The Great Journey

Happy Holidays!Update 1/11/05: Fixed some typos. I'll review more carefully before submitting next time. Sorry.

A/N: None! Ain't you happy? Well, I guess that stuff between the lines up there counts as an A/N. Hey, at least you're not getting that much crap from me.

Reviews:

NuclearMage: I would appreciate help if I'm going to do romance, thanks for the offer (I'm going to need a lot of help). It'd be nice to add it, there's got to be more to this fic that killing and plot development. Also, that was a fairly large mistake of not describing the setting. Glad that somebody else picked it up…it's pathetic that I didn't. Well, I'm off to beat my head on the wall for a few minutes.

pzgr6: Hmm…are you right? Next chapter you'll find out.

halo marine1: You keep your opinion and I'll keep mine. And yes, I like cliffhangers.

Ninjoc: Not most original? If anything's not original, it's those endless spin-offs of Halo 3 fics clogging up FFN! Meh, just kidding, but I was one of the first to publish Halo 3 fanfiction here…well, I guess I'm overreacting. Thanks for the review.

PROPHETOFTRUTH: That's rather unfair. If you've read the Halo books, humans are losing, dying, etc. left and right. Why shouldn't they have the good end of things for once? And besides, Johnson was trying to keep his men alive and had them pull back more. Argh, conflicting reviews-somebody wants me to kill humans (that's what you mean, right?) and somebody wants to keep them all alive! Well, anyway, thanks for the review, and don't mind me if I sound too defensive. It's just my nature.

Everyone else: Thanks for the good reviews!

Chapter 4: Impossible Task

2359 hours, February 21, 2553 (UNSC Military Calendar) ♦ Unidentified Covenant-controlled Forerunner vessel, holding position behind Covenant staging point around Mars.

Seconds ticked by as the Master Chief faced down Cura 'Canarmee. The seconds were like hours to the Chief, with tensions running high. It was like a clip from a centuries-old Wild West movie the Chief had seen as a child, when the sheriff faced down the outlaw. The Spartan could've sworn he heard some sort of light whisper sweep through the room, and he noticed that all the other prisoners were talking amongst themselves.

The Master Chief was ready to send a set of shots into the Elite's head and give him some skull ventilation, should the Elite even begin to fire his own Carbine. The Elite stared hard into the faceless visor of the Spartan, and the Chief stared at the face of what he regarded as an enemy, a merciless killer. For what seemed like an eternity, neither creature spoke or moved.

Finally, 'Canarmee gave a deep, booming laugh and lowered his weapon.

The Chief, startled, nearly pulled his Carbine's trigger, but then relaxed slightly. However, he kept the Carbine trained on the Elite's head.

"You do not take an Elite on his word?" 'Canarmee repeated, his mandibles still arranged in what the Chief guessed was a smile. "Obviously, you have never had any dealings with our kind, aside from killing us. However, I must make allowances for you, Demon, for I am distrustful of you as well. Let us begin a new age of friendship and trust between our races to fight the Covenant together…we must, or we will be destroyed."

The Chief thought about it for a moment, then dropped the barrel of his Carbine down at last. "Yes, we fight…together," he said, though he would never fully trust the Elite at heart.

The Elite bowed to the Master Chief with both hands extended, palms up. It was the ritual, time-honored sign of respect of the Elites. Slowly, the Chief did the same, though it grated against all of his instincts to expose his neck to a former enemy.

Straightening up, the Chief saw that the twelve Grunts and three other Elites had all picked up weapons off of the bodies of the guards. The Hunters were watching the heavy bulkhead on the far end of the room as though longing to blast through it to get to the other side.

Once the former Covenant troops were fully armed and ready to move out, all four Elites held Carbines. Half the Grunts had Plasma Pistols, and half of them wielded Needlers. 'Canarmee nodded to the Hunters. The Chief's mind took a second to register what this could mean, before the Hunters sprang into action with surprising speed.

