Disclaimer: Given that I've put the same disclaimer in front of every chapter, I think you all get the idea by now.

To That Tekka Guy: Thanks for the review. I will admit I wasn't overly confident that this story would turn out as well as it has so far.

Part of the reason why I started writing this is because of the same reason you weren't hopeful that this would be any good, I got frustrated at not being able to find any good fics with a similar setting to this.

To ariel storm cloud: Thank you.

To Gatemaster: Thanks. Glad to see some of the more jaded readers on this site seem to be enjoying the fruits of my labour.

To UNSC ODST: Thank you for your continuing support. Glad you liked the bit with the Instacrete, I was trying to think of a unique way of getting rid of the aliens when it just suddenly came to me out of nowhere. Should have Star Wars in the story soon, I hope. Asgard either next chapter or the one after.

To He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Lame: Seriously awesome reviews. Very informative and long enough to be stories themselves, lol. Keep 'em comin'. And yes, there will still be some Babylon 5 elements in here, but I'm still thinking of a feasible way of bringing in the Minbari, Shadows/Vorlons and maybe some of the younger races (Abbai/Brakiri/Hyach etc).

To Life of Nemo: Exactly what I was going for. I wanted Earth to be able to defend themselves and also take the fight to the Goa'uld, but I also didn't want them to just crush the Goa'uld underfoot with huge numbers or outrageous tech. There's some more on the Tok'ra in this chapter, although not much, and I'll be trickling in more info as the story progresses.

As for the race on Mars, you'll just have to wait and see. About the Asgard/ Replicator war. Hasn't happened (yet) in this timeline, hence why the Asgard are still around. They haven't found a 'cure' to their stagnating genes yet, not sure if they will either, but they have been able to slow it down considerably more so than in the series.

To heyster1: Yeah, I think I read that story too, damned if I can remember the name of it though, will have to see if I can find it again. Don't worry, I have no intentions of letting this story die.

To WBH21C: Thanks again for your support.

Thanks again to you all, I'll try and keep the story consistently entertaining, and should hopefully have a new chapter ready soon. Also, I've been thinking about writing a prequel to this that deals with the Alkaid Wars and with Anubis' rise to power while the System Lords are dealing with the remainder of the Wraith fleet I mentioned, so let me know what you think about that and if I get a good enough response I'll start planning it out.

Once more, I must recommend reading Halo: The Intergalactic Wars by Bien-128, its turning into a really great story and I'd hate for him to discontinue it because he isn't getting enough reviews. Seriously, check it out, you won't regret it.

There is a forum on this story where you can talk about it, and help give me ideas and what-not, its been up for awhile, I just forgot to let people know, so take a look at that if you're interest. Its under the Misc/TV X-Overs forums section.

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March, 2187

Magna Carne (AKA 'First City'), Capital of Eden Prime

Remains of Carly's Café

Hunkered down in what was left of a café he had frequented on his morning commute to work, Michael Cortez clutched his pilfered LAR-90 laser rifle and stared wide-eyed out at the streets, ever on the look-out for danger. K'Ton shuffled around behind him, in a fitful sleep, and the soft sounds of the half-dozen civilians huddled together upstairs, terrified, reached his ears.

One of the three Marines remaining from his original guard detail of eight muttered quietly to himself as he cleaned his rail gun, a frown etched into his grizzled features. They had made it barely two kilometres from Assaultech HQ before being ambushed by vanguard enemy units, and had travelled perhaps another kilometre before coming across two young women, an elderly man, a teenager and twin girls who looked to be about eight or nine years old.

They had lost Peter Smidts along the way, the man being crushed to death under falling debris while he tried to help a pregnant woman navigate the rubble. Cortez was saddened by the loss of his old friend, having shed a few tears, but the pressing matter of the groups survival had forced him to suck it up and move on. He would have to mourn later.

He had found himself puzzled as to how so many people had been missed in the evacuation to the bunkers or the other cities. The Marine Corps and the Eden Planetary Defence Forces had been very thorough in their search for civilians that might have been left behind, and the only reason Cortez could think of that anyone at all was still in the city was if they'd wanted to stay.

