I'm back, baby!
"Captain Lasky, this is Pelican Five Nine Five," a woman's voice sounded over the intercom. "We have the Chief onboard and are on approach."
The bridge was filled with sounds of technicians furiously tapping at their stations and orders being repeated, but the crew was still able to overhear the transmission. Immediately the rapid pace froze with gasps of disbelief and exchanged glances. Lasky ignored them.
"Acknowledged, pilot," he hummed instead. "Just be sure to lock the door behind you."
"Roger that. Out."
Once the pilot clicked off, automatically there were whistles and applauds of approval. Even though Tom didn't join them, he couldn't help but smile. At last. After three years of searching, they had finally located the Master Chief. The hero of the Great War. And soon he would be their hero again.
The captain glanced up to peer through the glass to see the battle was still raging outside. There were noticeably less fighters than when the engagement started, but stragglers were always the hardest to get rid of. Lasky frowned in thoughtfulness and concern. Infinity had significantly turned the tide and had dealt more damage than it received, but there had been a few lucky hits from enemy cruisers. There only had to be a few more until the ship could be in danger. Especially if the engines were hit. Meanwhile even Infinity didn't have unlimited amounts of fighters. Lasky had no joy in not being able to send sons to their mothers or husbands to their wives. Plus, if he lost too many, not only would he have to answer to grieving families, but to FLEETCOM as well.
Tom needed to get Infinity to a secure location. And soon.
The captain pressed a button on the dashboard. "Commander Palmer, sitrep."
"The Elites will secure the rest of the ship," the Spartan commander reported. "The Arbiter and Virl 'Sadum are en route to capture the bridge. Meanwhile myself and the marines are moving to rendezvous with fireteams Majestic and Crimson. I'm sending our wounded back to you."
"Along with the Master Chief."
"Yes. And Ian Paden."
Lasky supposed that made sense. The infiltration teams were made hastily, not allowing any luxury to be picky. The boy had practically begged the Elites to bring him along. Although Lasky rejected the request, Glacier surprisingly overruled him. The captain didn't know to be shocked or offended, but the alien commander had pity on him by pulling him aside and explaining that Ian's talents could be put to good use. But apparently they were concerned over his safety enough not to expose him to prolong danger. Or simply he was no longer needed or Glacier decided to respect his ally's wishes.
Lasky just hoped they wouldn't be shot down on their way over. The Song of Retribution was half a mile away, not too great a distance. However, it only made Tom more confused and concerned. The assault carrier was close enough it could freely attack Infinity, and it would certainly cause more damage than the rest of the fleet. However the alien ship was still and silent, only a few bursts of plasma fire firing at unfortunately human ships.
"Sarah, what is the location of Jul 'Mdama?" Lasky demanded.
"Jul 'Mdama is unaccounted for, sir," Palmer replied. "He got away."
What? What commander would abandon ship in the middle of a battle? And why was the Covenant offering so little resistance against the boarding parties? Yes, he had been informed it was originally a trap, but since then it had been relatively quiet. The Covenant did not give up easily. Even if they were inexperienced. Lasky didn't like it at all.
"Commander Palmer, you are hereby ordered to fall back," he commanded.
"What? Come again?"
"Sarah, get off the ship and return to Infinity."
"T-Tom—I ca—zzhhh."
Lasky could hear partial words as the Spartan tried to continue, only to be lost in static. Immediately panic stabbed his heart.
"Sarah? Sarah!" He slammed the table, as if it would help. "Roland, what's going on?"
Were they being jammed? Then it was worse than he feared. However, the captain was even more confused as his right-hand AI appeared, but his avatar was flickering.
"Uh… Captain," he stammered. It looked like he was in a trance. Even more unnerving.
Lasky couldn't give it any more thought as something else caught in the corner of his eye. He looked around to see all the monitors flickering with flashes of static disrupting the picture. Technicians quickly fell silent and several even retreated from their work stations. Then the tremor came.
The bridge was filled with startled yells as crew members lost their footing. Lasky himself gave a yelp as he clumsily slammed onto the holopanel. His stomach knotted as he heard the all too familiar sound of groaning metal. He looked over his shoulder before he even regained his balance.
"Status!" he barked. "How bad are we hit?"
"Sir, I'm not seeing any collision alerts," a technician reported uncertainly.
"What?"
Suddenly a strange sound interrupted his confusion and panic. A high-pitched buzz sound filled the air, vibrating in Lasky's chest and hurting his ears. Suddenly all the electronics surged before an orange-tinted screen materialized in thin air. Tom widened his eyes in amazement as the translucent wall began to float across his bridge, technology overloading in its wake with showers of sparks. Lasky realized with horror that it was nearing him and there was nowhere to hide. He shut his eyes and imagined his insides being burnt. Instead he felt the bright light wash over him harmlessly. The captain snapped his eyes open and whirled around, but the screen was gone.
