Chapter 2

November 11, 2552, 0700 Hours, CSS-class Battlecruiser Furious Redemption, in orbit over planet Mars

"There was an attack on our compound," Mygaeum whispered in Lepidus' ear as the shipmaster settled into his seat. "It appears as if at least one of the human prisoners escaped."

The burly, black furred Brute shrugged his shoulders apathetically. "It is of no matter, my friend, we have what we need and soon none will be able to touch us. When we acquire the Key we will dictate our destiny."

The chieftain's clansman smiled and nodded his shaggy head enthusiastically.

Secretly the cagey Jiralhanae shipmaster was livid at the report but his tactical mind kept him from showing it. His rival Castor was now discredited for his failures against the human defenders allowing him to be elevated to a place of prominence in the Prophet of Truth's command structure. More importantly, his own initial alignment with the Prophet of Regret seemed to be forgotten by the arrogant San'Shyuum. Truth's belief that he had absolute control and loyalty from all those in his command would be his undoing once the ambitious Brute recovered this powerful artefact. He cared nothing for the gods since he believed they cared nothing for him but if projected devotion would put him in a place of control he could be as devote as the next.

No, he wasn't going to allow the inconvenience of one last, desperate, human action take from the moment. Not when he was this close to achieving total power.

"Brothers," Lepidus stood up and roared to those on the command deck of his ship, "we head for Earth to claim our prize and then these usurpers will be ground under our feet! Take us out of orbit."

The Brutes on the command deck roared in approval at the anticipation of the coming fight.

"Shipmaster!" a sensor operator yelled urgently to be heard above the din, "a vessel has just come out of slipspace."

"Hostile intent?" Lepidus asked, his purple command armor catching the light as he turned, suddenly on edge.

"Negative," the operator confirmed, "CCS-Class Battlecruiser. Identification ping places it as the Harbinger of Piety."

What now? The Brute chieftain said to himself in frustration while externally keeping his face an impassive mask.

"It's hailing us, sir," the operator reported.

Very well, hold orbit, let's see what they want," Lepidus ordered, the exasperation thick in his voice. "On screen."

An imperious looking San'Shyuum wearing purple robes came onto the main view screen. "I am the Minister of Inquisition," the prophet declared, his purple features matching his robes. "Of whom am I speaking?"

"Shipmaster Lepidus, excellency," the Brute chieftain answered, swearing under his breath as he feared where this was heading.

"I understand you have information about the whereabouts of a sacred relic, I want to know what you have learned," Inquisition asked with a smug look.

Lepidus swore again. "With respect, excellency, the matter is already in action. We are about to leave to the human home planet under the order of the Prophet of Truth."

"Well plans have changed, shipmaster. The High Prophet has moved on to other matters. I'm taking this over. So, I wish to interrogate and make inquiries of my own."

"But excellency," Lepidus tried to be diplomatic, vowing to find and kill the person who leaked that information, "time is of the essence, the humans are off balance and need only…"

"Immaterial," the San'Shyuum cut him off. "There is no need for haste here, shipmaster. Prepare to receive me; I'm coming to your ship to take charge."

The screen went dead and a stunned silence fell over the bridge, the previous elation totally gone.

"What do we do now?" Mygaeum asked, his red eyes flashing in frustration.

Lepidus placed his chin in his massive paws, trying to will the anger down so he would not appear out of control of his emotions. "We wait for our opportunity," he said trying to be as calm as he could.

"Those damned Prophets and their interference!" the second-in-command of the pack exploded.

"Peace Mygaeum," Lepidus counselled, allowing his anger to bleed away through his colleague. "The winds of change are still blowing. We just need to wait for the right opportunity. The time of the Jiralhanae is still at hand."

