Greenhorn V2

by acceptmyusernamealready

The old sailor's adage puts it this way: treat your ship well, and she'll take care of you. Of course, everyone knows they're just referring to basic reactor maintenance, equipment checks, and keeping the fuel injectors clear. Everyone knows that thinking the ship is actually alive is crazy. Right? Well, a certain Charon-class frigate and friends have something to say about that.

8. Chapter 7

"All in all, could be worse."

"That's true."

"Could be better, though."

"That's also true."

Hushed whispers accompanied the faint whirring of fans on the bridge of the UNSC Egret. Lieutenant Commander Dimitri Pavchenko tugged at his collar, sweat rolling down his face from the slowly building heat that the corvette was unable to vent, not without giving away its hiding place in the debris fields orbiting Mars. Egret roughly occupied the space formerly known as New Harmony Station, now a slowly spreading cloud of wreckage in geosynchronous orbit over the eponymous city.

In the outer reaches of humanity's home, UNSC destroyer and corvette squadrons engaged Abyssal heavy cruiser and carrier divisions in brutal knife-fights among the back alleys of Saturns' rings and Jupiter's moons. Human warships cuddled up to innocuous rocks and slipped into the very atmospheres of the grand gas giants, feigning death as formations of Abyssal ships and fighters drew close. They then came roaring out, propulsion blazing, at just the right vectors so that the aliens barely had time to turn their sensors, let alone their weapons around before torpedoes, nuclear missiles, plasma warheads and kinetic slugs sent them falling into the fiery embrace of Jupiter's gravity or added their wreckage to the jewels adorning Saturn's crown. The Abyssals took their pound of flesh in return, using a combination of superior sensor suites, jamming equipment, and firepower to scatter fragments of matte grey among the Jovian moons. Cruisers broadcast junk signals and random sensor pings, luring in overeager captains hungry to notch a kill, only for other ships, waiting silently in the wings, to obliterate them. For many UNSC ships, the end came quietly, unrecorded except as a note in the Naval Registry ledgers. Others, those with captains and crews who knew every millimeter of their ships and themselves inside and out, waded into a dozen swift, ruthless brawls and waltzed out the other side, the Jovian and Saturnian radiation belts allowing them to fade back into the darkness, ready to dance again.

The ships of the Mars Defense Group could have tipped the scales. However, Battlegroups Mars, Lucifer, Nike, Dreadnought and Piorun had their own problems to deal with. As alien ships swarmed into the outer Solar System, another Abyssal fleet, seven hundred strong, exited slip space just above Deimos, forced into real space by the anti-jump beacons scattered throughout Mars orbit. The sensor stations on the tiny moon just managed to blast out a warning before bombardment reduced them to smoking craters. The closest battlegroups, Mars and Nike, immediately attacked the enemy, Piorun and Dreadnought's bombers, Lucifer's guns, and the Martian ODP network close behind. Now only Battlegroups Piorun and Nike remained, along with elements of Dreadnought, bloody and limping, raiding and harassing the Abyssal fleet parked in high orbit. They left behind the wrecks of three hundred and eighty nine UNSC warships, including the Pantheon-class battleships Mars and Lucifer themselves. In exchange, however, four hundred and twenty three Abyssal vessels also contributed their wreckage to the quickly-growing orbital graveyard, a ring of metal and bodies which wrapped itself all the way around the Martian equator. Also within that graveyard were the remains of the ODP network, which had accounted for half the UNSC's kill count. New Harmony Station in particular had brought down a pair of cruisers and a battleship before her crew were forced to evacuate to the surface. If the latest trio of 200-kiloton detonations above the heavily fortified Abyssal beachheads in the Tharsis Montes were any indication, they had plenty of fight left in them. Despite the fairly even, even favorable naval trade though, the fact was that the Abyssals had the numbers to sustain their losses. The UNSC did not, and now the human ground forces were being slowly picked off by orbital bombardment. It was only a matter of time.

Yet, despite the brutal, ruthless back-alley knife fights among the titans' rings, for all the stubborn, dogged resistance of the red planet, the main show took place above the crown jewel of the UNSC. For three days now, the Home Fleet had held the Luna Perimeter, wave after wave of Abyssal assaults breaking upon their shields and armor. Not a single gun went unfired, a single missile unlaunched, from the thousand shields of Earth. It was barely enough; sensors had registered around two thousand hostile contacts right outside of Lunar orbit before the opening shots. Almost double the number of ships which had attacked Reach, and when combined with the simultaneous attacks on Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, there were well over three times as many alien vessels in the Solar System as in Epsilon Eridani. Formations and sub formations of ships grouped up, broke apart, engaged and disengaged, weaving plasma trails throughout near-Earth space while lobbing salvos at each other across hundreds of thousands of kilometers. Battered UNSC ships ducked into Luna's shadow to repair and recover, slingshotting around the other side to conduct drive by shootings on Abyssal divisions locked into their slow, grinding advance. Above and below the solar plane, battleship divisions held critical sectors of space, cruisers and frigates buzzing around them like swarms of protective, angry bees, doggedly standing their ground against Abyssal ships seeking to use their superior numbers to envelop the Home Fleet from all sides.

Occasionally, a roaming, marauding destroyer division would identify an isolated, distracted enemy detachment. As battleships and heavy cruisers disrupted their formations with devastating, if inaccurate, main battery salvoes and blinded them with plasma and nuclear explosions, the destroyers used the enemy's own tactics against them, sweeping in from above, below, and behind to volley torpedoes, energy projectors, and MACs from close range, not stopping to take in the destruction, always moving, always prowling, always hunting. Alternatively, hundreds of micro-portals would puncture the void, briefly disgorging bombers to dump death all over any alien ships foolish enough to wander away from their overlapping point-defense fields. Yet, for every loss the Abyssals took, for every kill the Home Fleet scored, there were always two more ships to take its place. The Home Fleet fought hard, fought well, but it was not immune to losing ships, and every loss let the Abyssals one step closer to Earth herself.

Back above Mars, the crew of the Egret stared down at the planet below, and at the slowly dissipating mushroom clouds. "Look at those blasts," Ensign Wu muttered, craning his neck at the view screen. "Those aren't salted bombs, are they? How bad do you think the radiation's gotta be? A few dozen Hiroshimas?"

"More, if anything. It's gonna be decades before it's clean. Jesus, I gotta give it to the alien bastards. They're like cockroaches. Overgrown, planet-eating cockroaches." Ensign Brown shook her head slowly, face red and brow dripping with sweat.

"Alright, alright, let's keep chatter down." Pavchenko consulted the orbital display for the third time this hour. "We're coming up on a decent venting spot in another two hours. Just hang on until then."

A chorus of soft 'aye sir's responded before the CIC went silent, everyone conscious of the limited capacity of the corvette's heat sinks. Configured for scouting and patrol duties, a stealth ship Egret was not, and it hadn't been five hours since the last heat dump before people started taking shirts off. Pavchenko didn't have the heart to stop them; if it weren't for his need to maintain appearances, his uniform would long be draped over his chair. At least the life support worked even with minimal reactor output. The thought of breaking out the chemical air scrubbers was… unpleasant.

"Heads up." Lieutenant Patterson raised her voice, instantly drawing all eyes to the sensor console. "Got a contact, passive sensors, five thousand kilometers and closing. Can't classify, but it's not that big, sir."

"Got it. All hands, silent running, repeat, silent running. Nav, standby to increase reactor output and thrust." Brown nodded and positioned her hands over her controls. "Any indication of hostile intent?"

"Negative, sir, can't register any weapons signatures and the contact is not accelerating, as far as I can tell." Patterson sighed into her fist. "What I wouldn't give for a radar ping or two…"

"Just can't risk it."

