The Great Journey

A/N: Expect this fic to grow into something of a full-length novel (30 chapters and 100,000 words). Also, I'll have a little more of the story told from the Arbiter's perspective (third person POV, as is my custom), because he is one of the integral characters of the story like the Master Chief and I felt I wasn't giving him enough attention before. I know, there are some Johnson fans, but I want to have a different perspective. Don't worry, there still will be a lot of Johnson. Finally, the Elites, Hunters, and Grunts are obviously no longer part of the Covenant, but I will still use the term to class non-human ships, weapons, etc. for a lack of a better term. Later I'll introduce something else. Oh and, when there is a horizontal line across the page, it means time has elapsed, because when I put the traditional three stars on, they don't show up. Enjoy!

Reviews:

HaloElite: Thanks for reading over my shoulder, asshole. (For those of you who don't know, he is my older brother, got the idea for writing fanfiction from me, and is generally a royal pain in the ass. He reads over my shoulder often, hence his odd ability to predict what will happen in my story. I know that for a fact.) Anticlimactic…what, would you expect me to kill off one of the integral parts of the Halo 2 story so quickly? And as for your other questions, I can't answer them…yet.

pzgr6: I really didn't want to give it away, but for one of my dedicated readers, I'll give an answer. Yes, expect a return of the surviving members of the SPARTAN-II program, and a few more surprises as well. Thanks for the support!

NuclearMage: Yo! Thanks for the review! Wait, you're another dedicated reader. So I should be answering questions…check your email. I sent something.

Spacefan: Hmm. Interesting point. I'll keep it in mind. Thanks for the tip.

Khellendros: Ah, yes, he was getting mobbed by Infection Forms, but you'll see what happens. I appreciate the compliments.

The Phoenix King: You are correct in the assumption it can be detonated with the Commander's CNI transponder, but if the reactor was dismantled or mangled, it wouldn't work anyway.

Shadow Chaser: Sorry that I didn't get to your review (by accident) last time, and sorry that I probably won't be finishing my next story. Read the final note in my profile/bio. However, if I get a bunch of fanatics running after me with pitchforks and torches demanding a final chapter, I'll do it. Thanks for the review, though.

Shout outs to everyone else who reviewed: Billy Wankington and Ultra Sonic 007

Chapter 5: Breaking Out

2027 hours, February 21, 2553 (UNSC Military Calendar) ♦ Unidentified Ship Bay, Covenant Holy City "High Charity," Sanctum of the Hierarchs.

The Arbiter crouched in a traditional Elite fighting stance as he prepared to meet the charging Infection Forms head-on. He gripped the empty Carbine tightly and whacked its barrel onto the first form as if it were a metal rod. The resulting explosion caused several others to pop. Tentacles and the feathery remains of the Infection Forms rained down on him.

The Elite continued to bash away at the masses of forms. Around him, more forms were falling and attacking the other Alliance troops. They were busy with their own situation, so they could not offer the Arbiter assistance. However, it looked as if he would kill off all of his attackers, until a group of them charged him from behind.

The Arbiter saw the red blips approaching on his motion tracker and spun around to face the new threat. He punched, kicked, and squeezed the life out of any Infection Form he could reach, but another group of them fell from the open vent behind him. A form hit his shoulders and the Elite jerked in pain as the Infection Form's penetrator punched a hole in his neck armor and probed inside, searching for the Elite's spine.

The parasite found and tapped the Elite's spine, sending a blast of pain through the Arbiter's body. He gave a roar but could not make a further cry for assistance as the Infection Form slowly took over his body, his heart, and his mind. He tried to reach back, but could not. The intense pain was subsiding; he couldn't feel much of anything now.

The Arbiter felt a strangle sense of calm as he prepared for his final ascension. The Elite's eyes slowly began to cloud…he was about to join his forefathers…

Suddenly, a series of yellow-orange lines streaked across his dimming vision. The Arbiter's helmet was splattered with the blood of the Infection Forms and he stumbled backwards slightly. A few more of the human projectiles flashed before his failing eyes, cutting through the remaining Infection Forms. There was a pop behind him as the Infection Form bent on domination of its host was killed by a well-aimed bullet.

