Chapter 23: Lightning

Vivian sometimes wondered if the crew bestowed any sobriquets upon her she hadn't heard about. Leaders who brought victory to their commands often earned monikers denoting their feats, words, actions, or even habits. Some, like Vice Admiral Preston Cole, didn't need any; he was far too grand for any. None would bestow the honor he deserved. To the men and women of the UNSC, he was a demigod and needed no other name but his own. Upon the unknown officers, those who were just making their splash, who defied the expectations of the more experienced hands, were epithets conferred.

She didn't lust for any specific title. Whether she was in bed in her cabin or standing on the I'm Alone's bridge, Vivian felt the weight of her responsibility. Not just as a Naval officer, but as a human being, her actions would have an impact on the war. Still, the idea amused her. If they had any nicknames for her, were they affectionate, glorifying, or unfavorable.

Drifting through the I'm Alone's long corridors and tight passageways, she thought one that was fitting would be the 'Sleepwalker,' or more simply, 'the Walker.' Waters the Walker? Waters-Walker, that she would accept eagerly. She knew the crew was well aware of her short sleep cycles and her proclivity to wander throughout the ship when the majority of the crew were off-duty or asleep. Nobody said a word or asked her about it. Vivian could only assume they thought it was strange. If they did, she didn't mind. Crew gossip didn't interfere with their duties and she was happy enough the tension between the Marine and Navy personnel was dying down. Having that after so many stressful months was an immense relief and for having it, they could call her whatever they wanted.

But she still needed to take her late walks. Before, it came from a lack of sleep although now it was a matter of habit. It gave her more time to review her operational plans and the streams of data coursing throughout the I'm Alone, as if it was the ship's blood. Sleep deprived her of time to absorb the information and formulate her next strategy.

"CSO-class, one. CAS-class, two. CSS-class, two. CPV-class, one. SDV-class, three." She swiped her finger across her data pad screen, listing the Covenant ship designations as she pooled over the images Rundstrum took during his long reconnaissance mission. The ships were sitting beside another glassed planet. There were no orbital or surface facilities and they weren't poised in any formation she was familiar with. It reminded her of ships in an anchorage, merely halted and waiting for orders to move out. Pursing her lips, she exited out of the files and opened another one. Before they left the Port, she had Tane, the black-haired, dark-skinned scientist trained in Covenant technology, fiddle with the star map they found underneath the old base. Although it was difficult to crack to the point he needed Decatur's help, and by his account it was not Covenant, he was able to download a copy of the map.

Looking through the files, she correlated the system they would soon be jumping to with the map. It was in the center of a series of other systems within the cluster; if she connected the dots, it would be in the center of a hexagon. The right side bordered the trajectory of Travers's task force's system-hopping campaign. Once they arrived, the Covenant could jump into their system quickly.

Although it lacked the infrastructure, it was the same concept as the Port. A springboard effect, allowing forces to jump into enemy territory, strike quickly, and then return just as fast. As well, they could act as a quick reaction force and jump to anywhere they were needed. If they hadn't moved yet, they were waiting for the main UNSC task force to come abreast of them on the star map so they could launch a strong counterattack.

It was what Vivian would do, at the very least. Reviewing the ammunition and weapon systems of her ships, she was not sure if it was enough to take them in a head on fight. They faced superior, heavy-tonnage ships before and came out on top. She was confident in the ships' upgrades and advanced MAC guns. But the odds seemed too high this time; even the smallest Covenant ships possessed armaments that could slice through the heaviest ships the UNSC had in their arsenal.

Stopping outside one of the medical bays, she ran her hand through her blonde locks and looked up at the ceiling. "Decatur?"

"Ma'am?" came the AI's voice through an intercom.

"Care to run some numbers for me?"

"Oh, splendid ma'am, just marvelous, I'd be more than happy to!"

"I need the probabilities of a standard ship-to-ship engagement between our target and our own fleet."

Vivian drifted to the bulkhead, turned, and leaned back against it. Holding her data pad under her arm, she dug her hands into her pockets and waited. It didn't take more than a few seconds.

"Based on tonnage, armaments, and maneuvering, there's a fifty-nine percent chance of success. If I factor in data on previous engagements, crew experience, and ship leadership, we now have a seventy percent chance of success."

"Projected casualties and damage report?" There was no reply. Vivian looked up. "Decatur?"

"I'm not sure if you would like to know either, ma'am."

Vivian gave a small grunt.