It wasn't unheard for people to decline evacuation, even going so far as to avoid military forces so as not to be forced to move on, but it was something Cortez had never understood. If your home is being invaded and you're most likely going to be killed in the fighting, why would you still want to stay?

His thoughts were cut short as he heard a sound he had been praying for since they'd been forced to hide out in the café nearly a day ago, having sat back and watched processions of enemy troops march past them. With the roar of its powerful hydro-fusion engine, a M41A6 MyrmidonMedium Tank rounded the corner some one hundred sixty metres away. The sight was a glorious one for Cortez, before he realized the PDF operated tank was moving in reverse.

With a thunderous crack, the mounted 90mm rail gun sent a hypervelocity slug through the building it had retreated around, the tank then following up with a spray of laser fire from its anti-personnel cannon. How Cortez had missed the sounds of the tanks fighting before it got to where it was, he wasn't sure. It could have had something to do with the non-stop artillery shelling of enemy-occupied areas, or the screaming of over-head aircraft trading fire with one another, or even the distant sounds of small arms fire. Any one - or all - of those could have contributed to him missing the sound of the tank.

It didn't really matter, what mattered was that that tank was their way out of the city, assuming it survived the onslaught of enemy infantry. Cortez raised the rifle in his hands, eyes travelling down the length of the barrel to the fibre optic sight, resting the targeting reticule over the head of one of the Jaffa warriors, and was a hairs-breadth away from pulling the trigger when a gauntleted hand crashed down on the rifle, spoiling his aim.

"What the fuck do you thin you're doing?," the Marine Sergeant hissed, spittle flying from his lips as he bore down on Cortez. K'Ton snapped awake, and immediately upon seeing his friend in apparent trouble, raised the rail pistol he had taken from the corpse of a PDF trooper, aiming at the Sergeants back.

"If we can keep that tank from being destroyed or disabled, it'll be our ticket out of here," Cortez answered, staring daggers into the other mans face and waving away K'Ton. The Tau nodded, but continued aiming his weapon at the Sergeant. "Think about it, Sergeant. With that tank escorting us out, we'll have the firepower and mobility to cut through anything that tries to stop us. But if it gets overwhelmed and swarmed by those bastards now, we'll have lost our best chance of getting out of the city and to the mountain bunkers in one piece."

The Sergeant's youthful features contorted into a grimace as he relented. He too would rather make sure the tank survived so they could get a decent escort out of the city. The Light Strike Vehicle the Marines had arrived at Assaultech HQ in had suffered enough damage from debris during the two orbital bombardments of the city to make it un-driveable.

"Alright, fine," the Sergeant muttered, then spoke into his squad-link. "Carson, give that Myrmy some sniper cover, will ya?"

"What's your name, anyway?," Cortez asked, sighting along his rifle again. The Sergeant shuffled to the windowsill beside him, resting his rail gun on the sill and taking aim himself.

"Randy Peters," the other man answered gruffly. On the floor above, the Marine units sniper, a young, attractive mother-of-two named Sandy Carson, fired her specially designed RSS-66D, a rail gun with an elongated set of rails, a larger power pack, higher calibre rail spikes and a holographic digital scope capable of 180x zoom.

At the other end of the street, one of the charging Jaffa was beheaded by the rail spike, his head disappearing in a fine mist of blood and gore. Another warrior several metres behind the headless corpse had his arm ripped off at the elbow by the same round, less than a thousandth of a second later. Cortez fired a short burst, the laser burst melting through the thin armour and chest of another Jaffa.

"Mike Cortez," he offered to the Sergeant, watching as another Jaffa went down in a gout of blood from Carson's rifle fire. A particularly fanatic - or crazy - Jaffa charged the tank, screaming praises to his God, and leapt into the air, probably intending to board the tank to plant explosives or find a way to expose the crew. He hit the plasma-based energy shield and was hurled back, horribly burned, as the barrier deflected the kinetic energy of the mans body.