Around him monitors and computers were going haywire, but the humans were perfectly unharmed, only staring at their surroundings in confusion. Lasky only stared where the screen disappeared with narrowed eyes.
"What in the world?" he breathed.
Then Lasky felt something. A strange, hidden instinct in his mind that whispered to him. It told him to turn around. Before he even did, the captain heard several gasps from his crew and saw amazed looks. Almost dumbly, too confused, the man simply turned, only to blinding light to wash over his face, the ray steadily broadening. Lasky didn't believe what he saw.
When only a few minutes ago there was only the dark shadow of Requiem, there was a brilliant white light. It almost looked like a sun. Or rather like a gate to God. Lasky watched sections of what was Requiem's surface pull away, leaving a giant hole the size of a continent in its place. Maybe larger. Each section itself was the size of a large country. Even though the surface moved away—almost like a door—slowly and silently, Tom had a feeling that if they were in atmosphere, they would all be deafened by the almighty noise. They all stared in awe, frozen like deer in headlights.
Then the second tremor happened. The groaning was much louder than before. It drowned out the yelps of the crew. While before they had awkwardly stumbled, now several were falling over. Thankfully Lasky was lucky enough to snatch the holopanel for support.
"Roland! What's happening?" he demanded.
"Detecting loss of power… sir," the AI replied, still in his strange trance.
"Get me the engine room on the line."
"Yes, sir."
Somehow Roland was able to complete the task and Lasky saw the picture of a room project before him. In it was a scrawny man with light brown hair and wiry glasses, dressed in a white coat. He was frantically dancing around the room as all his monitors where flickering as much as the ones on the bridge.
"Dr. Glassman, we're losing power," Lasky barked at him, hoping he would explain.
"So I've noticed, Captain!" the scientist retorted, his voice high in panic.
Without warning there was another small tremor and Lasky felt his organs rising as his weight was suspended. His feet were off the ground. Dr. Glassman's wail joined the crews' gasps.
"Artificial gravity is offline as well!" the scientist cried, stating the obvious.
Lasky grip on the table tightened, slipping his hand beneath it to keep himself from floating away. Once you became suspended it was all too easy to get stuck in midair. Using his grip as an anchor, he pulled himself upright, burying his heels into the side of the table. It made the illusion he was standing when in fact he was desperately clinging on. He found himself panicking. In the middle of a battle, it was not a good time for technical difficulties. However as the captain peered out window, he noticed the meaningless floating of cruisers and their cold engines. Every ship had lost power.
"I need answers!" he barked. "Now!"
"You take engines built 100,000 years ago," Glassman ranted, "and hire a war criminal to rig them onto the ship! You can't expect predictable behavior!"
"Captain!" a technician cried.
Lasky glanced up from the holopanel. The doors of Requiem had stopped moving, but the white space was still getting bigger. The man watched with horror as the cruisers began to turn away, like they were being pulled by strings. And Tom knew their marionette all too well. Gravity. His heart stopped.
"We're being pulled towards the planet!"
Ian sat buckled to a seat of the Pelican, a wave of soreness racking his body whenever the ship tremored. His chest was tight with pain and his head was pounding, courtesy of Jul's violent assault. Although the corpsman had judged he had no broken bones, Glacier—which the support of the Arbiter—decided he would be sent back with the wounded. The boy fought the urge to make a fit.
He was being sent back to the sidelines while everyone else was still fighting. They needed him! Just because Jul was gone, did not mean the Song of Retribution was less dangerous. When they probably needed him the most, the boy wasn't there, and it was his own fault. Ian gritted his teeth. How could he have been so stupid.
Jul was the leader of the Covenant! Hell, he was an eight-foot armored monster against a five-foot scrawny boy. What had Ian been thinking? He probably deserved to be kicked out. The teenager was well-aware that this was punishment. Glacier was still frozen when he made his judgement.
Ian's thoughts were interrupted when suddenly a particularly violent tremor jarred the Pelican. The human immediately made a gasp of pain and gripped his torso. Immediately an Elite looked over his shoulder at him, growling in concern.
"I'm fine," Ian quickly assured in Sangheili, though his voice was hoarse with discomfort.
Not a sentimental species, the Elite immediately looked back away. Ian felt awkward, in his own private corner of the Pelican with two Elites standing over him, cutting him off. Though not completely cut off, as the boy still could clearly hear the pilot's panicked cries as they pushed through the swarm of fighters. Ian would question who was insane enough to have the idea to fly back in a warzone, but the coppery stench of sickness and echoing moans was his answer.
