CHAPTER ONE
SHIELD WORLD 0001 - REQUIEM
'LOCKUP' FACILITY
FEBRUARY 19th, 2558
Lieutenant Matt Clarke stepped away from the glowing hard-light hologram showing the inner surface of the artificial planet. Ignoring the two coloured dots on the Forerunner artifact- those were problems that Fireteams Majestic and Crimson were dealing with, not directly important to Fireteam Apex's current plans - he focused in on a single continent, and then looked to the 'west' coast of it.
Thirty dots glimmered over the ocean. Clarke checked his wrist-mounted PDA once more, confirming the data link between the device and the Forerunner holographic projector was working correctly. The information matched the coordinates dredged up by Infinity Science almost to within a 97% margin of error.
And if Infinity Science knew about this… then ONI sure as hell did too.
FOUR DAYS EARILER – FEBRUARY 15th, 2558
GD79-TC PELICAN STRONGARM-54
EN ROUTE TO FORERUNNER STRUCTURE DESIGNATED 'BEACON'
"Hey, LT, how much further do we have to fly?" Staff Sergeant Richard Dixon Michaelson – SIV-318 – called from across the transport's cargo bay. His answer wasn't delayed.
"What, would you like to walk instead? We've crossed over three rivers already – and I didn't much appreciate their texture to boot. If we were on foot, by the time we got there, the Covies might have either activated the Forerunner tech inside - which would be bad for everybody involved - or our job would be stolen by one of the other fireteams who didn't have a flight-ophobe on board."
"Hey, I have a bad feeling about flying in one of these buckets. They were made by the lowest bidder, you know!"
"Oy, what are you saying about my bird?" A voice snapped out from the pilot's cabin – the third member of Fireteam Apex, SIV-307 Corporal Peter Samuels.
"Nothing, just that it's a pile of scrap that will be turned into a cloud of free-floating particles the second one of those Forerunner anti-air cannons glances in its vague direction."
"No offense, but have you seen what Forerunner technology is capable of? The average Forerunner AAA system is a bit above what the designers had in mi-"
"Enough," That was the fourth – and final – member of Fireteam Apex: Sergeant Jeremy Martinez, SIV-322. "Both of you. Quiet."
A red light flashed on in the troop bay, immediately followed by the Spartan aviator's voice. "LZ coming into view, looks like the Covies have detected us."
"Oh great, now comes the fuel rod cannons, then the screaming, then the fiery crash."
"Shh. Pete, give them a taste of the missile pods."
"Aye, sir." Corporal Samuels responded, before triggering the two missile pods mounted on the left wing of the airframe, both of which let loose a flurry of ANVIL-III missiles. The ordnance sped across the gap between the Pelican, and impacted the two Phantoms lifting off from the clearing in front of the Forerunner spire. The result was rather energetic as both Covenant transport craft detonated in brilliant blue-purple explosions. The Covenant still on the ground started to retreat inside, but were subsequently turned into a variety of multi-colored mist clouds by the Pelican's 70mm chin-mounted rotary-barreled autocannon.
The Pelican quickly swung around, dropping off the designated ground-pounding SPARTAN-IVs, who used their suits' built-in thruster packs to touch down safely in front of the tower. "We'll secure the structure, and hold it until the garrison troops arrive to fortify it. Pick us up then." Apex LEAD directed.
"You got it, LT!" With that, the Pelican boosted off, to take up station to maintain air coverage for the team. One of the common complaints of various forward-operating Spartan teams was the unusual lack of top-cover - though Fireteam Crimson might never admit it, Fireteams Kodiak and Majestic were considerably more vocal. Spartan Miller, Crimson's immediate superior, always attempted to correct this injustice, but Spartan Commander Palmer continued to obstruct him unless it was absolutely necessary, like that one time that the Spartan team had successfully neutralized a Covenant warlord and had subsequently been pinned down by the frontline combat forces of the warlord's entire keep. In any case, Spartan Samuels was assigned to Apex as an aviator from the start, and his place seemed to be behind the controls of a Pelican.
The team quickly proceeded into the Forerunner structure. Aside from an internal rear-guard of Major-rank Sangheili, there were no other enemies inside - and the Spartan fireteam soon figured out why. Sentinels were floating around in the various upper levels, the ground littered with Covenant corpses, their armor smoking from energy weapon burns. Oddly enough, the Sentinels on Requiem never attacked UNSC forces, although they were more than hostile to Covenant soldiers and Promethean constructs. Still, the soldiers of Fireteam Apex gave the Forerunner robots a wide berth.
Very quickly, they cleared the site, and placed beacons of their own down for ordnance pods to be dropped next to their position. Far beneath them, they saw a single Covenant soldier run out of the structure - apparently having been very well hidden during their sweep. Sergeant Martinez brought up his sniper rifle, taking aim at the Sangheili General's back, and letting off three successive shots. The warrior stumbled, his shields popping. A fourth shot took it in the arm, removing the limb entirely, while putting the Covenant warrior on the ground. As APEX FOUR reached down for another magazine, the ordnance pods arrived. Two went wide of the tower, one of which landed somewhere in the treeline - and the second dropped on the gold-armored Elite's head, far below. Through Sergeant Martinez's scope, he saw the low-cut grass around the top of the alien's body take on a purple color.
Fireteam Apex rapidly moved back down to the bottom level, checking each and every possible nook and cranny on their way down. Once they got to the ground floor, they noticed something different. An entire inner wall of the facility had vanished, revealing a chamber that was not there before. In the center of the chamber, an energy shield had been raised, covering a Zealot Elite, who was doing… something… with a piece of Forerunner technology. Between them and the Zealots, however, were ten Jackals, three General Elites with swords- and a single, massive Hunter, its armor scorched by what was most likely a concentrated barrage of Sentinel Beams.
"Take cover!" As Lieutenant Clarke uttered the order, Forerunner portable cover walls popped up in front of his team, which they were quick to hop behind. Moving their guns out of cover, they used their smart-linked scopes to deliver precision hits without exposing their bodies to danger- for the most part. The Jackals died quickly, knocked off balance by a shot to their partially exposed arm and then finished off by shots to the head. The Generals were tougher to deal with- and they were closing fast. One of them was suddenly cut off by a cover-wall popping up in front of it, with the Covenant soldier slamming into it at full tilt.
The other two Generals were almost within range, when Fireteam Apex popped back up with their scavenged Plasma Pistols equipped. Two overcharged blasts later, the generals were unshielded- easy prey for Rick's M395 Designated Marksman Rifle. The Elites were quickly dispatched, the third Elite nailed with a plasma pistol shot and then drilled between the eyes shortly after navigating around the cover wall. And then the Hunter finally decided to join the battle.
The next few minutes consisted of a mad scramble around the room, searching for a Forerunner weapons cache, a Covenant supply station, anything with the firepower capable of taking down a raging Mgalekgolo.
In the middle of the battle, the Forerunner device activated, showing a large star map, with a list of coordinates. The Zealot pushed down on a single set- which zoomed in on a landmass, with dots hovering over the shore.
