Disclaimer: I own nothing. Of any type, shape or form, so ya boo
sucks to you too.
&&&&&&
The Carryall slewed to a halt, its manoeuvring jets activating occasionally to guide it through the thick canopy of trees and reeds. It lowered towards the ground, suspended three feet off of the ground. The rear compartment opened, and the soldiers jumped out.
Byrnes landed heavily, his boots sinking into the fetid quagmire. The air was hot and humid, making him feel as if his lungs were being gripped by some insatiable tormenter. He looked up at the nearby hills shrouded in mist, and sighed.
The sound of speeding turbines told him that the Carryall had left them on their own. The conscripts established a temporary perimeter, securing the area from any possible hostiles. There was the sound of chirping insects and carrion-birds. A few moments passed, and it began to rain. Heavy, grey-warm droplets spattered the squad, causing drowsiness to any in the downpour.
"Alright, people!" The sergeant yelled. "We have been deposited roughly half a click from our desired position. We are to make our way there, where we shall meet up with another two squads! Keep your positions tight, your finger-triggers steady, and we go home in one piece! Now move it!"
The soldiers quickly ran through the marsh land, ignoring the omnipresent glow-flies which danced around their heads. Water from over- flowing puddle leaked through boots, and all the while there was the oppressive humidity, clamping down on their heads and chests.
Pardee spat in disgust. "In the name of God, why couldn't they have placed down in front of the place? It's like weighing an extra fifty pounds walking through this place!"
"Stow that shit, soldier!" The sergeant snapped back. "Remember we're conscripts and we've got a job to do. So shut yer yap!"
Pardee grumbled slightly, but quietened down. The foremost soldiers took position behind available cover and signalled for Byrnes and some other soldiers to move forward.
Byrnes hastily sprinted ahead, his feet squelching unpleasantly with each step. Sweat trickled into his eyes, mingling with the lukewarm rain. He quickly rubbed it, and looked into the thick pea-souper ahead.
A bright light, too bright to be an insect, caught his eye. As he looked closer, he saw the outlines of another light. He quickly indicated the squad to follow him. The humans rushed down the hill, heading towards the artificial light. As they got closer, they saw more, arranged to show a muddy path.
They thundered down the path, seeing clearly a large and unnatural structure. They headed in, stopping at an open-air elevator.
"Okay, people." The sergeant ordered, "I want you to secure this area and wait for reinforcements, which should be coming shortly. Just hold tight, and we can get out of here soon."
Byrnes sighed, and checked his newly-acquired machine gun. He looked up at the remainder of the squad, who all looked weary, but also, slightly afraid. He didn't blame them. There was just something so claustrophobic about this place...
&&&&&&
Idaho and Ingsley strode out of the Silent Cartographer, their uneven paces providing an unsteady staccato across the stone floor. Once they were far from the area, Idaho turned to Ingsley.
"You are a Mentat, Ingsley. Tell me, do you think this plan will work?"
Ingsley paused, and thought momentarily, gnawing on his carmine-red lips. "I am not sure. I do not consume melange. I do not have prescient abilities."
"But you are a Mentat." Idaho repeated. Ingsley sighed.
"This is true. Yes, the plan does seem to be feasible, but a lot of it is dependant on luck. Whether the 'thopters and tanks can occupy the enemy ships, whether the 'weapons cache' shows any promise... It's a bit too uncertain for my tastes."
"Can you see an alternative?"
Ingsley's eyes scanned the surrounding area, checking as to whether there was anyone around them. "I could see... a slight alternative."
"Explain."
"If we manage to avoid the Covenant for the set amount of time for Spacing Guild checking, we could receive enough reinforcements to over- power the Covenant and occupy the Halo. We have control over the interdimensional transporter, why are we so set in removing such a useful piece of technology? Once the Covenant were eliminated, we could start establishing links to other galaxies..." Ingsley trailed off and raised an eyebrow.
"Why would we want to do that?"
"From the limited time I had inspecting the Halo's databanks, I discovered something slightly... extraordinary."
"Explain."
"It was a data file marked counter-measure species. I had a little look through it, and I found biological indexes for thousands upon thousands of aliens, not under the rule of the Covenant. But what really got my attention was that there was a listing under humans."
Idaho cleared his throat unsteadily. "What do you mean? That someone was spying on us?"
"Yes! There was a huge essay detailing our history; from the ruling of the cymeks to the Butlerian Jihad to the lineage of the Emperors, the Bene Gesserit and Tleilaxu, the Ix and Richese, the Great Houses... I found out about a few things which were classified information!" Ingsley continued.
"There was a detailed manual on the training of Mentats, something called 'Project Amal' a secret plot that took part during the rule of Shaddam IV... but what really caught my eye was another data file."
"Why, what was it about?"
"It was entitled; 'Other human societies'."
Silence enveloped the two men. Idaho's foot began to tap. His gaze slowly met Ingsley's frantic eyes. "Are you telling me..."
"Yes! I couldn't believe it, but there are other humans in these different realities! Think of what we could benefit! Who cares what the Bene Gesserit want! They have demanded too much from the universe, but we have the chance to defy them, once and for all!" Ingsley grasped Idaho's shoulder. "Think about it!"