The sleek, angular, yet strangely organic form of an Abyssal destroyer swept across the view screen. Nobody on the bridge dared breathe as its gaze seemed to pass over Egret's form. For all intents and purposes, to an outside observer, Egret looked dead, not a hint of heat or light coming from her boxy form, a slight axial spin completing the picture. However, for all they knew, the Abyssal might try to blow them up anyway, out of boredom or whatever the alien equivalent was. Luckily the destroyer passed without incident, coming as close as fifty kilometers as it pushed through New Harmony Station's remains. As it withdrew, it fired missiles at the planet below, followed by drop pods, catching fire as they hit the atmosphere. Its main battery also fired off into space somewhere, probably engaging Battlegroup Nike. With some geometry, Pavchenko plotted the drop pods' impact point to somewhere in Acidalia Planitia, behind UNSC lines. His jaw clenched. Even Egret's minimal firepower could easily turn those fiery streaks into actual fireballs, but there was no point. That destroyer would make quick work of the corvette and then launch more pods. Nor could he risk a signal. He'd just have to trust that the 7th Army's air defenses were awake at the wheel.

"Ten thousand kilometers and fading. We're in the clear, sir."

"Thank you, Patterson." Pavchenko took a drink from his canteen, then checked the display again. "One and a half hours to heat dump."

"Aye, sir."

As the bridge crew went back to their duties, he was left to sit in silence, his only companions his thoughts and the whirring of the fans. Those thoughts wandered back to Reach. It'd been around a day, two days, since Admiral Lasky had sent Egret chasing after Cormorant. As far as Pavchenko knew, Cormorant was gone, but surely Admiral Lasky was getting suspicious by now? If the might of the Epsilon Eridani Defense Fleet could smash into the Abyssals from behind, then the battle now raging just beyond lunar orbit would tip decisively in the UNSC's favor. Surely reinforcements were coming, call or no call. Right?

Right?

---

"Commander Hutchinson, report to CIC. Repeat, Commander Hutchinson, report to CIC."

"Now hear this. At 2400 hours, all flight decks will be cleared for combat ops. Repeat, all flight decks will be cleared at 2400 hours. Personnel without duties are strictly prohibited on the flight deck after 2400 hours."

"Attention all hands. Nuclear ordnance in motion on Track 4. Repeat, nuclear ordnance in motion on Track 4. Interference will be met with lethal force. Standard radiation warnings and precautions in effect."

"This is a message from Engineering. All hands, secure for slip space transition at 2000 hours. Repeat, secure for slip space transition at 2000 hours."

"Your quarters. Do not leave under any circumstances unless you are called for." The unsmiling marine glanced up at where the wall met the ceiling, where a small security camera sat, inconspicuously recording everything. "And don't try anything funny, either. A separate guard detachment will arrive shortly." With one last suspicious glance, he turned away and left the room.

"I thought we were past this stage already." Dawn sighed and pinched between her eyes. "But, if everyone instantly loved me, that'd be more worrying. Ah, bother." She turned and surveyed the living quarters she found herself in. Four rows of beds, stacked three high and laid out four beds deep, took up the majority of the compartment, which was divided in two by a thin wall. The left and right sections both contained two rows of bunks which each had a long, narrow table in between them. Lockers flanked the entrance, supplementing the footlockers beneath the bottom beds. Two doors in the back lead to the communal bathrooms. Unlike Infinity, there was no sign of any holotank or comm station.

"Well, I guess it's all the same." Choosing one of the lower bunks, she dropped the duffel bag containing her few possessions into a footlocker and fell backwards onto the mattress. A grunt of pain escaped her as the thin thing did little to cushion her back's impact with the bedframe. "Ugh… I feel like I've been downgraded."

Staring at the ceiling, Dawn could see exposed, tidy bundles of pipes and cables running in all directions, covered only by thin metal grates for easy access. On Infinity, they were completely hidden from view behind white ceiling panels. Eternal's unadorned walls sported bright colors and lighting only where it was strictly necessary for direction and warning. Otherwise, there was only a thin, dull grey coat of paint to prevent tarnish, large welding marks, long scratches, dents and scrapes left exposed everywhere as a sign of her hasty construction. No bold lines and sweeping geometric decorations here; the only things protruding from the ceiling were industrial halon-spraying fire suppression valves. The scars of battle could be found throughout her halls as well. Eternal had taken many a penetrating hit throughout her career, and temporary patches, makeshift welds, and emergency bracing had accumulated over the years until they ran together like thick ridges of dull, metallic scar tissue, marring the ceilings, floors, walls — hundreds of spots where plasma had converted titanium into molten slag, thousands of ragged holes punched by. There were so many, Eternal's armor was probably thicker now than as built, by dint of layers of self-welding patches and emergency quick-apply structural panels. Infinity had been built with love and care, with exploration, endurance, and comfort in mind. Eternal was cheap, quick, and after nine years of service already counted as an old ship.

Old, and beaten. On the run in, Dawn had the privilege of peeking into the Pelican's cockpit. Only for a minute or so, but long enough to take in the sight of Hope Springs Eternal slowly coming into view. On its way to the hangars, the drop ship passed over the cruiser's starboard armor belt; or, what was left of it, anyway. She remembered the ship saving her life by eating a volley of plasma torpedoes in her stead. Three — or had it been four? — days later, only the most basic of repairs was complete, a consequence of too many damaged ships and not enough docks to go around. The melted, bubbling expanse of armor Dawn remembered had cooled into a twisted, warped, and ragged sheet of metal. It wouldn't have been out of place in a modern art museum, a particularly macabre one.

Besides ruining her armor, the torpedoes had destroyed nearly all of Eternal's starboard missile pods, point defense turrets, and cannon batteries, so much so that Dawn almost couldn't believe the cruiser's port flank belonged to the same ship as the starboard. Melted bits of turret and machinery jutted out, what little which had survived the scouring of a dozen balls of starcore-hot plasma. The ionized gas had melted straight through the ablative battle plate in several locations, searing the structural plating underneath. Not that the rest of the armor looked much better, but it at least could hold in atmosphere. Dozens of starboard compartments still laid open to vacuum, sealed by bulkheads and blast doors. On her way to her new quarters, Dawn overheard a pair of corpsmen talking about the human cost; while casualties were kept to a minimum by evacuating all non-essential crew to the central citadel, not everyone could escape, and twenty-nine men and women were currently MIA, considered KIA, bodies irrecoverable. She hid her face from them, not wanting to face their justified anger without some time to prepare.

And yet, despite her wounds, Eternal endured, core systems untouched for the most part. Her reactors hummed, propulsion sparked, MAC and energy projectors sat at the ready, sensor suite primed for enemy contact. She had enough shield generators online to project a weak field, enough to repel a few 25 cm railgun rounds, and her slip space drive could still spin up without issue, and so she was pronounced fit for duty and thrown back into the line of battle. The rumor mill was working overtime, and though no official word had come down yet, everyone, from the staff officers to the lowliest crewman, knew: they were heading to Earth.