"That bad?" Vivian hefted herself off the bulkhead and paced back and forth across the deck for a few moments. "We need our personnel and our ships more than they need theirs. Our diversionary raids won't count for anything if we don't have the ships. Losing even one sets at a tactical disadvantage." Vivian stopped in the center of the hall, cupped her chin, and tapped her foot. Then, she looked at her data pad, opened a simulator, and began organizing a series of yellow and red dots on a hypothetical plane. She plugged in directions for a line formation and then started the simulation. Hitting a key to speed up the process, she watched as the red dots were destroyed one by one but two yellow dots blinked away as well. Statistics came up showing unacceptable casualties in manpower and ships.

She did it over again, changed the formation to a V, and added in factors for maneuvers. Again, the simulation played out; the red and yellow dots seemed to dance around one another. In the end, all the red dots were gone but one of the yellow dots disappeared as well, and the after-action statistics were hardly promising.

"Ma'am? Can I be of any assistance?" Decatur's voice chimed through the intercom.

"I'm just thinking," Vivian murmured. She started to pace again but stopped only after a minute. "Eliminating the threat posed to the main task force is the priority. But elimination of a threat doesn't necessarily mean we have to destroy the threat. If we can draw their attention elsewhere, have them chase us, they won't be able to reinforce their positions in the target systems."

"Reviewing data from previous engagements, I recall your strategy to enable the fledgling Marine Raiders to seize the Port was a sharp, quick raid that destroyed the Covenant defense fleet's smaller ships then drew the heavier-tonnage ORS-class ship into another system to engage them on your terms. It hinged on the Covenant taking the bait, but considering their superior armaments and slipspace technology, it's nearly a guarantee. Of course, we had extra support on that occasion."

"This time we won't need support. The systems and star clusters used to be colonies but they've all been glassed. We have a lot of dead space to choose from without risking any colonies and we can lead them on a chase as long as we want. We can also lay mines, fight brief maneuver actions, and then jump out of the system to another, whittling their ships down as we go. Through attrition, we'll be able to destroy, disable, or damage the ships so severely they'll need to call at their nearest shipyard."

As the words passed her lips, Vivian's emerald eyes began to glimmer. A clever smile tugged at her lips. Lifting her data pad, she swiped through the different files Rundstrum sent her from his reconnaissance missions. Her finger ran up and down the lists of files, depicting similar defensive flotillas, resupply orbital stations, planetside facilities, and marshaling yards. One image displaying an extensive shipyard over a glassed planet came across her data pad. Quickly, she correlated its location with the star map. Using a plotting tool, she linked a path between systems as if she was connecting dots. "Decatur, look at this," she said and transferred the file to the AI's shipboard database. "If we use this path, bleeding the Covenant ships as we go, they'll have to divert to this shipyard for repairs. It has a light garrison in terms of ships; five CAR-class frigates and the latest recon images show they're pretty dispersed. With their heaviest ships in anchorage, under repair, we can hit them and wipe out the whole lot."

Decatur didn't speak for a few moments. As she looked up at the ceiling, as if she would find his face there, Vivian's smile faded. She began to worry that he disapproved of the plan or was running the numbers and found them disagreeable. Some UNSC Navy officers might have dismissed the opinions of even a Smart AI, but the most intelligent officers never failed to incorporate the opinions, feedback, and computing power of their shipboard artificial intelligence. If he didn't approve it, she had no qualms about changing strategy.

"Ma'am, factoring in potential maneuvers, armaments, ship classes, the voyage path, data on previous engagements, and leadership and crew experience, an operation of this nature has an eighty-nine percent chance of success."

Vivian's smile widened. "Shall I draft a communique between the ships' commanding officers?"

"Right away Decatur, right away. I'll make my way to the bridge and review it there."

"Splendid, madam!"

Vivian went through the door through the medical bay. She knew there was an elevator that could take her up to the bridge on the opposite side. So excited with her plan, she found herself walking briskly. At this point, sleep was not even a possibility. Staying up for the remainder of her allotted off-duty time to plot the finer details of the plan was far more agreeable than hitting the sack.

Strutting through the medical bay, she breathed in deeply as if she was strolling through a field of flowers. She felt very content; already, they achieved one maximal victory, the crew and the Marine complement were working together, and they had a solid plan for the next attack. Bringing the ships' crews continued success would occupy her personnel and keep them focused. Crews who experienced regular victories rarely felt disheartened and the tension wasn't the first on everyone's mind.

She hoped to bump into Jasmine along the way, if just to chat with her briefly. Some friends liked to gossip about their coworkers, discuss the latest trends in fashion magazines, and chat about the lifestyles of their favorite actors. Vivian and Jasmine enjoyed talking about naval warfare and the safest way to extract a Type-51 8.7x60mm caseless radioactive slug from the abdomen without endangering the abdominal aorta.