Idaho nodded, and began to think. "You shall have to wait, Ingsley, but I shall return with a decision."
Ingsley nodded and walked off, his footsteps reverberating throughout the subterranean installation. Idaho thought.
I may be a simple soldier, but I can sense multiple strategies outwith the battlefield. Ingsley seemed to be very interested in this, but I know Mentats. They never excite so easily. So why...?
What could we benefit if we contacted these other races? Well, besides from the Bene Tleilaxu gaining new cellular cultures, but then again, they use no Mentats bar their 'twisted' stock, but Ingsley is obviously not twisted, so why... of course- economic gain! Idaho could see it all now.
Ingsley must be one of the CHOAM agents I suspected to be on this voyage. He would be keen to establish contact to other societies because of the trade benefits, which CHOAM would advantage from... A subtle business indeed...
Idaho walked off. He had no love for the Bene Gesserit, but he also had no love for CHOAM. If they desired to make him a puppet, he would not do so. Instead, he would do what he was ordered to do; destroy Halo...
But then again...
&&&&&&
Aeroeals'Haron sat on the floor of his quarters, his mind racing. His thoughts and calculations had started to increase in complexity. Mind- wrangling calculations of physics and science were increasingly simple to him. His gaze traversed the room, not just seeing it in itself, but calculating the length, breadth, height, volume... all in a matter of seconds without instruments of measurement.
Could it be down to the human substance?
He had only sampled a small volume of the melange, tasted its heady sweetness and spice, feeling the grains quickly pass through the lining in his mouth, as if it was too eager to be merely digested...
At first, it was disconcerting. The bay seemed to stretch and glow, his inner ear seemed to unbalance, but then the true power of the spice shone through.
From watching their movements, he could tell if soldiers had been sent to breaks or sent to do work, he managed to calculate how many containers there were in the bay in a shorter time then it took one to withdraw a counting machine to do the job. He managed to accurately find out how much the captured goods weighed, he saw the first glimpses into the workings of both the human lasgun and the Holtzman generator.
Hurriedly he had tried to write down these thoughts, while the stock- takers watched him with alarm. With five minutes of melange-fuelled work, he had managed to do three shifts-work.
Then he excused himself, realising that his newfound abilities were causing some concern. How could he have gained them? Was it Melange?
Of course, said his hyper-analysing brain, by using the main component of the spice, and linking it with the trace elements, nervous signals in the brain are sent.... His mind descended furiously into biological-mathematics.
He had never felt this way before. He lifted a shaking hand, to jot down the importance of this mineral, but the outside world seemed so slow in comparison to himself. Somehow, he managed it, and then he fell back, his mind and body on a higher plane of existence. He was hungry, not for food or drink, but for data and problems. Anything was doable...
Slowly, slowly, his eyes started to change hue to an ink-dark blue...
&&&&&&
At the main storage facilities, pandemonium reigned. Loading crews for 'thopters and Carryalls dodged around the heavy transporters which transported heavy-duty shells to the siege tanks. There was a constant babble of voices, but one message still carried through each and every person:
We are preparing for an assault.
Multi-barrelled rifles were fitted with armoured ammo feeds, missiles were inserted into firing banks, lasgun cells were charged, Holtzman generators were tested. The dull whine of turbines and the stench of motor oil permeated the air, and pilots rushed to their briefing rooms.
We are preparing for an assault.
Siege shells, three feet long, were being loaded into the long-ranged cannons of the siege tanks. Each had the explosive capability to demolish the most heavily armoured of fortresses. Elsewhere, smaller combat tanks revved their engines and tested their tracks for any discrepancies. Faster trikes and quads had wheels refitted, fuel tanks filled, machine guns oiled and loaded.
We are preparing for an assault.
Hundreds upon hundreds of rifles were handed out to conscripts. Body armour was belted into place, armoured helmets placed firmly on heads. Small knives were put into sheaths at the limbs. Hand-to-hand combat was practised and honed.
We are preparing for an assault.
&&&&&&
Byrnes aimed his rifle around the corner of the corridor, and signalled the rest of the squad to move ahead. The squad was now deep into the 'cache', as it had been termed, and tension was growing. The first few human bodies gave good reason for that tension. Those corpses had been several squads from crushers which had not landed near frigates, and it was to be expected of a few landing fatalities, but why would they be brought here?
A door opened in front of them, and the squad provided overwatch while Byrnes scurried out, checking blind spots for any enemy positions. All was quiet. Another hand signal, and the squad followed him into the room.
"Okay, people." It was the loud sergeant again. "We're to hold this position in order to be in reserve. The other two squads are going to try to find the weapons. Just sit tight, and we'll be home in a jiffy."
The soldiers placed themselves into firing positions, and waited in that sullen, engulfing silence.
&&&&&&
Bomoko had taken a break from monitoring the position and arrangement of troops, so Ingsley had full reign over the Halo's controls and databases.
His hands flew over the light-panel. Who could have imagined such a complex machine? Humans had renounced most forms of machinery and all forms of computers in the aftermath of the Butlerian Jihad. 'Man may not be replaced' was the moral forged from the blood of uncountable people and the heat of the atomic warheads that decimated Earth, but this device... it was faster and supplied Ingsley with more information and data then he could have ever dreamed of.
