Chapter 6: Just Like Old Times
It was a relief to sit in transports that had doors. Cortana had explained to him, years ago, the rationale behind the doorless and armorless warthogs. But John found those explanations lacking the absolute truth, sale by the lowest bidders. The future really was bright.
The APC he was riding in was poorly fitting for him, the seat was meant for a normal soldier in the tough, yet slim, modern armor or the UNSC, and not the bulkier armor he wore. That probably wouldn't have been a problem if he wasn't a foot taller than the average human, but that was neither here nor there.
The car was silent, even as it was mostly filled. The air was dusty, and tinged with the grimy iron scent of blood. The sterile lights cast haunting shadows on the militia men and soldiers alike. Their faces were exhausted, dead. But the western flank was collapsing, and so there they went. The Spartan attracted less attention now. John had been everywhere on this battlefield, shoring up line after line that was close to breaking. The novelty had seemed to wear off, at least to some extent.
"We're here, good luck." The driver announced, as the car skidded to a stop. The heavy mechanical door clanged down suddenly. The soldiers filed out, jumping onto the blast stained asphalt and rushing into the hastily dug trenches and barricades. They'd been let out at the fallback line, the car already moving as Chief began his exit.
The western line was a scene of barely organized chaos. Medics and relief forces ran with purpose, civilian trucks and mechs worked side-by-side with military vehicles to clear wreckage, transport the wounded, and tow supplies. The hulking mass of the double barrelled Tarrasque tanks rolled the earth with every shot, and added their notes to the symphony of battle all around them.
A Sergeant was explaining something to a squad of marine heavy gunners when John approached. Something about the deadliest son-of-a-bitch on the battlefield.
"I need your fire support-"
"Goddammit! I told you a thousand times we're waiting for-" As the marine turned her soul promptly exited her body. "OH I'm sorry I… whatever you need Chief." The Spartan nodded, before taking the assault rifle out of her hands, and replacing it with the alien postmodern 'gun.' The seven marines around her stifled grins, and readied their weapons.
"Sir." A shorter man came up to John, carrying a short, stocky thing he identified as a beam weapon. "You'll use this better than me sir. Just point and shoot." John took the weapon, and felt its heft. John again nodded, before patting the man on the shoulder, and starting toward what he knew was the western front. The commandeered squad watched him go.
"We should follow him right?" a marine asked.
The Sergeant ran to keep up, and the squad followed.
When their little band arrived at the front, John decided to take modern military intelligence at face value from now on. A blast of purple energy emanated from a glowing purple alien standing on the opposite end of the street, shredding a gun emplacement and sending a gunner flying. The return fire was intercepted by a bright purple shield, which stood up to impossible punishment before the wizard pulled back.
"I count five wizards, marking likely positions." Cortana set blips across his HUD, "Comms chatter from surrounding friendlies indicates at least ten more in proximity, I'd say these guys are an elite unit, they might converge on us if we engage."
"Then we'll kill them."
Cortana sighed. "I thought you might say that, I'd recommend a stealth approach, might catch them off guard."
"Do you have a route past the street?" He zoomed out his visor, and readied his weapon.
"I was thinking we pull a Cannae?" Though he couldn't see it, he could hear the classic smirk.
"I hate it when you think."
When the 172nd Patrol Fleet requested the 101st Attican Corps to deal with a Batarian illegal colony, they'd thought their Admiral overcautious, paranoid that Batarian ground forces could put up a fight against even a tenth their number of Turian infantry. Now, Jordai wished they'd brought the whole damn army group. Jordai was the leader of a Cabal, the Bloody Talons, and had been assigned to the invasion of what had been revealed to be Primitives, with a capital P. Apparently, they were called Mennesker or some such, but he'd stopped caring after the 5th Cabal Squad was forced back from the spire. This Spaceport and its spirts-damned ugly spire had been the bane of Turian air superiority (and the Bloody Talons) for over four days, giving the Prims a place to launch their fighters and hide the estimated 20 thousand troops they had inside its shield.
Many on the ground had suggested a greater diversion of resources to this thorn in the side of the campaign, but reinforcements were late in arrival and forces had been able to slowly push back in the city, despite losses from the air. Desperation had forced local commanders into using more and more of his Cabal units to try and break the lines at the port. Now, his team of twenty biotics was probing the defenses on the west side, and Gimanix found an opening.