As she glanced between the medical bays, she found the cots empty. Bay staff composed of doctors, nurses, and technicians were busy at their stations. Only one was occupied by a blonde haired Marine wearing a trim mustache. Vivian turned her gaze forward, knowing the majority of the wounded from the previous engagement were in medical bays further from the Hangars. It was part of Jasmine's strategy to maximize the efficiency of medical treatment of wounded from subsequent raids. Placing stable but long-term casualties in the medical bays further away from the Hangars provides accessible space to fresher, more critical cases. Essentially, the time between transporting the wounded from the Hangars to the infirmary was cut. Vivian understood the concept but it was always difficult to reconcile Jasmine's empathetic, compassionate, kind demeanor with her pragmatic, business-like acumen regarding casualties.

Vivian stopped dead in her tracks and blinked.

"Was the Corporal Steele?" she asked aloud. She went back to the window and peered through. The scout sniper was lounging on his cot amid a series of tubes and stands holding monitoring devices and IV bags. His thick blonde hair was spilling over to the left side of his head and there was stubble growing on his cheeks, causing his neat mustache to be more pronounced. He looked incredibly bored as he disinterestedly flipped through the pages of a hard-copy book, no doubt provided to him by one of his squad mates. When he set it down on the bed, he ran his other hand over his face and looked up. The moment his blue eyes met with Vivian's, her brow furrowed and he blinked back in surprise.

She turned around and stormed towards the entrance. The door slid open and the medical staff stood up. Ignoring their salutes, she marched over to his cot and found the sniper had pulled his blanket over his head. "Corporal Steele," she growled menacingly.

"No Corporal Steele here, I'm...uh...Corporal Beefington. I'm American," the sniper said in a mocking accent. Vivian snatched the blanket from his hand and yanked it off him. The Marine looked up at her sheepishly and then smiled. "Hello, Captain."

"What are you doing here?" she seethed. "You're supposed to be at the Port recovering. If Jasmine had you transferred here prior to departure, she would have notified me."

Steele sighed heavily and shook his head.

"I don't want to get the Doc in trouble. I sneaked my way on board, Captain."

"Just how did you manage that?"

"I hid in a supply crate."

Vivian stood up straight, blinked, then groaned. She ran her hand down her face, closed her eyes, and then pinched the bridge of her nose.

"You mean to tell me you managed to stowaway on a UNSC capital warship, bypassing numerous security screens, in a box?" She lowered her hand and opened her eyes. "I should be surprised but considering your CSV and your track record aboard my ship, I'm not. Who helped you?"

"No one."

"Don't lie to me."

"I ain't!" Steele insisted. "I made my way out of the hospital, got myself inside a crate when no one was looking, and they brought me..." Steele's voice faltered as Vivian's angry gaze continued to darken. "...it was Carris."

"Unsurprising." Vivian sighed, placed her hands on her hips, and shook her head. "I suppose there's not much we can do about it now. You're already here and there's no way I'm diverting any assets to bring you back to the Port. I will have to report this to Colonel Hayes; I'm sure whatever punishment he'll devise will be fitting for you."

Steele let his head fall back against the pillow and he groaned loudly.

"Can you blame me? Captain, if you were wearing my boots you'd do the exact same thing I did. You can just stay behind while your mates go into the suck."

"Regardless, you're expected to follow orders. Don't defy Jasmine's again or you'll have to deal with me. If she's unhappy, I'm unhappy. Understand?"

"Yes, Captain," Steele replied quietly and averted his eyes. Vivian loomed over him.

"Say it like a Marine."

Steele looked back and glared up at her with icy blue eyes.

"Yes, Captain."

Vivian shook her head, turned on her heel, and marched out of the medical bay. She wasn't going to let the rebellious Marine dampen her mood. Even though he had defied orders, she was not as displeased as she let on. There were more important matters worthy of her attention and the Covenant merited her anger more than a mere Marine sniper did. A Marine could do far worse than stowing away so he could find with his comrades and it was better than someone deserting.

But she was surprised Jasmine hadn't reported it. Considering how quickly they commenced combat operations, she probably just hadn't found the time to tell her. She could understand that and it didn't merit any kind of reprimand. Vivian trusted Jasmine and granting her autonomy took a lot of Vivian's plate. Still, she was surprised not to see her working and wondered if she misread her schedule.

Jasmine stepped out of the bathroom in her quarters. She was half-dressed, wearing only an olive drab tank top and a standard-issue pair of undergarments. The neutral air felt cool against her deep, tan skin. Glancing at her wrist watch, she saw that her shift was beginning in twenty minutes. Her uniform was draped over the back of her desk chair. Just as she went over to change, she heard Frost roll over in bed.