He opened the major database, and poured over the information stored about the alien and human societies. His hyper-stimulated brain absorbed every character, no fact avoided his gaze. Fascinating...
He quickly closed the database, and searched through the machine again. After a moments thought, he produced a detailed schematic of the 'weapons cache' where the scattered soldiers had converged. A three- dimensional translucent hologram appeared, detailing the appearance of the cache and the soldier's positions. Good, good, the first squads were nearing the controls. He was about to open another schematic, when a visual alarm, one so small it had been overlooked until now, caught his eye.
Most odd, he thought, his hands dancing over the panel, elaborating on the alarm. A brief description appeared: 'ALERT!WARNING!ALERT!WARNING!ALERT!WARNING! Holding pen locks compromised due to external intrusion, Flood has been released into main research facility, sending Sentinels to counter Flood release. ERROR: Sentinels not responding due to multiple drone junction failure. Alternate countermeasure: complete quarantine and sealing off of infected area. ETA for outside facility infection by Flood; Five rotas. Message Repeat 1 of 10: ALERT!WARNING!ALERT!...'
Ingsley cut the message off. Most odd indeed... Flood? What was that? And what had it, or they, had to do with the weapons cache? He quickly entered a search run, looking for data about this 'Flood'. One database emerged.
He read the information. His eyes widened.
&&&&&&
Byrnes turned as the radio crackled, breaking the underground silence which had enveloped the squad. The radio operative, a hard-bitten Giede Prime native called Ein Calamar, worked the controls trying to counter the static.
A few words broke out; "-ay ag... vacua- area!... -is is In... andin... to eva... repea..." The radio stuttered into indecipherable static. Calamar shook his head at the sergeant. "There's no chance of getting a clear reading this far underground, sir." He announced gravely.
The radio crackled again, this time clearer. "All troops! Pull back to the surface! Retreat!" It was the other squad deeper in the facility. "Fall back! Do not stand your ground!" A sound of heavy gunfire, then screaming, an incoherent yell. "Run! Ru-" The radio fell silent again.
"Sergeant?" Pardee said, a not of fear firmly in his voice. "What do we do?" Byrnes scanned the room. What had once seemed slightly mundane and boring now seemed sinister and looming. A slight sound, like water moving over pebbles, was at the edge of his hearing, or was it his imagination?
The sergeant paused, his head cocked to one side. The unusual trickling – or was it slithering? – came again. "Squad? Listen up. We are going to head back to the surface, odds first, evens providing covering fire. Double time, people."
The squad moved back, following their previous trail, each corridor seeming more pregnant with danger with each step. And all the time, there was that oppressive sound, that whispering, slithering, crawling sound...
Byrnes peeked around the corner, and nearly swallowed his own tongue. There was a silhouette ahead! Then his head caught up with his heart. That's a human, you can see that he is wearing armour and carrying a rifle. He turned around and relayed this information to the rest of the squad.
The squad stepped out casually around the corner, and came into full view of the other person. As they saw the person in full for the first time, they stopped.
The man's skin had turned an unhealthy pallor of pus-yellow. His staggering gait was uneven, as if he was drunk. His eyes had rolled back in their sockets, and a melody of gurgled nonsense came from his lips. His left arm had... had... transformed. Instead of an arm, there was a collection of bony spines.
"Stay where you are!" The sergeant yelled, drawing his pistol. The rest of the squad followed suit, aiming their weapons at the person. "Identify yourself! Don't move another step!" The human stumbled forward slowly. "If you do not stop right now, I will be forced to open fire!"
There was a rush of movement, and the creature flung itself forward, its stumbling steps hurtling it towards the squad. The soldiers fired, their bullets impacting against the creature. On it came. Another volley, then another and another... finally, the thing stopped, falling face down on the stone floor.
The squad lowered their guns slowly, and walked cautiously to the smoking body. Slowly, slowly, the creature stood back up, its head blasted clean off its body, only its lower jaw left dangling from its neck.
There was a gasp of horror mingled with disgust from one of the soldiers as it began to walk towards them again, this time, raising its weapon. One bullet impacted against Pardee's helmet, but the other rounds impacted harmlessly against the stone wall.
This time, the squad's fire tore both arms off, and tore open its midriff. There was a shower of dry flesh and unhealthy grey-green blood which decorated the corridor, and the creature collapsed, quite dead.
Byrnes quickly ran over to the corpse and snatched the identifying tags from around the neck of the thing, snapping the chain. He quickly scanned the harsh text. This was that Arrakis native he had seen on the Heighliner...
He looked at the smoking, mutated thing, and shivered.
&&&&&&
The Carryall swung around ponderously, descending into the jungle- marsh mist. Farad'n, softly adjusted the manoeuvring fins, bringing the plane closer to the wetland lakes and rivers. Ingsley had sent out a call demanding that an evacuation team be prepared to extract the soldiers form the weapon cache. Farad'n couldn't see why, but then again, strategy was never his strong point.