November 11, 2552, 1610 Hours, Upstate New York, United States, planet Earth

Everything tasted like sawdust to Spanner Misriah and it wasn't the fact he continued to be sequestered in his personal bunker. He had every luxury available to him and a personal chef to prepare whatever his fancy dictated. Yet the finest, most choice meat was gristle that stuck in the back of his throat. Despite his wealth and power nothing had meaning to him anymore. The Commerce Department continued their inquiry into his business operations of late but they could do their investigation, they could fine him, he no longer cared. Nothing had value to the no-longer focused businessman anymore. Too late did he realize where his true wealth lay.

He'd give it all away for another chance to make things right with his daughter Natalia.

The troubled father kept playing over and over again in his mind their last conversation.

"I'm staying here and doing my job," his daughter had stated firmly when he'd been expecting her to be on an ONI transport off Mars. "I want you to promise me you won't interfere."

Cold fear had gripped Spanner Misriah. He knew the force of the Covenant attack and the fall of Reach was on his mind

"Promise me dad!" Natalia had demanded, raising her voice in a way she'd never done before.

He hadn't known what to do so the line had gone silent. The powerful industrialist had been briefed in on Mars plus on the building attack on Earth. Desperately he wanted his daughter by his side, to protect her, but he knew he couldn't. It was time to finally let her go. "Okay, I promise you," he'd quietly said, still hearing his voice choking slightly.

"Thanks Dad," Natalia had answered, deeply touch by the gesture and sentiment attached.

"Natalia…"

"Yes dad?"

"I love you," Spanner had declared openly and to his beloved daughter for the first time in years, as his eyes filled with tears.

"I love you too," she'd responded and it was obvious from her tone it had touched her deeply and then the conversation ended.

Why hadn't I told her that every day? He thought to himself. But he knew why. Power, influence and privilege had been his love. It had killed his marriage and kept him from his daughter.

Why?

Natalia was dead and there was nothing he could do about it. For the first time in his life he couldn't buy or talk his way out of a situation. There was a finality to this that at first had made him very angry so he'd lashed out at everyone around him but now he felt a profound sadness he hadn't experienced. Too late he'd realized where his true wealth lay and it wasn't in his military industrial empire, Misriah Armory, it was in his daughter Natalia.

When the head-strong and precious woman had returned from Reach she was a different person. Too late he'd realized that. He'd arranged through the Office of Naval Intelligence to have her extracted from the planet when it had come under surprise attack by the Covenant. She'd been there as part of the famed Spartan group Noble Team to gain experience and if he was honest, bragging rights. He'd arranged everything right down to the custom, power-assisted Mjolnir armor.

But then the Covenant had attacked.

Natalia's life had been saved by a Spartan who was part of the team and the two had developed some form of relationship. This was unacceptable to Spanner Misriah. No daughter of his was going to be involved with some soldier, and especially one that had gone through augmentation. It was not just prejudice that spoke but a cold practicality. There was no profit in her being involved with a Spartan.

No profit.

The words burned in his mind and the heart-broken man couldn't bear to look at himself in the mirror.

Natalia had tried to explain, had tried to show him how she'd changed but he wouldn't accept it. He, her father, had instead pushed her towards Mackenzie Wainwright, an ambitious senior executive within his business empire. That had turned out disastrous which only led to more problems with Natalia. After a drunken brawl in a Melbourne nightclub she'd been reassigned to Mars by the head of ONI, Admiral Margaret Parangosky. There his daughter had begun a tour of military production facilities checking their operational efficiency. It had been a total make-work project and would have been fine if he hadn't been moving production from the planet in anticipation of attack and in defiance of the terms of his contract with the United Earth Government and UNSC which she had likely discovered.

None of that mattered when the Covenant attacked and conquered Mars.

This time there would be no extraction and she was now dead. Spanner Misriah buried his face in his hands and felt his body begin to convulse involuntarily. Too late had he been to save his marriage and now too late did he realize the precious gift of his daughter. He cursed God that he hadn't had more time, that he hadn't made things right, that he'd never truly listened to his daughter, but in his heart he knew it was his fault. He'd been too busy, too focused, too proud. And now it was too late. He cursed instead the choices he'd made and the fact that he didn't have another chance to see where his wealth truly lay and make different choices.

