hangars and depots. Roads ran throughout, like a spider's web connecting everything together, and in front of them was an airfield, with several long runways and a tall control tower hanging above, keeping watch over everything. The shuttle slowed, hovered above the landing pad, and lowered itself down; the light above the rear hatch changed from red to green, and the hatch opened, cold air seeping in and cutting him right down to the bone.

"Well, end of the line." said Dieter bracingly, as she freed her shoulders from the restraints; Kamille followed her example, and lined up outside the shuttle with Dieter and the other greenhorns from Onyx. The Army transfers also joined them, forming several rows of six, and began to wait; meanwhile, another group of soldiers filed into the shuttle, which then closed its hatch and lifted off, rising up into the air as it returned to space. For now, they simply needed to wait for someone to come along and point them in the direction of their accommodations, and their commanding officers, who'll then brief them. Some of the transfers began to talk among themselves.

"Jesus fucking Christ almighty, it's freezing!" exclaimed Private Brannagh Hickey, rubbing her bare arms, cold air puffing out of her mouth. "Can't they be a little compassionate and show us newbies some mercy by hurrying the fuck up?"

Private Diego Bautista narrowed his eyes disapprovingly at her, his left hand fiddling with his dog tags, chained around his neck. "Don't use such foul language, please! It's unbecoming."

Hickey then turned to stare incredulously at Bautista, as though she couldn't believe that she was being mildly reproached for such a trivial thing. "I'll fucking talk however I fucking want so fucking deal with it you mild-mannered fuck-tard!" She then glanced at the chain around his neck and noticed that, in addition to his dog tags, there was a crucifix. She then smirked mockingly. "Oh, you're a Catholic, aren't ya? Isn't your religion supposed to be dead as of three-hundred years ago?"

Bautista rolled his eyes. "No religion can truly die so long as there are people to practice it. Catholicism may be limited to a few frontier colonies, but it is hardly dead."

Hickey rolled her eyes. "Whatever. You can believe and worship whatever the fuck you want, just don't go telling me what I can or cannot say. It'll be easier for the both of us."

"I don't like your potty mouth much either, to be honest," Private Angus Collins stated rather pompously, his strange accent startling Hickey and Bautista, both.

"What the fuck is with that shitty accent?" asked Hickey derisively, pinning Collins down with her scornful gaze. "Is that for real?"

Collins sighed, and spoke again in his uptight, pompous voice. "It's a Britannian accent and it's quite common, believe it or not. And don't change the subject: I quite agree with Bautista, that your language is unacceptable. Together, we overrule you."

"It doesn't work like that," Kamille butted in, gaining the threesome's attention, Hickey doing a double-take when she looked at him long and hard. "This isn't a democracy. It's up to our Commanding Officer to decide what appropriate language is, and if he or she decides that it's fine to cuss up a storm, then there's nothing you can do about it."

"Huh," muttered Hickey loudly, hand on her chin, staring quizzically at Kamille. "Your name is Soran, right?" At his nod, she continued. "So, are you a guy? Or a you a woman with a flat chest and a deep voice?"

Kamille blushed, his teeth gritting and face twitching as Collins and Bautista sniggered at him. "I am a man," he replied stiffly, glaring at Hickey. "I am a very manly man who can bench press one-hundred and twenty kilos, sprint at twenty-eight kilometres an hour, and can shoot a man dead from two-hundred meters away." Kamille then relaxed a little and exhaled. "And that's the last time I side with you, Hickey."

For once, Hickey appeared to be mollified. Really, Kamille couldn't blame her for mistaking him for a girl; with his slim but muscular body, short stature, shoulder-length golden-blonde hair, sapphire-blue eyes, and effeminate face, it's inevitable that new acquaintances would mistake him for a girl. Honestly, Kamille ought to be used to it by now. It's been this way for his whole life, from childhood to high school and then boot camp.

But, his androgynous appearance isn't the only thing that galls him, but it's his name as well.

Seriously, what the hell were his parents thinking, calling him Kamille?

"Atten-Hut!"

Immediately, Kamille and the others stood at attention, as a Lieutenant and Sergeant walked up to them; after a quick introduction, Kamille and the greenhorns were shown to their accommodations. After that, they were introduced to their Commanding Officer, and the rest of the squad.

Lieutenant Alfred Winchester is a man in his late forties, with a medium build and height, a long face hazel-brown eyes, and brown hair with streaks of white. Just by looking at his weathered face, Kamille knew that he was a veteran, having spent years, no, decades, in combat.

Sergeant Mulan Cheng is the squad's second-in-command, and she was very tall and muscular for a woman; at least, Kamille thought she was a woman. If she were, than she was a most massive gorilla of a woman, hailing from the ancient tribe of amazon warriors. Kamille wouldn't be at all surprised if he were to witness the Sarge taking apart a tank with her bare hands. Once he got past her intimidating appearance, Kamille noticed that she has a round, hard face, sallow skin, almond eyes, and a scar running down her jaw.