"Kabalim Jordai, I am certain! After our last assault, no other forces have appeared in the courtyard. I'm sure it's simply a tactical error, it can't last forever. We must take advantage now!"
Jordai believed him. The Prims always forced his Cabal back after an assault, always garrisoned a position. Perhaps they'd simply withdrawn to a new defensive line? Contacts across the rest of the old line suggested otherwise. Perhaps this is the breakthrough we need?
"Prepare our men, we'll try to secure this break."
Tension flowed from Gimanix, "Thank you Kabalim." He raced off to gather the men. Gimanix was quicker than expected, and in only a few minutes his forces were advancing slowly to the emplacement they'd shattered 20 minutes before. The fighting had been in a courtyard, a ruined shopping front plastered against the back, with low stone storefronts surrounding it. Jordani sent two of his men to secure each flank, and began the advance.
His two columns flanked the center of the yard, and inched ever closer. "Comms check, everything clear?" Jordai clipped.
"I see movement," One of his operatives said, "Oh shit, we've been flanked-" Gunshots erupted on his left.
Jordai managed a "Get Cover!" before the Prims sprung their trap. A group of the heavily armored Prims broke a window on the other side of the courtyard, and a machine gun opened up directly into his right column, blasting two of his men into the dirt, and sending the rest of them into cover. On the left, his forces were faster than the ambushers, and deployed a biotic barrier to shield their scramble for cover. Holding such a barrier against a machine gun would have been impossible for any one Turian. Cabals were not so limited. The two groups had managed to maneuver themselves behind the stone planters that ringed the courtyard by the time the barrier fell.
The majority of his men were now pinned in the center, sandwiched between two bad places. Jordai launched a shockwave of blasts blindly into the face of the fire, his own barriers flaring from the hits he took. That only seemed to make them angry, as laser fire poured out of the windows of the house in response. His right wasn't doing much better, dodging and throwing back grenades that began to rain on them. Jordai debated a retreat, but steeled himself. If the regulars arrive, we might be able to secure a break in the lines… out of the corner of his eye he saw movement.
Sprinting in the open was a towering Prim, armored in brutal, fully enclosed armor, a dull green spattered in dark blue blood. Turian blood. "Barrier front!" Jordai shouted, beginning to form the tall wall of purplish energy himself. Yet the soldier kept running. One of his operatives threw another shockwave, it's pulsing blast cracking the concrete pavement beneath. That's when the bastard jumped, clearing the biotic wave and barrier by nearly a meter. He raised his rifle, another order on his mandibles, when it landed.
John landed on a wizard, and crushed its head in a crunch of gore. He rolled to disperse the shock of landing, bringing the freshly dead enemy into the tumble, and throwing it into the embattled line of troops he'd found himself in. The corpse crashed into a distracted wizard, who fell to the ground. John fired his laser into the next operative, whose bright purple shield shone brilliantly before shattering. That gave it enough time to react, and forced him to dodge a missile of the purple stuff it launched from its hands. These ones have better shields? This changes things. He pulled a grenade, setting it to sticky and lobbing it in one smooth motion towards the now unshielded alien. It detonated as he dove into the other line, which had just begun to react.
He faintly noted Cortana directing his marines into better positions as he crashed into another wizard, this one brandishing the orange blade these aliens seemed to favor. He pulled his gun barrel close this time, dragging the weapon under it's shield, and firing across it's chest as the alien's own blade slashed uselessly against his shield. The neighbouring alien was luckier, it launched its own burst of energy, catching his laser and tearing it painfully from John's arm. He countered with a powerful jab into the wizard's torso, cracking the armor and drawing a strangled gasp, cut short by John's pistol, which reduced it's head to a charred stump. I'm keeping this plasma pistol the Spartan thought, grabbing the listing body, and turning it into a meat shield. John let the three advancing aliens fire their peashooters into the mangled corpse of their ally, lining up shots with his pistol quickly, and forcing the aliens to create their damned barrier again.
However, his marines hadn't been idle. The gunner spun his barrel into the backs of the now exposed enemy, catching two in spurts of energy and gore. At this, the barrier collapsed, and a burst of plasma finished the last. A taller alien, wearing a jet black hardsuit with purple adornments, screamed something in the harsh, resonating language the enemy used, before leveling his rifle at him. John raised the body, and noticed the withdrawal of the aliens, hurried and disorganized. It was about then that he realized the commander hadn't been firing his gun.
