Chapter 2. The Hunted becomes the Hunters
ONI CYCLOPS Base, Planet Quelt, December 14th, 2547.
"Baseplate, this is Kilo-Six-Four reporting in. Everything's quiet here. Requesting new directive."
"That's a negative Six-Four. ONI wants all Egret Units in the air until we can be certain that Sector 4 is clear."
"Copy that. Kilo-Six-Four out."
Mic operator Steven Bates snapped off his headset and took a sip of his iced coffee. He ran his fingers through his sandy blonde hair and let out a deep sigh. It had been a long week and Steven had been looking forward to using his final vacation days. Unfortunately, since ONI had become increasingly paranoid about the Insurrection, his shifts had become longer and his patience was beginning to dwindle.
Now, he sat glued to his monitors, watching the darkness of the coming night engulf the rocky shorelines of Quelt's Hyaline Coast. It was Stephen and the crew of ONI CYCLOPS base to monitor these shores, and make sure the Insurrection was kept under a constant vigil. Using the UNSC's speedy recon planes, called Egrets, CYCLOPS Base had access to constant visuals of sensitive areas. Steven enjoyed having this eye in the sky. It gave him a feeling of omnipresence, a feeling of power far greater than himself.
"All units, this is Baseplate. We need all Egret Units to do one more sweep of Sectors 3, 4 and 8. Do you copy?" he said. Five copies came in. Odd, he thought, one short.
"Kilo Six-Four, do you copy?" he said, frantically scanning his monitors for Kilo-Six-Four's feed. The holo-screen showed a small power plant nestled in the cliffs off Quelt's Crimson Sea.
Something was wrong. Steven could clearly see that Kilo-Six-Four's camera wasn't moving. A few thin shadows moved to the left of the camera, the image blurred by dirt on the lens. He could see a light emanating from the right side of the lens, but it was probably the vehicles light beacons.
He switched his microphone channel to Colonel Frederick Brightly. Brightly was the current ONI Intelligence officer working at CYCLOPS Base. He was a short, plump man with rosy cheeks and a short temper. Steven gave him some credit though. He ran a tight ship and, in the 3 months under his command, CYCLOPS was running at peak efficiency.
"Sir? There's a problem with one of the Egret feeds. Six-Four's camera is off."
"What do you mean, off?" Brightly shot back. Steven had forgotten that Brightly was defensive of his hardware. He had every right to after all; he designed them himself. When Brightly had taken the reigns at CYCLOPS, he had forgone the holo-screens and data pads that he was trained with for the more ancient physical monitors. Steven could only imagine why. The Egrets, the monitors, the feeds, had all been of Brightly's design. The man was brilliant; there was no denying that.
"The cams aren't moving. It's like the Egret landed."
"Did it ever occur to you," he said in his usually mixture of sarcasm and anger, "that maybe the Egret actually DID land? Now please, just get back to your monitors."
"Sorry sir." Steven said, humiliated. He slumped back in his swivel chair and tapped his pen on his desk. The only noise in the room was the subtle buzzing of the computer monitors.
Stephen sat alone thinking of his vacation, his family, and a tall pint of beer. He was happy; content with the course his life was taking. Just as he had slipped into a world outside of the iron parameters of his office, the fluorescent lights overhead flickered and went out. His monitors soon followed, flashing first and then going dark. The small room flooded with darkness. Steven opened a drawer under his desk and found a small flashlight and his handgun. A subtle roar rumbled through the hallway as the red backup generators clicked on, bathing his room in a deep crimson hue.
His cellphone rang. He jumped a little, surprised by its animatronic ring-tone.
"Bates."
"Yeah, Bates? This is Cahill from down the hall, did you just lose power?"
"Uh, yeah I did. How are you-"
Stephen's thoughts were interrupted by the clunk of Cahill's microphone falling to the floor. After that, silence. Other than the occasional shuffling on the other end of the line, Stephen could only wait to see what happened. Stephen whispered into the mic several times, but with no response. Finally, a dull rumble shook the compound. On Cahill's end of the line, he heard a loud crash and heavy footsteps. Stephen then heard the most terrifying sound in his life: the grumbling noise of Sangheili warriors. He couldn't understand what they were saying, but an ear-curdling scream that certainly came from Cahill confirmed his suspicions: Cahill was dead, and Stephen was next. He raised his pistol and hid behind his desk, looking fixedly at the door. The footsteps of a lumbering Sangheili commando pierced the tense silence in his small room. Stephen could clearly make out the shadows passing in front of the door. Two sets of feet stopped in front of the door. He held his breath, doing the best he could to control his breathing and make as little noise as he could. His muscles relaxed as the shadows passed.