The radio operator tapped his Farad'n's helmet. "We're approaching the drop-zone, ETA in three minutes, keep it tight." The operator moved back to his seat, adjusting the on-board radio.
Farad'n tried to peer through the thick swathes of condensation pooling on the Carryall's windscreen with no success. Only proximity sensors prevented him from crashing into the thick tree cover.
On and on he flew, each second drawing out like a day. So tedious... He was about to ask about their ETA, when the movement sensor chimed. He peered into the murk below.
Just on the verge of his sight, half-hidden by the omnipresent mist, were some running human-shaped figures. Nodding in appreciation, he cut the jets, and lowered the Carryall.
Small arm fire ricocheted off the hull. A few bullets penetrated the thin armour of the cockpit, one imbedding itself into his foot.
With a curse, he pulled up, bringing the ship out of firing range. The Carryall flew into a tree, breaking it in two, causing the plane to drop back into firing range. As he struggled to shift the tree of off his ship, Farad'n looked back at the running figures. They looked human, but they did not move or act like them...
With a brief shock of horror, Farad'n spied one of the things hefting a rocket launcher to its shoulder...
&&&&&&
A brief flash in the misty air caught Jamis's eye as he swung the combat 'thopter under the mist canopy. Unlike the Carryall, the 'thopter was smaller and quicker, more adept to manoeuvring and turning on a dime.
His gunner flicked on the radio. "This is 'thopter three calling Carryall flight six, flight six, do you read? Over." A mild hissing came back. "Say again, flight six. Over." More hissing.
The gunner switched channels to the rest of the 'thopter group. "Do any of you jokers see flight six? Over."
"This is 'thopter one. Last I saw him, he was heading upspin towards the rendezvous. I can't see him now. Over."
"'Thopter two; negative. Over."
"'Thopter four; negative. Over."
Jamis hissed in annoyance, and continued to circle the area. His gunner tried to call back to base, while the other 'thopters tried to call the remaining conscripts.
A small fire in the murky lake ahead made Jamis break out of his circling pattern. He flew towards it, and, as it got closer, realised there were more fires ahead. He skimmed over a small hillock, and came across the remainder of the Carryall.
As the gunner relayed this new development to the rest of the team, Jamis hovered over the smoking wreckage, his camera-guns catching all the details he could not see.
A brief flare made him pull back on the joystick, jerking the 'thopter back. Another brief light made him yaw to the left. Two rockets, their contrails lining the misty air, narrowly missed him.
He pulled the straining plane up as tracer fire from all angles sprayed up at them. Some bullets stitched the windscreen, cracking, but not shattering, it. He raised his eyes to see more indistinct shapes on a plateau they were approaching. "It's a trap!"
He heard the gunner swear, then bring up the weapons systems. "I gotta admit..." He said. "I've always wanted to do this."
The gunner pushed the firing stud, and the two multi-barrelled machine guns opened fire, twin tongues of fire orating a speech of metal death. The rounds smashed apart the creatures with immaculate ease, causing them to drop their weapons. One creature was unfortunate enough to have its entire torso macerated to such an extent that all that was left was a pair of staggering legs. Then its extraordinary metabolism made it realise it was in fact; dead, and it keeled over.
Other bright stitches of tracer fire around him indicated that the rest of the flight were dealing with these enemies quickly. Jamis scanned the area, searching for the pick-up point, sweat trickling down his neck. His eyes flicked nervously from sensors-to-windscreen-to-altimeter, searching for another attack.
The gunner tapped Jamis's head. "I'm getting a signal. I think it's the rest of the squad." He listened to the feverish squawks. "I think they're being ambushed by the same enemies we were..." He listened some more. "They're coming up to the surface. We need to get there now."
Jamis banked the 'thopter towards the building, the other 'thopters falling in behind him. More gunfire sounded form the radio, and entreated pleas to hurry to the entrance.
A large, rectangular opening appeared in the murky space ahead, and Jamis cut the engines, lowering the 'thopter to a few feet off of the ground. Two more 'thopter's joined him. Their rear compartments opened, but only a few soldiers could fit into each one. At the most, three each...
Jamis opened a side-window, and peered out towards the rear of the craft, where the troops would be going to first. He saw one madly running figure sprint towards one of the other 'thopters, dropping his weapons as he did so. Then another, this one firing a side-arm into the entrance.
Three more, then another two came out... followed by a group of shambling and staggering creatures. Jamis blinked in slow horror. They were sick parodies of humans, with flesh sloughing from bones and bones twisted beyond repair, but despite their deformities, they were catching up with the soldiers...
The last 'thopter descended, its machine guns delivering a chatter of burning metal. The horde dissolved under the onslaught, limbs blown off and hunks of flesh liberally decorating the outside of the facility.
"What about the rest of the squads?" Came a yell from one of the other 'thopter pilots. "Screw 'em! They're dead!" Replied one of the troopers. "Go, go ,go! Leave!"
The 'thopters began to dust off, their engines carrying them safely up off of the ground. Jamis circled the plane over the entrance one last time, and saw it vomit out a stream of large, insect-like creatures. A veritable flood of a consuming and unstoppable alien force...
Jamis realised that they had made one big mistake.