"Chief get down!" Cortana screamed, John obeyed, throwing his meat shield and running for cover. Unfortunately, he didn't have to. A blast of purple threw him into a side wall, and luckily, behind the thick stone benches that lined the yard. He shook off the blast, and began to stand, just as the annoying alien jumped over the bench, fist wreathed a shade of ugly violet. He leapt to his right, the fist inches from his helmet, and kicked backwards, scoring a painful blow to the alien, and launching it ten meters away. He sprinted after it, meeting the stunned alien as it tried to stand, and slapping it onto the ground, unconscious. At least he hoped so.
Surveying the battlefield yielded a familiar satisfaction. The corpses of the enemy were strewn across it, the wizard team fleeing back into the woodwork of enemy territory. "I still can't get used to Wizard, honestly who came up with that-" Cortana began, before John smacked his helmet. "Point taken, I'll call for transport?"
"Sure." John hoisted the limp body of the wizard leader onto his shoulder, before beginning a search for his weapons.
"Seriously though, Warlocks would be a much more interesting name…" John sighed audibly, as he began to pick through the wreckage.
She remembered her name. Livonia. An old name for an old place on Earth. That meant it had to be erased. If she failed in her attempt, nothing of Earth could be left to find. Suddenly she was UNSC Smart AI CTN-6268-ND. She remembered she had a name. She couldn't remember what.
The pelican drifted slowly towards the enemy. Inside, the small robotic mech used for cargo unloading stood motionless, then suddenly sprung into action. In its arms was the universal chip that was now the home for an AI. The mech shuffled into the massive drop pod that was shoved into the pelican bay doors. It waited again. Five hours passed, as Livonia went over the plan.
Then, she watched as her body spun to life. The Great Horse was mostly dead, her engines totaled, hardlight projector scrambled. But her missile pods were still active. The AI had set them to attack exactly 7 hours after her departure. The light show began right on time. Approximately 250 missiles, torpedos, and nukes spilled out of the craft, targeting anything close by. She launched her drop pod, aiming it what she assumed was the alien flagship. She took note of the reinforcements now in orbit. She counted 200 ships. Worry crept into her mind. So many ships. She couldn't dwell. As the mess of missiles spun through the fleet, she hoped her stealthy drop pod wouldn't be noticed. Still, it was a tense 30 seconds as she sped across the night. She watched as a ship spun towards her body, and mangled it more with it's cannon. A pang of loss ran through her.
In a moment she was there. The massive flagship loomed over her. She forced the pod to slow. She watched for an opening, an airlock. Near the back of the ship, she found one. A small affair, near the engines. She watched the laser batteries shift and track unseen targets, could only hope they never caught her. She made it though, her pod drifted next to the ship, bare meters away. The mech opened the pod carefully, before slinking out, and pushing the craft away.
The final part of the plan. Her whole being was now trapped in a device the size of a grapefruit. Even the mech was simply a machine now, not a tool to be used. The mech jammed the universal storage device into the airlock interface. Essentially just a big hole, but after a second, she could feel the systems hiding beneath the surface. It was alien, and strange. But she could manage. She felt her mind slip into the ship's stream of data, and soon into the fleets. She'd made it. And nothing would stop her.
The news droned on endlessly, a cacophony of dull voices and sharp inflections. They spoke about many things: grain prices on Harvest, the Unggoy colony on Kipchai, a sex scandal likely engineered by the atheletes it featured, the emergency beacon on Shanxi. She felt like shutting it off, but she was comfortable in bed. "Amorey, could you please watch the news later? I'm trying to sleep." She rarely got to do that, nowadays. Her AI appeared on the display, a bright flash of green alerting her to his presence.
"It is 5:30am Madam Chancellor, I presume you don't wish to be late?"
She groaned. Amorey was right, she didn't want to be late. Not to this meeting. She tried to sit up, yet a sharp and encompassing agony met her motion. A gasp of pain escaped her lips, and she fell back onto the bed.
"Madam, shall I apply your brace?"
A snippy retort came to mind, but she fought it down. Amorey's body entered the room, the warm green and silver of the service droid contrasting the crisp black of her "brace." The device was practically an exoskeleton, but that was a closely held secret. Such were the demands of democratic governance. Amorey helped the Chancellor roll over, and placed the device on her back. She felt the thing send warm rivers of metal down her legs and arms, before it locked. She moved first an arm, then a leg, then both in junction as she pushed herself of her bed. She examined the flat, tattoo-like band of metal as it settled on her skin.