"Hello?" He said into his emergency radio, "This is Steven Bates from ONI CYCLOPS Base; we've lost primary power and need any response. I have reason to believe that the Covenant has infiltrated the base, is anyone there?"
"Copy, CYCLOPS Base, we read you. We'll get an extraction team to you ASAP," replied the voice of Dennis Ramsey.
Letting out a sigh of relief, he loosened his grip on his pistol and took a few heavy breaths. Something moved outside the door, and three pairs of shadowy feet appeared at the door. A few grumbles caused Stephen to tense again, this time, however, he lost his balance and toppled helplessly to the floor. His pistol clattered to the ground beside him, just out of reach. The door flew off its hinges and a squad of Sangheili warriors burst in. The first pinned Stephen to the ground with a massive pronged foot. The other two turned the room on its ear, smashing the monitors and tearing out the drawers from his desk. Finally, satisfied with the mess they made, the two other left, leaving Stephen alone with the single Sangheili. It drew its Energy Sword. Stephen had never seen the razor sharp blade of superheated plasma in person, only in pictures. As the Elite drew it with a deafening crack, Stephen could feel the intense heat the weapon gave off, nearly burning the skin on his arms. Stephen was doomed; he was staring into the vorpal face of death. He never got a chance to complete his final thoughts, and like that, Stephen Garrison Bates was dead.
UNSC Dangerous Pride, High Orbit above Planet Quelt. December 14th, 2547
The UNSC Flagship Dangerous Pride sat comfortably in high orbit above the shining blue seas of Quelt. The bridge was alive with activity; monitors blinked and radars pinged. Officers scrambled around the room, managing temperature controls and engine function. A few of the ships tacticians huddled around a holographic staging area where the raging and bloody battles happening on the planet's surface were represented as little dots blowing different colored ones. Amidst this chaos, Captain Dennis Ramsey stood with his arms crossed behind his back in front of a whirring display of holo-screens, most displaying various planets dotted with red X's. In the center of the room was a massive display of Quelt and the space around it. A few lights pinged on the map every so often. Ramsey was turned his attention to the model, studying it as though his was looking right through to the planet's core. The doors behind him slid open and two Spartans clad in dark green Armor entered and stood at attention.
"46, 89. Things have changed. ONI has some large shoes to fill."
"And you want us?" asked Spartan-G089. She held her helmet at her side and scratched her short, red hair. The deep blue light of her birthplace, Quelt, transfixed her, the blue sphere hovering before her seemed so close, but she could never touch it. It had been so long since she had been on the planet; she had forgotten where she had lived, and the feeling of mud beneath her feet.
"Precisely. As you are well aware ONI has become increasingly worried about the recent Covenant activities on Reach, Onyx, and Quelt. As you also are well aware, every Spartan III from Alpha company was killed in Operation: PROMETHEUS. That however isn't really true. Several of them were removed before the operation. You would know about that, wouldn't you Charlotte?"
Violet-G089 looked at the woman next to her. Charlotte was staring intently at Captain Ramsey's boots. Her green eyes shone in the blinking monitors.
"You?" Violet said, pointing an inquisitive finger at the figure on her left.
"Charlotte was removed just before the op. Ackerson viewed her as... different than others."
"Different, sir?"
Charlotte extended a hand in front of Violet. She noticed her wrist, above a small mounted GPS unit was a row of faint white scratch marks. A tally. Of what, Violet couldn't be sure.
"Were you ever briefed on the Cameron Protocol?"
"No. I mean…I've heard things but-"
"The Cameron Protocol was a declaration of total war. No mercy towards the Covenant. So, the UNSC took advantage of this and formed what they called "Headhunter Units": hyper-lethal vectors capable of untold destruction. We would go out for months, deep behind the Covenant Lines, wreaking havoc in anyway we saw fit."
"I've heard of those. There where a few of them, teams of two right?"
"Yes. There where 26 of us, assigned to 12 teams. Most of us were there because we didn't 'play well with others.' At least, that's what Colonel Ackerson told us. I was in Whiskey Team-" her voice faltered, "Whiskey Team. We were an asset detainment and elimination unit. Stanford and I. Those were different times." Charlotte spoke in fragmented sentences, halting in mid-sentence to collect herself. Violet could tell that this was a touchy subject.
"Anyway," interrupted Ramsey, "If you haven't already guessed, ONI is trying to reform these teams, and we need you two. We need a team with your unique... skills." He said, nodding to Violet. She shifted a little and joined Charlotte in staring at Ramsey's boots.