Rail gun and laser fire finally erupted from the cafés windows in earnest, the remaining Marines and two armed civilians, aside from Cortez, giving it all they had to cover the tank. The darkened late-noon street, overcast with the shadows of overhead storm clouds, strobed with flashes of red light as the Myrmidons anti-infantry cannon fired a stream of laser bolts into a small group of Jaffa caught out into the open, the main gun swivelling and firing into a parked Anti-grav Car, the round passing right through and tearing one of the cowering aliens in half right before the vehicles hydrogen fuel cells ruptured.

The explosion was bright enough that Cortez collapsed back into the building, yelling out and covering his eyes as his weapon clattered to the floor. An immense pressure wave blasted along the street, picking up various bits and pieces of detritus and hurling it in all directions. When the blinding light faded, the first thing Cortez saw out in the street was a bubble of opaque silver sitting where the tank had been: the shields had nearly overloaded, the tank having disappeared behind them as they reached critical energy levels.

As shields took damage and were not given time to regenerate properly, the accumulated energy being absorbed added itself to the energy of the shields, degrading the system and causing the visible spectra of the shields emitted energy to grow in intensity, until finally the shields overloaded and temporarily shorted out while the emitters cooled down and reset themselves.

Cortez knew that his department at Assaultech Industries had been working on new shield algorithms and generation techniques, hoping to find a way of turning a percentage the energy that was not deflected by shield systems into a way of regenerating the shields themselves, as well as better shield mitigation principles to allow for more energy to be deflected.

Blinking away the spots swimming before his eyes, Cortez shook his head as he knelt down to retrieve his weapon. A quick glance to the corner of the room confirmed what he already knew to be true; the three Black Boxes were undamaged. Returning his gaze to the street, he now noted that there was nothing left of the car, and a good size chunk of the building it had been parked in front of had been demolished, the edges of the Instacrete building seemingly melted from the intense heat.

Most of the Jaffa had either been killed in the blast or gone to ground, trying to avoid any further fire while they were still half blind and deaf. Cortez's own ears rang, and sideways look at K'Ton revealed that the smaller-in-stature Tau was suffering the after effects as well.

"What was that?," K'Ton asked shakily, squatting down and clutching his head as though afraid it would burst open at any moment. The Taus large eyes appeared dazed, and his bluish skin had taken on a green undertone; Tau were sensitive to certain sound spectrums, some of them being considered intensely erotic and others making Tau physically ill. Clearly, a close-range hydrogen explosion was one of the latter.

"Parked car got wiped out," Cortez replied. K'Ton did not say anything else; he was by now leaning forward, retching violently. He failed to expel any of the rations he'd consumed earlier, but several hacking coughs wracked his body afterwards.

"I think you should take it easy for -," Cortez's recommendation was cut off as the Sergeant beside him shouted a warning, then dropped to the ground on his back, a smoking crater in his armour breastplate. Instinct kicked in, and Cortez flung himself down beside Peters, the other man still alive but dazed and cursing.

"Fucking bastards," Peters ground out as plasma bolts hammered into the building. Above, the unique sound of Carson's sniper rail rifle cracked through the air twice in rapid succession, and the incoming fire slackened a little.

She's gifted, Cortez thought to himself as he shuffled closer to the window he had been sitting at earlier. He edge his rifle over the windowsill and blind fired a long burst, probably not hitting anything but drawing fire away from the sniper so she could work her magic more easily.

Cortez was safe in the knowledge that he could waste as much ammo as he liked. Laser weapons were loaded and reloaded with energy cells, which provided power to the small laser within the weapons firing chamber. This small laser wouldn't do a great deal of damage by itself, but its destructive capacity was amplified a hundred times by a focussing crystal and hundreds of tiny mirrors within the weapon.

These cells contained enough power for 2500 rounds at the rifles 'normal' setting, which was lethal but tended to perform poorly against personal shields or heavy body armour , but was just fine for the combat he had seen so far.

The wall against which he had braced himself shuddered under multiple plasma impacts, but Cortez knew he was safe behind the Instacrete walls. It was, after all, designed to withstand small arms fire in enormous amounts.