"Thanks Amorey." She stood, patting the robot heartily on its shoulder.
"Of course Patricia, I am here to serve." He began to gather her clothes for the day, "Shall I run through the day now?"
Patricia was already in the shower, "Why not?" She shouted over the running water.
"You have a meeting with the Unggoy Settler Coalition at 9:30am, lunch with the President of the Commons at noon, and the Defense Review shortly after. Then you'll have the Thao-Brinkman proposal to review at 5pm-"
"Christ! Can't those xenophobic assholes take no for an answer!" Patricia fumed at that. Representative Thao had been yelling and screaming up and down all human space about "Grunts in our backyard!" for the past six months, and had pushed his self-aggrandizing bill that bans all Unggoy from human space through both the House of Commons and the House of Governors. It was hard to think he wasn't in the hands of the Gaianists or the Fists of Man or whoever.
"As much as I agree Madam, you have a duty. After that, we're clear."
"Oh? Light day then?"
"Relatively speaking, I suppose. D'Salva or Kleneko watch Madam?"
"Let's spice it up, D'Salva."
"Then your outfit is ready, I shall await you outside." She listened to the graceful steps of her assistant as he left her room. She sighed, before twisting the water off, and leaving the security of the shower. She examined herself in the mirror, traced the scars up her legs and arms. She let the memory wash over her; the pain came in shattering waves, the spasms so painful, yet so organized, calculating. She felt her mind retreat, felt her fists curl into white. Then, it was gone. She breathed raggedly. The world felt sharper now, it always did after that.
She let her machine do her make-up today, and then dressed herself, humming a charming tune she couldn't quite remember, before she met Amorey outside.
"Breakfast today?" the AI asked.
"I'll skip it today, thanks."
"Straight to business then?" he sounded almost disappointed, she secretly suspected he enjoyed cooking.
Patricia was already down the stairs when he said it, snatching a coat off the rack, before opening the door and striding into the early sun. It felt good to be on Earth again. Say what you will about alien vistas, but nothing beats sunrise on the cradle of man. The posted guards said their typical pleasantries as she was walked to her car, and waited for her escort. She waited for Amorey to arrive before plotting a course to the Capital complex and letting her car drive her to work. She admired the skyline of Arcadia, the sweeping spires and simple elegance of the purpose built the Capital of the United Human Government.
Following the end of the Great War, the moving of the Capital to the terraformed lands of Africa was seen as a good move towards the idea of 'Rebirth', as ONI's propaganda chief called it way back. That, along with the rewritten Charter of Humanity and surrender of emergency powers meant that the newly christened UHG had quite a bit of room to reform and address the problems with the old. That meant a new legislative branch, a new executive branch, and the input of hundreds of representatives from every corner of Human space. Patricia was glad she was just a high schooler back then.
The Complex, as most people called it, was the massive neo Greco-Roman building that housed the three Houses, and the Executive Offices. It was a labyrinthian building, yet as she rounded her fifth year in office it had started to grow on her. Sorta like a cobbled together character in a show, you learned to look around it's design-by-committee nature. Still, she needed to use her contact lenses' HUD map to find out where the hell the welcoming room was. When Patricia finally made it to the room, she found the Unggoy delegation waiting.
The delegation was a motley crew. The Unggoy were a group of 5, a relatively tall bugger seemed to be the leader; clothed in long, beaded robes and conversing animatedly with his other, more drably covered assistants, whom wore tunics of multicolored cloth and utilitarian pants. The other two were guards, who managed to look almost menacing in their dark black tunics, plasma pistols at their belts.
"Chancellor Durazo!" The beaded one exclaimed as it rushed to greet Patricia. She shook it's strangely warm hand, and realized that this was the closed she'd ever come to an Unggoy without trying to kill it. The thought threw her off, but after a second too long she replied.
"Welcome to Earth, Respected One Diltil. Please, sit down." It became a surprisingly pleasant conversation, if one looked past the harsh and yet paradoxically high-pitched tones the Unggoy used. The assistants stood and attended to the Unggoy Ambassador's needs, while simultaneously writing down every word exchanged, a strangely antiquated way of recording, especially as it was happening on what looked like a tablet.