&&&&&&
R&R everybody. It'll be finishing relatively soon.
&&&&&&
The Carryall slewed to a halt, its manoeuvring jets activating occasionally to guide it through the thick canopy of trees and reeds. It lowered towards the ground, suspended three feet off of the ground. The rear compartment opened, and the soldiers jumped out.
Byrnes landed heavily, his boots sinking into the fetid quagmire. The air was hot and humid, making him feel as if his lungs were being gripped by some insatiable tormenter. He looked up at the nearby hills shrouded in mist, and sighed.
The sound of speeding turbines told him that the Carryall had left them on their own. The conscripts established a temporary perimeter, securing the area from any possible hostiles. There was the sound of chirping insects and carrion-birds. A few moments passed, and it began to rain. Heavy, grey-warm droplets spattered the squad, causing drowsiness to any in the downpour.
"Alright, people!" The sergeant yelled. "We have been deposited roughly half a click from our desired position. We are to make our way there, where we shall meet up with another two squads! Keep your positions tight, your finger-triggers steady, and we go home in one piece! Now move it!"
The soldiers quickly ran through the marsh land, ignoring the omnipresent glow-flies which danced around their heads. Water from over- flowing puddle leaked through boots, and all the while there was the oppressive humidity, clamping down on their heads and chests.
Pardee spat in disgust. "In the name of God, why couldn't they have placed down in front of the place? It's like weighing an extra fifty pounds walking through this place!"
"Stow that shit, soldier!" The sergeant snapped back. "Remember we're conscripts and we've got a job to do. So shut yer yap!"
Pardee grumbled slightly, but quietened down. The foremost soldiers took position behind available cover and signalled for Byrnes and some other soldiers to move forward.
Byrnes hastily sprinted ahead, his feet squelching unpleasantly with each step. Sweat trickled into his eyes, mingling with the lukewarm rain. He quickly rubbed it, and looked into the thick pea-souper ahead.
A bright light, too bright to be an insect, caught his eye. As he looked closer, he saw the outlines of another light. He quickly indicated the squad to follow him. The humans rushed down the hill, heading towards the artificial light. As they got closer, they saw more, arranged to show a muddy path.
They thundered down the path, seeing clearly a large and unnatural structure. They headed in, stopping at an open-air elevator.
"Okay, people." The sergeant ordered, "I want you to secure this area and wait for reinforcements, which should be coming shortly. Just hold tight, and we can get out of here soon."
Byrnes sighed, and checked his newly-acquired machine gun. He looked up at the remainder of the squad, who all looked weary, but also, slightly afraid. He didn't blame them. There was just something so claustrophobic about this place...
&&&&&&
Idaho and Ingsley strode out of the Silent Cartographer, their uneven paces providing an unsteady staccato across the stone floor. Once they were far from the area, Idaho turned to Ingsley.
"You are a Mentat, Ingsley. Tell me, do you think this plan will work?"
Ingsley paused, and thought momentarily, gnawing on his carmine-red lips. "I am not sure. I do not consume melange. I do not have prescient abilities."
"But you are a Mentat." Idaho repeated. Ingsley sighed.
"This is true. Yes, the plan does seem to be feasible, but a lot of it is dependant on luck. Whether the 'thopters and tanks can occupy the enemy ships, whether the 'weapons cache' shows any promise... It's a bit too uncertain for my tastes."
"Can you see an alternative?"
Ingsley's eyes scanned the surrounding area, checking as to whether there was anyone around them. "I could see... a slight alternative."
"Explain."
"If we manage to avoid the Covenant for the set amount of time for Spacing Guild checking, we could receive enough reinforcements to over- power the Covenant and occupy the Halo. We have control over the interdimensional transporter, why are we so set in removing such a useful piece of technology? Once the Covenant were eliminated, we could start establishing links to other galaxies..." Ingsley trailed off and raised an eyebrow.
"Why would we want to do that?"
"From the limited time I had inspecting the Halo's databanks, I discovered something slightly... extraordinary."
"Explain."
"It was a data file marked counter-measure species. I had a little look through it, and I found biological indexes for thousands upon thousands of aliens, not under the rule of the Covenant. But what really got my attention was that there was a listing under humans."
Idaho cleared his throat unsteadily. "What do you mean? That someone was spying on us?"
"Yes! There was a huge essay detailing our history; from the ruling of the cymeks to the Butlerian Jihad to the lineage of the Emperors, the Bene Gesserit and Tleilaxu, the Ix and Richese, the Great Houses... I found out about a few things which were classified information!" Ingsley continued.
"There was a detailed manual on the training of Mentats, something called 'Project Amal' a secret plot that took part during the rule of Shaddam IV... but what really caught my eye was another data file."
"Why, what was it about?"
"It was entitled; 'Other human societies'."
Silence enveloped the two men. Idaho's foot began to tap. His gaze slowly met Ingsley's frantic eyes. "Are you telling me..."
"Yes! I couldn't believe it, but there are other humans in these different realities! Think of what we could benefit! Who cares what the Bene Gesserit want! They have demanded too much from the universe, but we have the chance to defy them, once and for all!" Ingsley grasped Idaho's shoulder. "Think about it!"