Outside, the tank came back to life, spraying a small pile of rubble that protected a half-dozen Jaffa, hundreds of laser bolts splashing into the remains of a news stand and food vendor. Metals not designed to withstand such punishment boiled away under the intense heat, brick and mortar became hot to the touch, and given enough time would doubtless explode under the pressure being forced to build up inside their minute air pockets from the laser impacts.

One of the warriors stood, managing to let off a pair of plasma bolts that splashed harmlessly against the Myrmidons shields like raindrops against a plate of glass, before he was cut down in a hail of blood red laser fire. Another tried to turn and run, only to be beheaded by another rail spike, courtesy once more of Sandy Carson.

Two more were killed when Peters tossed an M909 Hyper-Velocity Rail-Grenade, a small, compact grenade that was an evolutionary step-up from fragmentation grenades. The grenade itself was shaped like an over sized chicken egg, and had a weight in the broader bottom half that kept it upright. It did not detonate in the traditional sense; instead, it fired a powerful magnetic pulse that sent hundreds of 5mm rail spikes in all directions.

It had been the brainchild of former Marines, brought to life by Assaultech Industries working in conjunction with Shaw-Fujikawa Fabrications, a company that produced mainly civil technologies, but maintained a military contract for their patented Hyperdrive. Rumour was, they were also working on a new form of FTL travel, but no-one could confirm that.

The four remaining Jaffa were shredded by the grenade, two of them dying almost instantly as their bodies were over-penetrated by more than a hundred rails each. The other two got off more lightly, one of them screaming obscenities and trying to crawl towards the tank, one of his legs having been torn of in the storm of metal, the other firing wildly at the café, his serpentine helmet shattered and face badly wounded.

That Jaffa fell quickly to hail of rail spikes and laser bursts, crumpling to the ground, staff weapon still firing. Two more rounds hit the tanks shields, another hitting the screaming Jaffa in the back and silencing him. Silence. Pure, but for the sounds of distant combat and artillery shelling. No-one in the café dared make a sound, listening intently for any sound that might give away an enemy trooper lurking in ambush.

Eyes and sophisticated sensor suites scanned the buildings around them. The tanks main gun slowly tracked back and forth, infrared and sonic sensors built into the turret seeking targets. Cortez exchanged a glance with Peters. The other man nodded and together they stood and cautiously stepped out of the café.

When they weren't cut down in a hail of plasma fire, Peters signalled the other Marine, a man bearing the Private insignia on his shoulder plate, to accompany them and for Carson to stay put and keep an eye out. The three men navigated their way over the rubble and bodies, treading lightly and dodging the occasional half-dead fire that had broken out during the fighting as various pieces of wood were struck by super-hot energy projectiles.

Up ahead, a Tau popped the hatch on the tank and stood up, waving to the men from the café.

"Thank you for your assistance," the Tau female shouted, her tone enthusiastic. "How may we return the favour?"

The female Tau hauled herself up out of the tank, then turned around and helped a male human out. The man was tall and thin, with a bushy beard that was in no way regulatory in the Marine Corps, but with the PDF, regulations were not nearly as strict.

"You can start by giving us a lift to the city limits," Peters replied, hopping over a thigh-high lump of Instacrete. The human hopped down from the tank, held out his hand in front of him and shook hands with Cortez and the two Marines.

"Mattias Hennes," he introduced himself. "This here's M'Ino," he gestured to the Tau woman. "And this old girl's Bertha," he finished, patting the side of the tank like it was a loyal dog.

Cortez's eyebrows rose slightly at that. It was common for tank operators, or 'Tankers' to name their artificial steeds, but they usually came up with more imaginative ones than 'Bertha'.

After Cortez, Peters and the Marine Private, apparently named Jurgen, introduced themselves and told Hennes and M'Ino of their predicament, the bushy-bearded man smiled wide, chuckled and said, "Well, if you and yours want out of the city, then Berty's the one to do it, especially now she owes you fine folks her life!"

Cortez should have been happy that they now had a secure ride out of the city, even if it meant riding on the hull of the tank, but he had begun to suspect that Mattias Hennes' mind was not entirely there.

Only time will tell, he told himself. In the meantime, you've got the lady of your dreams to get to.