Turning around, she smiled softly. The Gunnery Sergeant was sleeping soundly but had nearly come out of the sheets. They were bundled around his legs and left his naked frame exposed. Stepping closer, she saw goosebumps on his arms. He had a light farmer's tan; his forearms were a faded tan while his upper arms were pale. It came from years of serving in a variety of surface environments with his sleeves rolled up past the elbow. Months spent in Cryo or in a ship tended to soften the tan over time, but Jasmine still found it very attractive.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she ran the back of her fingers up and down his right arm. His light brown hair was messy and came down over his face slightly. Jasmine promptly reached over and swept the lockes from his forehead, then cupped his bearded cheek. Slowly, she ran her thumb back and forth across the part of the long, horizontal scar that ran across his face.

When she did that, Frost opened his eyes sleepily. He smiled handsomely and Jasmine couldn't resist leaning down to plant a small kiss on his lips.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she whispered. Frost stretched a little before he reached up and touched her cheek.

"You sure you have to go? Can't you call in sick?"

Jasmine giggled.

"The chief doctor doesn't get to call in sick," she said, leaning down and rubbing the tip of her nose against Frost's. She felt his arms snake around her middle and then pull her on top of her. Jasmine laughed as he kissed her cheek and held her very tightly. "You're so warm," she murmured into his neck.

He moved over slightly, allowing Jasmine to lay down on the bed beside him. They pressed into one another, their bodies conforming to the others' shape, as if they were two puzzle pieces being slid together. Jasmine slid her hand behind his head and brought it against her breasts. His hot breath washed over her skin and she couldn't help but breathe in a little bit. His touch, his breath, his body against hers was electrifying; she felt light in her stomach and her heart rate was speeding up ever so slightly.

"Here with you, it all seems normal," Frost suddenly said into her chest. He lifted his head up a little and Jasmine craned her neck to get a look at him. His gray eyes were open and misty, like fog as it fell from the sky and rolled across the ground. "No war. No killing. I don't even feel like a Marine. I don't want to be a Marine when I'm with you. When I listen to you talk, you take me somewhere else."

Frost hefted himself up onto his elbows. His face was barely an inch away from Jasmine's. He looked at her for a moment before he ran his hand along her cheek and then tangled his fingers into her black locks. "I feel normal when we're together," he said, then chuckled and shrugged. "Or at least, what most people think normal is. I don't really have a clue about what that's like."

Jasmine, lying on her side, reached up and cupped his cheek. She ran her thumb back and forth across his lips.

"Normal is just a concept and everybody has a different point of view regarding it. Your normal has been the Marine Corps, combat, killing, getting wounded, and wondering when it'll all be over. It doesn't always have to be like that."

Frost smiled.

"Then what's the brilliant, the passionate, the beautiful Lieutenant Commander Jasmine Ebrahimi's version of normal?" Jasmine blushed and giggled in embarrassment. She felt silly and pressed her face into his chest so he wouldn't see how red her cheeks were getting. Frost couldn't resist either and he rested his face in her hair, laughing. When they finally stopped and looked back up at one another, Jasmine thought for a moment.

"Maybe it's just a little place, somewhere in the Colonies or maybe even Earth, where I can live out the rest of my life in peace. A place where I'm not Lieutenant Commander Ebrahimi but just Doctor Jasmine. Just a small, quiet place, with someone I love," she whispered, touching his cheek. Then she grinned mischievously. "Know where I can find it?"

"Might have to do a little recon, but I think there's a few spots on Earth that could fit the bill." Frost sighed a little sadly, but his smile quickly returned. "My normal? I'm not too sure, to be honest. All I know is you're a part of it, that's for sure. With you, I wouldn't have to be Gunnery Sergeant Frost, and I wouldn't have to think about all the horrible things I've done."

Jasmine had closed her eyes as she listened to him talk. When she opened them, she saw his gray gaze was very troubled. His expression was distant, faraway, as if what made him who he was left. The absence made him look cold, statuesque, like one of the warriors of old captured in a faded marble bust.

Suddenly, his eyes began to glimmer. Frost raised the back of his hand and wiped both before sniffing a little. Jasmine sat up a little bit, concerned.

"Nate? Talk to me, Nate."

Frost shook his head a little bit.

"Just...processing a few things."

"Skopje was a long time ago. I understand how it can still weigh heavily on your mind. Past experiences like that can come back; sustain them, don't indulge them, process, breathe. You're not on Skopje, you're here with me on the I'm Alone. Please, take some solace knowing you've made so much progress since that time."