Ian glanced over at soldiers strewn across the interior of the ship, all of them holding some part of their body and each face was twisted. Why Ian didn't have any painkillers to ebb away his discomfort. It was all being used on the wounded soldiers. More than half of the raiding teams were out of commission. All thanks to the Covenant's ingenious plan to trap them. Ian looked over to see one marine alive, but in critical condition. He had received a direct hit from a grunt's plasma cannon, the attack burning half his body. Where there had once been an arm was only a bloody stump. The boy had to look away as bile rose in his throat, forcing him to swallow it back down.
There had been so many wounded they needed to take two Pelicans. The Chief was on the other. If the teenaged human was dying of being dragged away, he couldn't imagine what it was like for the supersoldier. To be thrown into action only to be tossed back out. But the UNSC wanted him back, and they couldn't wait any longer.
Without warning the Pelican shook violently, enough that Ian was thrashed around in seat and the Elites to stumble. A couple of the soldiers were forced out of their careful placements with moans. Those who were still coherent glanced around in alarm. What was— The Pelican rattled again. Ian wailed as the back of his head was struck. He considered it a miracle he didn't have memory loss by now…
He heard yelling from the cockpit as the pilots' voices rose. Had they been hit? The boy almost dared to call out, but didn't have a chance. Suddenly the lights vanished, making his heart jump. Even the Elites made startled growls. Then Ian felt his stomach in his throat. His mind was confused. He was still tied down on the seat, but he felt… weightless.
"Gravity is off!" a pilot yelped.
"Hang on, everybody!" his partner shouted back.
"What is happening?" an Elite demanded, the human vowels distorted by his rough voice.
"Uh… just some technical difficulties!" the first pilot replied.
"Jack! I can't control her!" the woman wailed.
Ian's eyes desperately tried to adjust to the dimness, but he quickly wished they hadn't. Without warning, a blinding light poured in from the cockpit, burning his retinas. The shouts of pain from humans and Elites alike revealed he wasn't the only one.
"What the hell is that?" Jack gasped.
"What is what?" Ian demanded.
"Whatever it is, looks like we're going into it," the second pilot grumbled. "Get ready for a hard landing!"
Ian could inquire no further as a third quake occurred, resulting in another banging of his head. He was not amused… The boy was forced to lean forward and grip tightly to the handles on either side of him as the quake continued. His teeth slammed together, the fragile bones cracking on impact. His bones rattled painfully and the pounding in his head intensified. Even with his eyes shut tight, the brilliant light still burned across his eyelids, now accompanied by a red hue.
"What are we flying into?!" a pilot screamed. The noise was so great and the voice was so distorted, Ian couldn't tell who it was. "Holy shit!"
"BRACE FOR IMPACT!"
There was an almighty sound of thunder before everything went black.
Ian woke up in a black world of pain. The poor boy let out a whine of agony, now his entire body radiating with soreness. He opened his eyes, only to see darkness. He attempted blinking them rapidly, but that only rewarded him with spots. Ian hissed. With numb fingers, the teenager felt the nylon straps still bound to his chest. It took him several moments to find the buckle and several more to unhook. Once he was free, Ian tried to push himself to his feet, only to fall on the floor with a moan.
The boy stayed still with his eyes closed, waiting for the spinning in his head to stop. Finally he looked back up. A white line greeted him. Ian blinked, questioning if he was hallucinating. He wasn't. Light.
Crawling on all fours, the boy neared it and reached out his hand. He found that "line" was a hole. When his fingertips touched cold metal, he jerked when a loud grating noise assaulted his hearing. However Ian quickly realized it was just the metal moving in place. The plating had broken off. The teenager lifted himself to place his palms on the metal, pushing his weight against it. There were a few more scraping noises before the plating fell away, allowing even more light.
Now the hole was big enough for Ian to fit through. With another whine of discomfort, the boy slid through. Ian was half-expecting to feel the cold touch of steel or be blinded by light, but instead he felt something soft and slippery in his hands and a familiar shade filled his vision. Grass. The teenager blinked in confusion and tugged out a handful of strands. He could tell it wasn't a grass like Earth, but it was in the same category. He was on solid ground. Then what was—
Then a horrid, acidic stench finally reached his nostrils. Smoke. Then a distinct crackling sound filled his hearing. With a gasp, Ian looked over his shoulder. He saw the hulk of the massive Pelican looming over him, but it wasn't as sleek as he remembered it. Instead, the boy noticed dozens upon dozens of dents and fissures in the metal coating, none of them small. He glanced over to see a red hue gleaming where the wing was supposed to be. The engine was on fire. It didn't look like it was going to explode, but Ian didn't want to be anywhere close to it.
Still with these observations, it took the human several long moments before realization to sink in. To recall his previous memories. They had crashed. Something had happened and they had crashed. Then it struck him. The others!