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2187

Recon Flight to P3Y-737

Captain Sally Pullman Commanding

To say that Sally Pullman was nervous right now was something akin to saying that a Behemoth-Class Dreadnought was big. Slim and attractive in a military sort of way, Pullman was forty-three years old, blond haired and blue eyed, had never married and had no children. Flying recon for the Marine Corps was her life as well as her job.

She clenched and unclenched her fists slowly, rolling her neck around and letting out a few deep breaths, trying to ease her anxiety. Going into possible enemy territory and recovering data that even Recon Drones couldn't wasn't a new experience for her. Knowing next to nothing about said enemy was.

A beep on her Recon Outfitted Scorpion Interceptors console alerted her that in five seconds, her craft would be magnetically catapulted out of the launch bay and into the swirling realm of hyperspace. Hyperspace launches were rare because of the inherent risks involved, namely that a non-hyper designed fighter craft would not be able to overcome the hyper spatial energy currents and would be destroyed.

In this case, however, her fighter and her two escorting Shrike Heavy Fighters would be exiting hyperspace almost as soon as they launched from the carrier Legacy. The carrier itself would remain in hyperspace, with its four escorting Darden-Class Destroyers, just outside of the system and await the Green Light from Pullman, at which point the carrier and four destroyers would enter the system and move into orbit above P3Y-737, there to begin setting up a temporary base of operations on the ground until the rest of the fleet, waiting about fifteen minutes travel time behind them, jumped in.

When that happened, the Titan Star Fortress would take orbital overwatch. Until then, Sally Pullman had a job to do. Despite the fact that she new it was coming, the moment the magnetic launchers flung her out into the void of hyperspace surprised her and pressed her hard back into her seat, making her a little nauseous.

The twin Shrikes launched a second later, forming up on her flanks in an escort position. A quick couple of taps at her computer screen, and Pullman was reoriented toward their target system.

"Tac Com, Recon 9 preparing to exit hyperspace, awaiting confirmation of Green Light," Pullman spoke into the subspace communication device that allowed FTL communication, then waited patiently for a reply. There was no time lag, of course, but Tac Com had to check and recheck their mission parameters and ensure that they really did have the go ahead from higher up. There had been times in the past when missions had been aborted at the last possible second, but because no-one had made last minute checks, the ships or soldiers involved had commenced with the mission, often resulting in either the death and destruction of the involved parties, or a strain on diplomacy to the Tau, various privateer factions and the Trader Coalition.

"Green Light confirmed, Recon, you are good to go." the droll AI that commanded the Legacy's fighter and bomber wings answered. Pullman confirmed that she had received the transmission, sent a text-only burst to the two Shrikes, and made the jump.

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Space above P3Y-737 was filled with the debris of the two Ha'taks that had met their end there, the planets gravitational pull slowly but surely dragging even the largest pieces down to a fiery death in the planets atmosphere. The people who occupied the only real settlement on the planet had stared up at the sky in wonder every night since the Magnus had left, making a game out of counting or naming the 'falling stars'.

Some of the younger couples had used the beautiful patterns the small pieces of hull plating made across the night sky as an excuse for romantic picnics under the stars, although none ever ventured beyond the high walls which protected them from the monsters that lurked in the woods.

Three small but very bright points of light flared into existence far from the world, and Captain Pullmans interceptor and her fighter escorts appeared just over 35 million kilometres from the planets gravity well.

Hela, Pullman thought to herself. This planet can't just be P3Y-whatever, it has to have a name. Hela sounds good, it better not be taken.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Pullman activated the nose-mounted recon camera, taking snapshots of the area as she accelerated and moved in closer. The two Shrikes hung back, staying within just a few thousand kilometres of their entry coordinates, moving in slow, lazy figure eights, alternating between horizontal and vertical manoeuvres.

Pullman eased back on the throttle as she ventured deeper into Hela's gravity well, the hi-res camera shifting its focus from the remains of the ships down to the surface of the planet, zooming in on the village and surrounding areas, observing the villagers outside their ramshackle buildings. A handful of photographs were even taken of the landing site the Spectres from the Magnus had used nearly a week ago.