The Arbiter sank to his knees, panting. He felt a brief period of dizziness, and the deckplates before him seemed to waver. He tried to move his limbs, but they felt like lead weights attached to his body. Eventually, his vision cleared, and he was able to control his own movements once more. Luckily for him, the Infection Form had not had time to completely take over him and wipe the last traces of his existence from his body.

The Arbiter rose and glanced towards the source of the gunfire that had saved him. He saw one of the armored humans holding a smoking rifle. He couldn't tell which one of them it was, due to the visor on the human's helmet, but the Elite doubted he would've known anyway. All the humans seemed to be the same to him. Regardless, the Arbiter nodded his thanks.

"I am grateful for the assistance…human," the Elite said grudgingly. The armored figure reloaded his Battle Rifle and sheathed it on the holster on his back. He went to stand with the group of nearby human soldiers-were they called Helljumpers? Yes that was it.

"No problem…Elite," drawled the human. "And the name's Johnson, not 'human.' Remember that."

Johnson. The Arbiter had frequently heard the name uttered on the human communications networks, and, more recently, he had fought alongside the Marine. From what the Arbiter had seen, the human was a skilled sharpshooter and had exceptional combat capabilities for an average human.

"Very well, huma-Johnson," the Arbiter replied, hastily changing his words mid-sentence. He scrounged some Carbine ammunition off of some bodies on the floor and reloaded his weapon. He also picked up a fallen Plasma Rifle, checking its battery charge. It read at 91 charge. Satisfied, he put it away for use as a secondary weapon, so he wouldn't be in trouble should his Carbine run out of ammo.

After picking up a few blood-splattered plasma grenades, the Elite chanced a quick glance out through the ship bay's energy field. The group of Phantoms was making its final approach. Nearby, Commander 'Vadumee crossed over to a row of holographic control panels and hit one of the controls mounted on the wall. The first wall of energy separating the bay from open space faded away. There was a thump as the atmosphere inside explosively decompressed.

The Phantoms, numbering ten in all, moved into the space between the two energy wall emitters. Once the last Phantom was within the confines of both the energy fields, the outer field reactivated. 'Vadumee then repressurized the area between the fields and dropped the inner energy wall, allowing the Phantoms to drift into the cavernous ship bay. Their miniature grav lifts activated, and the Alliance soldiers began stepping into them.

The Arbiter watched as Johnson and his squad of Helljumpers disappeared into a Phantom. He felt a thump on his shoulder as he turned away. It was 'Vadumee.

The Spec Ops Commander was laughing hoarsely, or laughing as well as he could, given that his lower-left mandible had been ripped off in a previous, long-gone battle with the Flood. "Ha! That was an exhilarating battle, Arbiter, was it not? We completely annihilated the Parasite! Now, however, we'd best get to our Phantom." With that, 'Vadumee walked off to the last Phantom that had yet to be loaded.

The Arbiter followed with a slight feeling of amusement. The Commander always had been a battle-hungry, adrenaline-driven maniac. But he wasn't Commander of all the Spec Ops troops for nothing. Even now, with the Elites, Grunts, and Hunters disbanded from the Covenant, all of them still regarded 'Vadumee as the Commander because of his great fighting skill and military savvy. The Arbiter reached the Phantom and felt a jolt in his stomach as he was lifted up into the dim interior of the dropship.

Johnson sat with the rest of the Marine squad inside the Phantom they had chosen as it raced out of the High Charity's ship bay he had been fighting in. None of them spoke; most just fiddled with weapons and other gear. There was the steady, high-pitched humming of the alien dropship's engines as it headed towards one of the Alliance-controlled ships in-system. Johnson chinned the control to retract the visor/HUD system of his helmet and took a deep breath of what he thought was fresh air.

The Sergeant immediately regretted his decision as he gagged on the foul stench of the Flood, which was filling the interior of the dropship. Obviously, the olive green blood that stained all of the ODSTs' Trident suits still carried the smell of the Flood. Johnson quickly sealed up his helmet again and breathed easily again on the clean air that came from the filtering and de-odorizing units built into it.