The topic of conversation shifted from the right to simply exist within Human space, to the right to colonise the few methane-based planets that were nominally within human territory. Unggoy Rights, civil protections, all of it broached astutely and with intelligence she hadn't expected from a Grunt. She'd have to re-evaluate her own prejudices. She was about to ask about the future of Unggoy populations within human colonies when an aide practically ran into the room, startling both sets of guards in the room, as well as the conversation. The disheveled man knelt down, and whispered into her ear: "Intel on Shanxi has been gathered, Lycaon Contingency has been declared."
Her veins filled with ice.
The low thrum of the engines was soothing to Jessa. The wind swam neatly around her, the vents shunting air up and down the superstructure of Spaceship, chilling her to the bone. A cold mist had settled over her and her blanket. She'd set up a sleeping spot near the engines to get as much warmth as possible, and yet that was beginning to fail as well. She'd have to start the plan now, if she was going to have any strength left.
The Spindles (what she called those fucking aliens) had left the engine room for some damn reason. She estimated they'd nearly figured out how to turn the thing on. She wasn't going to let that happen. Quietly, she slipped open the vent that led into the room, and crept toward the console. She avoided stepping in the brownish stains that covered the floor, it made her skin crawl just thinking about them. The heat of the room was a welcome thing, and it made her sweat profusely. Or maybe it was the fact that she was acting out a part in a damn spy movie that did that.
Once she reached the console, she adjusted a few values and ran-down the coolant levels. It only took a few seconds for the alarm to start blaring. That's when she smashed a few pipes. Maybe a bit too brazen, the fire that spewed out of the heat sink's vents nearly burned her. But it would certainly occupy the Spidles' time. She ran back into the vent, and began an uncomfortable race through the vent systems. If the bastards were even a little cautious about this, her plan wouldn't work. Still, it was all she had. The cold metal couldn't cool the fire burning in her blood as she ran, climbed, and sometimes jumped her way through the vent system.
Finally, her mad dash slowed to a crawl. She was almost there. The bridge was a compact affair, and the vent leading to it was more so. She inched towards it on her belly, and peered through the grate. Fuck! It wasn't empty, one of the fuckers was still sitting at her seat, fiddling with the console. She knew what she had to do. Opening this grate was a delicate thing, she remembered from her escape only a few days before that this was a squeaky bastard. And yet she opened it cleanly. She crawled out gingerly, and began a slow walk towards the chair. The fuzzy-green chair that Uncle Eser had bought just for her. He was an ass sometimes, but when she saw him get… thrown... Something began to well in her throat. That's when she stepped on the creaky tile.
The Spindle spun in Jessa's chair, a look of surprise evident. She leapt with the wrench she'd clenched tight. It raised it's hand, but couldn't intercept the first sickening crunch of the weapon. Or the second. Or the third. She dropped the wrench, hands trembling. She couldn't tell if it was dead, but it had stopped moving. She dumped it out of her seat, but noticed the blood that now coated it. She moved her chair out of the way, and began to type.
A slipspace jump with even a slightly misaligned nav would send them spinning off into space. With any luck, the damage she'd caused would send the ship into oblivion. She sputtered in some nonsense coordinates as thumping sounded down the hall. She pressed a button, and the ship ripped a hole in the fabric of reality. A Spindle screamed something alien behind her, but she didn't turn. She accelerated the ship into the portal, the G-force slamming her into the deck. She was grabbed by a Spindle, it was yelling something in her face. It's eyes reminded her of the salamanders back home, on Mercator. They were filled with the motley blue of slipspace, wide, maybe with fear. She couldn't tell. The ship shuddered, before she felt the tale-tell sign of slipspace exit. She turned in fear, did they find a way to stop her?
As the ship reentered realspace, she began to scream. It loomed in the darkness of space, a red sun illuminating it with a gleam. The Spindle only stared, dropping her in shock, as others rushed to enter the room, weapons drawn. They were paralysed by the sight. Dumbstruck. Some dropped their weapons. Before them laid a ring.
Author's Note:
Contrived? Yes, but then again so was the plot to Halo: CE. And don't give me that shit about Cortana having the coordinates from a forerunner artifact, that was Bungie covering their butts. Let me know how I did with this chapter's fight scene, it's the first I've ever done, and if you have any tips on writing them in the future please let me know. As always, reviews kept the pencil sharp!