Motes of green light collected near the barrels of the Hunters' Fuel Rod Guns. The weapons discharged, punching a series of long gashes clean through the door and melting what was left. The Hunters charged forward and smashed in the bulkhead with their shields. The heavy metal collapsed inwards like a broken sheet of paper.

There was a buzzing noise, and 'Canarmee yelled, "Drones!" In unison, the band of ex-Covenant soldiers and one Spartan raised their weapons. There was a blast that shook the deckplates as the Hunters fired their Fuel Rod Guns again. Drones made insect-like shrieks of pain as they were disintegrated by the deadly beams. Thick, viscous white blood showered down on the Hunters.

A swarm of Drones made it past the Hunters, flying into the room where the rest of the soldiers were assembled. Before the giant insect-like creatures could even begin firing, they were torn to pieces as the Elites, Grunts, and Spartan fired upwards. The corpses tumbled to the ground, twitched a few times, and stopped moving as the Elites crushed them with their armored boots.

Satisfied, the Chief hit the magazine release button on his Carbine. The top-mounted clip automatically ejected and the Chief slapped a fresh one in. The ammunition indicator on the clip glowed solid green, indicating that it was full. He waited cautiously until the Elites and their cronies moved up through the hole that the Hunters had created, then followed. Another shriek of the Hunters' Fuel Rod Guns rattled the Chief's bones as he entered.

The two Hunters were standing on the bodies of a few Covenant Jackals, who either had large holes through their bodies or were mangled beyond recognition. Obviously, the Jackals had tried to hide behind their shields, which offered no protection against the Fuel Rod Guns and the shield bashes of the Hunters.

The Master Chief paused as he looked around the chamber he had just entered. It was a multi-level room, each level's floor slightly slanted. He noticed a ramp leading upwards in a corner and realized the whole room was just a giant spiral ramp. He looked up and saw the endless rings of the ramp spiraling upwards. An intense white light emanated from the top, which was saying something, as the top of the ramp could barely be seen from the bottom.

"There must be an easier way to get up," said the Chief to 'Canarmee. "It would be too time-consuming to actually walk up it, and there is bound to be heavy resistance."

"Yes, Demon, there is a way," 'Canarmee replied. He pointed with his Carbine at the center of the room. A circular section of the deck was darker than the rest and even more heavily carved. Nearby, a holographic panel stood, glowing with a shimmering blue light "That is a lift platform. I suggest that we take it."

The Chief nodded and piled on to it with the Grunts and Elites. 'Canarmee turned to one of his fellow Elites.

"'Nolsamee, you will have to stay here with the Hunters. Once we reach the top, we will send the lift back down so you can bring the Hunters up with you."

The Elite called 'Nolsamee touched his hand to his helmeted forehead, a sign of acknowledgement. He stepped off the lift platform and stood next to the two Hunters. The Chief understood; the lift was cramped enough without having two Hunters on it.

'Canarmee strode over to the shimmering blue holo panel and was about to touch his hand to it when a door one level above slid open. The Elite counted seven Brutes as they poured out of the door. He shouldered his Carbine and sent a few rounds into the first Brute. Around him, others were doing the same.

The first Brute was riddled with holes, but still, it did not fall. Instead, the creature gave a roar that reverberated around the huge chamber and jumped down a level, crushing a Jackal's body that it landed upon. It charged the group assembled on the lift, and was just about to send the nearest Grunt flying when the Chief put a well-aimed shot through the Brute's head.

The Grunt squealed in fear as dark blue blood drenched his silvery-gray armor. The Brute's body slumped onto the unfortunate Grunt as well. The Chief heard the Grunt straining to push the Brute's corpse off. The Chief would've laughed, had he not had so many years of military training and experience. He shoved the dead Brute off the Grunt, who jumped up and began firing his Needler blindly at the other Brutes on the second level.

After expending another clip's worth of Carbine bullets with only two kills, the Chief hit the activation switch on a plasma grenade on tossed it up. Two Elites followed his example, as did some of the Grunts. However, the short and relatively weak Grunts didn't have enough strength to throw their grenades that far. Theirs merely flew into the air, hit the wall, and exploded. Once again, the Master Chief found it humorous to be fighting alongside Grunts, but pushed the thought aside.