The Sergeant noticed a slight movement in the cockpit, which was not sealed off from the troop bay. One of the two Elites piloting the ship had glanced back at the humans filling the Phantom's interior. The Elite picked up a Plasma Rifle, disengaged his magnetic retention field that held him onto the seat like a restraining device, and headed back into the troop bay.

Johnson, a hardened soldier, watched coolly as the alien warrior approached, but the other Helljumpers around him tensed. One even brought his M90 Shotgun up to his shoulder, but Johnson gave a quick, downwards wave of his hand. The Helljumper slowly dropped his weapon back to a resting position.

Sergeant Johnson stood to his full height of six feet four inches, plus a few extra four or so inches added by the Trident suit. However, he was still dwarfed by the eight-foot-tall Elite, who wore a carefully burnished suit of red armor. The two adversaries faced each other down. The Elite growled.

"Grrr, you oversized bastard," Johnson growled back. The Elite gave a low chuckle that sometimes passed as laughter among his species.

"A Grunt would not dare speak so scornfully of the great Elites," the warrior said, his mandibles opening wide to expose snow-white, needle-sharp teeth. "You humans must have great courage. But that was known already; previously, we cared not whether you were honorable, courageous, or great warriors worthy of respect. The Prophets made your whole kind seem like worthless, weak and primitive creatures, worthy of nothing of contempt and deserving of the fate that awaited them, a horrible, painful death."

All the time that the Elite was speaking, Johnson's face was becoming twisted with anger. However, his visor prevented the Elite from seeing his face, and the Marine doubted that the alien would've been able to interpret his facial expression anyway. He remained silent, for it seemed that the Elite had more to say.

"Now, however, all of the Elites, and the Grunts and Hunters, know that we have made a grave mistake in following the Prophets. All they have given us is lies, and led many members of our races to certain doom, without any risk for themselves. Indeed, we found out in the end that all their purposes are twisted and only meant for their own stinking hides. Now, on behalf of all the Elites-and I speak for the Hunters and Grunts as well-we wish to issue a formal apology for the crimes we have committed against your race. I know that this apology is pathetic considering all we have done, but it is the most we can do-for now. There will come a day where we can repay our debt to your kind."

Well, Johnson thought, as he stood there awkwardly, he's damn right-that apology is a pathetic one. Billions of humans dead, hundreds of colonies wasted-he swallowed in memory of all the comrades, friends, family, and even acquaintances that had been killed. I'm not one for all this kiss-and-make-up stuff, especially with aliens like this Elite right here. It's easier just to kill them. But, times change…they really do change…

"Well, uh, I guess I can speak for my squad when I say, apology accepted," Johnson replied, unsure of what to say, and trying hard to speak somewhat formally, because it seemed that Elites preferred that mode of speech. "I suppose not all of you Elites are so bad, when you're not killing us, I mean. If you're any example of your race, er-"

"'Ranormee," the Elite provided.

"'Ranormee, yeah," repeated the Sergeant. "What I was saying is that it would be an honor to work with you Elites if all of them are like you."

The Elite looked momentarily amused. "I believe the same will hold true for your race. It will be an honor to fight alongside you," he said. "But enough small talk. I must brief you on what is to come. We are quickly approaching the destroyer Duty and Honor. I believe that a human dropship, designation Alpha 279, is also docked inside. Your Commander is on board as well, but she is under heavy guard. This is not because we are distrustful of her; you will soon see why she needs protection. The Phantom with the Arbiter onboard will also dock here, but the others will split up and be loaded onto different warships. Also, we have a slight problem on our hands, which is the main reason your Commander is being heavily guarded, and I was hoping you and your brethren could be of some assistance…"

After an uneventful ride, the two Phantoms, one containing 'Ranormee, Johnson, and the Helljumper squad, and the other with the Arbiter and 'Vadumee inside, decelerated as they made their final approach into the Duty and Honor's ship bay. The bay was set up much like its counterpart on board the High Charity, so the Phantoms cycled through a series of barriers before they entered the bay itself.