All his life, Kamille had cursed his androgyny, but that was before he met Sergeant Mulan Cheng.

Corporal Emil Anders is in his late, with a well-formed head, an oval face with a dark complexion, black eyes, medium build, and is rather handsome. He gives off an air of being stern and competent.

And finally, there is Corporal Chani Bari, a woman in her mid-twenties, lightly built and standing at average height; she has light-brown skin, shoulder-length black hair, and pale blue-eyes. Like Corporal Anders, she appeared to be competent and professional, but unlike him, she seems more relaxed and friendly.

Lieutenant Winchester. Sergeant Cheng. Corporals Anders and Bari. Privates Soran, Dieter, Collins, Hickey, Bautista, and Djinba. All one squad, one happy family.

Lieutenant Winchester stepped forward to address them, Kamille and the others standing stiffly at attention. "All right, kids, welcome to 431-Delta Squad, of the UNSC Army Rangers 108th Regiment." Unlike the sharp whip-crack voice of the Drill Instructor from Onyx, the Lieutenant spoke softly, and yet it had the same paralyzing effect on Kamille, who couldn't, wouldn't, relax in his presence. "For the next six months, you'll be under my command, and your lives will be my responsibility. You may be greenhorns, but follow my lead, and Sergeant Cheng's, and we'll mold you into the finest soldiers in the galaxy; you think boot camp was tough? You have no clue. Harvest, on average, experiences nearly seven pirate raids a year, as it's so far from the UEGs central authority, the pirates see it as an easy target. And with the UNSC Fleet stretched thin throughout the Outer Colonies, they can't post a permanent battle-group in-system. When the pirates come, and they will come, you will experience your first taste of combat, as it will fall to us to defend this colony, and its people, with our very lives.

"However, no matter how tough things get from this point, always remember: you volunteered to be Rangers, knowing full well the hazards. You will always endeavor to uphold the prestige, honor and spirit of the Ranger Regiment. As a Ranger, you have acknowledged the fact that you are an elite soldier who arrives at the very cutting edge of battle, by land, sea, air, or space. Never shall you fail your comrades; you will always keep yourselves mentally alert, physically strong, and morally straight. Gallantly will you show the galaxy that you are a specially selected and well-trained soldier. Energetically, will you meet the enemies of the UNSC; you shall defeat them on the field of battle, for you are better trained and will fight with all your might. Surrender, is a word that is not in your vocabulary, and never will you leave a fallen comrade behind. Readily will you display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the Ranger's objective and complete the mission, even though you may be the lone survivor.

"We are Rangers; we lead the way," the Lieutenant surveyed Kamille and the greenhorns with a critical eye. "Do you get me?!"

"Sir, yes sir!"

The Lieutenant smiled, satisfied with their response.

"Welcome to Harvest."


Author's Note.

There's the second chapter, and not much in the way of action; it's just meant to introduce the main character, Kamille Soran, who is like a cross between Kamille Bidan (from Zeta Gundam), Mello (from Death Note), and Damon Baird (from Gears of War). I wasn't clear about his age, so know that he, and all the other greenhorns, are nineteen years of age. The cool thing about my character is that he's a history buff, so he can provide exposition to the other characters and the audience on certain changes to the Universe caused by the Insurrection running its course.

When choosing the squad, I needed to take certain things into consideration: that in the very distant future, the UNSC would be, to my mind, highly unisex, with an equal distribution of Males and Females in the ranks. There's also an abundance of different ethnic groups through the ranks, because the UNSC recruits form all Humans, and they don't segregate by race or sex. So, basically, I've got german, british, irish, aboriginal, chinese, arabic, european and hispanic in the squad; the whole nine yards. It's the same with the multi-racial crew of the Bam! Let me know of what you think of this.

Originally, after meeting with the CO, there was going to be a number of scenes describing the routine and their lives on-base, while providing an overview on the characters and their personalities. But then I thought, why tell, when I can show. I have plenty of time in the rest of the story to display the unique personalities of my characters, rather than just dispassionately describe them. Let their personalities show through their actions and whatnot.

I'm not sure exactly how frequently I'm gonna update; either weekly, or fortnightly, or maybe eve monthly, depending on how busy I am, or how much I'm gonna drag my feet. I do that sometimes. There won't be much action in the next chapter, as that is also set up, depicting the arrival of the Pacification Fleet in Epsilon Indi; expect much egg-on-face for Vice Admiral Viktor Cassius, as he realizes he was wrong in his assumptions about the Humans.

Anyway, read and review, and so long and thanks for all the fish!