"No sign of enemy activity. Little evidence of the Magnus' presence here other than discarded OHEVs and a small amount of orbital debris," Pullman spoke softly into her one-way link to the Legacy. "Possibility: the Magnus was attacked and destroyed deeper into the planets gravity well after launching its Communication Drone."

A few more snapshots, this time in classical white-on-black heat vision. Anything giving off ambient heat was highlighted in white, anything that was cool showed up in black.

"That possibility is unlikely, however, as at least some of the debris of such fighting would have survived atmospheric entry. I'm not able to glean much more from my surveillance, but the AIs ought to be able to spot anything I've missed. Full sensor logs will be made available upon my return to the Legacy," Pullman finished her brief report, took a few more shots of the planets surface, then turned and began heading back toward her waiting escorts.

She set her crafts auto-pilot and relaxed a little, mulling over her brief and surprisingly simple mission. A Recon Drone probably could have done it better, but it was standard practice to use flesh-and-blood pilots as the relatively 'dumb' AI of a drone couldn't make voice-observations on data later on.

If the AIs back on the Legacy didn't spot anything untoward about the world she had named, then the fleet could be here within the hour and a make-shift FLEETCOM station would be made out of the accompanying Titan. Marine bases would be set up on the ground, maybe even a PDF legion or two, and more official contact would be made with the villagers.

Another fortification would be made as well: a Marine Firebase was going to be erected around the gateway that the Jaffa forces had been using to come and go from the planet lately, complete with a battlesuit squadron and a handful of Anti-Gravity attack choppers, although Pullman didn't know about that just yet.

With a sigh, she broke herself out of her reverie and deactivated the auto-pilot.

"You boys good to go?," she sent to the Shrikes on a secure bandwidth. After receiving affirmatives from both pilots, who had now formed up once more on her flanks, Pullman input the rendezvous coordinates for the Legacy and made the short hop to hyperspace, leaving behind her new world until the fleet was ready to make their next move.

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2187

HICOM, Epsilon Eridani System, High Orbit of planet Bastion

Orbital Command Facility Imperial

Selmak was tired, more tired than he had ever been in his life. He could understand the humans' distrust of him and his comrades, especially now that one of the worlds they controlled was under siege by the Goa'uld. But he could not understand why they would not let him rest. He had been bombarded with questions for days now, and there seemed to be no end in sight.

"Please, tell us again why you're so different from the Goa'uld?," the man who had been speaking to him for today asked. Selmak had already told them this story several times, and he was starting to get particularly frustrated with having to go over it again and again.

At least they have been somewhat polite, thus far, his host reminded him. Selmak had to agree with that; since their arrival and despite Selmaks initial misgivings upon meeting the humans and their strange blue-skinned allies, he and his Jaffa companions had been treated well, receiving hot, tasty meals of local delicacies, comfortable beds, hot and cold running water, the works.

"As I have said, the Goa'uld and the Tok'ra share ancestry, but little else," Selmak started telling his story again. "The Goa'uld take over and suppress the consciousness of their hosts, not wanting to share minds with the being they inhabit. The Tok'ra share the body with their hosts consciousness and only take hosts if they volunteer or are badly injured and it is the only way to save them."

"Yes, I'm told that the symbiotes have some remarkable regenerative capabilities," the human spoke, nodding and looking somewhat thoughtful. Selmak realised he had not been introduced to this human, nor had he been spoken to by him before. The man was not wearing the grey disruptive pattern camouflage adorned with various pieces of ribbon or metal that the others had.

Instead, he wore a pitch black business suit, complete with bright white shirt beneath the jacket and a black tie. His hair was black with some grey at the temples, cut fairly short and styled to spikes, standing straight up. The man was fairly tall, standing at six-foot-one and was well built with the look of someone who had earned his physique through hard work rather than through working out constantly. Muddy brown eyes and a handsome, creased face completed the picture.

He looked nothing like any of the military men that had interrogated Selmak and his companions up until now.