Spanner Misriah sat with face in his hands for how long he didn't know. No one disturbed him for none wanted to face his wrath and if he was honest none likely cared enough about him to sit with him anyways. To his employees the billionaire was only a paycheck. He truly had no one.

Spanner's communications device warbled, reminding him life was still going on.

Few had the private man's personal number so that stirred him from the growing lethargy consuming him. Absently grabbing it Spanner looked at the number and didn't recognize it. He could see it was a relayed off-planet call but his foggy mind couldn't make it out. His first instinct told him to ignore it but something said he shouldn't.

"Hello?" he answered dully.

"Daddy? It's me, Tali. We're coming home."

"Natalia!" Spanner Misriah shouted into the device, suddenly awake and aware as if he'd been hit by an electroshock. "Tali, is that really you? Where are you?" he practically screamed.

"I'm alive…I'm okay," Natalia confirmed, alive as he was. "I thought I was…."

Then the line went dead.

Spanner Misriah let rip a primal scream that had come from the depths of his soul. Far from rage at losing the call, it was a joy he didn't know existed. Natalia was alive, he had another chance.

"Two bodyguards from his close protection detail burst into the room, weapons drawn, expecting the worst.

"Sir?" the leader asked confusion on his tough face.

"I'm fine, get out," Spanner ordered, waving them away.

As the pair of former ODSTs left without question, he called out, "Niccolo?"

"Yes, my lord," Spanner Misriah's Smart AI answered appearing on his desk in an avatar of a Renaissance-era gentleman.

"Scan for inbound transport ships from Mars and determine likely place of landing," Spanner ordered, no longer trying subterfuge like he'd done in the past with the AI. He wouldn't hold things like this back anymore.

While it took only a few seconds for the AI it felt like an eternity for the elated father.

"All refugees and equipment from Mars seem to be landing at the New York City Space Port due to the problems in Africa and Asia currently," Niccolo reported.

Spanner Misriah let out another primal yell of elation that even caught the Smart AI off guard.

"My lord, are you well?" the Smart AI asked, confusion etching his face. "Should I call for your physician?"

"No, I'm fine," Spanner answered, a broad smile filling his usually creased face. "Incredible, in fact. What is ETA for docking of the last batch?"

"Well, based on when the message was received and from the fact your daughter was likely on one of the last transports off planet, estimate would be fourteen point two five hours on sublight engines."

The statement caught the calculating industrialist off guard but he tabled the thought, just happy Natalia was alive and he'd have another chance.

"Ms. Crossway," Spanner called for his executive assistant.

"Yes sir, what can I do for you?" Nancy Crossway asked as she entered the opulent office. The middle-aged woman had worked from him for eight years and while petite she had a fiery personality and feared reputation as one who fiercely protected her boss. The woman had heard the shouts so was concerned but knew to wait so was happy for the look of joy on her boss' face. While most feared or didn't like Spanner Misriah she had a protective, maternal affection for him which extended to his daughter Natalia.

"We're heading for the city. We need to be ready to relocate within in two hours," Spanner ordered.

"What about the Industrial Council meeting coming up, won't that interfere?" Nancy asked the question that needed to be stated.

"They can wait," the billionaire growled. "I do nothing until I've seen Natalia."

"Natalia's alive?" Nancy asked incredulously, her heart coming up into her mouth. "But how?"

"I don't know, there's time to find that out later. Right now everything goes on hold until I see her."

"As you wish," the efficient executive assistant responded as it was not her job to question, but yet her own face displayed the joy she felt in her heart at the welcome news, "and might I add, I'm glad she's alive."

"Thank you," Spanner Misriah answered quietly, touched by the obvious concern and now joy his assistant had openly displayed despite how he'd treated her in the past.

For her part Nancy could swear there were tears in his eyes. "I am too, more than I've ever been in my life."