As if in response to the activation of the Forerunner artifact, a humming noise echoed through the chamber - the sound of a swarm of approaching Sentinels. White-hot energy beams cut through the air, cleaving into the Hunter, burning into its gestalt body of worms - and emerging out the other side. The hulking colony fell apart, its components clattering to the floor.
Fireteam Apex turned to the Zealot, who glared at the group, before grabbing two plasma grenades and sticking them to the Forerunner artifact in the center of the room. A flash of blue- and the artifact was destroyed, as was the suicidal Sangheili. With all hostiles dead, the Sentinels swiveled around on the spot and headed for the entrance to the structure. As soon as they reached the threshold of the outer door of the complex, slipspace micro-portals whirled into existence and carried the Sentinels to their next destination, wherever it might be. The fireteam took a moment to watch the constructs exit the structure, before calling the situation in to their bird on overwatch. "Fireteam Apex reporting in. Beacon structure secured, Covenant presence neutralized. Send in the Troopers whenever you're ready."
Within the next thirty minutes, UNSC Army Pelicans arrived, dropped off their complement of troops and Warthogs before blasting off, likely returning to Infinity to pick up more. The Troopers began setting up automated turrets in the entrance hall and the ground level of the facility, as per initial fortification procedures.
After the Spartan reconnaissance group had finished assisting the Army Troopers with setting up their defense network, Strongarm-54 swept in to pick up Fireteam Apex.
"So, what did you find down there, LT?" Corporal Samuels asked, shortly after the fireteam had departed solid ground.
"Hell if I know- the Covenant destroyed it too quickly. Isn't doing so a sin in their culture?"
"You can never tell with these fanatics." Michaelson smirked, before continuing. "It could be completely swell to perform one day and the worst heresy the next."
Spartan Martinez grunted what was most likely an affirmation.
'LOCKUP' FACILITY
FEBRUARY 19th, 2558
Lieutenant Clarke pulled up his comm system. "How much time do we have left?"
The answer was swift. "Three hours, LT, then we're all taking a stellar bath in Epoloch."
"Thanks for the mental image, Samuels. I'm ready for pick-up."
His teammate chuckled. "Affirmative, be there in a few seconds."
"A few seconds? Where are you, Corporal?" As if on cue, a Pelican suddenly broke through the cloud layer, flying towards the Lockup Cartographer. "…Holy shit, you still have that ONI bird."
"Damn right, especially for this mission you have us set up for."
Clarke was silent for a second. "How'd you get it again?"
"You really don't want to know. I'm currently squawking as a Marine transport, but it's only a matter of time before the spooks find out that their Pelican probably isn't coming back."
"…Right." Clarke paused again, before inquiring; "How many Marines were you able to convince to come along?"
"Twenty-six able-bodied soldiers. Managed to rope in four flyboys as well. They brought their own birds too!"
"That's more than I was expecting. What do they fly?" Clarke reaches down into the Cartographer, pulling out four data collection devices. The map display shuts off, the relevant information downloaded onto the data sticks.
"Two Broadswords and one Longsword, why do you ask? They'll be on station in… well, whenever they can weasel away from the evacuation duties at Firebase Titan."
"Just curious." Walking forward, Lieutenant Clarke stepped off the edge of the tower, and slightly dropped into the cargo bay of the Pelican without missing a beat. The doors closed behind him, and he felt the slight pull of G-forces as the afterburners kicked in…
ONE HOUR LATER
REQUIEM EASTERN CONTINENT- 80 KILOMETERS OFFSHORE
ONI D79S-TC PELICAN – GOLF-33
TWO HOURS BEFORE REQUIEM DESTRUCTION
"Well, that's certainly a sight."
Clarke had to agree with his aviator teammate.
An entire Forerunner battlefleet hung suspended in mid-air. Seeing it on the map was impressive enough. Being up close, however, was entirely different. The cloaked Pelican flew next to what Requiem's Cartographer systems had identified as a Sojourner-class dreadnought, both unnamed and never manned. "Why is ONI not all over this already?"
Clarke had expected a large Covenant force to be salvaging the fleet. Instead, the ships appeared virtually untouched, despite the Covenant having a near-uncontested grasp of Requiem during the three months it took for the UNSC Home Fleet to rebuild itself after that monumental Covenant-controlled Forerunner vessel had blown through them and… done something to New Phoenix. And then the other three months where an expeditionary force was drawn up to contest the shield world, blocked by defense-oriented bureaucracy and… other complications. There were special operations groups sent in the interim period, but nothing that could actually take and hold ground.
The only signs of Covenant activity was a quintet of CRS light cruisers and a RPV destroyer hovering around what could only be the flagship of the fleet, a fifty-kilometer-long spear-like vessel that bore more than a passing resemblance to the former capital of the Covenant, High Charity. Only the RPV remained mobile, as the CRSs had landed on the immense bulk of the ship, most likely being repurposed as forward bases.
The Pelican slowly crept in towards their evident goal, using a derelict transport vessel as top cover. "Right then," Samuels groaned, before swiveling his gaze in the direction of his team leader. "Where do we go?"
"It will take us too long to get to the bridge if we use the hangars. The Covenant are likely to have them locked down already, anyway. Aeona, any suggestions?"
A noticeable pause rolled through the cockpit, before TEAMCOM spiked with the UNSC archaeological intelligence's reply. "Ah, apologies. The Lockup Cartographer had a lot of information in it… right, entry onto… ah, the ship's name is Red Light of Dying Stars. Ironic, given our-"
"Aeona, we have less than two hours before we die in a star. Entry point?"
"Er, from outside scans, the Covenant have not yet discovered a hangar on the underside of the ship… oh, but that's more than three hours from the bridge, given the translocator pads in that section aren't powered up…"
An emerald wireframe representation of the Fortress spun up in the top left corner of the fireteam's collective VISR displays, several sections highlighted orange to mark ingress points. A distressing amount of them subsequently flicked to a bluish-purple color, indicating Covenant control. Eventually, only the aforementioned distant hangar remained… and a massive chamber near the base of the dome structure, easily enough to hold Infinity as a whole with space left over.
"Spartan Samuels, how good are you at the controls of a Pelican?" the AI inquired.
"I was born on one, is that good enough?"
"…There is one other point of entry that we can make use of, and we have the Covenant to thank for it!"
"What?"
"Well, passive defenses would deflect the attempt under any other circumstances, but the Covie salvagers have disabled those particular systems. Unknowingly, most likely. Hopefully."
"And how do we get from here to there?"
"On a standard Pelican, we couldn't. But… the Pelicans on Port Stanley seem to have some… interesting modifications. One of which being… a slipspace drive."
A beat of silence passed, before Peter shattered the calm. "…Wait, this bird has a slipspace drive? Damn! What else are the spooks holding from the rest of us? I could've done so much more with this!"
"Apex Three, think you can put us in that space?"
"…No way. Flying is one thing, but a precision jump like that? You'd need someone…" he trailed off.