The plasma grenades that had been thrown with enough force adhered to the furry hides of the Brutes, who howled in anger and tried to tear them off, but failed. A bloody arm flopped down in front of the Chief, who kicked it aside impassively.

Faced with the wave of Carbine bullets from the Elites and sidearm fire from the Grunts, the Brutes were soon knocked off their feet and put down for good. 'Canarmee touched his hand to the lift controls, which glowed red briefly, then cooled back to blue. The Chief heard machinery crank and the lift began to move up rather quickly. He reloaded his weapons and crouched down, looking for targets.

He moved to the edge and noticed some light blue particles sweeping up. Looking down, he saw that the lift was moved by some sort of gravity system, much like Covenant grav lifts, but this system was used to push something. It even looked like the alien grav lift systems. The Chief surmised that the Covenant, being imitative rather than innovative, simply stole the gravity-manipulating technologies of the Forerunners.

The Spartan gave a disdainful snort. The Covenant-they were the primitive, barbaric, conglomeration of races, in his mind…trying to wipe out the humans for little to no reason, winning only because of their numbers and superior space forces. The Chief suspected that their warships, or in fact all their technologies were so advanced just because they had stolen technology from the Forerunners, not even bothering to improve on it. The Covenant even had the nerve to copy the ODST HEV drop pod concepts for their Elites. And they called the humans' technologies primitive.

If there was as many Spartans as there were Elites, and as many Marines as there were Grunts, the Covenant would barely stand a chance on the ground. Even as it was, the UNSC forces had won quite a few ground engagements. However, the victories on the ground proved to be pointless as space battles were lost and planets glassed anyway. A image of the charred remains of Reach suddenly flashed unbidden into the Master Chief's mind. His home, or at least what he had known as his home. Destroyed forever. For reasons that the humans still did not completely understand, reasons that would never make sense to them.

The Chief gave a slight shake of his head and tightened his grip on the Carbine. It wasn't his job to contemplate conditions such as those; his job was to fight, and do whatever he could to win. He put the Carbine into the primary weapons holster on the back of his armor and pulled out both of his Needlers, scanning for enemy soldiers once again.

"Demon, we are approaching the control center, what you would call the bridge, of this vessel," 'Canarmee said. The Elite had walked over from the other side of the lift to speak with the Chief. "I remember clearly how to get to the control room. My squad and I were part of the Spec Ops group assigned to guard the control room, before the Brutes took power. It is natural, therefore, that we should know how to get there. However, that is not the reason I have come to speak to you.

"We must prepare ourselves for the fight, Demon. My Elite brethren and I are the best of the best, much like yourself. These Grunts are also the best of their kind, equipped with the heaviest armor they can carry. And you, Demon, you fight as well as any normal Spec Ops Elite. You have killed many of them-they are the ones with black armor. Most likely you are even better than a Commando such as me. You have defeated many warriors from the Commando sect of the Spec Ops division, the ones you see with white armor such as mine. Some would even call you the Arbiter of the humans, the greatest and most skilled warrior in the Elite ranks. Even with our considerable prowess, and the support of the Hunters, this fight will be one of the toughest you might face."

It felt odd, receiving praise by the ones he had once hated. "I appreciate the praise and the warning, 'Canarmee. However, we need a way to win this fight. Praise and warnings will get us nowhere once we come up against hordes of Covenant soldiers. It is obvious that this will not be an easy battle. With our limited numbers, we cannot engage the Covenant in direct battle, despite our superior skills," the Chief replied grimly.

"I thought that you would raise an objection such as this," said 'Canarmee calmly. "However, there is no need to fear. I am certain of the fact that many more of the Spec Ops troops assigned to guard the control room are being kept prisoner in one of the antechambers that are connected to the upper levels of this atrium. If we could rescue them, we may have enough forces to take the control room by force."