Idaho nodded, and began to think. "You shall have to wait, Ingsley, but I shall return with a decision."
Ingsley nodded and walked off, his footsteps reverberating throughout the subterranean installation. Idaho thought.
I may be a simple soldier, but I can sense multiple strategies outwith the battlefield. Ingsley seemed to be very interested in this, but I know Mentats. They never excite so easily. So why...?
What could we benefit if we contacted these other races? Well, besides from the Bene Tleilaxu gaining new cellular cultures, but then again, they use no Mentats bar their 'twisted' stock, but Ingsley is obviously not twisted, so why... of course- economic gain! Idaho could see it all now.
Ingsley must be one of the CHOAM agents I suspected to be on this voyage. He would be keen to establish contact to other societies because of the trade benefits, which CHOAM would advantage from... A subtle business indeed...
Idaho walked off. He had no love for the Bene Gesserit, but he also had no love for CHOAM. If they desired to make him a puppet, he would not do so. Instead, he would do what he was ordered to do; destroy Halo...
But then again...
&&&&&&
Aeroeals'Haron sat on the floor of his quarters, his mind racing. His thoughts and calculations had started to increase in complexity. Mind- wrangling calculations of physics and science were increasingly simple to him. His gaze traversed the room, not just seeing it in itself, but calculating the length, breadth, height, volume... all in a matter of seconds without instruments of measurement.
Could it be down to the human substance?
He had only sampled a small volume of the melange, tasted its heady sweetness and spice, feeling the grains quickly pass through the lining in his mouth, as if it was too eager to be merely digested...
At first, it was disconcerting. The bay seemed to stretch and glow, his inner ear seemed to unbalance, but then the true power of the spice shone through.
From watching their movements, he could tell if soldiers had been sent to breaks or sent to do work, he managed to calculate how many containers there were in the bay in a shorter time then it took one to withdraw a counting machine to do the job. He managed to accurately find out how much the captured goods weighed, he saw the first glimpses into the workings of both the human lasgun and the Holtzman generator.
Hurriedly he had tried to write down these thoughts, while the stock- takers watched him with alarm. With five minutes of melange-fuelled work, he had managed to do three shifts-work.
Then he excused himself, realising that his newfound abilities were causing some concern. How could he have gained them? Was it Melange?
Of course, said his hyper-analysing brain, by using the main component of the spice, and linking it with the trace elements, nervous signals in the brain are sent.... His mind descended furiously into biological-mathematics.
He had never felt this way before. He lifted a shaking hand, to jot down the importance of this mineral, but the outside world seemed so slow in comparison to himself. Somehow, he managed it, and then he fell back, his mind and body on a higher plane of existence. He was hungry, not for food or drink, but for data and problems. Anything was doable...
Slowly, slowly, his eyes started to change hue to an ink-dark blue...
&&&&&&
At the main storage facilities, pandemonium reigned. Loading crews for 'thopters and Carryalls dodged around the heavy transporters which transported heavy-duty shells to the siege tanks. There was a constant babble of voices, but one message still carried through each and every person:
We are preparing for an assault.
Multi-barrelled rifles were fitted with armoured ammo feeds, missiles were inserted into firing banks, lasgun cells were charged, Holtzman generators were tested. The dull whine of turbines and the stench of motor oil permeated the air, and pilots rushed to their briefing rooms.
We are preparing for an assault.
Siege shells, three feet long, were being loaded into the long-ranged cannons of the siege tanks. Each had the explosive capability to demolish the most heavily armoured of fortresses. Elsewhere, smaller combat tanks revved their engines and tested their tracks for any discrepancies. Faster trikes and quads had wheels refitted, fuel tanks filled, machine guns oiled and loaded.
We are preparing for an assault.
Hundreds upon hundreds of rifles were handed out to conscripts. Body armour was belted into place, armoured helmets placed firmly on heads. Small knives were put into sheaths at the limbs. Hand-to-hand combat was practised and honed.
We are preparing for an assault.
&&&&&&
Byrnes aimed his rifle around the corner of the corridor, and signalled the rest of the squad to move ahead. The squad was now deep into the 'cache', as it had been termed, and tension was growing. The first few human bodies gave good reason for that tension. Those corpses had been several squads from crushers which had not landed near frigates, and it was to be expected of a few landing fatalities, but why would they be brought here?
A door opened in front of them, and the squad provided overwatch while Byrnes scurried out, checking blind spots for any enemy positions. All was quiet. Another hand signal, and the squad followed him into the room.
"Okay, people." It was the loud sergeant again. "We're to hold this position in order to be in reserve. The other two squads are going to try to find the weapons. Just sit tight, and we'll be home in a jiffy."
The soldiers placed themselves into firing positions, and waited in that sullen, engulfing silence.
&&&&&&
Bomoko had taken a break from monitoring the position and arrangement of troops, so Ingsley had full reign over the Halo's controls and databases.
His hands flew over the light-panel. Who could have imagined such a complex machine? Humans had renounced most forms of machinery and all forms of computers in the aftermath of the Butlerian Jihad. 'Man may not be replaced' was the moral forged from the blood of uncountable people and the heat of the atomic warheads that decimated Earth, but this device... it was faster and supplied Ingsley with more information and data then he could have ever dreamed of.