"Someone… like Aeona."
The smugness in the synthetic intelligence's voice was palpable, as she chimed in again. "And that was what I was working on earlier. Just plug me in."
Samuels grumbled, "I don't like backseat pilots…"
"Oh, that's disappointing. I would schedule you an appointment with one of Infinity's psychiatric personnel for self-help, but I would assume that ONI would pick up on and trace the transmission with quite a fervor."
Michaelson clipped in over TEAMCOM. "I got some bio-foam for that burn if you want some."
Peter spluttered ineffectively, before patching the intelligence into the flight controls. "Once you're done, I want you out, okay? I like flying. I don't like other people flying for me."
"Plotting slipspace transition." The Pelican came to a stop at the edge of the gap between the transport craft and the Fortress. "…Plotting finished. Transition in five seconds."
FORERUNNER WARSHIP – FOREST
SOMEWHERE IN THE FOREST
ONE HOUR FORTY-NINE MINUTES BEFORE FOREST DESTRUCTION
Vork was bored. 'Take the Unggoy and scout the ship,' the puffed-up Sangheili officer had barked at him. That had been more than three days ago, and he had had no contact since then. No contact, other than additional cannon fodder trickling down from the command deck to replace the ones the T'vaoan Kig-Yar had 'lost'.
His current location suited him much too well to bother continuing his assigned tasks. A dark forest, reminiscent of those on that arboreal world his kith had set up their raiding home-base on, back before Jul'Mdama had come along and roped his shipmistress into signing on with his newborn Covenant, now served as his new home. And the Unggoy that wandered in? His prey.
He could hear the scared whimpers of a file of the gas-suckers at this very moment. The unfortunates had already lost two of their number, one being taken in front of them – that particular kill was exhilarating. He wondered if this was what his distant ancestors were like, before T'vao was even colonized…
As it was, the Unggoy were pinned up in a series of closely planted trees. To his annoyance, he was unable to get them out, as in his haste to grab the fuel-rod toting Unggoy before the others could intervene, he had let slip his customized energy pistol, which one of the grubby creatures had seized in short order. Even if that hadn't happened, the tree was virtually bristling with the energy pistols carried by other Grunts, and that damned fuel rod cannon was also in their possession, though it only had one shot left.
The T'voan watched from the overgrowth as the Unggoy quibbled amongst themselves. They couldn't remain up there forever. Eventually either their own hunger would drive them down, or their gas packs would run dry. Vork had plenty of food back at his nest to wait them out.
What he wasn't expecting was a slipspace portal to tear open the tree – and the Unggoy – at the end of the grove, and one of the humans' dropships to swiftly emerge from the glimmering rift, plowing through half of the clump with no apparent difficulty, other than the strain the collision put on the shields. Vork was frozen into temporary inaction as half of his prey were simply squished against either the protective barrier or now equally airborne chunks of wood.
The aircraft ascended over the treetops, its wake shoving most of the surviving Unggoy from their various perches. Vork lay low until the human craft moved off, before moving forward – and stepping on cold metal. He bore his fangs in an approximation of a grin.
The human craft had splattered the thief that had stolen his custom pistol. And now he had it back.
His feathers ruffled with anticipation for the hunt. For a few seconds, other than the sound of the troopship's engines moving away, there was silence.
And then the squealing started.
FORERUNNER FORTRESS – RED LIGHT OF DYING STARS
ONI D79S-TC PELICAN – GOLF-33
ONE HOUR FORTY-SEVEN MINUTES BEFORE REQUIEM DESTRUCTION
"What is this place, Aeona?" Clarke inquired as he looked through the cockpit window, the built-in VISR system barely allowing him to see in the pitch darkness.
"One moment. Plotting course to destination, waypoint system set. Transferring control back to Spartan Samuels."
"Thanks," the Spartan in question grumbled, before slowing down as he followed the waypoint.
"From what the Lockup Cartographer shows, this was to serve a purpose similar to Infinity's memorial park. There are five other… micro-refugia like it on this ship, each one with a different biome. These are places to allow… Warrior-Servants to relax."
"Doesn't seem all that relaxing."
"The power is barely on right now. With full power, this place has its own weather, its own day and night cycle – no, not just dimming the lights, but its own self-contained… artificial micro-star!"
Clarke was speechless, before he grudgingly forced himself back onto the mission. "…Where are we heading now?"
"There's a translocation pad down one of the hallways at the end of this micro-refugia. I can plug in there."
"Do the Covenant know we're here yet?"
"Comm chatter is picking up. Can't listen in, but I think they detected the slipspace rift. With luck, they'll expect it to be a Promethean incursion..."
Less than a minute later, the Pelican arrived at its destination. The cockpit VISR detailed the landing zone; a hemispherical clearing easily large enough for the ONI bird to touch down, with a massive Forerunner wall stretching into the darkness cutting through the middle of the circle. Golf-33 pivoted around before its landing gear eased down, the back hatch now facing the marked access point. Clarke leaned down and tapped Samuels on the shoulder. "Pick out three Marines to stay with the Pelican, then follow along. We'll probably need you on the bridge when we take it."
That said, Apex LEAD turned towards the hatch leading into the troop bay, cracking the sliding door open and moving through. The Marines and Troopers didn't salute as he passed by. Good. Michaelson and Martinez stood at the very back of the cabin, the former facing forward while the latter was performing last minute check-ups on his armament. By the time Clarke got to the end of the bay, Fireteam Apex's sniper and resident gunsmith had finished.
"One small step, no?" Apex Two spoke. "First time a human's putting feet down on this ship, I bet."
Apex LEAD keyed the TEAMCOM-WIDE channel, allowing the Marines and Troopers to listen in. "Apex Four and I will take point, and act as recce. Apex Three will take center. Apex Two, you're on our six. Three Troopers stay with the Pelican, and stay INSIDE the Pelican. It does have active camouflage capabilities. Use them." He paused before continuing. "We have officially gone AWOL from the UNSC, and stolen a nice piece of aerospace engineering from the Office of Naval Intelligence. And all of this means nothing if we don't get to the bridge within an estimated hour and thirty minutes, because we're all boiling in a star after that. But with this in mind, I have to advise that you don't do anything stupid. Do not think that any of you are expendable or that your lives mean nothing. I know that some Spartan Fireteams might act in such manner as to consider un-augmented personnel worthless and cannon fodder, but… we are all in this together. Apex Three?"
The corresponding SPARTAN-IV's status light lit up green on the fireteam leader's HUD.
"Pop the hatch."
FORERUNNER FORTRESS – RED LIGHT OF DYING STARS
ARBOREAL MICRO-REFUGIA
ONE HOUR FORTY-ONE MINUTES BEFORE REQUIEM DESTRUCTION
Spartan Jeremy Martinez was the first to make footfall on Red Light of Dying Stars. Less than thirty meters ahead was their first on-foot waypoint. Both Apex LEAD and Apex Four approached it at the same time, the two Spartans armed with BR85 battle rifles.