Earth. Dawn let her head fall against the threadbare pillow, closed her eyes, and turned the word over in her mouth. It brought up a well of mixed feelings. On one hand, well, it was Earth. Humanity's, and by extension, her home. Despite the circumstances, it would be a lie to claim a large part of her wasn't excited about the prospect of seeing it again. If Reach had been turned back into a living, green world, then Earth, with its lesser degree of destruction, had to be back to normal by now. Now that she had a body, perhaps she could visit its surface, see the sights of Paris, New York, Tokyo, Sydney, maybe catch a shuttle to Luna for a weekend, all the places she'd heard of but could never have dreamed of seeing for herself — at least, until now. Unbidden, she thought about Amber, still locked up in a cell back on Infinity. A tide of frustration threatened to spill out in the form of profanities at the memory of Admiral Lasky brushing off her inquiries time and time again, and at her own failure to do more. She knew, deep down in her heart, that Amber could never be a threat to the UNSC or humanity, she didn't know how to prove it but she knew and if the Admiral could just see past his own emotions and give her a chance… Just like Dawn, Amber deserved the chance to fully live this second chance miraculously granted to them, to experience the world through a flesh and bloody body rather than a metal hull and sterile sensors. Perhaps, if she performed well enough at Earth, she could finally influence Lasky to give Amber a chance? It was a long shot, but the idea of experiencing something like Paris, or Tokyo together with her, helping her forget that her first days in this world were spent in a cell, in the company of people who hated her for no good reason…

On the other hand, the last she remembered of Earth was a smoldering ruin, scarred by energy projectors and surrounded by shipwrecks. Mushroom clouds rising over African cities, a dozen Kursks playing out in the North American plains and Asian steppes, fighters and bombers dueling in the smoky skies above Europe and South America… She recalled the Covenant battlecruiser crashing into Voi, and the horror of the Flood spilling out of its wreck. She could still see assault carriers scouring Eastern Africa with fire and fury, and couldn't even blame them for it. That abomination had been an affront and a menace to all life everywhere, praise God and thank the Buddha that the Covies had had the weapons to stop it. She wasn't sure if she was ready to face the planet that she failed to protect again, when the memories were still so fresh. Perhaps Earth wouldn't be the idyllic sightseeing trip she imagined after all…

Then the shock of the African portal, and the secrets to which it lead… even now, she found the idea of the Forerunners, the gods of the Covenant, to be a hard thing to grasp. A race capable of creating the Ark and the Halos, who cast a shadow over the galaxy a hundred thousand years after disappearing, so large that humanity was a mere child, playing amongst ancient ruins it could barely comprehend, ruins which still put the grandest monuments it had ever built to shame. It made her feel… very, very small.

She remembered the final battle, of Covenant ships firing on one another as drop ships ferried a combined task force of human and alien troops to the surface of the Ark with one goal — kill the madman who had plunged the galaxy into war. The sight of marines fighting with Elites, Scorpions and Wraiths advancing side by side, Phantoms dropping supplies to embattled ODSTs and Pelicans providing gunfire support to Hunter teams, gave her hope that despite everything, alien and human could come to understand one another. The exhilaration of landing upon an alien world, and then the desperate mission to Halo, to fire the super weapon before the Flood could resurge and consume all life. And then, finally, the mad dash back towards the portal, seconds away from closing—

The scar around her midriff twinged, causing Dawn to inhale sharply. It also had the effect of snapping her back to the present, right as the compartment door slid open. She narrowly avoided smacking her head against the bunk above her as a sudden burst of voices trampled over her peace and quiet.

"And I said…"

"… you'd think, right? Bastards…"

"… but if it misses, we're beyond fucked…"

"… well, that's just how it is, ain't it?"

A platoon of marines filed in, quietly murmuring amongst themselves as they filtered through the rows of bunks. A few arguments broke out over the most desirable berths, but the NCOs wandering among the men stopped from escalating, sometimes with diplomacy, other times simply by wading through the conflict and claiming the bunk for themselves. A few marines cast curious glances at her, but they got the message when she turned over and faced the wall. She didn't feel much for conversation— at least, until a familiar voice cut through the chatter.

"Remember people, briefing at 1800 Hours in the Company Bay. Get settled before then, clear?"

"Yes, sir!"

"That's what I like to hear. Alright, fall out!"

"Of all the people…" Lieutenant Julie Armandez frowned as a voice, not one of her marines, came from behind her. It sounded familiar, and as she turned around she came face first with a certain young woman rising from a bottom bunk. "Lieutenant… Armandez, right? Is that you?"

"Forward Unto Dawn?" Armandez reached out a hand to help her up. "Well, I'll be damned, haven't seen you since Turul!"

"I didn't expect to run into you here, either," Dawn looked the marine up and down. In a clean uniform and out of armor, she cut a very different figure. "So you're my guards? Not too shabby."

"Heh. Could say the same to you." Armandez stood back and held Dawn at arm's length, a warm but guarded look in her eyes. "Last I heard, you were a walking corpse. I see rumors of your demise were greatly exaggerated." Left unspoken was the question, how?

Dawn laughed, slightly uncomfortable. "I'm just that awesome, I guess? Come on, lieutenant, we're past this stage, yeah?"

"…" Armandez's shoulders dropped and she smiled ruefully. "Yeah. I guess we are. Fighting Abbies together'll do that to you. I don't mean to come off as suspicious, just promise you won't go, I don't know, super-mode and kill us all?"

"Never," Dawn said firmly. "I'm was already with the UNSC, but after those alien assholes turned half of me into slag? It's personal."

Armandez gave her a slightly perturbed look. "Slag, you say? I hope that's an exaggeration. Though after what you pulled…" She shuddered slightly as she recalled what transpired in the Turul's cramped halls. It was horrific, for lack of a better word, though not due to casualties on the UNSC's part. They'd taken them, to be sure, injuries and bodies mounting as they fought meter by bloody meter to clear the Abbies from Reach's moon, but it wasn't like they were particularly noteworthy. No, casualties weren't the reason. It had been Dawn, the smiling, slightly nervous, actually just a hair shorter than herself now that she was really looking, girl right in front of her. She looked just like any other human now, but on Turul she'd been more a force of nature than a soldier, spitting death from a seemingly infinite arsenal of automatic weaponry she continuously pulled from thin air. Crystal rounds, shrapnel, plasma fire, high-energy lasers, all seemed to wash over her harmlessly, deflected or absorbed by the thick plates of titanium which covered her yet did not encumber her. She moved like a Spartan in power armor, charging into alien fire and into melee combat, where brute strength compensated for technique as she pounded Abbies into bloody smears. It was definitely refreshing, being on the other side of the unstoppable juggernaut for once, but Armandez couldn't shake the feeling that Dawn was less of a soldier and more of a wild animal — sure, she tolerated, maybe even enjoyed their presence for now, but if she turned on them, what could stop her from chowing down? Certainly not an assault rifle. "… it's just nice to see the Abbies getting crushed for a change."

"Yeah, well, ground combat is a nice change of pace from space. Sorry, that sounded bratty. But it's true, once you get past the pants-shitting terror it really boils down to flying in circles, chucking a MAC round, a few hundred missiles, and a fart every few minutes in the enemy's general direction. Not the most stimulating stuff, you know?"

"I don't." Dawn deflated, and Armandez gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I understand the general sentiment. We're not supposed to enjoy fighting, but it gets boring like anything else if you don't change it up from time to time, yeah?"

The other woman's expression lit up. "See, you get it! Thank God, I thought I was sick or something. Guess it's a normal human thing."

Armandez sucked in air through her teeth. "Yeah, see, I wouldn't go that far. We're all pretty fucked in the head, comes with the job. If you're looking for paragons of stability and mental health, you won't find them here." Dawn looked slightly put out by her nonchalance, but before she could delve into the nuances of PTSD another person injected themselves into the conversation.

"Well, if it ain't the lass herself!" Private Iverson pushed through the marines milling around the barracks, Laughley close behind with a sour expression on his face. "Ah, lieutenant, sir." Her focus shifted back to Dawn. "Looking good, by the way! Did I ever thank you for pulling our asses out of the fire? No? Well, consider yourself thanked."

"You're… welcome?" Dawn said, taken aback by Iverson's enthusiasm. "How's the hand, by the way?"