He opened the major database, and poured over the information stored about the alien and human societies. His hyper-stimulated brain absorbed every character, no fact avoided his gaze. Fascinating...
He quickly closed the database, and searched through the machine again. After a moments thought, he produced a detailed schematic of the 'weapons cache' where the scattered soldiers had converged. A three- dimensional translucent hologram appeared, detailing the appearance of the cache and the soldier's positions. Good, good, the first squads were nearing the controls. He was about to open another schematic, when a visual alarm, one so small it had been overlooked until now, caught his eye.
Most odd, he thought, his hands dancing over the panel, elaborating on the alarm. A brief description appeared: 'ALERT!WARNING!ALERT!WARNING!ALERT!WARNING! Holding pen locks compromised due to external intrusion, Flood has been released into main research facility, sending Sentinels to counter Flood release. ERROR: Sentinels not responding due to multiple drone junction failure. Alternate countermeasure: complete quarantine and sealing off of infected area. ETA for outside facility infection by Flood; Five rotas. Message Repeat 1 of 10: ALERT!WARNING!ALERT!...'
Ingsley cut the message off. Most odd indeed... Flood? What was that? And what had it, or they, had to do with the weapons cache? He quickly entered a search run, looking for data about this 'Flood'. One database emerged.
He read the information. His eyes widened.
&&&&&&
Byrnes turned as the radio crackled, breaking the underground silence which had enveloped the squad. The radio operative, a hard-bitten Giede Prime native called Ein Calamar, worked the controls trying to counter the static.
A few words broke out; "-ay ag... vacua- area!... -is is In... andin... to eva... repea..." The radio stuttered into indecipherable static. Calamar shook his head at the sergeant. "There's no chance of getting a clear reading this far underground, sir." He announced gravely.
The radio crackled again, this time clearer. "All troops! Pull back to the surface! Retreat!" It was the other squad deeper in the facility. "Fall back! Do not stand your ground!" A sound of heavy gunfire, then screaming, an incoherent yell. "Run! Ru-" The radio fell silent again.
"Sergeant?" Pardee said, a not of fear firmly in his voice. "What do we do?" Byrnes scanned the room. What had once seemed slightly mundane and boring now seemed sinister and looming. A slight sound, like water moving over pebbles, was at the edge of his hearing, or was it his imagination?
The sergeant paused, his head cocked to one side. The unusual trickling – or was it slithering? – came again. "Squad? Listen up. We are going to head back to the surface, odds first, evens providing covering fire. Double time, people."
The squad moved back, following their previous trail, each corridor seeming more pregnant with danger with each step. And all the time, there was that oppressive sound, that whispering, slithering, crawling sound...
Byrnes peeked around the corner, and nearly swallowed his own tongue. There was a silhouette ahead! Then his head caught up with his heart. That's a human, you can see that he is wearing armour and carrying a rifle. He turned around and relayed this information to the rest of the squad.
The squad stepped out casually around the corner, and came into full view of the other person. As they saw the person in full for the first time, they stopped.
The man's skin had turned an unhealthy pallor of pus-yellow. His staggering gait was uneven, as if he was drunk. His eyes had rolled back in their sockets, and a melody of gurgled nonsense came from his lips. His left arm had... had... transformed. Instead of an arm, there was a collection of bony spines.
"Stay where you are!" The sergeant yelled, drawing his pistol. The rest of the squad followed suit, aiming their weapons at the person. "Identify yourself! Don't move another step!" The human stumbled forward slowly. "If you do not stop right now, I will be forced to open fire!"
There was a rush of movement, and the creature flung itself forward, its stumbling steps hurtling it towards the squad. The soldiers fired, their bullets impacting against the creature. On it came. Another volley, then another and another... finally, the thing stopped, falling face down on the stone floor.
The squad lowered their guns slowly, and walked cautiously to the smoking body. Slowly, slowly, the creature stood back up, its head blasted clean off its body, only its lower jaw left dangling from its neck.
There was a gasp of horror mingled with disgust from one of the soldiers as it began to walk towards them again, this time, raising its weapon. One bullet impacted against Pardee's helmet, but the other rounds impacted harmlessly against the stone wall.
This time, the squad's fire tore both arms off, and tore open its midriff. There was a shower of dry flesh and unhealthy grey-green blood which decorated the corridor, and the creature collapsed, quite dead.
Byrnes quickly ran over to the corpse and snatched the identifying tags from around the neck of the thing, snapping the chain. He quickly scanned the harsh text. This was that Arrakis native he had seen on the Heighliner...
He looked at the smoking, mutated thing, and shivered.
&&&&&&
The Carryall swung around ponderously, descending into the jungle- marsh mist. Farad'n, softly adjusted the manoeuvring fins, bringing the plane closer to the wetland lakes and rivers. Ingsley had sent out a call demanding that an evacuation team be prepared to extract the soldiers form the weapon cache. Farad'n couldn't see why, but then again, strategy was never his strong point.
The radio operator tapped his Farad'n's helmet. "We're approaching the drop-zone, ETA in three minutes, keep it tight." The operator moved back to his seat, adjusting the on-board radio.