The door split apart as they got within five meters of it, the segmented sections sliding into the wall around the now-exposed path. Dim Covenant lighting barely illuminated the hall. If the Spartans did not have working VISRs, they would have been in a rather perilous predicament. Even as such, the duo moved forward cautiously, checking each and every corner for hidden hostiles or traps, and finding nothing.
They finished their sweep within six minutes, coming to a dead end. One hour and twenty-three minutes still on the clock. Clarke clicked twice on TEAMCOM-WIDE, signalling the second group to move up, before inquiring over standard TEAMCOM, "Now what, Aeona?"
"Put your palm against… oh. There's no data pedestal… one moment." A second went by, then another. "Look, I'm… not in the ship's system. I'm just reading schematics. I need something in the system to reach out to me in order to have a way in, and I need a way in to give the system a reason to reach out."
Clarke took a deep breath, his head beginning to hurt. "So… what, we're stuck?"
"No… well, yes, but I'm working on-"
"Is this translocation pad active?" Spartan Martinez asked, stepping forward and pointing to a slightly raised section of the hallway's floor.
"Partially-"
"How did the Forerunners use it?"
"Um… through their armor, or with ancilla – AI – assistance. The Covenant… oh! The Covenant have hooked up a panel of their own to control it… from the other side. One moment…"
Two halves of an archway rose from the raised section, a controlled slipspace rift spinning up in the center. "Picking up increased Covenant chatter. Unencrypted frequency. Basic translation is… that one of their scouting parties has likely run into more Sentinel defenses and now requires replacements for lost Grunts. Oh, this particular station has requested new Unggoy on a regular basis, apparently… uh-oh."
"What is it?"
"Bad news and good news. Bad news, a Hunter pair is moving towards the portal, and they have four Major Elites with heavy weapons in tow. They'll be through in about two minutes."
Clarke clicked to TEAMCOM-WIDE, even as he and Martinez sprinted for cover. "Two Hunters with an Elite heavy weapons quartet coming through the portal. Anybody with heavy weapons of their own, you have under a minute to form up on us. Everybody else, get into cover."
The sound of boots ringing on metal closed with the two foremost Spartans as six of the unaugmented soldiers emerged from the darkness surrounding the hall. Two had M41 SSR launchers, while another two had reloadable tubes for the same. Another one carried an ARC-920 'railgun', and the sixth…
Clarke blinked as the Trooper in question took up position alongside him, hefting her M6 directed energy nonlinear cannon, known by most UNSC personnel as the Spartan Laser. Across the hall from his small group, the Marine railgunner crouched low to the ground, ready to shoot – only to partially lower his weapon in shock as Jeremy put away his BR85 in exchange for one of the massive rifles he was carrying on his back.
The ARC-920 was a coilgun. Spartan Martinez' weapon was more of a coil-cannon. The man already had a reputation on Infinity for pushing the boundaries of what could be considered man-portable weaponry, even before one of his custom-made weapons ended up mutilating his left arm with its colossal recoil. Back during the time of the Beacon raid, Martinez used to carry around a 37mm anti-everything coil-rifle. They had talked about it on the way down, and the Spartan had agreed to put it aside for that one mission. The risk of collateral damage was too great, especially with – as they found out later – Sentinels active in the area.
Jeremy had bestowed it the name 'Jeb', now affectionately remembered in passing as Jeb I. It had been destroyed on a black ops mission nearly a day after the Beacon mission. The only salvageable portion had been the trigger assembly and stock, as the rest was nothing more than scrap metal.
That had been Jeb I. The weapon now being brought to bear in the direction of the portal was Jeb II. As the Marines took a moment to stare, the weapon began to charge up, emitting a low whine…
"Aeona, one question before we get bogged in?"
"Shoo- wait, yes?"
"What's the good news?"
"Oh, when the Covenant activated the translocation pad to send their troops down, I managed to worm my way inside – no pun intended. Once you've eliminated this kill lance, we can move on the bridge."
"Terrific."
Less than seven seconds later, the hulking form of a Mgalekgolo lumbered out of the rift. As it raised its foot up to take a step forward, Martinez opened up.
A 20mm shell from Jeb II took flight, flashing across the span between the coil-cannon and the Hunter, and punched into the stalk of worms that passed for its neck. A screech of agony rose up from inside the gestalt's protective carapace as the creature's pseudo-head disconnected from the rest of the colony within. The collection of creatures stumbled back, possibly due to shock incurred from the sudden loss of its sensory limb, and bumped into a just-translocated Major-rank Sangheili.
The Elite's shields prevented him from being skewered by the wounded Mgalekgolo's spines, but the threat of such forced the warrior to take a hurried step backwards – and right back through the portal.
Jeb II discharged again, a second 20mm shell blazing forward to connect with the gestalt's charging fuel rod cannon, which brewed up violently upon impact. The creature's bellowing drastically increased in volume as it collapsed, the stump of its neck wriggling violently as the worms composing the colony attempted to squirm free of their scorched carapace. The Marine railgunner immediately put an end to the creatures' bid for escape. Two incendiary grenades from the rocket resupply Marines set fire to the rest of the carapace, effectively sentencing the worms still within to certain immolation.
A second Major Sangheili charged from the rift, energy sword aflame, bellowing out a war cry in its native language. One M19 SSM later, the Sangheili had ceased to exist outside of a carbonized upper torso. A third Elite tore out of the rupture almost immediately after the second, and was knocked down by the blast. Clarke immediately put a three-round burst into the Covenant soldier's head to make sure it stayed down.
Aeona let out a disgusted groan as the bullets silenced the third Elite forever. "Given what just happened, I would posit that the translocation systems on board Red Light are not running at optimal-"
"Aeona? Not right now."
"I just wished to inform you that two Sangheili will no longer be coming through the portal, and have been rendered decisively no longer capable of combat. Or anything else, for that matter. The second Hunter, however, will transition through in approximately-"
The gestalt creature in question charged out of the slipspace portal, its head tucked in close and its shield raised. The fuel rod cannon fused to its right arm discharged almost immediately, the emerald beam lighting up the entire hallway as it snapped past the forward element of their boarding party.
"Now."
Even as screams erupted down the hall, the rocket-armed Marine duo let their payloads fly, scoring two direct hits on the creature's head. A third rocket subsequently spat from its tube to connect with the Mgalekgolo's exposed feet as the second rocket team began to reload their SPNKR. The Army Trooper with the Spartan Laser fired off the charge she had spun up, blasting the hulking gestalt's fuel rod cannon. Unlike with its bond brother, the cannon failed to brew up as violently due to a lack of a preparatory charge, but was rendered combat ineffective all the same.
Spartan Martinez dropped to the floor, prone. A brilliant point of blue light coalesced at the tip of the coil-cannon's third barrel, before leaping forward and connecting with the onrushing Mgalekgolo's armored foot.
The creature stumbled, off-balance. Its shield hit the ground in an attempt to stabilize itself, opening its chest area up to inbound fire from the left side of the hall… and only Spartan Clarke's BR85 responded.