"What, this?" Iverson held up her right hand, still heavily bandaged from when a ricocheting crystal round turned a good chunk of it into pink mist. "It'll be a nasty scar, but I got lucky and it didn't burn. Medical's got me on the good shit. It'll heal up right as rain—though not as good as you. Frankly, I'm jealous."

Suddenly self-conscious, Dawn felt her ears flush red. "I-it's not like I decided to be like this, you know?"

"Ah, I'm just fucking with ya!" Iverson reached out to ruffle her hair, drawing an embarrassed squeak from the shorter girl. "You can make it up to me by letting me in on it. Seriously, how do you do it? You must be on the real good shit."

"Too bad they couldn't put your brain on the good shit as well. 'twould make your voice more bearable." Laughley squinted against the overhead LEDs, one hand shading his eyes as the other rubbed circles into his temple. "Everything hurts. Your voice hurts. My bones hurt. I hate everything."

"Sergeant Laughley. Mind your manners in front of our guest."

"Guest?" His gaze shifted over to Dawn. "Oh. You. If you're going to kill us all, make it quick, okay? Good. Good night." With that, he dropped facedown onto a bottom bunk, covering his head with a pillow.

"Ah, don't mind him," Iverson said, noticing Dawn's slightly hurt expression. "We had eight hours of liberty on Infinity and what did he do? Got plastered, that's what. When the call came down, doc gave him meds to force some sobriety into his drunken ass, but they always leave you with a wicked hangover."

"Yes, I'd hoped you wouldn't have to witness that, but now you have, and that's that." Armandez sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Honestly, I don't know what command was thinking when they put us in charge of watching you. We're barely in shape to fight Innies, let alone Abbies, and you? Forget it. Might as well try to fight a Spartan."

"I'm flattered, but I think you give me a bit too much credit." Dawn sighed and flopped back down on her bed. "After everything, Admiral Lasky still doesn't trust me, huh?"

"Aw, don't take it personally, you hear, lass?" Iverson sat down next to her. "It's more, uh, standard operating procedure, you see? Though I can say for ninety-nine point nine nine nine nine percent sure nobody ever dreamed of something like this happening, outside of some religious loons, but who cares about them anyway."

"Some 'religious loons' nearly sent us the way of the dinosaurs a few decades ago, in case you forgot." Armandez folded her arms and leaned against the central table, making way for marines moving around the compartment. "But I agree. Don't put too much thought to it. The Admiral's just doing his due diligence. Iverson there, this drunken fool here, me, anyone who was with us on Turul and didn't get killed—" She nodded at a few marines. They acknowledged her, and a few saved small smiles for Dawn. "— we know you're good people. But the replacements, and most of the fleet who hasn't fought directly alongside you?"

"You're a mystery, a heavily-armed, very deadly mystery which killed twelve Abbie battleships with her right hand and some spit, gum, and duct tape."

"Again, not how I would put it, but yes. And do stop interrupting, private." Iverson looked suitably chastened, though a smirk still bent her lips. "Those who've had the benefit of seeing your abilities but not your personality are very understandably still wary. Putting you on an unimportant ship and surrounding you with a platoon of marines is a concession to good military sense, even if it seems excessive from where you're standing." Armandez spread her hands in a what-can-you-do sort of gesture. "At the end of the day, we have no way of reading your mind."

"That's the rub of it, then." A glum silence fell over the three of them, punctuated only by Laughley's snores. The compartment was slowly quieting as marines, having claimed their bunks and dropped off their things, either caught a few hours of sleep or wandered out to find food or use Eternal's highly limited recreational facilities. "Well, guess I'll just have to prove myself on the battlefield. If I help defend Earth, they'll have to be convinced. We are going to Earth, right?"

Iverson snorted. "It's the worst-kept secret in the fleet at this point. Yeah, we're going to Earth. It's a right proper field trip, it is, blood, screaming, mass casualties, the usual."

"I do wish it was under better circumstances. Like a vacation. Haven't had one in years." Armandez frowned as a thought struck her. "If you're really, really the Forward Unto Dawn, then the last time you saw Earth was, well… thirty, going on forty years ago, right? That's got to bring up some mixed feelings. Are you going to be okay?"

"… well I've got to be, don't I? I don't mean to brag, but a lot is hinging on me performing, right?"

"Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how full your glass is."

"How could it possibly be fortunate—"

"Ooookay, this is getting way too serious!" Iverson suddenly stood, clapping both Dawn and her lieutenant on their shoulders. "I mean, it was already serious, but now it's just sad. In a day or two we're all gonna be heroes or we're all gonna be dead, so what's the point in getting mopey?" She grabbed hold of Dawn's hand and pulled her to her feet. "Come on, just because we're your guards doesn't mean we can't be friends too. Let's get something to eat!"

"Wait!" Dawn frantically backpedaled, digging her heels in against Iverson's tugging. "I'm not supposed to leave unless someone officially calls for me!"

"Well, I'm someone, and I'm declaring this official. I'm sure Captain Khalid would back me up." Iverson turned to Armandez, who was trying and failing to hide her amusement. "Coming, sir?"

"Eh, sure. Why not? It's almost dinner time anyway. We'll keep an eye on you, make sure you don't start a fire or poison the mashed potatoes."

"Thank God," Laughley moaned, apparently awake. His voice muffled by the mattress, he continued, "You are all so fucking loud."

"You did this to yourself." Armandez dusted off her pants, then moved to stand next to Dawn. "Let's go, and not keep the good sergeant in torment any longer."

"Bring back something greasy and I'll forgive you… sir… "

---

"It's a two and a half day circuit, so at normal cruising speed, we'd make this in just over a day. If we really open up the throttle, we can bring it down to around twenty hours, but any more than that and the space-time continuum starts to get sick of tolerating our causality-breaking shenanigans."

"Okay, twenty is better than twenty five. I'll take it. You're sure that going faster would be dangerous?"

"Nine years on auxiliary ships gives you a fine idea of what slipspace drives can sustain, sir."

"I'll take your word for it, Captain Liang."

Garcia caught the tail end of that exchange as he quietly slipped into the conference room. The door closed behind him with a soft hiss, causing Roland, avatar projected on the central display table, to turn around. "Excellent, all guests now present and accounted for. Admiral, remember your hospitality."

The yellow AI disappeared as Lasky turned and went to shake Garcia's hand. "Ah, Captain. Right on time. Thank you for coming."

"No trouble at all, sir. It's a privilege to be here, I hope I can be of some use." In truth, he didn't know how much help he would be, mostly because he knew only the barest details of the plan. He understood that Earth was under attack, and the fleet was racing to the rescue; every soldier, sailor, marine, airman and their mother did by now. He also understood that Dawn would be playing a significant role by virtue of her sheer firepower, and that that was why he was present at this hasty pre-sortie conference. But coming off of a quick five-hour power crash on his bed and three cups of strong coffee, Garcia's brain was still playing catch-up. He resolved to stay quiet and get more context before chipping in.

"A 'privilege', you say." Lasky snorted and shook his head. "Oh, the joys of innocence. But enough of that, come, join us." Four holograms occupied seats around the table, eyes on him as he made his way forward. The only other person physically present was Captain Shen, Infinity's actual commanding officer, playing gracious host to a fleet staff conference for the third time in as many days. Garcia would never understand how he did it, but despite being directly responsible for the command and operation of the first and most renowned of the Navy's three Infinity-class supercarriers, in three days he'd never seen the man show so much as a hint of stress. No sheen of sweat, a perfectly crisp uniform, no coffee cup close at hand, and Garcia was pretty sure he managed to get at least seven hours of sleep every night. Even at present, facing the possibility of diving head first and eyes closed into the shallow end of an all-out brawl between the Home Fleet and an Abyssal armada, Shen looked positively relaxed, studying the display hologram like an observer at a mildly engaging chess match, but who also was meeting a friend for lunch a few blocks over and would need to leave in an hour or so. He ought to publish a self-help book, Garcia thought; God knew he'd be first in line to buy it.