Ian quickly (and awkwardly) spun back around to face the hole he just escaped from. Now that his senses had returned, he smelled a strange scent of coppery blood and distinct stench. It took his eyes longer to adjust to the darkness of the Pelican. What he saw made his stomach twist nauseously. They were all dead. All of them.
The soldiers had been tossed around like ragdolls, a few strewn over each other like some mass grave. Even from here Ian saw a couple heads smashed in. The victim of the plasma cannon's biofoam had worn off and his wounds were reopened, allowing him to bleed out. The amount of blood hinted the same for the rest. Behind the dead marines, Ian could spy the limp figures of the pilots. The teenager glanced to his left to see the unmoving bodies of the Elites. One was in front of him, his long neck twisted at a strange angle. The alien's glazed eyes stared into Ian's.
The boy swallowed. There was nothing he could do. Ian slowly crawled back out, landing awkwardly back onto the soft grass. Shaken, he couldn't help but shut his eyes and burying his face in the soil. Why did everyone die around him? Or very least get themselves hurt. The teenager tried to rationalize. He didn't even know what happened. How could it possibly be his fault? The desperate attempt of self-assurance didn't help. They were dead, and he was still alive. And alone.
How could this have happened? Ian opened his eyes when he remembered he had been the only one truly strapped in. Talk about a whole new meaning to "always buckle your seatbelt." But what caused them to crash? The teenager remembered. His head was aching just before the Pelican lost power. That ache. Something had caused his instincts to stir.
A pit formed in Ian's stomach. Requiem.
"Is… this Requiem?" he wondered aloud.
The boy lifted himself to his knees. The dark haze of smoke was obscuring his view, so he forced himself to his feet. It was a slow process and the human growled the entire time, pain burning in his muscles. He almost fell back down when he walked forward. But he was able to stay on his feet long enough to escape the smoke.
All Ian saw was green. Green in all different shades. It was all broken apart in all different shapes and sizes. Plants, shrubs, fronds, trees, grass, vines. It took Ian a moment to realize he was in a jungle. But there were no flowers. No sound of fauna. The only other hue that was offered was the sun shining through the canopy, but even that looked greenish… The Pelican had crashed in a large clearing (or maybe it made it), allowing a hole in the trees for Ian to peer at the sky. It was a normal pale blue with wispy clouds floating across it, but Ian blinked when he noticed something.
Stars? The boy peered curiously as pale dots were visible across the canvas above him. It was then he noticed the irregular shading lurking behind the clouds. His stomach twisted when he realized. Metal. The sky was made of metal. At first Ian was merely confused and thought he was hallucinating, until his instincts told him. He was not on the surface of Requiem. He was inside Requiem.
"What is this place?" he whispered.
The teenager attempted to take another step forward, only to wince at a particular stab of pain in his leg. He instinctively wrapped his hands around the thigh, only to feel something wet. Startled, the boy brought his palms back up, only to see them stained crimson. Blood. His blood.
Ian made a weird noise. He thought he meant to curse but only a strained squeak came out. He spotted a shallow stream near the crash site, and he didn't hesitate to half-hobble, half-run over it. The boy fell onto his knees into the water, creating a splash that nearly soaked his entire body. He didn't care as he was already throwing handfuls onto his leg. He brutally rubbed at the stain, ignoring the firings of pain and continuing cascades of blood.
He had to stop the bleeding! He had to make it go away! His honor was slipping away! His pride! His life source! His—
Ian stopped. The water immediately went still, as if it was never disturbed. Only his soaked clothes gave away his plunge. The boy was just as frozen, ignoring the crimson substance that poured from the ugly gash in his legs, mixing with the water to create a dyed liquid. Ian ignored that as he just tried to remember what just happened. Wh-what?
The human looked at his hands, which were still stained. What just came over him? He had started into a panicked frenzy the moment he noticed he was bleeding. He felt as if someone pulled away something from him. Pride. Why?
Then he remembered. The Sangheili. Their blood of the physical form of their souls. Of their entire honor. To bleed was to lose their dignity as a proud warrior. As for great warriors did not bleed. Ian's hands were shaking. Why had he thought that? The human peered at the water between his hands. He saw a reflection of a boy, but it wasn't him.
This boy had a line of blood seeping from his forehead down his face, looking like face paint. Dirt and grime stained his face, making him looking even cruder. But what Ian noticed that there was any sliver of baby fat on his skin, all of it stripped away to leave behind a thin, muscled face. His green eyes were intense and wild, almost reptilian. His hair was dark, like the dull scales of a snake.
Ian had seen at his reflection before. Thousands of times. But he never looked. He never stopped to observe what he really looked like, how he appeared to others. No wonder the humans had given him funny stares.
What was he?
Human? Or Sangheili?