Farad'n tried to peer through the thick swathes of condensation pooling on the Carryall's windscreen with no success. Only proximity sensors prevented him from crashing into the thick tree cover.
On and on he flew, each second drawing out like a day. So tedious... He was about to ask about their ETA, when the movement sensor chimed. He peered into the murk below.
Just on the verge of his sight, half-hidden by the omnipresent mist, were some running human-shaped figures. Nodding in appreciation, he cut the jets, and lowered the Carryall.
Small arm fire ricocheted off the hull. A few bullets penetrated the thin armour of the cockpit, one imbedding itself into his foot.
With a curse, he pulled up, bringing the ship out of firing range. The Carryall flew into a tree, breaking it in two, causing the plane to drop back into firing range. As he struggled to shift the tree of off his ship, Farad'n looked back at the running figures. They looked human, but they did not move or act like them...
With a brief shock of horror, Farad'n spied one of the things hefting a rocket launcher to its shoulder...
&&&&&&
A brief flash in the misty air caught Jamis's eye as he swung the combat 'thopter under the mist canopy. Unlike the Carryall, the 'thopter was smaller and quicker, more adept to manoeuvring and turning on a dime.
His gunner flicked on the radio. "This is 'thopter three calling Carryall flight six, flight six, do you read? Over." A mild hissing came back. "Say again, flight six. Over." More hissing.
The gunner switched channels to the rest of the 'thopter group. "Do any of you jokers see flight six? Over."
"This is 'thopter one. Last I saw him, he was heading upspin towards the rendezvous. I can't see him now. Over."
"'Thopter two; negative. Over."
"'Thopter four; negative. Over."
Jamis hissed in annoyance, and continued to circle the area. His gunner tried to call back to base, while the other 'thopters tried to call the remaining conscripts.
A small fire in the murky lake ahead made Jamis break out of his circling pattern. He flew towards it, and, as it got closer, realised there were more fires ahead. He skimmed over a small hillock, and came across the remainder of the Carryall.
As the gunner relayed this new development to the rest of the team, Jamis hovered over the smoking wreckage, his camera-guns catching all the details he could not see.
A brief flare made him pull back on the joystick, jerking the 'thopter back. Another brief light made him yaw to the left. Two rockets, their contrails lining the misty air, narrowly missed him.
He pulled the straining plane up as tracer fire from all angles sprayed up at them. Some bullets stitched the windscreen, cracking, but not shattering, it. He raised his eyes to see more indistinct shapes on a plateau they were approaching. "It's a trap!"
He heard the gunner swear, then bring up the weapons systems. "I gotta admit..." He said. "I've always wanted to do this."
The gunner pushed the firing stud, and the two multi-barrelled machine guns opened fire, twin tongues of fire orating a speech of metal death. The rounds smashed apart the creatures with immaculate ease, causing them to drop their weapons. One creature was unfortunate enough to have its entire torso macerated to such an extent that all that was left was a pair of staggering legs. Then its extraordinary metabolism made it realise it was in fact; dead, and it keeled over.
Other bright stitches of tracer fire around him indicated that the rest of the flight were dealing with these enemies quickly. Jamis scanned the area, searching for the pick-up point, sweat trickling down his neck. His eyes flicked nervously from sensors-to-windscreen-to-altimeter, searching for another attack.
The gunner tapped Jamis's head. "I'm getting a signal. I think it's the rest of the squad." He listened to the feverish squawks. "I think they're being ambushed by the same enemies we were..." He listened some more. "They're coming up to the surface. We need to get there now."
Jamis banked the 'thopter towards the building, the other 'thopters falling in behind him. More gunfire sounded form the radio, and entreated pleas to hurry to the entrance.
A large, rectangular opening appeared in the murky space ahead, and Jamis cut the engines, lowering the 'thopter to a few feet off of the ground. Two more 'thopter's joined him. Their rear compartments opened, but only a few soldiers could fit into each one. At the most, three each...
Jamis opened a side-window, and peered out towards the rear of the craft, where the troops would be going to first. He saw one madly running figure sprint towards one of the other 'thopters, dropping his weapons as he did so. Then another, this one firing a side-arm into the entrance.
Three more, then another two came out... followed by a group of shambling and staggering creatures. Jamis blinked in slow horror. They were sick parodies of humans, with flesh sloughing from bones and bones twisted beyond repair, but despite their deformities, they were catching up with the soldiers...
The last 'thopter descended, its machine guns delivering a chatter of burning metal. The horde dissolved under the onslaught, limbs blown off and hunks of flesh liberally decorating the outside of the facility.
"What about the rest of the squads?" Came a yell from one of the other 'thopter pilots. "Screw 'em! They're dead!" Replied one of the troopers. "Go, go ,go! Leave!"
The 'thopters began to dust off, their engines carrying them safely up off of the ground. Jamis circled the plane over the entrance one last time, and saw it vomit out a stream of large, insect-like creatures. A veritable flood of a consuming and unstoppable alien force...
Jamis realised that they had made one big mistake.
&&&&&&
R&R everybody. It'll be finishing relatively soon.