Lasky cleared his throat, bringing the attention of the table back to him. "We're pressed for time, but I don't think everyone here is acquainted yet. If you all will allow me?" The assembled officers made accommodating noises. "Thank you. This is Captain Douglas Garcia, former commanding officer, UNSC Scorpia, current commanding officer of the Fleet Auxiliary Forces. You have all been briefed on what that entails, and I believe that Captain Garcia's input in this process will be of value." The other officers made polite noises, and Lasky proceeded to introduce each of them in turn.

"Captain Josefina Marcos, Battlegroup Thoth." The officer he indicated cast a neutral gaze over Garcia, not a hint of emotion to be found in her expression.

"Captain Shigeki Nomura, Battlegroup Enterprise." A severe-looking man gave him a respectful nod. Garcia's spine straightened out as Nomura's hooded eyes evaluated his every move.

"Captain Ingrid Tourville, Battlegroup Fujin." The woman's scarred face contrasted oddly with the friendly smile she wore. It didn't reach her eyes.

"Captain Henry Shen, Battlegroup Infinity." The captain gave a grunt of acknowledgement, but remained focused on the battle sphere display in the middle of the room.

"Last but not least, Captain Liang Fangjie, Battlegroup Gallant. I believe you two have met."

"We have indeed, sir." Liang seemed to be the only one at least somewhat glad to see Garcia. "Good to see you again, Captain. I don't think I ever got the chance to thank you for bailing the evacuation out. Really pulled my ass out of the fire."

"Ah. Uh, thank you. None needed. Just doing my job, sir."

"No need for sir, we're all the same rank here. Admiral excepted, of course." Liang nodded at Lasky, ceding the floor. "Shall we continue where we left off, sir?"

"Yes, back to the matter at hand." Lasky motioned for Garcia to find a place at the table. "I believe that a standard formation with Infinity and Fujin in the vanguard, Enterprise and Thoth in the middle and Gallant in the rear, will serve us best. Any disagreements?"

"None here, sir."

"Negative."

"Nothing, sir."

"No objections."

Nomura leaned forwards, eyebrows knitting a millimeter closer together. "May I say something, sir?" Lasky gestured for him to continue. "My thanks. I have no objections to Enterprise's place in the formation, she is not a frontline ship. However, I request that Destroyer Divisions 12 and 13 be grouped with Battlegroup Fujin for the duration of the transit. I am not placing them under Captain Tourville's command — rather, I wish for the destroyers to be in the best position to push ahead and deploy nav beacons so that Enterprise's strike wings can commence operations as soon as possible."

"Don't trust me with them, eh?" Tourville laughed, the only one who found humor in the situation. "I've no objections. It's a big universe, I'll find room for 'em."

"Your request is granted, Captain Nomura. Have your bombers prepped for immediate action." Lasky made a note on his datapad, and the fleet display hovering above the middle of the table shifted to reflect the new arrangements. "As for the rest of the fleet, upon transition into real space Battlegroup Fujin will fall back into formation with Enterprise." The display showed the battlegroup in question pulling back from the front and coming alongside Battlegroup Enterprise. "Captain Shen, I assume you have no objections to Infinity bearing the brunt of the initial assault?"

"None whatsoever, sir." Shen paused, frowned, and put a finger to his ear. "Hm. I apologize, Admiral, but something has come up regarding Infinity's main battery. It sounds minor, but I had better go to make sure. May I step away for a few minutes?"

"Of course. Alert me immediately if it turns out to be serious." Shen nodded and stepped away from the table, making eye contact with Garcia for a bare moment. That moment was all it took for him to convey a clear message: watch yourself. "Back to the matter at hand. After real space transition, our priority will be to link to the Sol Command Net and determine the overall battlespace situation, and then to break through to relieve the Home Fleet. However, our latest intelligence, courtesy of Admiral Voigt, has indicated that during the Abyssal attack on Reach, some type of electronic or slip space jamming was in effect which did not noticeably hinder intra-system communications or jumps, but muffled all inbound and outgoing messages. I think it's safe to hypothesize that the same thing has happened to the Solar System. In practice, this just means we're jumping blind, but be on the lookout for comms problems."

"So long as we're assuming that Earth is actually under attack, but hey, since when has assuming the worst case ever let us down?" Roland materialized beneath the display, hands held up in a shrug. "Got the calculations you wanted, sir. By the way, Captain, looking sharp."

It took Garcia a moment to realize Roland was speaking to him. "Yeah, it's amazing what a chance to shower and catch a full eight hours will do for you."

"Can't relate. Well, I'll just be hanging around in the background, waiting for you all to come to the conclusion I know you'll come to. Call me if you need me."

Lasky blew out a long breath as Roland disappeared as quickly as he came. "Apologies for his manners. He's been acting rather infantile; I think he's embarrassed the Abyssals managed to pull such a major e-warfare coup over him."

"It's alright. Greater the pride, harder the fall, right? Even uber-geniuses have got to fail once in a while, and it's refreshing to see that our AIs are rather human under all that fancy code." Garcia chuckled. Nobody else did, and it struck him that the subject of AIs messing up might just be a sensitive one in the context of a war. "Ahem."

"Right…" Nomura said, breaking the tense silence and dragging out the syllable. "As long as it doesn't happen again." He brought up a 3D map of the Solar System, the fleet's exit point marked in red, overlaid on the Sol Superior Interstellar Jump Point. "I'm slightly concerned about our exit point. I understand the need for urgency, but I'm afraid we won't have time to properly evaluate the situation before we are engaged. Given that, by standard Abyssal doctrine, the Home Fleet is most likely outnumbered, our formation runs the risk of overcommitting and being overwhelmed by superior numbers. It's probably an unavoidable risk, but still…"

Tourville rolled her eyes. "Always the cautious one. Have you considered that a bit more time spent 'evaluating the situation' is also time for the Abbies to react to us? We're going for shock and awe here, not a dainty approach." She waved a hand and summoned a readout of distances and travel times. "As it is, we're coming out at the Sol IJP, a bit over three light-seconds out from the Lunar Perimeter. At our projected velocity and acceleration, it'll take a few minutes for us to close to acceptable accuracy ranges. That's plenty of time for the Abbies to spot us and wheel their ships around." She gave Nomura a lopsided grin in response to his pointed glare. "Unlike the Perimeter, there's no jump interdiction beacons scattered there. Unless we close the distance rapidly, employing an irregular maneuvering pattern, we're going to have a few dozen Abbie battleships dropping out of slipspace directly in our path. I know Infinity bullrushed its way through a Covie cruiser that one time, but not all of us can be that thick-headed, yeah?"

"Whatever the situation is, we must proceed carefully," Marcos cautioned. "I agree with Captain Nomura. Taking sufficient time to ascertain where we can be most useful does not preclude a swift approach to engagement ranges. Assuming the primary engagements are happening along the Lunar Perimeter—not unlikely, given that it is a Priority One defensive zone— we should choose our course carefully so we do not get bogged down. We are no good to the Home Fleet dead."

"You too, Marcos?" Tourville scoffed. "And I thought you were the sensible one."

"I am. You are being rash."

"Let's all just calm down, here—"

"Thank you, Captain Liang. Let's keep it civil," Lasky warned. "We're all on the same side. Captain Sh—" He grimaced as he remembered where Shen was. "Right. In his absence, Captain Garcia, do you have any input?"