A panel in the massive ceiling slid open, and two large docking clamps slid out, bringing the Phantoms to a jolting halt. Their engines and exterior lights dimmed as the Phantoms went to standby status. The Alliance soldiers inside drifted down through the grav lift, then the lifts dimmed as well. The newcomer humans looked around. All of them, with the exception of Johnson, had never even seen the interior of a Covenant warship, much less been inside one.

The ship bay, for a short time, seemed cramped and small to the newcomers, but this was a misconception because the bay was full of Phantoms, Seraphs, and other small Covenant spacecraft. In reality, the bay was a cavernous chamber, with three tiers of levels and a "ground" level. All around, Engineers and Elite technicians made repairs and modifications to the ships. A barrier, complete with its own three levels, separated each "chamber" of the bay from each other, although they were not completely closed at the sides so that equipment and Engineers could pass through. Almost the whole ship bay-from the ceiling, floor, walls, even the pillars-was clad in the durable, faintly purple metal that the Covenant favored. Indirect lighting systems were mounted on the walls and projected onto the ceiling, leaving the room in a state between darkness and light.

The Arbiter glanced around and noticed there was an unusual amount of guards stationed at the entrances to the ship bay. In front of each door was a pair of Elites and six Grunts, all heavily armed. The guards either wore the red armor of Veterans and Majors or the black armor of a regular Spec Ops trooper. Obviously, something was amiss.

Over the clamor of repair and refit, there was a faint hiss as the central ground level door flashed and slid open. A gold-armored Commander Elite and Miranda Keyes, flanked by two Commando Spec Ops Elites wearing shiny gray-white armor, entered the room. The lead Elite strode quickly to the center of the room. Assembled there was the Arbiter, 'Vadumee, the humans, and the crews of the Phantoms they had ridden on. The three Elites who had just entered bowed their heads respectfully. Keyes followed their example. The other Elites returned the gesture, and, after a whispered command from Johnson, the humans followed their example as well.

"Ah, the Arbiter! And the famed Special Operations Commander, as well! It is a great honor to have such warriors on my vessel! Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sora 'Sonamee, Ship Master of the Duty and Honor. Right now, we have more pressing issues on our hands, so a reception worth of the Arbiter and Spec Ops Commander can not be issued as of this time.

"Mere hours ago, I was rallying our forces to crush the pathetic Brutes that tried to commandeer this ship. Now, however, it seems that we have a new problem on our hands. The stinking Brute scum brought something worse on board than their own worthless hides. Hidden aboard their boarding craft was the Parasite-the bane of the Forerunners. That is why we have stepped up guard duty at the entryways. As of yet, the Parasite has been contained to the lower sections of the Duty and Honor, and all vents that lead up from there have been sealed. However, we still face the arduous task of eliminating the Parasite altogether. This is no easy task, as every last Infection Form must be wiped off the ship."

Johnson, who had already heard all this, leaned against a nearby pillar, looking around. He spotted the gray hull of Alpha 279 over one of the separators. Some green-armored Elites and Engineers were working on the craft. The ODST squad, having heard 'Ranormee telling the Sergeant about the Flood problem on board the Duty and Honor, also knew about the Flood issue, so they relaxed as well. Commander Keyes came over to discuss the newfound alliance and what they would do next. Some Helljumpers, who were quite tired after the long fight on board High Charity, pulled out nutrient bars and quickly scarfed them down.

As the former Covenant soldiers exchanged banter, Johnson watched a group of the black-armored Elites and Grunts approach. They were armed to the teeth with Carbines, Plasma Rifles, and Needlers, and began to perform a thorough search through every nook and cranny on board the Phantoms. Obviously, they weren't risking any more Flood breakouts.

The Elites finished their talk about the Flood and dispersed. The Arbiter, 'Vadumee, and 'Sonamee approached the band of humans. The Arbiter spoke to Johnson, being the most familiar with him.

"We have made the decision to wipe out this infestation before it can spread further. You and your soldiers have the option of remaining behind, as I know that you have been fighting constantly for days now. However, your assistance would be greatly appreciated. We need every warrior we can get. The Flood creatures, as you know, are tenacious enemies to fight."