Frost shook his head slowly.

"It's not about that," he murmured. Jasmine was confused and she sat up a little bit. She guided his face so that he was looking at her.

"If it's not that, then what is it? Try and tell me. It's okay if you can't."

Frost looked at her for a few moments. He suddenly appeared nervous, his expression practically tragic. His lips moved a little bit and he seemed to gulp as if he suddenly developed a stammer. Eventually, he cleared his throat and composed himself.

"It all just comes back to me sometimes."

"So it was Skopje?" Jasmine asked slowly.

"It'll always be Skopje," he replied quietly. He took a deep breath and smiled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go and spoil the moment."

Jasmine smiled kindly and patted him on the cheek.

"You didn't spoil anything." Frost feigned a sad sound.

"Oh, can't I make it up to you?"

"Nate, there's nothing...hey..." Jasmine giggled as he leaned forward and began to gently kiss the side of her neck. He worked his way up and down, applying more pressure on the softer, more sensitive parts of her skin at the base of her neck.

"I'd love to make it up to you," he teased, speaking right into her neck. Jasmine closed her eyes and moved her hand behind his head, digging her fingers into his loose brown hair. She raised her other arm and glanced at her wrist watch.

"Do you really want me to tend to my patients with wet underwear?"

"You could always change," Frost teased. "You sure you don't want me to make it up to you?"

She raised her other arm and glanced at her wrist watch.

"Can you make it up to me in eleven minutes?" she asked, her breathing growing ragged.

"I can give it my best shot," Frost said. Jasmine felt his fingers slide down her leg, pinch the middle of her underwear, and tug it over to the side. They began to run back and forth; Jasmine buried her face into his shoulder, breathing heavily, feeling gentle but otherwise strong jolts shoot up into her car and down into her legs. After a few moments, Jasmine rolled over and Frost hugged her from behind. She felt him part her legs just a little bit and gasped as he began to rock against her. She pushed back, moving to his rhythm. Reaching back, she took his hand and slid it under her tank top. For a few moments, she held his hand there, squeezing her breast. Then, she slid it down her flat stomach and between her legs.

"Now hear this! Now hear this!" came Vivian's voice over the intercom, loud and clear. Both Jasmine and Frost jumped in the bed. The latter leaned back, disappointed. Jasmine frowned and covered her ears. One day, she promised herself she would find the ships' architect who decided to install the intercom right over the cot in her quarters and give him a piece of her mind. "The task force is mobilizing for a slipspace jump within the hour. All personnel, report to your commanding officers and station commanders to be updated on the next phase of combat operations. This will be a combat jump. After your briefings, personnel selected for skeleton crew detail report to your stations, all other personnel, report to Cryo. That is all."

The intercom cut and the pair were left lying side by side in the bed, red in the face, and their minds far from their duties. Glancing at one another, they both frowned heavily.

"Thanks Vivian," Jasmine said at the ceiling. "Really appreciate it, Vivian. Can always count on you to ruin a good time, Vivian."

"Ah, she's just doing her job," Frost said, sitting up and fixing his hair. "We all got jobs to do; making war is what we're paid to do, isn't it?"

"Maybe you and her; my job is to patch you idiots up so you can make more." Jasmine sat up too, fixed her own hair, and then went over to her dresser. She opened one of the metallic drawers, produced a clean pair of underwear, slid her current pair off, and put the new ones on. As she began to don her uniform, she turned and faced Frost. "How are you two getting on these days?"

"Well enough. We've sparred a few times and it's been good fun. She's got a real knack for knife-fighting; took to it very naturally. I'm pretty impressed."

Jasmine pulled on her olive drab sweater, tucked it into her black trousers, and buckled her belt. She looked over at Frost, uneasily.

"Maybe it's just me but I find the idea of my boyfriend and my best friend dueling with knives to be rather disconcerting."

"Because of our history?" Frost asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and apparently in no rush to get dressed. Jasmine furrowed her brow, pursed her lips, and looked at him blankly.

"No, because of the knives. The last thing I need is one or both of you limping into my infirmary going, 'oh hey Jas, we were just sparring and my radial artery got sliced open and now there's blood all over the deck. Can you fix my boo-boo?' Maybe in the future you could try sparring with the scabbards on."

"I'll mention it to her. But she's got the fight in her; she'd make one hell of a Marine."

"Trust me when I say the last thing she'd ever want to be is a Marine."

Jasmine threw on her white lab coat, straightened it, and then grabbed her data pad. She went over to Frost, bent down, and kissed him on the cheek. "I have to go now. Back to the grindstone. I'm not sure if we'll be able to see each other right away since it's a combat jump, but we'll work that out, okay?"