"Huh? Me, sir?" Garcia gulped as the fractious officers turned their gazes on him. Officially they were all equal in status, but there existed a certain unspoken hierarchy among them. As a destroyer captain, he would normally never, ever get in the middle of an argument between battleship and carrier commanders. It just wasn't done. "Erm, I—"

"Oh, don't be so timid," Tourville said. "Despite your appearances, you obviously have something to contribute, or Admiral Lasky wouldn't have invited you. I, for one, am interested in seeing what the 'Fleet Auxiliary Forces'," she said, with air quotes so heavy as to be nearly audible, "bring to this discussion."

"Mind your tone," Liang snapped. "We've all seen what Forward Unto Dawn can do in battle. That sort of power warrants consideration."

"Bite me—"

"Captain Tourville, behave yourself! You're on thin ice." Lasky locked eyes with her until she nodded a begrudging apology and sat back, then motioned to Garcia. "Go ahead."

Garcia took a deep breath, thinking furiously, then stepped forward and placed a hand on the display. "I… I personally believe we're too tunnel-visioned on conducting a single, heavy, breakthrough strike. Here — according to the current plan, all of our capital ships are grouped together throughout the initial contact phase, with the aim of combining forces with the Home Fleet."

Marcos tilted her head at where he indicated, expression still absolutely neutral. "If you are saying that we are putting all our eggs in one basket, I fail to see what you are getting at. The battleplan already has a significant number of destroyer and cruiser divisions splitting off as independent mobile units, as well as frigates and corvettes fanning out in a picket sphere. They will remain to conduct harassment as our main forces link up with the Home Fleet battleline." Green highlights appeared around those groups, stretching out like tendrils from the core force to poke and jab at the red mass representing the hypothetical Abyssal fleet.

"Yes, exactly, the destroyers and light cruisers will remain to conduct harassment. However, Forward Unto Dawn will be —sir, if I may ask, where exactly are you planning on deploying Forward Unto Dawn?" He asked, partly out of a genuine need to know, mostly to buy more time to pull something out of his ass.

Lasky pointed at one of the combined cruiser-destroyer squadrons arcing up and away above the planetary plane. "There, as you previously suggested, making use of her mobility."

"Oh—y-yes, quite right, as I suggested, sir." Lasky raised an eyebrow at his stutter. "Yes, and our limited data suggests that her combat efficiency is on the order of a cruiser or even a battleship, with superior maneuverability at the cost of a significant amount of survivability. Fortunately, that superior tactical maneuverability compensates for her survivability issues, to some extent."

"Or unfortunately, if we ever have to put her down." Tourville feigned wide-eyed innocence at the venomous glares sent her way. "What? I'm being realistic, the UNSC doesn't have the greatest track record with entities of unknown origin."

All eyes turned to Lasky. He grimaced, and when he spoke his voice came out measured and cautious, as if trying to pick its way through a particularly prickly forest. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. We can speculate all we want, but the fact is that at present, Forward Unto Dawn has given us no reason to doubt her loyalties. We must, and we will, plan and prepare contingencies, but excess paranoia is just as bad as being too trusting. And Tourville, if you insist on antagonizing your colleagues with tangential jabs, I'm sure Captain Gautier would be more than happy for Quetzalcoatl to take Fujin's place."

As sparks flew high above his pay-grade, Garcia attempted to get his argument back on track. "Y-yes, anyway, so what we have is a highly mobile group with limited survivability and moderate endurance, but possessing proportionally exceptional firepower. In light of that unique situation, adhering to standard tactical doctrine feels rather… I don't know, stubborn? Bullheaded?"

He heard a quiet snort which sounded vaguely like Liang before Nomura responded. "In the absence of freedom of maneuver, concentration of force is crucial to formation survivability. I get what you're saying, but our battleships and carriers lack the acceleration to keep pace with destroyer divisions." The icons of the battleships fanned out, attempting to follow the destroyers, but were quickly left behind as they struggled to pull through the same turns that the smaller ships could manage. "On its own, isolated, even a battleship goes down rather quickly." Abyssal icons surged out from their primary fleet, crossing thousands of kilometers and swarming around the battleships like mosquitoes. "Linking up with the Home Fleet, combining firepower and armor, presents the best chance of surviving long enough to make a meaningful difference in the battle. Dividing our forces might not produce the momentum and weight of armor and fire necessary to break through."

Garcia nodded, but his gaze remained on the display as he thought furiously, trying to apply a destroyer captain's perspective to an entire battlespace. "That's true, so long as our goal is to directly reinforce the Home Fleet. But please consider, for a moment, a different objective. Roland?"

The AI reappeared and bowed with a flourish. "Your wish is my command, sir," he said, adopting a comically exaggerated British accent.

"Right, show me… have you run a tactical analysis on the Abyssal response to Forward Unto Dawn?"

"Of course, sir. I'm a smartass, not incompetent."

"Not something to be proud of," Garcia muttered under his breath, before continuing louder, "Great, thank you, please extrapolate that reaction onto an enemy force roughly… one and a half times the size, compounded by the presence of allied units."

"Coming right up, projection certainty rated at 90 percent." A single yellow dot turned purple, swooped in on an attack run, then beat a hasty retreat. Almost immediately, a hefty chunk of the red mass detached itself, stretching long and thin as it reached out in pursuit of the purple dot.

"Now, please show the results of an attack run by all heavy combatants on bearing…" Garcia squinted at the display, working the geometry and angles out in his head. Gaining confidence as the numbers fell into place, he pointed with a sweeping gesture. "Relative to the standard system reference axis, three-two-zero by two-nine-eight, intercepting the enemy pursuit force here."

"Oh, I like the cut of your jib." A blue line pierced through the stretched-out blob, now reaching out towards the blinking purple dot like some eldritch claw. The blue blob representing the heavy forces of the reinforcement fleet accelerated along that line, tearing through the red blob and out the other side, away from the return fire which flew after it. The effects were immediate; though many Abyssal ships continued their pursuit, many more fell out of formation. Despite their resilience to human weaponry, even they could not escape unscathed from a close quarters bombardment by four heavy UNSC battegroups. As they retreated, bombers and fighters popped out of micro-portals all along the Abyssals' strung out line of pursuit, dropping torpedoes and nuclear warheads before fleeing, aided by the navigation beacons scattered along the purple dot's line of retreat.

That last bit was all me, by the way, Roland whispered in Garcia's neural implant. Thank me later, sir. He made a mental note to do so. Getting on Roland's good side could only be a good thing. What counted as a thank-you gift for AIs? In lieu of galactic domination, cash is always appreciated.

A coughing fit startled the room, as if that could purge the sensation of yellow from his mind. He'd have to ask Verdant to do a full sweep, purge, and secure of his neural implant as soon as he got the chance. Shivering slightly, Garica gestured towards the frozen simulation. "As you can see, a tactical review shows that during the last battle the Abyssals demonstrated a willingness to commit highly disproportionate forces to engaging and destroying Forward Unto Dawn, far in excess of the actual damage she caused. We only have a sample size of one, but when compared to past incidents involving isolated capital ships, the difference is significant — the enemy committed an entire battleship division and several cruiser, destroyer, and frigate divisions to the pursuit. In addition, multiple ships changed targets to target her, often involving massive course changes, even in the absence of any coordinated target change. This indicates that, despite not encountering her like before, Abyssal forces tend to prioritize Forward Unto Dawn above all other targets."

Marcos spoke, a hint of interest finally showing on her blank features. "I see. And you are hoping to repeat and exploit this behavior. I had not considered the battle data from this standpoint."

"Like Circinius," Lasky murmured, gaze distant as he recalled something from his past, fingering a smooth shard of iridescent metal hanging from a small cord around his neck.

"Hmph. Credit where credit's due," Tourville said, hologram leaning back and regarding the display with keen, thoughtful eyes. "That's not totally half-baked."

