II

Leave it to the Grunts to make a human facility feel alien. The first thing that hit Jacen was the smell. A swampy, mildew-like musk that waft through the air. It was similar to an old dish towel left beside the sink too long. What was peculiar was there was a smell. The cold had a way of eliminating most smells. Jacen recalled winters back home, where mornings were so cold that all you could smell was the stiff frost that aggravated the sinuses. But the smell inside the compound was so profound, so noticeable.

Air. The Grunts had air, or at least some sort of stable atmosphere. There was heat, too. It was a humid, wet heat, hanging around the lower to mid-80s in degrees. Trace elements in the air was identical to that of outside—nitrogen, methane, and hydrogen. The amounts, however, had been altered considerably. The level of methane in the air was considerably higher than the standard 1.4% outside. Nitrogen was still present, but the hydrogen had been removed to the point where it barely registered.

"They're building their own atmosphere," Naomi said aloud, more to herself than anything else.

The comment stung Jacen's ears. For a human, having electricity, gravity, and a breathable atmosphere within a structure was commonplace. But for the Grunts to have it, with their intelligence, was difficult to believe. Their intellect matched that of the smartest of canine breeds, but that's where the similarities ended. Jacen didn't want to jump to conclusions, but he was beginning to think that someone may've been helping the Grunts. He kept it to himself.

The vehicle depot was behind them now as they advanced deeper inside. Dim lights glowed like dying suns overhead, providing just enough to see in front of them. There wasn't such silence in the building. The Grunts were a noisy bunch: shuffling, talking, shrieking. Every so often, Jacen and Naomi would cease their progress as a Grunt or two would unknowingly pass them by. They still wore their breathing masks, freely walking about without their armor in relative bliss.

Naomi hadn't said much, but Jacen could tell she wasn't comfortable. He imagined she wasn't thrilled to see the Grunts so relaxed. They never had a chance to relax, so how were the Grunts able to accomplish such a feat? Trespassers. That was the only thing Jacen could formulate about their existence here. It unnerved him that aliens, former Covenant, was living within the inner colonies, just a few planets away from humanity's crown jewel of Earth. They would never see the planet, he reckoned; but just the fact they were so close just didn't sit well with him.

They came to where the hall ended. It branched left and right with faded white words on the wall and corresponding arrows. To the left read, STORAGE, ARMORY, MEDICAL. The right—ENGINEERING, PERSONNEL QUARTERS, LOGISTICS.

Jacen checked his motion sensors. There was some movement beyond the fringes, but nothing was close. He didn't know where the bulk of the Grunts were, assuming they congregated together at all. They could've been well sprawled out, nesting in the many rooms that Jacen and Naomi dared not to explore. It only took one surprised Grunt to ruin everything.

"Which way?" he asked Naomi.

Naomi ran her back against the wall, careful not the cross the edge. She seemed to be mulling it over, taking her time as she examined the faded white paint. Finally gestured right with her thumb. "Let's check engineering." She whirled her finger in the open air. "I'd like to know how they're doing this."

Jacen nodded once. "Lead the way. I got your six."

Naomi brought her rifle up and spun around the corner, keeping her sights low. If a Grunt rounded the next corner, she wouldn't have to adjust. Just one shot. Jacen remained six or so meters behind her, his upper torso a constant swivel.

The personnel quarters came up first on the right, its twin glass doors blown off the hinges and lying in mangled metal on the floor. Shards of glass, years old, appeared to be swept off to the sides due to the high foot traffic that was probably moving through on the daily basis. There was a great deal of clamor coming from where the doors used to be—rustling, yapping, and the occasional shout.

Naomi slowed her pace, creeping with a steady heel-toe that aggravated her ankles. She weaved between the micro-mounds of glass, careful not to step on them. There was no telling how many of them there were inside. She held up a fist. Jacen retracted his intended step, crouched low, and waited. He kept an eye on both ends of the hall.

Every footfall might as well have been an eruption to Naomi. She heard every crackle of the micro-fragments of glass, the creaking of her boot material as it rolled from heel to sole to toe. She simply waited to hear one of the Grunts squeak in alarm. It never came, even when she right up against the frame of the door. She took a knee, leaning just far enough to get an eye into the room.