With the sole exception of Clarke unloading multiple three-round bursts of 9.5x40mm into the creature's armored torso – to no effect, as the exposed section of the gestalt's waist remained mostly sheltered by the nanolaminate shield, nobody else engaged.
Everybody else in their assault group was either busy reloading, recharging, or didn't have a shot in the case of the railgunner to the right of the weapon-smith.
The Mgalekgolo growled and attempted to take a step forward, to at least bring itself into melee range with the prone Spartan, to crush the armored bug that had hobbled it. Jeremy retaliated by shifting his cannon to the left and firing again, targeting the worm-colony's other foot. The gestalt crashed to the ground, now feebly attempting to drag itself forward with its shield-arm.
The railgunner next to Martinez took his shot at the creature's neck-tendril, now just barely exposed to fire from his angle. The hypervelocity 16x65mm shell struck true, splattering bits of Lekgolo worms all over and effectively severing the gestalt's sensory limb. In the same manner as its bond brother, the worms immediately began to attempt to leave, squirming out of every possible hole in the armor. The laser-armed Trooper fired again, her weapon having finished both cooling down from her initial strike and recharging for a second one. Jeb II's concentrated energy beam joined it, both directed energy weapons burning deep inside the carapace and essentially vaporizing whatever biological material either touched. Another two incendiary grenades put a decisive end to the threat.
Clarke sucked in a breath, before directing his attention towards his fellow Spartan, then back to the burning Hunter. A few seconds passed by as he took in the sight of the creature's noticeably severed feet, cut clean off with a diagonal stroke.
"Martinez."
Silence over TEAMCOM.
"What did you make?"
"…Focused Spartan Laser. Compressed the beam to five millimeters in width. No loss of power. Beam lasts longer, too. Could stand to be improved more."
"GodDAMN," the railgunner bellowed over the same channel. "Improved more? Do you take commissions?"
Clarke fell silent, his mind immediately switching gears. He quickly keyed the extended TEAMCOM channel, and was immediately confronted with the sounds of either a Marine or Trooper screaming in agony.
"APEX THREE, SITREP!"
"We've lost Specialist Duncan and PFC Benson. Lance Corporal MacDonald's circling the drain, sir. Medic's currently trying to stabilize him, but…"
"APEX TWO stays with the medic, everybody else double time it to our current position and hold here. We'll continue ahead, clear out the bridge approach."
"Copy, LEAD."
Clarke switched back to the forward assault squad's TEAMCOM. "SPC Duncan and PFC Benson are dead. That damn fuel rod beam cooked them. We are not going to let their deaths be in vain. Martinez?"
A simple blip of APEX FOUR's status light was his only reply.
"We're going to need that cutting beam again."
FORERUNNER FORTRESS – RED LIGHT OF DYING STARS
BRIDGE APPROACH CORRIDOR
ONE HOUR TWENTY-NINE MINUTES BEFORE REQUIEM DESTRUCTION
Clarke was the first one through the portal, hauling one of the Mgalekgolo's massive nanolaminate shields, the machinery in his armor whining under the strain of lifting the block of starship-grade armor. Judging by the sudden flurry of projectiles and plasma that immediately greeted him, it was most certainly worth the expenditure of energy.
All he had to do was continue to move forward, no matter how much of a pounding he was taking. He just hoped that he wouldn't push past a Covenant emplacement by mistake and get lit up from the side.
Every inch gained was hell, in regards to both the incoming fire and the effort of lifting the slab of material. Step. Step. Step.
"LEAD. Stop. I have the target. Taking the shot."
Whether or not the sniper had indeed opened fire, Clarke could not be certain. All that was apparent to him was being trapped behind a heavy piece of Covenant nanolaminate while what felt like every single ranged weapon in the infantry arsenal of Jul'Mdama's Covenant bombarded his position. He could vaguely hear voices over TEAMCOM, but as to what they were saying, he had no clue. Eventually, however, the snap of UNSC sniper rifles and the semi-unique sound of Jeb II discharging began to overcome the slowly-decreasing cacophony of inbound hostile fire.
And with a sudden burst of violence, the shooting ceased.
"LEAD. Targets neutralized."
"Aeona reporting in. I've managed to gain control over the barricades and other forms of cover in this section. All that's left to deal with is the group on the bridge."
Clarke took multiple deep breaths before setting the shield down and gazing over its well-battered surface, before looking up the corridor. Multiple Covenant defensive emplacements lay silent, their respective crews well and truly dead. A glance back showed a maze of chest-high barriers, some of which had UNSC personnel behind them, visible only by their rifles sticking out.
Clarke blinked, shaking his head to refocus on the mission. "APEX FOUR, next time, we get APEX TWO to be the wall."
FORERUNNER WARSHIP
COMMAND DECK
ONE HOUR BEFORE IMMOLATION
General Lekt'Narche, former shipmaster of the Proverbial Truth – a long-range missionary ship, barely larger than the equivalent of a hundred-fifty meters, and with no offensive capabilities other than droning on and on about how great and powerful the Covenant Empire was… before his 'promotion' to mere navigator of a generic battlecruiser less than three cycles before the fall of the Covenant itself – seethed with rage as the humans drew close to their position. How they had snuck past the picket force outside was not yet apparent. Their reinforcements, however, were not as stealthy as the initial boarding party apparently was, as the pursuing Seraph heavy fighters and Banshee strike craft could attest to. The human pilots, annoyingly, continued to weave around the derelict holy vessels that Jul'Mdama had tasked him to retrieve, preventing the shipmaster of the light destroyer that headed up his naval picket from bringing its weaponry to bear.
Lekt strode across the command deck, his clawed fingers flowing across one of the few interfaces their huragok had managed to bend to their will. Every last possible warrior on board was being directed to shore up their defense, and to catch the human assault force between two unyielding legions.
And just in case those defenses would fail… he still had a way out, a place to where he could retreat to. As the sound of human weapons fire drew closer, as the humans overwhelmed the meager few files stationed near the bridge, he set the retreat plan in motion.
First, to arm the vessel's self-destruct sequence – or the makeshift version of it, attained by overcharging the warship's antimatter cannons and deactivating their containment fields. Targeting was still out of their capabilities, and only a number of the ship's cannons could be brought online, but it would still be enough. Or, at least, the lead Huragok had said as much… to its Unggoy friend, who had relayed it to the General. The same Unggoy which had been sent down to deal with that T'voan pest lurking in that accursed forest…
The next objective was to prepare the portal device off-set in the next chamber over. If the holy flagship were to be destroyed, he would at least bring one of the hook-ships back to Jul'Mdama. His own crew were hard at work preparing it to deploy immediately, all they were waiting for was his signal.
The General glanced over his shoulder at the closed chamber hatch, setting a timer for the portal to activate, and then another timer for the ship's weapons to begin their fatal sequence.