Frost nodded, stood up, and the pair embraced. Jasmine rested the side of her face against his chest and sighed as she smiled. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he said sweetly.

Another slipspace jump, another long cryosleep, another rude awakening, and Vivian found herself on the bridge of the I'm Alone. Despite taking the past forty-five minutes to wake up from cryo, it only felt like it had been a few minutes since she first undressed and entered the pod. To know weeks passed since she closed her eyes and the slipspace jump was executed was something Vivian still had trouble reconciling even after so many years of service.

Golden-blue light filled the bridge and then briefly faded, plunging it into darkness. White, blue, and orange tactical screens glowed and illuminated the face of her bridge staff. Decatur, standing atop the AI pedestal with his hands folded behind his back, looked as if he was suspended in midair. When the light returned, he faded somewhat.

"Sosa?" Vivian said out loud.

"One minute until slipspace exit, Captain."

Vivian took a deep breath and looked over at Decatur. The AI looked at her and offered a confident smile. With a nod, he drew his saber and his flintlock pistol. He leaned forward slightly as if he was about to burst across a 19th Century boarding plank to seize the prize. Vivian leaned forward as well, her hands clutching the ends of her command station's armrests.

"Sosa, the moment we exit slipspace, proceed to the rally point at half-speed," Vivian ordered. "Koroma, I want a group comm net established and piped through the bridge's intercom. I need to know what's going on across all commands. Tsang, keep your eyes glued to your screen and keep running scans, if there are anymore ships in the system, sound off. Bassot, pump all available power into the MAC's, get four Archer pods ready, and then transfer manual control to my station."

"Yes, ma'am!" all the bridge officers cried out.

"Third seconds," Sosa added.

Vivian leaned forward and activated the ship's intercom.

"Now hear this, now hear this: all hands, man your battle stations!"

Officers exchanged glances and nods with one another. Some smiled. A few closed their eyes, murmured a prayer, and made the sign of the cross across their chest. Vivian breathed in, sharply this time, and exhaled slowly. She could feel her heart pounding, her blood boiling, and her stomach fluttering with excitement and fear. The paradox of her emotions, the furor of entering combat once again, the terror at losing a ship and their crews, the wonder of what it would be like for plasma to slice through the bridge and take off a limb, and the sheer joy of commanding an array of the UNSC's most powerful weapons against an unsuspecting foe, blended together and tore one another apart all at once in her chest. Vivian relished it, delighted in these few calm moments before battle, and was glad she wasn't anywhere else in the Colonies except right here.

Her station pinged. Sosa had sent a countdown to her primary screen. It counted down from ten; suddenly it seemed so slow. When she glanced at her wrist watch, an antique rather than a digital one, she watched the second hand approach the top. As her focus fell on it, it seemed as though she could hear the inner workings of the watch, the small gears grinding against each other and a faint click as the hand progressed towards the Roman numeral XII.

The golden-blue light disappeared. Before her was blackened space, a cold blue sun was in the center, adjacent to it was an ash gray orb in the center, and a meandering, disorganized anchorage of ships beside it. Immediately, Vivian stood up.

"Half speed, proceed to nav marker, go!" she ordered.

One by one, the other ships appeared on the ship's tactical display and the commanding officers sounded off.

"Ma'am, you're patched into the net," Koroma reported.

"Echelon formation, right. I'm Alone, leading, highest tonnage to lowest tonnage ships following. Charge MAC's, enable Archer missile pods. All ships, half-speed!"

Across the no man's land between the two battle groups she saw the purple-white flare of the Covenant ships' engines. Slowly, they began to turn towards the UNSC ships. Their fluid purple shapes seemed so fragile and so small from such a distance. It seemed as though she could reach through the viewing glass, pluck them one by one from orbit, and snap them over her knee.

With her teeth clenched, Vivian turned and faced the starboard side tactical screen. All ships were in formation, stacked diagonally away from the ship. Beside each one, she watched the bars representing their MAC gun charges steadily filling up and the numeric percentage to the right of each ascending to one hundred percent. She looked back at the Covenant flotilla and saw they were entering a line formation. To see the ships side by side, they finally looked formidable. To go through them would be like flies smashing into a brick wall.

Vivian's fingers raced across her terminal keyboard. "Dispatching target vectors and firing sequence. All ships, prepare to fire on my mark." She looked back at the tactical display. One after the other, the bars began to fill up. The moment the final one reached one hundred percent, she looked forward. All the Covenant ships were looming much larger in the bridge glass. "Fire, first salvo!"