"Now," he said, " as for your first assignment, a few hours ago, an Egret Studies and Observation craft spotted possible Insurrection targets at the Kymygnar Power Plant on the Hyaline Coast. However, we believe that this 'Insurrection activity' is Covenant, under the guise of the local rebels. It recorded this before going down over the power plant." Ramsey pointed to the large projector in the middle of the floor. A blurry scene came into focus. The Spartans could clearly make out movement on the ground, and the familiar blue sheens of Covenant weaponry. It looked like the figures where loading the weapons into service vehicles, trying to smuggle them into Quelt's DMZ.
"So, ONI wants you two to investigate and recover the NAV module, Camera equipment, and internal memory units."
"We're doing errands for ONI now? Should I start pressing your uniform, sir?" Violet said. She instantly wished she hadn't. Ramsey shot her a look of extreme irritation, his face frozen in a scowl. She looked straight down at her boots and scratched her head again.
"Anyway," he continued as though he hadn't heard what she said, " There's someone I want you to meet."
Ramsey muttered something into the microphone in his collar and returned to his holo-screens. The two Spartans exchanged confused glances as a rather flustered woman in a lab coat entered the room clutching a clipboard overflowing with charts and memos. Her brown hair was done up in a messy bun and her bangs covered her grey eyes.
"Sir!" she said saluting with her free hand. Ramsey, still fixated on his holo-screen, simply raised his hand to dismiss the woman.
"At ease. 46, 89, this is Dr. Sarah Westerly; our resident genetic analyst."
"A genetic analyst sir? Why would we need one of those?" Charlotte asked.
"Charlotte," Westerly said, folding her bangs behind her ear and adjusting her glasses, "Did it ever occur to you what the Covenant would want with DelMargio? What possible reasons the Covenant could have had for invading a fishing port in Quelt's poorest quarter? It's pretty simple actually: bacteria.
"We believe that the Covenant is interested in a particular bacteria that lives inside the local fish population. They must have already extracted the bacteria and tried to dispose of the evidence with that explosion. The bacteria have been documented dozens of time by wildlife biologists, but no research was ever done on their findings. I've been sifting through reports for hours."
"What do they need this bacteria for?" asked Violet. She had stopped staring at her boots long enough to join the conversation.
"We can't be sure. But that is where ONI needs your help. We need you two to find out." With that, Westerly saluted Ramsey and left the room in the same fashion she entered.
Ramsey's back was still turned to the Spartans. Charlotte could see that his dark hair was starting to grey. Ramsey was only 35, and Charlotte had thought that this was related to the stresses of fighting a war, but his hair was visibly grayer then the last time they had seen each other.
"I-I don't know about this, these Headhunter units. What about Silver Team? Are they being reassigned?"
"Hmmm?" he said turning around, "I admire your dedication to your squad mates. Yes, yes. Silver team is enroute as we speak to deal with an Insurrectionist uprising in New Verdania. But ONI has assure us that your safety is of the upmost-"
"-Sir, we're not stupid." Charlotte interrupted, "We know that these Headhunter units are suicide squads. You're giving us a death sentence. I've seen the reports. 100% casualty rates, ambushes, and likely capture. We were lucky we only lost one… "
Ramsey turned his head to the side and stared out of the large panoramic window in front of him. The planet loomed outside and the dark white fluffy clouds over the deep blue seas. It looked so calm, so peaceful; a sharp contrast to the tension in the bridge. Ramsey raised a hand to his chin, as if he was thinking carefully about what words he was to use next. However, it seemed that this was not the case.
"With all due respect Charlotte, you were given a death sentence quite some time ago. Spartan III's were designed as expendable soldiers in the first place. Spartans come and go, Lieutenant. That's a fact." He said sternly.
Charlotte had thought about that before, but hearing the painful truth from Ramsey felt different. The way it casually rolled off his tongue bothered her. He almost seemed smug about, as if he would throw away thousands of Spartans before even one insignificant inch of land was taken. Charlotte had heard the rumors, but she still had faith in her higher ups, until now. She couldn't see Ramsey's face, but she was sure there wouldn't be an ounce of guilt or empathy on it.
"You have your orders. Now leave." He finished. He raised his hand and the metallic doors behind the slid open. Violet lowered her head and slowly stepped out of the room, snapping her helmet in place. Charlotte stayed behind, her face frozen in an expression of anger and disbelief.
Violet continued walking down the narrow corridors of the