Chapter X:

The Beginning of the End?

"How are you feeling, noble warrior?" the Arbiter asked, leaning over the stunned Elite. It groaned and sat up, shaking its long, angular head in confusion.

"I'm feeling something…odd. I'm not sure, Arbiter, but I can feel something...like it's inside of me, watching. It's probably just..." the warrior muttered in confusion. The Arbiter arched an eye- Elites did not reproduce sexually, like humans did. The way Elites reproduced was much more efficient, effectively bolstering their numbers in half the time humans did.

"Prepare him to be scanned. Yes, human?" the Arbiter looked at an actually flustered Sergeant Johnson.

"What? You mean…you guys don't…?" the Sergeant asked, putting a hand behind his head. The Arbiter glared at him, sighed at the human's ignorance, and told him,

"If you are wondering about the reproductive abilities of my race, human, allow me to educate you. Elites are more like the creatures you call 'lizards' in your language. Our breeder caste is comprised of the Elites that lay eggs of our species. The warrior castes then fertilize the eggs, which eventually hatch into either more of the breeder caste or into warriors. The general life span of a warrior is, in your primitive measure of time, over one hundred sixty-five of your years," the Arbiter narrated. Johnson looked at the Elite, mouth agape.

"Whoa. That's a lot to wrap your mind around. So, you're saying that you guys don't actually…you know, have it, like us?" Johnson asked sheepishly. For once, the marine was quiet.

"Did you not hear me the first time, human? Now, before you start asking about the reproductive abilities of the Unggoy and Jiralhanea, we must prepare for the transition into Slipspace. Come with me to the bridge" the Arbiter growled, gesturing towards Johnson and Miranda. The Arbiter repressed the urge to shudder at the thought of the Jiralhanea mating ceremonies. The Arbiter had the misfortune of witnessing one of them firsthand, many units ago. The ceremony had been…interesting, to say the least. The Elite on the cot tried to stand, but the Arbiter waved his hand at the warrior.

"No, warrior. You are to stay here until I return. Make sure he does not leave," the Arbiter instructed the four white Medical Grunts hovering over him. They nodded, and proceeded to push the Elite down. The Arbiter felt uneasy with the warrior's complaint- something just didn't sit right in his gut. Something was amiss. The Arbiter shook his head as he marched out of the room. Enough for now; he had a task to accomplish.

"So, do you think we'll be in time to stop Truth?" Miranda asked the Arbiter. The Arbiter sighed, and looked the human in the eyes before honestly replying;

"I do not think so, human. The ship he used, somehow, is much more advanced than any ship in our fleet. There is no way we will beat him to your home planet- the jump may have only taken minutes, from the calculations of the Engineers who had served aboard the massive artifact. We may already be too late; Truth may have already reached the Arc by now" the Arbiter said grimly. Miranda sighed and shook her head. All of this work, for nothing. The sacrifice of her crew, her responsibility, and her ship, all for nothing. She sighed and marched silently to the bridge of the Covenant cruiser.

"Ah, mighty Arbiter. We saw your progress on our charts. The stunt the human pulled…one of bravery, yes? Almost enough to be worthy of a Sanghelli" commented an Elite Zealot on the bridge. The Arbiter grunted and stepped towards the navigation console. The Elite there turned to him and growled;

"Arbiter, Slipspace generators charged and ready, per your orders. Shall we jump now?" the pilot asked. The Arbiter nodded.

"There is no reason to linger here. Fire the generators"

A low hum penetrated the decks of the cruiser, the engines brimming with energy. In a split second, the massive slipspace generators had charged to maximum capacity. They discharged their energy a second later, propelling the ship forwards and opening a hole into another dimension, known as slipspace. The ship disappeared from Threshold in a bright flash of light.

The Arbiter didn't relax just yet- he had seen horrible things happen to ships whose slipspace calculations had been so much as a decimal off what they should have been. Waiting for half a standard unit, he spoke up,

"Status report"

The Elite pilot turned.

"We have successfully entered the slipstream, Arbiter. We will reach the human homeworld shortly" the Elite stated. The Arbiter relaxed, slightly. He could never get at ease aboard slipspace bound ships- his field was the field of battle, engaging the enemy on his terms, not on a chance that your ship would disintegrate halfway towards it's intended target.

"So?" Johnson asked as the Arbiter stepped down from the bridge. The Arbiter looked at him and said,

"We are on our way to Earth. We will be there in…five…of your 'hours'" the Arbiter growled. Keyes' eyes widened.

"Five hours? Earth is a week away from these coordinates!"

The Arbiter parted his mandibles, the grin of the Elites.

"In your ships, yes"

Miranda almost pouted as the Elite smirked at her. Catching the childhood reflex, Miranda challenged;

"Is that so," a smile playing across her face. The Elite shook his head.

"Yes, human. Our ships are equipped with the remnants of Forerunner technology; our ships can travel as fast, if not faster, than your ships. And, as you are all probably aware of now, our ships have plasma shielding to protect from various combat wounds. And…"

The Arbiter and Miranda began to walk off of the bridge, bickering about the capabilities of the various human and Covenant starships. Sergeant Johnson cocked an eyebrow at the technological crap that was spewing from her mouth and his mandibles, and turned the other way, towards the crew quarters, and the makeshift area designated for human use.