"Mister Selmak," the man spoke suddenly. "My name is Paul Grove, and I am a member of the Office Of Naval Intelligence, specifically Sector Two. I am one of many people charged with opening and maintaining diplomatic relations with any extra-terrestrial species we come across and also with the Trader Coalition and numerous non-hostile separatists and privateers. Do you know why I am here?"

Selmak hesitated slightly, not fully understanding everything he had just been told, before answering. "I do not."

Grove nodded and smiled slightly. "Well Mister Selmak, it seems you and your friends have managed to convince the officials here aboard Imperial of your goodwill and general dislike of the Goa'uld. That's where I come in. Now that we have determined some level of understanding about you and your Jaffa allies, I have been sent here as an emissary in order to begin laying the ground work for an alliance, or at least a treaty."

Selmak was surprised; he had begun to suspect that the humans did not believe anything they had been told and were intending to keep Selmak and the two Jaffa, Kemet and Joran, in isolation aboard their space station for eternity. Immediately following the surprise, he was pleased, for they had seemingly accomplished what they had set out to do. Then suspicion; he still couldn't be sure of the humans intent until he learned more about them.

"My counterpart in the Tau Diplomatic Relations Committee will be along shortly, with the Jaffa that accompanied you here," Grove continued, leaning down beneath the large desk and grabbing a suitcase, hefting it up into view and laying it down on the table. "In the meantime, I'm to inform you of the basic information about our civilisation and our alliance with the Tau."

Selmaks suspicion grew. It was as if the human had-

"Read your mind? As a matter of fact, I did," Grove interrupted Selmaks thoughts with a smile. On seeing Selmaks astonishment, Grove nodded slightly and began explaining. "It's been documented for the last 120 or so years that Extra Sensory Perception, or ESP, is actually a fairly common occurrence, 1/3rd of the human population and half of the Tau population exhibiting signs of at least mild ESP. Basic empathy, that is feeling the emotions of those around you, and limited telepathy, the ability to either communicate with another being via speaking directly into their minds, or being able to read another persons thoughts."

"More extreme cases of ESP can have people being able to sense danger before it arrives, although not necessarily knowing what that danger might be, telekinesis, the ability to move things using only ones mind, on rare occasions and even pyrokinesis, the ability to create fire with ones mind, although only three such cases have ever been documented. I am one of the stronger empathic-telepathists, an ability that is most useful given my chosen profession," Grove finished speaking, then remained quiet a moment while Selmak digested the information. He seemed stunned and a little perturbed, wondering what else this human was capable of.

"I wouldn't worry, I can't go any deeper into your mind than just surface thoughts without triggering a very painful headache, and in the interest of future diplomatic relations, I would never do such a thing," Grove spoke, picking up on Selmaks discomfort. "Think of it this way: I just gave you some info on our civilisation that I didn't have to."

"Anyway. The UNSC is the controlling government body and we are currently in orbit of their capital world, Bastion. The United Earth Government came before us, and still exists as the government body in charge of the Sol system, birthplace of mankind. Anything beyond the Sol system is the UNSCs jurisdiction. We've been allies with the Tau for 67 years and have fought a major interstellar war with them at our side against a race we know only as the Alkaid, who are now believed extinct due to outside influence," Grove continued, Selmak listening intently and keeping a close one on the mans face, trying to judge whether he was being lied to or not.

"Both the Tau Republic and the UNSC, as well as the UEG, are democracies, with elections being held once every three years. Everyone over the age of eighteen is allowed to vote for who they want as their colony leader, system representative and overall president," Grove stopped speaking as a number of sharp knocks came at the thin titanium door.

"Excuse me, Mister Selmak," Grove said, then stood and headed to the door.

What is this 'Mister' word?, Selmak thought to himself, an honorific of some kind?

Not the most pressing issue at the moment, his host said back.

Selmak was cut off from replying when Grove returned to the table, a blue-skinned Tau and the two Jaffa with him. "We'll have to cut this history lesson short, I'm afraid. For now, let's get down to the real business," Grove stated as he returned to his seat.

Selmak looked forward to this experience.