The I'm Alone shuddered. Golden streaks flung towards the Covenant ships. The shields of the three SDV-class ships were hit and orange fire billowed over the shields. Hit so many times, the shields already began to flicker and die.

"Ma'am, all ships in range for Archer missile pods!" Bassot cried.

"All ships, two Archer missile pods per ship, fire at will!"

Vivian hit the key and she watched a horde of missile swarm towards the enemy. Purple point defense lasers arced and cut swathes across black space. Hundreds of the missiles dissipated into brief orange flashes and puffs of metallic dust. Many got through and broke upon the shields. While the heavier ships' shields held, it was too much for the SDV-class corvettes. Their shields finally died away. "Second slavo, fire!" Vivian ordered.

More golden streaks cut flew towards the Covenant ships. One MAC smashed into the nose of one enemy corvette and caused a massive explosion that broke it off from the remainder of the ship. As the bow began to drift away, the rest of the ship was rocked by secondary explosions. Another's spine was broken by the impact and in the same instant its slipspace drive detonated. A massive white-purple explosion engulfed the ship and sent a white shockwave out. The third SDV was on fire and began to veer off course, clearly out of control. Then River Styx's XEV9-Matos Nonlinear Pulse Cannons came to life and a series of lasers burned across the burning corvette's hull. Molten cracks appeared in the hull and entire sections of the hull began to break off.

Three ships were destroyed, but the heavier tonnage ships were already barreling towards them. Vivian smiled; she was hoping they would. "Best of the Best, prepare one Shiva-class nuke and fire on my command. Bassot, transfer controls of one of our own to my station."

"Done, ma'am."

"I'm Alone, Best of the Best here. One Shiva-class nuke, prepared to fire on your command, over."

"Roger, Best of the Best. Hold."

"Madam, it appears the Covenant flotilla is preparing to fire a salvo."

"All ships, prepare to execute emergency thruster maneuver; top thruster."

"Enemy ships firing!" Bassot hollered.

Vivian saw the weapons flare across the surviving ships. A wall of purple, blue, and pink plasma came rushing towards the UNSC ships. It was like watching a wave breaking on the shore, the white water growing bigger, louder, and faster as it stormed up the beach. Vivian, still grinning so wide she was exposing her clenched teeth, could practically feel the plasma's crackle. The plasma was closing in, becoming so larger through the screens that it blotted out the ships behind them.

"Best of the Best, fire!" she commanded, then hit the firing key on her terminal. "All ships, execute emergency thrusters!"

The I'm Alone shuddered violently as it flung below the wave of plasma. "Decatur, give me top and stern cameras!" Two screens at her station changed over a direct feed. The plasma passed over the top of the I'm Alone and continued barreling into the space behind them.

"All ships report successful evasion," Tsang reported.

"Shiva-class nuclear device detonations in three, two, one..." Bassot counted down. Two massive explosions appeared amid the line of ships. When the blinding white light, all the ships' shields save for the CSO-class ship was flickering. Vivian pointed forward. "All ships, full speed ahead, proceed to rally point, sending nav marker!"

The I'm Alone sprang forward as the Covenant ships began to execute a descending turn to fire down upon the ships. By the time their weapons were recharged and ready to fire, the echelon of UNSC ships was underneath them. "All ships, fire Archer missile pods! Avoid the CSO-class ship." Vivian hit the key for the remaining two pods. With less distance between the two formations of ships, the Covenant point defense lasers couldn't detonate as many of the missiles. Orange explosions billowed all over the ships and their shields flared blue, flickered, and died away. Some of the missiles detonated on the enemy ships' hulls. Batavia's Mark 15 Breakwater coilguns trained their sights on the ships above them and hammered away. Larger explosions rocked the hull of the CPV-class destroyer.

Vivian nodded as she surveyed the screens and the data flooding across them. The echelon passed the formation of Covenant warships. The enemy starships were already turning, executing spectacular, high-speed turns despite flying in a tight line formation. Like water, the ships flowed past one another; at times they were so close, Vivian hoped they would collide. "All ships, change course, seventy-five degrees ascension. River Styx, I'm Alone hailing."

"Aye, Captain, go ahead!" came Rundstrum's relaxed voice.

"The moment we're back on the Covenant's plane, leave a trail of M441's, over."

"Aye, Captain...deploying!"

"Ma'am, we're at the rally point," Sosa reported. "Coordinates set for slipspace jump."

"Tsang?"

"Green across the board, Captain. All ships prepared to jump."

"All ships, all ships, execute slipspace jump!"