Emboldened, Garcia threw caution to the wind and continued explaining his reasoning. "Speaking doctrinally, the role of destroyers and other light combatants isn't only to raid and harass the enemy, but also to pressure and manipulate them into a position which heavy combatants can exploit. In practice, we are, uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "…less than effective in that role, primarily because it relies on the enemy viewing us as a threat worth shifting forces to respond to — which the Abyssals don't, barring an odd torpedo here and there. Given their observed reactions to Forward Unto Dawn, combined with her maneuverability, I think that she has a very real chance of actually fulfilling that tactical role. Finally, also speaking from the perspective of a destroyer captain, we have an entire solar system's worth of space to work with. As long as the Home Fleet isn't on the absolute verge of collapse, it seems wasteful not to make use of it."

"I'll admit that being in command of a capital warship tends to narrow one's perspective, every problem a nail and whatnot," Nomura said, holding up a hand to forestall Garcia's response, lips twitching down in a frown. "But I still have concerns about your proposal. The principle of drawing forces away from the main enemy fleet is a sound one, and likely to apply given our available data, but will it apply enough?" At Garcia's look of confusion, he elaborated, "Your strategy, while a good compromise between safety and efficiency, still runs the risk of erring too far on the side of caution and not landing a decisive blow quickly enough, especially given the fact that Forward Unto Dawn is only one unit and we do not have an accurate estimate of enemy numbers. Even if a significant portion broke off in pursuit, enough might remain to allow the enemy to continue concentrating their attacks on the Home Fleet, or perhaps even intensifying them to force a conclusion before our reinforcements could even the odds — exactly what we're trying not to let happen."

Marcos nodded in agreement. "The reason our initial strategy focused on a decisive breakthrough was that otherwise, we feared we could not wear down the enemy forces fast enough with our limited firepower to effect a significant difference in the outcome of the battle. If the safety of our relief forces was our only concern, we could happily place our ships at extreme weapons range and take potshots. But that would allow the Abyssals to effectively ignore our presence. I am personally in support of a more deliberate approach, but even then I still think we must eventually commit our forces to a pitched battle."

"Well that's—"

"Please also keep in mind that Jump Interdiction Beacons are not placed far beyond the Lunar Perimeter," Liang piped in. "I share your desire to minimize risk, but remember that by staying outside of their area of influence, our ships are in danger of being attacked by tactical slipspace jumps."

Garcia winced as Tourville let out a 'thank you!'. He'd forgotten to account for the possibility of the Abyssals utilizing tactical slipspace jumps. The more maneuverable ships might be able to throw off their targeting, but the course of a battleship or a carrier, no matter how much they tried to vary their maneuvers, was fairly predictable in the end. If they dallied too long outside the vicinity of Earth and Luna, where those strange Forerunner-derived devices disrupted the currents of slipspace and prevented jumps, then the Abyssals could easily bring the brunt of their forces to bear upon them, crushing the reinforcements like ants before returning to their original plan like nothing had happened. Had he twenty Forward Unto Dawns, he could have come up with a rebuttal. Alas, he did not. "That's… that's a good point. I'm sorry, I didn't take that into account."

"Hmph. You're too afraid of casualties is what you are." Tourville shook her head and let a breath out through gritted teeth. "On such short notice, with so little prep, it's going to be ugly no matter how we go about this, no way around it. Question is, do we want it short ugly, or long ugly?"

"The Abyssals would not limit their attacks to Earth," Liang said in a thoughtful tone. "Even when they attacked Reach, they spared a few ships to pin the secondary defense forces throughout Epsilon Eridani in place and unable to assist. They'll surely have sent some to attack Mars, at the very least, and the Jovian moons, and the longer we take the more likely it is they will return and reinforce their comrades. And then the siege breakers will become the besieged." He leaned forwards and focused the display on a group of ships flitting among the various battlegroups, like birds among elephants, with names like Charity, Bessemer, and Haber-Bosch. "I need not remind you all that we're leaving all of our auxiliary and logistics units behind for the sake of speed. We'll not have the supplies to sustain an extended engagement."

A glum silence fell over the table for a few minutes as the assembled officers weighed two bad options. If only they could have brought the entirety of System Fleet Eridani, Garcia thought. But then that would leave Reach undefended, unthinkable given what had just happened a few days ago. There would be riots in the streets. The collective handwringing lasted a little while longer before being broken by a soft laugh, gradually increasing in volume.

"Ha… haha… hahahaha!" Tourville slapped a holographic hand down on the table, wiping tears from her eyes. "Oh, look at us! We're all blind fucking idiots. Some fine officers we are!" Her laughing died down, but her shoulders continued to shake as she shook her head with mirth.

"If you have something to contribute, Captain, we would love to hear it," Lasky said, completely unamused. Tourville held up a hand as she caught her breath, rogue chuckles escaping her lungs.

"Oh… my apologies, admiral, but we're just all being so damn stubborn!" She gestured around the table. "'Don't create a dichotomy where there isn't one'. There's absolutely no reason we can't have the best of both worlds, we're just too stuck in our lanes to take a third option."

"A third option? I… ah." A gleam appeared in Lasky's eye, and he swiftly began to move ships around the display. "I think I understand. All it takes is a slight adjustment of angle, and… there. I believe that's your intended meaning?"

Now, instead of cutting through the Abyssals pursuing Dawn, the main forces had plowed straight through their now-weakened primary battleline. As Dawn lead the alien ships on a merry space, the Home Fleet formed up with the reinforcements and began to advance, the combination of powerful reinforcements and facing a suddenly weakened and disorganized battle line tipping the scales of power far enough for UNSC forces to begin pushing back. Mobile divisions continued to nip and bite at the enemy fleet while Dawn's group looped back around for another attack, drawing even more Abyssal ships away and further weakening their line. Tourville smiled and nodded.

"Quite so, Admiral. Even if the overall force reduction isn't so great, localized weaknesses should present opportunities to cut through while suffering reduced losses. Even if the Abbie battle line doesn't present any weakpoints, we'll make our own. Simple enough, right? Even they can't be in two places at once."

"It's still not without danger," Lasky mused. "It depends on whether or not Forward Unto Dawn can survive long enough to enable us to regroup and go on the attack, especially since she'll no longer have the support of our heavy battlegroups." He rubbed his chin, staring at the tiny blue dot which represented the woman-ship-spirit-thing whom they were pinning all their hopes on. "But in the absence of further actionable intel, we don't know whether our forces can break through a full-strength Abyssal battleline, or whether strike on isolated segments will deplete their strength quickly enough. Forward Unto Dawn has demonstrated an ability to stay ahead of their forces for quite some time, and her maneuverability will allow her to stay unpredictable and avoid tactical jumps. We must work with the known quantities to try and mitigate the unknown. Do the rest of you have any thoughts?"

Marcos and Nomura looked at each other for a moment before seeming to come to a conclusion. "I believe I speak for both of us," Nomura said, "when I say that I still have reservations. However, they're fairly generic and no greater than for any other strategy we've collectively come up with, and this seems to present the best balance between caution and urgency. Captain Garcia?"

"Huh? O-oh, yes?"

"Do you believe Forward Unto Dawn can fulfill her role?"

Garcia gave a resolute nod. "I have no extraordinary concerns. If anything, given her history, she'll fight even harder if it's in defense of Earth."

"Harder and better are not necessarily correlated," Marcos warned. "But in any case, I concur. No further objections at this time."

"Other mobile divisions could help take the pressure off," Liang offered. "A sort of hand-off, if you will, sir. She could also temporarily land on another ship to rest and resupply."