Johnson laughed heartily. "You think I'd miss out on a good fight just because you think I'm tired? Hell no! I'm coming with you! Though I don't know about these ladies back here," he said, jerking his head towards the Helljumpers.

One ODST, obviously taking offense to Johnson's statement, retorted with "Hey, we ain't gonna miss out on a fight either! I bet we'll get more kills than you, Johnson! We'll see who's the 'lady' around here after we're finished." The others nodded in approval.

"All right…ladies. We'll see," Johnson said. He pulled out a cigar from one of his armor pockets, opened his helmet visor and stuck it in his mouth. "We'll see." He turned to face the Arbiter. "Well, as you've probably figured out already, we're coming with you. Lead the way." Keyes nodded her approval of the Sergeant's decision and was brought back to her quarters by a green-clad Elite, indicating he was a Tech Elite. Johnson heard them talking about some tech mumbo-jumbo as they left.

A heavily armed band of Elites and Grunts, accompanied by three pairs of Hunters and the ODSTs, stood at the barricade that had been put together near the blast door that led into the so-called "Flood territory." 'Vadumee spoke briefly with some Spec Ops Commandos that were going to stay behind and guard the barricade, then readied his weapon and joined the others milling about near the blast door, which was sealed and locked shut.

"Open the door!" commanded 'Sonamee, who was coming along to help cleanse his vessel of the filth that inhabited it. The Arbiter, Johnson, 'Sonamee, and 'Vadumee were all the closest to the door, being the most capable warriors. One of the Spec Ops Commandos assigned to guard the door keyed a series of codes into a holo control panel. Ambient lights that surrounded the door flashed, magnetic locks disengaged, and the huge blast doors slowly drifted apart.

The hallway that stretched beyond was lit with the indirect, Covenant style of lighting, and was filled with the greenish "mist" that seemed to follow the Flood wherever they appeared, like flies appearing on a dead corpse. This, combined with the dim Covenant lighting, made it impossible for the Alliance troops to see beyond a few feet. The Trident suits of the ODSTs had image filtering, light-enhancement, and flashlights, which helped them navigate with ease.

The Elites' helmets had display systems mounted over the eye slits, and they were the equivalent of a HUD that the human Trident and Mjolnir armor systems had. The Elite displays also had image enhancement, though it was not as advanced as the human's technologies. It was one of the few fields in which the humans seemed to be more advanced-one of the few fields where the Covenant had not stolen any Forerunner information relating to it.

The Grunts were in the worst state. They had quite poor vision to begin with, and had nothing to enhance their vision. They were Spec Ops Commandos, and therefore had the most armor they could carry and received more training than other Grunts, but their morale still dropped as they entered a Flood-held region without being able to properly see and fire at any hostile contact.

The Hunters, either way, would decimate the enemy, so they did not particularly care. However, the Grunts huddled together, trying to stay in the middle of the Elites, Helljumpers, and Hunters. The Arbiter noticed that a few carried Fuel Rod Guns, their fuel casings glowing an eerie green in the glowing darkness. Also, instead of their usual Plasma Pistols, the others held Plasma Rifles, which were usually taken by Elites. However, because of the threat presented by the Flood, all rank structures had been disregarded for the moment, and rifles were always far more effective than pistols.

The Arbiter glanced over, looking over the group of Helljumpers. The humans were armed with an assortment of their own weaponry. However, they also carried a considerable amount of Covenant arms, which they had obtained from the Duty and Honor's armory. The Arbiter guessed that the human weapons were running low on ammunition. It was unfortunate; the Arbiter had used the human projectile weapons before and they were much more effective against the Flood than most Covenant plasma-based weapons.

The veteran warrior flexed his four-finger hands on his own armaments. A pair of Elite Plasma Rifles, for short-to-medium range work. Not the most deadly weapons against the Flood, but a tried and true method of hosing the enemy down. The hilt of a Plasma Sword hung from his waist, docile and harmless at the moment but ready to extend a graceful blade capable of cutting through most known materials effortlessly. To top it all off, he had four Plasma Grenades to handle huge groups of the parasitic beasts that were bound to show up.