She swore once. There had to be hundreds of them, all huddled in what used to be the facility's barracks. Even in its heyday, the place was only large enough to sustain a few hundred people, not masses of aliens who didn't know how to stop themselves from reproducing. The quarters had long been stripped of anything of use, well before the Grunts arrived. Empty bed frames were strewn about, all metal with bent and rusting coils. But the Grunts didn't seem to care. Some slept, some scuffled, and some just sat on the floor nibbling on something Naomi couldn't see.

Naomi's hands tightened on her rifle. She wanted to expose herself, screaming at the top of her lungs as she gunned down all of them. They probably wouldn't fight back, the cowards. They'd scramble for cover, but it wouldn't save them. She'd snuff them out, one by one until the entire quarters was silent with their dead bodies and soaked in a swimming pool of their blood. But she knew that was only the hatred talking, fueled by years of flammable memories that only required a spark to ignite.

In another life, in another time, the proud UNSC Marines would've simply called in an air-strike to have the compound obliterated. Longsword bombers would swoop overhead, dropping ordnance before calling it a day. But that wasn't case, and it never would be. Not here. Not where the UNSC erased them from their memory. She wasn't a marine, she wasn't UNSC, she wasn't even a soldier. She was just a 27 year old displaced woman with a rifle who'd spent the last four years on an ice moon 1.4 billion km from her homeworld. Somewhere she imagined her foster mother laughing her head off in hell. You finally got what you deserved, you little brat. Who's laughing now?

Naomi snapped back into reality, and reality was always ugly and unrelenting. Fantasy was always better. But she couldn't see neither her nor Jacen passing by without being spotted. There were just too many of them, too many inquisitive eyes waiting to see something out of the norm, to break their routine. Oh, look, a human!

Jacen crept up behind her and nudged her shoulder with a pair of fingers. "What's up?"

Naomi glanced over her shoulder, shaking her head slowly. "They've got a full congregation in there. They'll notice us."

Jacen switched places with her to see for himself. She was definitely right, overwhelmingly so. But they still had a job to do, and Jacen refused to return to camp without something to show for it. They'd risk too much already. Between the two of them, they may've had three hours of oxygen left, and an additional 30 minutes in the reserves. It took nearly 3/4ths of that to get here. Time wasn't their ally now.

"We'll find another way around, cut through logistics." Jacen took a few steps back from the doorway, rifle at the ready. Naomi didn't reply. He was beginning to think she was ignoring him, but it wasn't until he turned around to see why she hadn't.

A single Grunt, barely an adult, stood wide-eyed in the center of the hall. Its miniscule fingers twitched with anxiety as its beady eyes attempted to make out what it was seeing. A pair of tall bipedal creatures with faces that had reflective eyes, dressed in odd clothing that it had never seen worn before. But they had something in their hands—dark objects that it couldn't readily identify, but they definitely registered as dangerous. It could recall the Elders telling it scary stories of the creatures known as humans; and the creatures standing before it had fit the description quite well. Humans were dangerous, and they killed the Unggoy. Stay away from them! They'll come and get you.

The Grunt turned around, waddling into a frantic sprint with a distressed cry.

No, no, NO! Naomi didn't hesitate for a second. She put two silenced rounds in the Grunt's body. One round hit the top of its back, while the second put its light out with an impact just below the neck. She rushed for the body, moving laterally with her rifle aimed down the vacant hall.

Jacen was right behind her, walking backwards with haste. He nearly stumbled back into Naomi before he caught himself. The Grunts probably heard the screaming, and maybe even the gunshots. A silencer didn't make a rifle's report inaudible; it just cancelled out the sonic boom and muzzle flash. Hear a suppressed gunshot in moderate silence and you'dstillhear the thing. Why did the friggin' alien have to scream?

There was a rising commotion in the personnel quarters. They'd heard something, and Jacen could see the first few stubby shadows cautiously lumbering toward the door's edge.