November 11, 2552, 1612 Hours, UNSC HIGHCOM Facility Bravo-6, Sydney, Australia, Planet Earth

Admiral Margaret Parangosky looked up from her mug of steaming Jamaica Black coffee as her aide Captain Serin Osman walked in without appointment. The observant head of the Office of Naval Intelligence could tell something was amiss by the tight look on the woman's face. The always-scheming and powerful head of ONI had been looking at after-action reports from Mars and readiness states for the defense of Earth, things that really didn't interest her, so she hoped there would be something coming that would stimulate her intellect.

"What is it, Serin?" Parangosky asked as her aide reached her large, polished desk.

"Ma'am, I've just gotten some late evac reports from Mars," Osman began, frown on her face, "on it was Mike-B312 and Natalia Misriah."

"Impossible!" Parangosky exploded, coming forward in her leather chair. "She was confirmed KIA."

Serin Osman involuntarily pulled back despite towering over the frail looking elderly woman at six foot three. "Apparently not, she's on the final list off planet and has…"

"Black Box," Parangosky cut off her aide and protégé.

"Here, admiral," the Smart AI who took the form of a featureless blue-lit cube rather than any human avatar appeared above the desk.

"Yes, the captain is correct in her information," the AI confirmed in a somewhat oily voice.

"And how did we not know about this?" the admiral asked, irritation growing to rage. "And more importantly how did you not know about this?"

"Admiral," Black Box responded with a huff, "even I can't access information and feeds that don't exist. The whole comms grid went down and the Brutes use very little electronic communications."

"Fine," Parangosky shot back, "then why am I hearing this from Serin and not you?"

"Because Admiral you had tasked me to other things," the Artificial Intelligence designated BBX-8995-1 responded with more personality than he liked to admit. "The Natalia Misriah file was closed by you."

"Dammit!" the admiral exploded anew, leaping from her desk, causing Osman and even Black Box to pull back. Osman in particular could never recall a time hearing her boss swear like that, always priding herself as one in control.

For her part, Margaret Parangosky chided herself for the emotional outburst but even for her this was becoming a stressful time with Mars falling and Earth already under invasion. The fear that Australia, and Sydney in particular as the headquarters of the United Earth Government, was under imminent threat was wearing her down.

"Okay," the admiral declared, running a hand over her pulled back white hair, "then tell me what you do know."

"Very well," Black Box countered, obvious irritation at the admiral's tone, "we know Misriah was part of Colonel Ackerson's convoy that was overrun by the Covenant and none escaped."

"And what is Ackerson's status?" Parangosky asked pointedly, looking hard at the AI and her aide as if expecting bad news. The scheming woman was still angry at the UNSC Army officer who had thwarted her plans for Mike by grabbing him for a new Spartan team to replace Noble Team.

"His status has not changed. He has been listed as MIA and presumed dead," Black Box confirmed.

"At least some good news," Parangosky breathed out. "Continue."

"Nothing is confirmed because this is still a fluid situation," the AI began, "but based on signals traffic it appears Mike-B312 defied an evacuation order and went with his team to rescue her from a Covenant holding facility. They got out on the last transport off planet."

Despite having no love for Natalia Misriah, Serin Osman couldn't help but smile at the audacity of the Spartan's action. The failed Spartan II was rewarded with a withering look from the admiral.

Parangosky took a moment to absorb the information, rubbing her temples with her fingers. "So there was an evacuation order that he defied?"

"Yes, admiral."

"And do we know what his evac destination is?"

"Yes, admiral," Black Box confirmed, "they are on approach even now to the New York Space Port."

"Who was the planetary commander on Mars?" Parangosky asked, wheels already turning.

"General Phil Sheridan, ma'am," Osman reported, anticipating the question.

"Very well. What a joy that dear Natalia is coming home to daddy," Parangosky stated bitterly, "and the Lone Wolf comes to Earth. So be it, I know how to handle this."