Behind the search-and-destroy team, there was a gentle hum of motors as the blast door closed. The last bit of light from the brighter corridors faded, and the silence was complete. Despite the fact that every single soldier in the team was a hardened, battle-scarred veteran, some of them began to feel apprehension about the mission they had been sent on. Obviously, it was of the Grunts' nature to do so, but for the well-trained, veteran ODST Special Forces units and Elites, it was a feeling they were unaccustomed to.

Johnson, the Arbiter, 'Vadumee, and 'Sonamee were still striding confidently in front. None of them showed any trace of fear, and, deep down, none of them really felt a sense of foreboding at all. They were just fighters, hungry for a battle, where they could do what they did best.

Kill.

Sergeant Avery Johnson peered around yet another corner in the twisting, winding hallways of the Duty and Honor. According to the mission timer he had set in his HUD, it had been half an hour since they had entered this shadowy domain of the Flood, but none of them had seen any sign of the distasteful organism, save the mist that hung all around them. He watched his helmet lights reflect dully off of the burnished deckplates without interest. The Sergeant was a man of action, and he wasn't getting what he wanted.

"Excellency, we have been searching for quite some time now, and we have found nothing." Surprisingly, it was a Grunt that had voiced Johnson's opinion. The Sergeant was inclined to agree, but the Grunt had more to say. "Perhaps they are planning something? I am worried."

'Sonamee sighed. "You're always worried, Mingmin. Besides, you give that damned Parasite too much credit. Plan, indeed. As if those mindless Flood beasts can think at all," he said scornfully.

At this point, 'Vadumee interrupted. He was somewhat of an expert concerning the Flood after many encounters with them, and his knowledge was not to be trifled with. "You had best watch what you are saying, 'Sonamee. The Flood were initially thought of as mindless machines bent on killing or absorbing everything it laid hands on. However, on the most recently discovered sacred ring, we have been taught otherwise. They are capable of operating all kinds of machinery, from our Ghosts to Wraiths, even to a small human warship. They should be perfectly capable of simple military planning, as well."

'Sonamee clicked his mandibles courteously and nodded. Although a Ship Master, he was still outclassed by both 'Vadumee and the Arbiter. Therefore, he had to respect both the opinions and the orders of his superiors, as both were known to have more combat experience and wisdom than he did.

A slight slithering sound caught the full attention of the Elites and Helljumpers. The Grunts, who had been chattering amongst themselves, quickly brought their talk to a close and looked up, waiting for orders. The Hunters lumbered to a halt and encircled the group, protecting the others with their thick body armor and impregnable shields.

"Everyone, prepare for combat," ordered 'Vadumee.

"You heard the alien. Lock 'n load!" agreed Johnson. He ran a hand over the unfamiliar curves of the Covenant Carbine in his hands and shrugged. It would be more comforting to have a Battle Rifle or Shotgun in his hands, but the Carbine was at least magazine fed, more like human weapons than the Plasma Rifle. The Sergeant pushed the first slug into the Carbine's firing chamber and shouldered the weapon, looking for targets.

All he saw on his motion tracker was yellow; the Tech Elites, and a few techs from the In Amber Clad who had made it off on Alpha 279, had modified the motion tracker system so that Elites, Grunts, and Hunters would not be recognized as enemies. As to how they did it, Johnson had no clue, but he didn't care. It wasn't his job to worry about things like that.

The slithering noise grew louder and more ominous. The sound was like a convicted criminal hearing his own death sentence being given out. Grunts swept their weapons back and forth frantically. The Helljumpers illuminated darker portions with their flashlights in case the a group of Flood could be hiding there. Elites squinted into the green haze, trying to make out targets. The Hunters swept their small beady eyes, taking in everything. All of them were searching for the source of the noise.

Suddenly, a gigantic pack of Combat Forms appeared out of the corridor opposite to the direction in which the Alliance team had come. The seething mass of disfigured Elites and mottled gray-green skin filled the entire hallway as far as the eye could see. The front ranks of this horrific army leapt into the air with a series of bloodcurdling, unearthly shrieks. Johnson sighted his rifle on the lead Combat Form and fired.

The battle was joined.