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8th Age of Reclamation

Fleet of Ascendant Justice, Covenant Holy City High Charity

Orbit of the Holy Ring, Halo

Despite having been in orbit of the Holy Ring for nearly a week, and having actually been down on the Ring a number of times, Fleet Master Orna Fulsamee still could not tear his gaze away from it on the occasions that he spotted it on one of the monitors or during trips in his personal Phantom Drop ship between the surface and his flagship or the Holy City.

He watched its slow rotation between the twin gas giants, catching glimmers of dark blue water, brown and green land and the occasional Forerunner structure large enough to be seen from orbit. The dark metallic outer lining of the Ring had a dull sheen to it, and was absolutely crawling with countless maintenance drones left behind to care for the Halo by the Gods, keeping it ready for activation by the worthy ones, to send them on the path to the Great Journey.

Although Fulsamee believed in the Journey, he did not believe the Prophets were the worthy ones. They were frail, vain and irritating in the extreme, forcing the much more war-like Sangheili to use tactics and strategies sanctioned only by them, often woeful ones filled more with praises to the Gods than any actual battle plans.

Sneering, Fulsamee turned his attention to the green-glowing, floating orb beside him: the Oracle. He was humbled by its presence, and as though suddenly remembering his task, Fulsamee spoke to the Oracle.

"Oracle, forgive my laxity in duty. I shall deliver you to the Hierarchs with all due haste," Fulsamee bowed slightly, hoping that the Oracle would forgive him and not speak of this to the Prophets, if it did, he would surely be punished severely.

"As you wish," the Oracle spoke, sounding almost bored with the situation. "I must return to the installation as quickly as possible, so please ask what you will so that I may do my duty."

"Of course, Oracle," Fulsamee bowed again, then gestured for the machine to follow him. As they wandered the corridors of the Holy City, headed for the Hierarchs personal chambers, anyone they passed bowed to the Oracle, be they the lowliest Unngoy, the mightiest Lek'golo, the smelliest Jiralhanae, or the greatest of Sangheili. Fulsamee stepped through a door, took a left and walked straight for fifty metres before coming to gravity lift.

He stepped on and was whisked away upwards, followed closely by the Oracle. Images of other decks or of the ancient Forerunner ship that supplied power to High Charity whizzed by at phenomenal speed. Finally the lift deposited them at their destination: the Atrium to the Hierarchs chambers. Dozens of Sangheili stood along the walk to the great doors that led to the chambers, dressed in the garb of the Honour Guard. Venerable, powerful warriors each, Fulsamee had hoped to gain the prestige of such a posting once he finished his time as Fleet Master, before he had begun losing his faith in the Hierarchs.

He walked slowly, nodding to each of the Guards, receiving nods in return; he had come through here often enough over the years that the Honour Guards knew him like he was one of their own. He was allowed access through the doors immediately upon reaching them, a sure sign of the great respect and trust the Prophets and their elite Guards had in him.

When finally he entered the chambers, however, he saw only one Prophet: Truth. He had thought that Mercy and Regret would have been there to greet the Oracle, but clearly he had been mistaken.

"Leave us," Truth sneered at Fulsamee. The Elite was not taken aback at all; of all the Hierarchs, he hated Truth most, and Truth kept him around only because of his usefulness and because Mercy and Regret had seemingly taken a liking to him over the years.

"As you wish," Fulsamee all but spat back. As he turned and left the chamber, he heard the Oracle introduce itself to Truth in the exact same way it had to the warriors who had found it, and to Fulsamee himself later on.

"Greetings. I am Sixteen-Oh-Nine Beneficent Collaborator, the Monitor of Installation Zero-Two. How may I assist you?"

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A/N: There's another chapter done. Next one finishes the talks between Selmak and Grove, gives a little bit more background into the UNSC/TRN/UEG and deals with the conversation between the monitor and Truth, and maybe introducing the Asgard. Also, depending on whether I can be bothered doing it in the next chapter or if I want to devote a whole chapter to it again, some more about the trials and tribulations of the Magnus and the Colonials.

Glad I got this one done quicker than I thought, got some time off work and seeing as my girl's out of town for the next two weeks, I figured I might as well do some work on this. Reviews, reviews, reviews folks, I need 'em to get a better idea of what you all think, so get to it.