Jacen let his rifle hang by the tether and hefted then 50lb or so alien in his arms. He needed to stash the body. Naomi was already ahead of him, forcing open a door in the hall from where they'd came. She gestured extravagantly inside. Jacen moved as quickly as he could, nearly slipping on luminous blue blood on the floor. There was nothing he could do about it, had to leave it. He practically slid into the open door, tossing the Grunt's body across the room as Naomi shut the door behind them.

She kept watch through the thin rectangular slit of the window, her chest heaving up and down. She looked back at Jacen, then the Grunt, then the room. It room used to be an office of some sort. The paint had peeled horribly, and the carpet still had indentations from the furniture that was moved out. Years of being exposed to Titan's subzero temperatures had done a number on the structure. Everything felt hard, frozen. Even the carpet felt like concrete.

The Grunts came into view. First one or two, then five, then ten. All of them inspected the fresh blood droplets on the floor. The dead Grunt hadn't been on the ground long enough to cause a considerable blood pool, but it had definitely left enough to know something was up. Naomi doubted they had the habit of leaving blood around. They squeaked among themselves, looking in all directions. She tensed as a few of them began to move near the door. God, she hoped there wasn't a blood trial. Had Jacen checked?

Jacen was looking directly at her when she glanced over at him. It was hard to tell behind is shades, but she was positive his hard, cold eyes were burning through her. In time he looked away, inching near the thin walls to hear on the other side. There was shuffling, no doubt; and they were talking up a storm. If they were human, the main question would center on finding the body. But they weren't humans, so Naomi hoped—prayed—that they weren't smart enough to search every nook and cranny.

Jacen waved his hand in rapid, side to side motions, hoping to gain Naomi's attention through her peripheral. He was hesitant to speak. He knew how far the human voice could carry, even when whispering. Getting caught was the worst possible scenario. The Grunts wouldn't appreciate the humans trespassing on their turf, even though they were the ones that were trespassing in a human-controlled system. But they weren't ready for a full-on assault against the Grunts. Not with their growing numbers. They wouldn't last long in a straight-up fight.

Naomi caught his motion. She held up a finger, eyes trained on the Grunts. They began to disperse, but not out of disinterest, she hated. A single Grunt, larger than the others, bulky silver armor and a full facial breathing mask, barked commands as it pointed its tiny fingers in all directions. Naomi didn't like it. The particular Grunt had pull, authority. All others subjected under it.

She crept back from the door, engaging the old-fashioned push-lock on the handle. The simple click of the locking mechanism seemed thunderous, a ball of marbles clacking on the linoleum. The Grunts didn't seem to notice, but they milled about halls with their tiny heads on obvious swivels.

Don't check the rooms. Don't check the friggin' rooms.

The Grunts began checking the nearby rooms.

Naomi vented a hushed swore so loud that even Jacen heard it. He snapped his head up, grip tightened around his rifle. Crawling over to Naomi, he took an extended look out of the window. The hair on his neck stood straight up, feeling his skin develop chill bumps within the temperate conditions in his fatigues. This was bad. This was really bad. The Grunts were in full-hunter-mode. He marked the holstered plasma pistols on their narrow, turned-in hips. They weren't drawn, as of it. Jacen didn't know whether it was poor discipline or they were just casually checking the area. Whatever their reasoning, guns out would've been first on his list.

One by one, they pushed open the unlocked doors, took a quick peek inside, and moved on. They approached the next door. Naomi tensed. She and Jacen backed up, rifle muzzles fixed on the doorway. If the Grunts managed to get the door open, there were only two options—shoot and run.

A movement shadow darkened the underside of the door and the handle began to jiggle. Jacen's heart wanted out of his chest. Adrenaline dumped into his system. His finger moved inside the trigger guard, grazing the curved sliver of metal that would send a round of lead straight through the first alien face he'd see.

There was a mild amount of chatter on the opposite side. A locked door was probably no big deal, but you move into an abandoned human facility, add power and heating, a door wasn't locked unless you locked it. UNSC security protocols weren't in-use here, and the building was probably stripped of everything of value. Locked doors weren't secrets. Locked doors meant you weren't allowed. Trespassers or not, the Grunts wouldn't tolerate locked doors in their home.

With a metallic screech and cracking wood, the door was thrown open.

Jacen and Naomi started shooting.