The increasing volume of human weaponry told him everything he needed to know. Reinforcements wouldn't arrive in time, and the three Zealots and single Mgalekgolo on the bridge would be insufficient to ho – 'Wait, three? Where-'
The veteran Sangheili warrior gazed upon the room, his eyes eventually settling in on a spot near one of the consoles. The familiar shimmer of active camouflage soothed his nerves… until he noticed the arm sticking out from behind the console.
The Sangheili arm.
Lekt bellowed a warning, before grabbing his needler from his side and spraying in the figure's general direction. The other three Zealots turned to face the intruder, their own camouflage systems concealing them from visual detection.
A blinding beam – comparable in intensity to that of an energy projector, albeit on multiple orders-of-magnitude smaller than such – flashed across the room, burning into the Mgalekgolo's unarmored back and slicing the walking tank in two, before continuing on to do the same to one of his Zealots, who either failed to duck at the proper time, or failed to duck far enough.
'Narche slammed his hand on the display, both cycling open the escape chamber's hatch and activating the translocator pad. He sprinted for the escape route, barely flinching as something fast flew past him and smashed into the wall to his left.
And then he was in the chamber, and quickly thereafter, through the portal.
FORERUNNER FORTRESS – RED LIGHT OF DYING STARS
BRIDGE
FIFTY-FIVE MINUTES BEFORE REQUIEM DESTRUCTION
'Targets on left, dead. Target on right, dead. One escaped.'
Jeb II was currently combat ineffective, both of its weapon systems either reloading or recharging. The remaining Zealot would be upon him before his weapon was ready to fire again. And so he set it aside, leaning it against the console to his left. Calmly, he drew his own blade, a more conventionally-designed energy machete, and settled into a defensive stance, decloaking as he did so.
The Sangheili responded in the same manner, both decloaking and then engaging its standard-Hesduros-pattern energy sword.
Jeremy feinted to the left, which the Sangheili immediately countered, quickly drawing up its own blade, nearly cleaving the Spartan's arm off if he wouldn't have pulled back. So he was dealing with a skilled swordsman. For a second, the weapon-smith pondered if perhaps this warrior was onboard one of the ships that had glassed Meridian.
It was the Zealot's 'turn' to attack. It unleashed a flurry of short cuts, every third strike forcing the Spartan to concede ground. Yes. A true sword-warrior. But perhaps not entirely a veteran.
For a veteran would use every available asset to win, and not hold themselves back for the concept of honor. "Don't lay down your life for your country, make the other bastard die for theirs," as the old adage went.
And that was why, after one close strike, the Zealot felt a heat source on its chest. It glanced down – saw the activated plasma grenade – then back up at empty space where its opponent used to be.
And when the room was showered by chunks of carbonated Sangheili, the veteran won.
FORERUNNER FORTRESS – RED LIGHT OF DYING STARS
BRIDGE
FIFTY-TWO MINUTES BEFORE REQUIEM DESTRUCTION
Clarke and Samuels burst onto the bridge, weapons raised. Martinez sat on the ground near one of the rear consoles, cleaning his coil-cannon.
"You could have mentioned the bridge was clear. You're lucky we didn't toss some grenades in here."
"Already did that for you, LEAD. Plug your AI friend in."
"Aeona, where - ?"
"Front of the room, next to that active panel."
"Got it." The Spartan strode to the console in question, removing Aeona's chip from his armor and placing it in the blinking slot on his HUD. The lights dimmed in response, before a soft hum rumbled through the ship.
Then Aeona's avatar appeared in the center of the room, at full human size. "Very interesting," the projection uttered, before throwing her hand out and pointing at the main console. "Let there be life," she declared, and all but three-quarters of the screens flicked on.
"Um, Aeona, you feeling okay? Because you're acting quite sket…"
"Yeah, that was… sort of melodramatic, wasn't it? Sorry. It's just… impressive, is all. First, just need to… seal off the Covenant-controlled compartments, isolate the cruisers… don't worry, I won't destroy them… but that RPV out there…"
The lights flickered again. "Interesting. There is another intelligence onboard this ship, connecting to it via Requiem. No, before you start shooting, it's not hostile… it's the Librarian. You should… thank her for our current ease, she's bringing as many systems online as she can. She's not a Warrior-Servant like the Didact, but she's… helping. She has a passing familiarity with these systems. She gave me control of the barriers back in the approach corridor. Oh! We can save the other ships too! The Librarian is currently initiating docking procedures, bringing the transports and dreadnoughts to dock on Red Light!"
"Can she download herself on-"
"…No. She has another destination in mind for herself, something called the… Record? Archive? Catalog?"
Peter chimed in. "So, when can we leave? We're about forty minutes away from being cooked by a sun, and we'd rather avoid that."
"Once the other ships have doc- oh, you sly bugger!"
"Aeona?!"
"The Sangheili that escaped, the General? He's started a countdown, an improvised self-destruct sequence. Both the Librarian and I have already defused the situation, but… I was wondering why one of the dreadnoughts wouldn't respond to our commands. He's on it! I'm trying to gum up his progress as best I can, but…"
"Can we bring the ship's cannons to bear-"
"The Librarian will not allow it. Everything she is assisting us with is non-lethal. That's why that RPV is still intact, why I haven't destroyed those clouds of Covenant fighters… oh, speaking of which, I've translocated our three aviators inside. They're with the Pelican right now."
"She gave you control of the barricade system back in- wait, what did you just say?"
"The act of giving us control of those systems was, in of itself, non-lethal. What happened afterwards was not her concern. Activating weaponry, however, is."
"What if I were to hop on the translocation pad he used, could she put me on that ship? The act of moving across vessels is, in of itself, non-lethal…"
"…Interesting. I don't know whether or not she's irritated or amused. Pad's active."
Clarke and Martinez took off running for the translocation chamber, both arriving at the same time. The fireteam's leader prepared to step through the portal, only for the gunsmith to halt him inches from the transition point, before pulling him away from the swirling slipspace vortex.
"Take this first." SPARTAN-IV-322 held out a weapon, a contraption that seemed to be composed of a M90 frame and a sewer pipe for a barrel. SIV-311 didn't want to ask for specifics.
"Um…" Nothing else came to mind, as thoughts of shattering shoulders sped through APEX LEAD's mind.
"Your service rifle might not do so well against a determined defense. We might only get one shot. You should make it count." Jeremy paused.
Clarke accepted the gun, albeit reluctantly, before facing the portal once more. He keyed his TEAMCOM channel. "Samuels, you're now acting commander of Fireteam Apex. If we're not back before the twenty-five minute mark, and that dreadnought's not flying a UNSC IFF, get Aeona to punch out of here."
With no other words, both SPARTAN-IVs stepped through the translocation portal…
FORERUNNER DREADNOUGHT
BRIDGE
THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES BEFORE REQUIEM DESTRUCTION
Clarke emerged on the other side, immediately greeted by a surprised Grunt. The diminutive creature shrieked, before igniting two energy blades on its gauntlets and charging.