A massive blue portal split the darkness of space in front of the I'm Alone. The massive ship plunged into it and Vivian found herself back in the golden-blue light of slipspace. She sat back down and looked at Decatur. The AI rested the back of his saber upon his shoulder and held his pistol in the air triumphantly.

Words: 6,592

Pages (Google Docs): 18

Original Font: PT Serif

Original Font Size: 11

Original Line Spacing: 1.5

Authors Note: Apologies for the delay, I was admittedly a little unmotivated to write over the weekend and the past couple of days, and I was a tad distracted with the release of Halo 3: ODST for the Master Chief Collection on Steam. Been having a lot of fun with that and the new challenges.

I doubt many of you follow me on DeviantArt (if you don't, that's cool, but if you'd like to see more of my original work, you can mosey on over to my profile, RadiationSoap, I'd appreciate that) or if you read my Warhammer: 40,000 fanfic, Marsh Silas: Inquisitor, but I've just entered the fifth and final part of the story. In seven more chapters, the story will be complete. For the time being, I'm going to be devoting all my writing time and effort into completing the last seven chapters. I'd like to wrap the story up and move onto its sequel. This may take a couple of weeks and I apologize to those who are here solely for I'm Alone: Exalt. But I promise to make it as expedient a process as possible and that once I start working on Marsh Silas's sequel, work will begin on this again immediately.

Comment Responses:

TheCarlosInferno: I think it was you but hey, these two need someone to knock their heads together and get them to realize what's right in front of them.

Jackejsh: Hey, no problem, I really appreciate you leaving reviews, it really helps me out. You probably noticed that while I respond to comments on this story, I don't respond to them in the author's note section on Marsh Silas: Inquisitor. That's because of my experiences writing many comment responses on my original I'm Alone story ended up tacking probably another 100,000 words, and I don't like to pad my story's word count. So while here it's a matter of tradition, I don't make it a policy on my other stories. But, if you would like to see responses to your reviews on Marsh Silas, I have a forum called Vox-Taps where I have a thread dedicated to responding to comments on those stories. While I have updated it for a while, I'll take care of it in the next few days so if you're interested, head over there sometime and you'll see my response.

MightBeGone: I knew folks would like it but I think the further their relationship progresses the more enjoyable it will become for readers and Starris fans. I hesitate to say much regarding Frost, not because of spoilers but I want to keep my thoughts as close to my chest as possible, because as you so accurately pointed out, the newfound trust is based on a lie and we can see this peace between them, and by extension, the crew, is far more brittle than Vivian thinks it is.

Qrs-jg: Thanks a bunch. I think this chapter was a bit more balanced, mixing it up with Vivian's thought processes, a slightly light encounter with Steele, a romantic but subtly dark moment between Jasmine and Frost, and some naval action to round it off. I'm quite please with this chapter to be honest. And sure, I'd love to!

Battle Group Corsair Composition

Valiant-class super heavy cruiser: UNSC I'm Alone

-Vivian Waters, CAPT, commanding officer

-Solak, CMDR, executive officer

-Uwem, CMDCM, senior non-commissioned officer

-Dennis Ngouabi, CMDR, CAG commanding officer

-Jasmine Ebrahimi, LT CMDR, chief of medical personnel

-Burgess, LT CMDR, chief engineering officer

-Holst, MAJ, 25th ODST Battalion, commanding officer

-Nina De Vos, CAPT, 25th ODST Battalion, complement executive officer

-Avram Hayes, COL, 89th Marine Expeditionary Unit Commanding Officer

-Royce, MAJ, Marine Raider Detachment Alpha Commanding Officer

-Angus Swing, MGySGT, Marine Raider Detachment Alpha senior enlisted advisor

-Conroy, 2NDLT, Marine Raider Detachment Alpha, Second Platoon commanding officer

-Nathaniel J. Frost, GySGT, Marine Raider Detachment Alpha, Second Platoon, senior enlisted man

-Louis-Henry Steele, CPL, Marine Raider Detachment Alpha, Second Platoon scout sniper

-Carris-137, PO3, Spartan-II super soldier, Marine Raider Detachment Alpha, Second Platoon

Epoch-class heavy carrier: UNSC Batavia

-Kelly, CAPT, commanding officer

Halberd-class destroyer: UNSC Best of the Best

-Slater, CAPT, commanding officer

Paris-class heavy frigate: UNSC Determined Guardian

Alastair, CMDR, commanding officer

Andrada, LT, executive officer

Paris-class heavy frigate: UNSC Lion's Den

-Kolchak, CMDR, commanding officer

-Kato, LT, executive officer

Sahara-class heavy prowler: UNSC River Styx

-Rikard Rundstrum, CAPT, commanding officer (ONI Section One)