Scene Twelve; No Rest For The Wicked
The sky looked a royal mess. Blazing fires screamed through the floating, and sometimes spinning, wreckage, the tonnage equal to possibly the yield of a good fifty, perhaps sixty ships. Flyer hadn't seen quite this much destruction since he'd found that old vid of what the then-unbroken Covenant had done to Reach. The battle at Earth and then at the Ark had been puny compared.
But despite everything, the battle still raged. There was so much rubble in the space surrounding the moon it was impossible to see – through the front view or even via scanners. There was no way at all to tell where the persistent blasts of plasma charges were coming from, nor who from.
There was also no way to know how many of who's ships were left, or even if the Sovereign of Stars remained. Flyer felt more confused by his environment than anything, really – that there would be Flood in the sky and not on the ground was odd to him. But the returning party had not spoken a word of infestation.
The Admiral and his female were sitting practically on top of one another, seated so closely were they, talking quietly to each other about only the Gods-knew-what. High Councilor Lai Tasha was eyeing them as if he had something in mind for one or both, but he was keeping his thoughts, for the moment, to himself. Flyer had noted these things when they'd startled him coming back onboard; in the middle of flying through the clouds of debris, though, all he could think about was what he wasn't seeing. Aside that it was the very first time he had a destination he couldn't find, he also didn't see any particularly menacing bits of enemy either. Yet the streaks of cannon fired plasma bolts continued to sear through the spinning chunky metal soup, vaporizing much of it as they went through.
Eventually, he found the outer edge of the sea of debris, and came about, scanning for something solid that was bigger than his own ship. Finally, something nosed through the debris field and began to emerge, battle-scarred and barely recognizable. But it was a ship, and a Cruiser at that.
On closer inspection, the shields did appear intact, but the hull scarring, some of it slagged and reshaped, some of it vaporized and gone, was evidence of one of two things; either whoever was piloting that bird wasn't too good at it, or whoever had been shooting at her really was.
Either way, there was only one ship who could look like that and live; Flyer gunned his aft burners, and quickly found a bay door. He set the Phantom down prettily and gently, then let the passengers out before exiting himself. His head was still spinning about with a million thoughts and he wasn't certain of his direction, either, so he went to see the one person he figured might be able to square him away.
The Forge wasn't where he thought it would be, nor was it where he'd found it before, but in his absent-minded directionless wandering he happened to enter the engine room, which for the moment appeared quiet, the few individuals in sight standing still and in silence.
Flyer watched them for a while, before a familiar shadow cast across his shoulder. He smiled crookedly through the visor of his SPI helmet as the newcomer spoke;
"I heard you wanted to see me?" Steel asked.
Flyer half-turned, figuring if the SPARTAN had wanted formalities, he wouldn't have 'snuck' up on the pilot and then spoken so informally. Technically, the older, wiser SPARTAN I outranked him. "Yes, sir. Got my head all out of sorts… was hoping you had something that would help."
Steel tapped a finger on his helmet in thought for a moment, before crossing his arms over his armored chest. "Any particular source for this… disorientation?"
"I found myself in a Phantom, sir… on a moon I swear I didn't fly down to. It was as if I was… snatched from one spot and put into another, while I was asleep." Flyer admitted. "I had to be told what to do, I was so disoriented. I didn't know what was supposed to happen next. It's been years, sir, since that happened last."
"You crawled out of surgery straight back into your precious cockpit, Flyer." Steel told him. "I don't doubt it a minute. You probably got them down there, and promptly passed out with your head on the console."
Flyer seemed to stiffen. "I would never allow myself to compromise the mission, sir!" He protested.
Steel waved a hand dismissively. "You got them in, intact, and you got them back out, intact, and what I hear, the mission they went on was a complete success. I really don't see any compromise being made in that equation, Flyer. You should retire to your quarters, though, unless you intend to repeat the process on your next run, and this time, heaven forbid, in less than savory circumstances."
"Sir, I –" Flyer started to argue.
Steel clapped a hand down on the SPI trooper's shoulder. "That was not a suggestion, kid, however much like one it may have sounded. You're relieved of duty. Now go to bed and get some rest."
Flyer's shoulders drooped and his gaze dropped. He was clearly unhappy with how the day was ending, but he said his yes sir and he left the engineering bay to perform as ordered – just like he always had. Maybe whoever was flying the Sovereign would get them home relatively intact… considering. After everything, arriving home alive and with all his component limbs and parts still on him sounded good indeed.
Maybe that skinny Sangheili girl who thought she could sing wouldn't wake him up with her awful tinny lizard voice.