The courage and conviction of his immediate challenger temporarily stunned the fireteam leader into shocked silence, allowing the vicious Grunt to leap upon the Spartan and slice deep, his energy gauntlets piercing through armor and flesh, the Unggoy letting out a scream of victory over the fallen UNSC soldier…
…Or, at least, that was the series of events the Unggoy conceived, squeaky noises of faux-combat and imagined death rattles eking through his mouth as he silently shook in place. The Demon however, did not seem to have moved from its spot… perhaps it really was stunned into silence at his magnificence and courage? Perhaps the legends truly were overstated? The Grunt took a step forward, its jaws opening to let out a deafening battle roar…
And pieces of Unggoy took flight across the command deck, followed by a muffled yell of anguish. 'Should have expected that,' Clarke thought to himself as he took cover behind the console formerly occupied and now covered by components of a rather courageous Unggoy. 'Of course it's a bloody overengineered recoil monster, what else does Martinez make? Wait, where is-'
"DEMON! YOU MAY HAVE FOLLOWED, BUT YOU WILL NOT RETURN!"
A fuel rod blast took a massive bite out of his current cover, forcing the Spartan to sprint to the next console. A glance to his left showed nothing but the General, though given the prevalence of active camouflage, he couldn't be entirely sure if the shipmaster was alone.
Slipping into cover, the Spartan continued to slide forward, his movement assisted by his armor's built-in thrusters. Once three stations down, he keyed his own active camo equipment, then slipped through the space between his current console and the next to take a better look.
The room was built with one side higher than the other, out of direct sight from the commander station down below. Or, at least, what he supposed was the commander station, if the translocation pad that he arrived from was supposed to be the access point to the bridge. As of now, he had the high ground, but the lack of a good sight-line on the General below except in the dead center of the platform, parallel to the translocation pad, did not serve well as an advantageous position for either.
A sweep with VISR revealed two Zealots on either side of the lower command deck, both armed with Carbines. 'Just two?' the Spartan pondered. 'Two Zealot bodyguards? Where's the rest?'
"Aeona, can you give us a scan of-?"
"Three Sangheili detected inside this chamber. Several hundred more in the surrounding passages, as well as several thousand other Covenant biometric patterns. Considerable amount of weapons fire as well. They seem to be busy with a Promethean problem."
"Where's Martinez?"
"Eight decks down. Something went wrong with the transit. Working to route him back up-"
A bellow echoed from below, both Zealots immediately opening fire on his position. Three shots connected before Clarke could pull himself back behind cover, which he immediately vacated afterwards, wary of the General and his fuel rod cannon. As expected, the console immediately suffered the same fate as the Grunt's old station, as did the next in line. SIV-311 scrambled along the floor as a rapid volley of fuel rod shots tore through every major piece of cover he could use. There was obviously some degree of customization evident in the fuel rod ammo too, as standard fuel rods usually didn't split apart into secondary submunitions after impact, either.
"WATCH OUT FOR-"
One of the Zealots landed on the platform, almost directly in front of the UNSC soldier. Clarke barely managed to bring up his teammate's shotgun before the Sangheili warrior engaged its energy sword. He did not consider the ramifications, other than survival, of firing it with one hand.
The resulting recoil smashed his arm into the floor, while the discharged slug blew the Elite's upper torso apart. The Spartan screamed into his helmet, even as the medical systems in his MJOLNIR armor dumped painkillers and adrenaline into his system.
Two fuel rods smashed into the console he had taken cover behind. Clarke yelled again, shoving himself away from the slag heap that used to be a Forerunner control panel.
"CONTACT BEHIND YOU!"
The Spartan flipped onto his back and fired another shot at the charging second Zealot. The head of the Sangheili simply ceased to exist, even as the recoil from Spartan Martinez' cannon slammed into his upper arm. SIV-311 subsequently triggered his thruster pack, propelling him head-first along the curved path ahead, avoiding the inbound fuel rod shots from the enraged General below. Towards his feet, he saw console after console explode under a murderous barrage… which unexpectedly ceased.
"CLARKE, THE GENERAL'S RELOADING! HIT HIM NOW!"
Flipping over once again, the Spartan used APEX FOUR's shotgun as a cane, quickly hauling himself to his feet before reactivating his active camouflage module. The General, now standing in the center of the lower part of the bridge, was indeed reloading. One fuel rod cannon was tucked underneath its left arm, while that limb's hand was busy loading a magazine – likely filled with more fuel rods – into a second cannon. 'That explains the rate of fire,' Clarke thought, before grabbing a plasma grenade, primed it, then tossed the munition at the Sangheili.
To its credit, the Covenant officer reacted swiftly, tossing the unloaded cannon at the plasma grenade before sprinting to the left, back into its own cover, just long enough to reload its remaining weapon. The second it was finished, it popped out, and began to inundate the top of the dais with plasma fire, targeting anything that could even remotely provide the UNSC soldier with any cover.
Clarke vaulted over the slagged remains of the unfortunate Grunt's last station, hit the lower floor, and brought his weapon to bear on the General, held properly this time. SIV-311 mashed his finger down on the high-powered shotgun's trigger… and abruptly stopped his forward progress as the recoil from multiple consecutive shots punched him backwards.
The first slug shattered the General's shields.
The second shot turned its right flank into giblets of flesh, bone, and armor.
The third shot removed its head.
The fourth, fifth, and sixth shots missed their targets, flying down the elongated passageway that Clarke had presumed to be a command alcove or some such design.
There was no seventh shot. The gun clicked, its ammo supply expended.
Outside of the General's carcass collapsing to the floor, silence reigned. And then Clarke let out an anguished screech as the pain from his well and tenderized shoulder overwhelmed him. The shotgun freely dropped to the ground, as did the Spartan.
An alert beeped on his HUD, barely visible through the SPARTAN-IV's clouded vision as his armor's medical systems did everything possible to lessen the suffering from Spartan Jeremy Martinez' automatic jackhammer, including flooding his system with copious amounts of morphine. 'THIRTY MINUTES BEFORE EXPECTED PLANETARY DESTRUCTION.'
Clarke continued to writhe on the ground, though the pain from his shoulder was beginning to subside. It remained, however, so overwhelmingly intense that – when combined with the painkillers – the SPARTAN-IV had trouble fully maintaining consciousness. Voices drifted through his head, possibly a combination of drug-induced hallucinations and transmissions over local communications.
The sound of boots hitting metal closed with the temporarily-incapacitated Spartan, and hands quickly lifted him into a sitting position. Two UNSC medical personnel knelt on either side of him, running biometric scans, as three other UNSC soldiers stood in front, their weapons pointed down the expansive hall.
The room began to spin as Clarke opened and shut his eyes, trying to maintain focus on the task at hand. "Aeo… Aeola, wha... wha's happa…"
The walls to either side of the hallway shifted. That wasn't the painkillers. The walls actually moved.
"Get him to his feet," the Trooper in charge barked, "We're getting out of here, NOW!"
"Easier said than done, Issac!" One of the medical personnel snapped back, before putting the Spartan's arm over his back. The medic on the other side did the same, but neither were having much success.