Rounding the corner, Johnson jumped as he ran right into a Covenant Elite! Instinct taking over, Johnson rolled backwards, drawing his pistol. The Elite brought his legs up into a backflip and drew his Plasma Rifle. Both crouched in combat stances, aiming weapons at each other. Johnson realized what he had almost done, and lowered his weapon.

"Sorry, squiddy. Still not too accustomed to this truce yet" he barked. The Elite holstered his weapon and huffed at Johnson before brushing past him. Johnson indignantly shouted at the back of the retreating Elite;

"Well, I'm sorry too, squid-head! Feel lucky I've spared you, because you're too ugly to let live!" he mocked. The Elite turned, snarled, baring his hands like claws. They twitched towards his belt, where a quartet of Plasma Grenades awaited use. The Elite thought better of it, and turned and left. Johnson shook his head and continued towards the Marine quarters.

Johnson, however, did not realize that the Elite he had almost shot was the same Elite from medbay. As Johnson continued down the hallway, muttering obscenities, the Elite twitched. Johnson ignored it- it was probably giving him the Elite version of the finger or something. But when the warrior howled in pain, however, Johnson spun around, surprised.

"Listen, squiddy…" Johnson began, before staring in surprise at the Elite. The Elite had fallen to the deck, writing and thrashing in pain. Johnson raised an eyebrow as a fire team of Marines jogged up to his position. Only two of the six marines were armed, and only with the standard issue M6C Magnum sidearms. Two of the marines Johnson recognized as both Stacker brothers. Three brothers in the military, all looking very much alike and acting like clones of each other. They warily regarded the Elite in the corridor.

"Umm…what's it doing?" the older brother asked. The other shrugged.

"Whatever it is, I'm not going to wait and find out," another Marine, this one another Halo survivor, growled as he drew his Magnum, holding it at the ready.

The Elite, sensing it was about to die, gave one final, long, warbling wail before it slumped to the ground, dead. Johnson eyed the Elite carefully. It appeared dead.

A low hissing noise, almost like that of acid burning through metal, resonated through the empty chamber. By this time, Miranda, the Arbiter, and the white Elite from Delta Halo had arrived on the scene. The white Elite looked at the dead Elite and snarled,

"Humans! I knew we could not trust them!", drawing his Energy Sword with a flourish. The blade snapped and crackled, casting an eerie blue glow about the corridor. The Marines drew their weapons and pointed them at the Elite, who roared out a challenge in his own guttural tongue. Miranda and the Arbiter stepped forward, holding up their arms.

"NO! We do not wish to do battle, humans! Lay down your weapon," the Arbiter snarled to the white Elite. It bowed its head respectfully and deactivated the Energy Sword. Miranda and Johnson waved at the marines, who lowered their weapons.

"Alright, everyone. Let's just calm down, now…" Miranda consoled soothingly. She tried to smile, but the acrid smell in the air was getting worse. It smelled like stomach acid, almost like vomit. The Arbiter's eyes widened in terror, and he suddenly grabbed Miranda. Miranda squeaked in surprise as the Arbiter flung her behind Johnson, and he himself drew his personal Carbine and aimed it at the dead Elite.

"Run, humans! This warrior is…!"

The Arbiter never finished in time. A small plume of smoke rose from the dead Elite's chest as something burned its way through the warrior's armor. The Arbiter fired shot after shot at the burning hole, to no avail. The Elite's chest spiked outwards, at an impossible angle, before finally bursting open.

Johnson had never seen anything like the creature inside the Elite's chest. The way it had burst out, like a parody of a person jumping out of a birthday cake, was almost impossible. And yet, it right in front of him, sitting in a pool of blood. The entrails of the Elite were burst outwards from the hole, painting a gruesome scene on the walls of the cruiser.

Beady black eyes, razor sharp fangs, and skin like a snake composed the hideous creature before them. The creature was doused in purple blood, which glistened in the iridescent glow of the cruiser. By now, a small crowd of Grunts and Elites had arrived on scene, and were glancing at the hideous creature.

Glaring in contempt at these new threats and assessing them in turn, the creature parted its lips to reveal the rows of shining sharp teeth. Emitting a high pitched, almost bestial roar, it shot out of the Elite's chest with surprising force, and blasted into a service duct used by Engineers before anything could stop it.

"After it, warriors!" the white Elite growled. A pair of Elites grunted and pursued the creature into darkness. The Arbiter shook his head at the fallen Elite and growled,

"Return to your bunks, humans. We will call you to a counsel as soon as we assess the…situation at hand" And with that, the Arbiter turned and left, a pair of Elites and an escort of Grunts following directly behind them. Johnson slowly recovered from his shock and stood up slowly. Miranda didn't move, her eyes never leaving the fleshy remains of the dead Elite.

"Oh…oh my god. What was that thing?" she finally moaned. Johnson extended a hand to help her up. She ignored it and stood up.

"A little birthday surprise, more like. Little bastard's got teeth," the second Stacker brother muttered. The first nodded in agreement. The Navy tech that had accompanied them wore an expression of horror on her face; Johnson remembered that Halo had probably been her first combat experience, and the sight of the little surprise just now must be too much. Johnson grunted; Marines like that usually didn't last all that long. The Navy people always were a bit squeamish.

"Let's go. Wait until those squid-heads finish their 'counsel', and we'll see. There's only one of those things- how hard can it be to track it?" Johnson rhetorically muttered to himself as he accompanied Miranda towards the human bunks. Little did Johnson know how wrong he could be with his ill-said statement.

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