The Master Chief mulled over the proposition mentally. Obviously, the prisoners would be heavily guarded, but it was likely that the majority of the Covenant forces would be guarding the Prophet of Truth, not some lowly, seemingly unimportant prisoners. It would be an obvious advantage to gain more forces, and the rescued prisoners would offset most losses that would be sustained while assaulting the room. He nodded once to signify his approval.

The lift clanked into position with the floor as it arrived on the uppermost level. "Good. We shall wait for the Hunters to arrive, then we will begin our assault," 'Canarmee growled.

A few of the omnipresent purple Covenant equipment crates were scattered around the top of the atrium. The three Elites and the Spartan took up defensive positions. The Chief once again crouched down behind a crate, watching one of the many doors that ringed the level. He put away his Needlers and propped his Carbine up on the crate, waiting for any sign of movement through the door's translucent windows.

Around him, 'Canarmee and his two brethren were doing the same. After setting up a ring of defensive crates, 'Canarmee activated the lift, sending it down to the waiting 'Nolsamee and the Hunters. He beckoned the twelve Grunts over, who were squabbling over the four Fuel Rod Guns they had found in an overturned crate. They quit arguing, grabbed the cannons and scampered over to the Elite. He instructed them to cover one of the many doors that ringed the level, then took up his own position.

The Chief took the welcome opportunity to rest. After fighting the Flood and Covenant nearly nonstop from the moment he entered the High Charity to the present point in time, he was worn out. The Slipspace jump that the Forerunner vessel took from High Charity to Earth was very brief, so it had not allowed for any rest at all. He assumed that the trip was so short because of the Forerunners' advanced Slipspace technologies, some of which he had dealt with shortly after the first Halo incident.

Still, the Master Chief was forced to be alert, because he was still in hostile territory. He listened intently for the slightest whisper of a noise. Because his sense of hearing was greatly increasing by biological augmentation and the Mjolnir Mark VI's audio receptors, even a Grunt moving slightly was like a blast in the ear. He switched on his suit's thermal vision detectors, which were powerful enough to pick up heat sources through many layers of metal, stone, or virtually any material. To his relief, there were no inbound heat signatures, though there seemed to be large groups of enemies all around.

A sudden, distant clank startled the Chief as he scanned the area. He quickly picked up his Carbine but remembered that it was the sound of the lift reaching the bottom of the chamber. He eased his grip on the weapon and forced himself to relax. Some Elites shifted uncomfortably nearby. It seemed that they preferred combat to sitting around, waiting on guard duty.

The Master Chief began to feel the pangs of hunger. Despite being a biologically enhanced, hardened super-soldier, he was still human. After taking another look around to make sure his surroundings were secure, he retracted the visor on his suit's visor. The retractable visor was a useful addition to the Mark VI system, and he used it to his advantage as he pulled out an energy bar and began to eat it. The bar was equivalent to a whole meal in terms of calories and nutrition, enough to keep even a Spartan's accelerated metabolism in check for a while. Therefore, within half a minute, the Chief was ready to go again. He took a drink of water through the suit's hydration system, sealed up his helmet visor, and discarded the energy bar's wrapper.

Before long, the lift had come up and 'Nolsamee and the two Hunters stepped off and joined the main party of warriors. The motley assortment of soldiers assembled near the lift as 'Canarmee relayed the plans he had.

"As we stand now, we don't have the numbers to assault and capture the Prophet of Truth. Clearly, he is defended by legions of his best warriors. However, you all know of the former Royal Guard Unit that was recently disbanded and imprisoned by the treacherous Prophets. They are currently being held in an improvised detention block, not far from here. It is my intention to free the Royal Guard Unit, so that we may exact our revenge upon the Prophets."

The other three Elites gave a growl of approval and the Grunts chattered incessantly with each other. The Hunters gave a low grunt but otherwise did not move. The Master Chief stood to the side, slightly removed from the rest of the group. He quietly checked his equipment over habitually. The Spartan opened one belt pouch and, to his surprise, pulled out a thin black cable. He inspected the device carefully, as he did not remember packing anything like it.