Finally, everything snapped back into focus for the SPARTAN-IV as his suit jolted with electricity. He waved his arms backwards – ignoring the lance of fire that stabbed up his arm – and rolled onto his uninjured side, then completely over, before dragging himself to his feet.
"Spartan, the dreadnought's lost." One of the medics now holding onto his uninjured arm declared, his voice wobbling with just a slight amount of fear. "We can't salvage it, we have to head back to the flagship. There's just twenty-six minutes left. Your AI's got the slipspace drive all ready to go – CONTACT!"
Clarke jerked his head up towards the portal generator from which he – and the Marine reinforcements, apparently – had boarded from. The swirling slipspace rift had shut down, with a Promethean Knight warping in on its previous location. Two Watcher support constructs hovered in flanking positions. Clarke tried to instinctively bring his weapon to bear, but found himself frozen in place, his armor locking up. Every other solder seemed to be inhibited in the same manner.
"Human. Are you attempting to steal my vessel as well?" The voice seared over the Spartan's communication system. "The Librarian arranged to give your species the Mantle of Responsibility. The Librarian is not on this craft. Her imprint has departed Requiem, and she has taken her Sentinels as well."
Another alert blinked on his HUD. 'TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES LEFT BEFORE EXPECTED PLANETARY DESTRUCTION.'
"This Covenant has doomed Requiem, and all those that remain on the world. I shall not allow this vessel to suffer the same fate."
The raised section became flush with the floor in a swift, smooth motion, with the rest of the command chamber continuing to shift around. The damaged consoles evaporated, replaced with untouched and unsoiled Forerunner material.
"The only reason you are still alive is on behalf of the Librarian," the Knight growled. "No human, be they made of technology or flesh, will ever command MY ship, not while my data core is intact."
"This vessel's outbound translocation capabilities are damaged, likely the result of tampering by this self-declared Covenant. You wouldn't have been able to make the transit back to Red Light of Dying Stars… in the same format as you came."
"I have taken the liberty of bringing all four of your designated smallcraft onboard this vessel from the flagship. You will be permitted to leave after we depart this condemned world, and rejoin your fellows onboard the Fortress. I shall uphold the Librarian's edict. In return, I will take this vessel, and seek out… others."
The Knight Commander's rear spines twitched, and its head inclined upwards.
"The moment of immolation approaches. Plotting transition. Lochagos rises."
FORERUNNER FORTRESS – RED LIGHT OF DYING STARS
BRIDGE
TWENTY-THREE MINUTES BEFORE REQUIEM DESTRUCTION
"Hey, backseat pilot lady, plot us a course out of here!" Samuels pleaded with the artificial intelligence.
"Course plotted. Engines at maximum effectiveness. Target dreadnought is taking up escort position. All ships in local either contained or under allied control. Requiring affirmation from acting team leader to proceed."
"…Aw, shit. Why…" The aviator Spartan scrunched his face, before running both hands across the top of his helmet. "Punch it! Go!"
The massive Fortress-class – now with a vast portion of its exterior hull occupied by a ship; be it a Forerunner transport, a CRS light cruiser, or a Sojourner dreadnought - shifted ponderously to starboard, angling itself for the shield world's designated exit hole. The single unattached dreadnought followed alongside, with no IFF – either Covenant or UNSC – being squawked from it.
"Come on, move faster! Can't we move fast- AW SHIT!"
The view outside the massive hole changed as the shield world rotated. The crew were now looking directly at Epoloch, far too close to make their escape. There was still 22 minutes supposedly left on the countdown clock, they were so close, and now -
"AEONA! JUMP US NOW! PLEASE!" Samuels shrieked in abject terror. On cue, a massive slipspace portal swirled into existence in front of the Fortress. A vastly smaller rift whirled up in front of the lone dreadnought.
Less than seven seconds later, an explosion rattled the unattached Sojourner.
All at once, the UNSC boarding party onboard could move again, albeit in one general direction – down. The Knight screamed as it, too, tipped over and crashed to the floor. Both Watchers immediately flew to its aid.
A wireframe representation of the dreadnought's hull whirled into view in the center of the chamber, displaying nearly a full third of the ship breaking free of the rest, dropping to crash in the boiling water below. Crooked red lines flashed through more of the now-broken blade. The ship's protective barrier fields pulsed at fifty percent effectiveness, though began to drip energy rapidly.
All Clarke could do was hold onto the closest two Marines and engage every possible magnetic clamp on his armor as the Forerunner vessel groaned beneath them.
Then the vibrations set in as the damaged dreadnought slipped within the rift… and the illumination within went out.
Author's Note:
So, as it turns out, the original story had a fair number of inconsistencies, even before the release or even proposed existence of Halo: Warfleet. Chief among them being the Forerunner dreadnought itself is just one 'wing' of the structure seen in Halo Wars 1 instead of the object in full. Among other errors.
I figure some of these ought to be corrected. As will certain other issues that bogged down the story during its original run (coughBLOODYWORMScough).
Another reason why I started the story in the first place is sort of due to ODST – the feeling of exploring this empty population center… well, empty aside from random encounters of hostile patrols, or even kill-teams. As such, I will be moving the date of arrival back about, say, a few days before the Toa Metru make their return to the now-spider-infested city (I suppose the timeline could coincide to the end of BA #6: Maze of Shadows), to give more of a chance for exploration before stuff goes sideways.
Another reason for the rewrite was to give some degree more characterization, and to pad out the UNSC side of the cast a bit. Not the least of which is the 're-introduction' of the character of Jeremy Martinez.
Spartan Martinez already pushes the boundary of what is considered infantry weapons tech... now give him access to Matoran Universe tech? Ought to be glad that both the Brotherhood of Makuta and Order of Mata Nui have other, more pressing issues to deal with at this point in time.
Also, I re-read BA #7: Web of the Visorak a while back, and the thought of having some sort of interaction from afar with the Toa Metru was subsequently considered to be a reasonable idea.
As for how the original would have ended, at least the Hordikgolo arc:
slipspace crystal retrieved, main body of dreadnought - or what is now known to be the dedicated docking tower for a dreadnought - is completely flooded
number of Sangheili and Unggoy escape, reach surface, return to the city
Ta-Metru Sentinel Foundry reactivated by Hordika Team Two, district falls under protection
Forerunner shuttle expended to deliver slipspace crystal to heart of Hordika-Lekgolo infestation, CCM Martinez attempts to hijack it before it departs
Half of Po-Metru is telefragged, sea rushes in to swamp everything
A massive portion of the Archives gets flooded, regions in Ga-, Ta-, and Le-Metru stay dry due to Sentinel barricades, Ko-Metru Archives survive as well because collapsed tunnels
Parts of Onu-Metru collapse into the Silver Sea as the liquid protodermis smashes through structural supports
two entire districts are more or less devastated
cue_
This time around, I'll likely be avoiding the worms. Nightfall corrupts everything it touches, it would seem.
Oh, and some stuff might remain (mostly) the same. Like the Tahtorak + Krahka + Sentinel murderflock vs Zivon battle royale.