The long cable turned out to be a fiber-optics probe. The Chief plugged it into his helmet and found that it was fully operational. Slightly confused as to how the probe got into his equipment pouch, he nonetheless was grateful for the useful probe. It would allow him to scope out a situation without actually exposing himself to much danger.

The Spartan unplugged the probe and joined the rest of his allies, who were preparing to break into the room that held the former Royal Guards.

"Hold on," the Chief said, before the Hunters could start smashing into the door. "I have a fiber-optics probe. With it, I can figure out whether or not we'll be getting into something way over our heads." The Elites looked to 'Canarmee, who seemed to be the natural leader just as the Chief was among his Spartans. 'Canarmee nodded towards the Chief and gave a flick of his wrist. It was obviously a sign to proceed.

The Elite spoke in a series of low grunts and the Hunters moved away from the door. The Master Chief inserted the probe into one of his helmet data ports and snaked it through a tiny fissure in the door. A small screen popped up in the corner of his HUD. There was a short burst of static across it, then a clear, crisp image resolved onscreen.

The Chief took in everything. The chamber was huge, with several towering pillars throughout it. A long series of smaller rooms lined the side across from the door, which, when covered by an energy projector, would serve as prison cells, just like the chamber where he found 'Canarmee. At least thirty Brutes and fifty Jackals were in the room. Only half those numbers, however, were on active patrol duty. In fact, the other half appeared to be sleeping. As the Chief panned the probe to take in more of the room, he fought down a sense of revulsion.

Mutilated bodies, all wearing black armor stained with blood and body parts, were lying against the left wall of the chamber. They were mostly Elites but a few Grunts as well. Their faces were the very picture of suffering and agony. The unfortunate aliens seemed to have been killed in every possible way. Dark purple and light blue blood was smeared all over the walls and the flooring. An Elite with his entrails ripped out was lying in the middle of the room. The Elite's chest was torn open and blood still leaked out of it. Some Grunts were lying in a corner, apparently untouched, until the Chief noticed that all their methane breath masks were ripped off.

A few remaining survivors were slumped down in their cells. Near one of the pillars, some Brutes and Jackals argued over a chunk of meat. One particularly large Brute grabbed the Jackal holding the meat and flung him against the wall with all his might. The Jackal's face contorted with pain and he fell. The Brute grabbed the hunk of meat in the Jackal's limp hand and devoured it.

The Master Chief shook his head in disgust. When the Elites were in command, at least they maintained order intelligently without killing everything that disobeyed them. Now, the new Covenant officers, the Brutes, were little more than savage, muscular murderers who would just as easily kill someone on their own side as they would an enemy.

The Chief waved 'Canarmee over. "You should see this," he said, then stopped. How would the Elite's suit electronics interface with the human fiber-optics probe? Before the Spartan could figure out a solution, 'Canarmee had come over.

"What is it, Demon?" asked the Elite in a throaty voice. "Do you wish to show me something?"

"Yes, I do, but…" the Chief halted when 'Canarmee grabbed the probe and inserted it into his own helmet.

"We Elites use these probes frequently, Demon. Luckily, it appears that our two systems are compatible." The Elite went silent as he surveyed the room through the displays mounted over his eyes. The Chief noticed that 'Canarmee's hands were tightening into fists and his mandibles were grinding into each other. Finally, the Elite removed the probe, threw it down, and went to converse with his brethren. They were speaking in their own language, so the Chief couldn't understand, but 'Canarmee's words were loud and harsh, and the Spartan knew that the Elite was angry.

The Chief tucked the probe carefully away into a pocket, then gathered up his combat gear and prepared to move out. He rested the barrel of his Carbine on his shoulder as he waited for 'Canarmee and the other ex-Covenant to join him by the door.

"We have decided that we will free the prisoners, even though very few are left alive," 'Canarmee reported. "After that, there is only one option. The Prophet of Truth must be stopped-no matter what the cost. How we will accomplish that, I do not know. The task may very well be impossible. But for now, this operation goes as planned."