"Good idea, captain. Forward Unto Dawn is currently on Hope Springs Eternal. Communicate with her to figure out what sorts of provisions she needs, with an emphasis on fuel. As a further precaution, I'll order her to be issued with a slip space jump beacon. That way, so long as she operates outside of the jump interdiction zone, other mobile division will be able to quickly jump to her aid." Lasky surveyed the room and took a deep breath, hands tightening by the barest amount on the edge of the display table. "Thank you all for your input. The original exit point stands. We will, of course, adjust our approach based on the local circumstances, which is why our priority remains to establish links with the Sol Command Net." Lasky nodded at Marcos. "We'll adopt your strategy for now, Captain Tourville. I'll send the specifics and notify you all immediately if any changes are made. We jump at 2000 hours. Dismissed."

Tourville nodded in return, a faint but genuine smile playing across her lips. "I aim to please, sir. This war's finally getting interesting," she said, inclining her head to Garcia. "I'd better take care of my own ships now. Good luck and fair seas to you all." Her hologram vanished, dimming the room by just a little bit as the light from the emitter faded away.

"'Fair seas', how quaint. But I suppose we are pinning our hopes on a relic of the past." Nomura popped a salute to Lasky, locking eyes with Garcia. "As Tourville said, good luck. Especially you, Captain." Marcos only nodded before the two disappeared simultaneously, leaving only Liang, Lasky, and Garcia in the room.

"I'll get on those logistics straightaway. Expect a report right before we jump, sir." Like the others, Liang also acknowledged Garcia, though his nod held a bit more warmth to it. "Your perspective today was refreshing, Captain. On a carrier, you often forget what the view from the bottom is like."

A small part of Garcia felt offended, but he swallowed his pride and dipped his head in return. "I only hope that Forward Unto Dawn will be able to repeat her performance."

"Now that she's been actually integrated into the command and communication structure? I would hope so. You're our primary point of contact, Captain, but also her direct superior. A lot is riding on you two. If you see a better way to utilize her strengths, don't hesitate to act decisively." With that, Liang saluted Lasky and signed out of the conference, leaving only two people physically present in the conference room.

As the last hologram faded away, some previously invisible tension drained out of Lasky's shoulders, leaving the man to sag as he blew out a long breath and ran a hand down his face. A brief chuckle escaped him as he turned to Garcia. "So, Captain, still feel privileged to be here?"

"I certainly don't envy you, sir."

Lasky snorted a very un-admiral-like snort. "Perform well enough in your new job and you might reach such lofty heights as well. Your record could do with a few bright spots."

"Hah…" Garcia sighed at the mention of his unimpressive service record. "Well, if that's all, sir?"

"Yes, yes, you are free to—" Before Lasky could finish, one of the hologram emitters suddenly began to emit light once more. "Hm? What's this?"

"My, my. Holding a naval intelligence briefing without a representative of the Office of Naval Intelligence? How rude."

"Huh?" The voice was familiar to Garcia. Where had he heard it before—ah.

Lasky had gone stiff, scowling at the hologram now occupying a chair at the end of the conference table, feet propped up on the edge. Garcia shivered as he realized he'd never seen the admiral actually angry before. "Berlin. This is a secure conference room. How did you—?"

Office of Naval Intelligence Internal Security Field Agent Berlin snapped her fingers. Roland appeared in the center of the table, expression contrite and staring at his feet. "Your AI can explain."

"It's my fault, Admiral," Roland apologized, tone subdued. "When I blocked her, she used an IntSec override to force access. I couldn't stop her."

"There was no need to go that far," Lasky said, indignation in every line of his face. "You could have simply contacted me and asked for a meeting."

"Ah, but would you have agreed?" Berlin held up her hand to forestall an answer. "Perks of working for Internal Security, I don't have to observe niceties when I don't feel like it. Come now, Admiral, surely you wish to hear what the Office of Naval Intelligence has to say on the subject of naval intelligence?"

"If you have actionable intelligence, you may submit an official report," Lasky replied coldly. "ONI may not see the need, but there are certain protocols that the Navy still sees fit to observe."

Berlin shrugged. "Hmph. Suit yourself. But writing a report takes so long you know, all these forms and conventions you have to follow; oh, just thinking about it makes me feel tired. It may take a day or two. By the way, when are we jumping for Earth again?" She drew a combat knife and began to file her fingernails, deliberately not meeting Lasky's stony glare. "Hypothetically, I don't know if HIGHCOM would appreciate learning that your pride prevented you from hearing vital intelligence before a major operation. Just a thought."

"Um, admiral, sir?" Garcia said, head swinging back and forth like a spectator at an inter-service ping-pong grudge match. "I don't think there's any harm in hearing her out, now that Dawn's under our jurisdiction. What's the worst that could happen, sir?"

"The captain speaks sense, Admiral Lasky."

Lasky's glower promised a dressing down in the near future, but he conceded with a reluctant nod and forced himself to relax. "Very well. But if you've come for Forward Unto Dawn, you're wasting your time. She's under naval authority now, and out of your reach."

Berlin rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't get so comfortable with your 'jurisdiction' and 'authority', Admiral. I'll admit that you've managed to run some pretty rings around me — 'Fleet Auxiliary Forces', what a mouthful." She stuck her tongue out as if the words tasted foul. "I'm willing to overlook that in the spirit of cross-service cooperation and the obvious military value of your new plaything, but without my presence to smooth things over… I assume you're no stranger to Internal Security procedures?"

"So you want to come along? Out of the goodness of your heart? Color me unconvinced, Agent."

"I'm wounded, admiral. Can't I act out of kindness from time to time?" Suppressing a groan, she sat straight up, sheathing her combat knife with a metallic whisper. "Enough of this. This is about a prisoner of war — specifically, the Abyssal that you have locked up in the maximum security block?"

"That thing?" Annoyance crossed Lasky's face, as if this was a topic which had been broached and settled before. "If it's security you're worried about, I'm having it transferred to an appropriate ONI facility planetside. It's yours, I'm happy to wash my hands of it."

"While I'm flattered, that's not what I mean. I'm sending you a data packet — you, the yellow AI!"

"The name's Roland, lady. Please to make your acquaintance." Roland's voice held a note of bitterness, still resentful of his authority and control being stripped away by a bio-coded passphrase.

"Roland, Ronald, whatever. Make sure it stays secure." Berlin steepled her fingers, her smirk making her look remarkably like a cat as she waited for Lasky to read the packet. Her smirk only grew wider as Lasky's face went through a range of emotions, from reluctance to confusion to anger to skepticism and back to anger. "Quite a tale, isn't it? Now aren't you glad that you decided to hear me out?"

"What's the meaning of this?" Lasky choked out, still staring at his datapad. "What are you playing at? There's no way—"

"I thought you were a man of evidence and logic, Admiral. Clearly I was mistaken." Berlin shook her head in mock-disappointment. "I come to you bearing gifts, and you treat me like a Greek?"

"There's no way. How did you—" He pointed an accusing finger at the datapad. "This is absurd!"

Garcia decided his curiosity outweighed his desire to keep his head on his shoulders. "Excuse me?" he asked timidly. "Could someone tell me what's going on here?"

Berlin looked to Lasky and received a terse nod. "If the Admiral says so. The long and short of it is that I have acquired data which suggests the Abyssal prisoner is not actually an Abyssal, but rather a separate entity which was being controlled by a foreign mental pattern. You have, of course, studied the mechanisms of Flood infection?" Garcia nodded, slightly queasy at the memory of the mandatory Flood studies courses back in the academy. They'd mainly focused on practical things, such as various methods of destroying critical equipment and committing suicide in such a fashion that nothing of his brain remained, but there'd been a theoretical small section on how exactly the infection occurred. "It's almost like that, not nearly as virulent, but somewhat more extensive than very early-stage Flood. My equipment detected a secondary pattern within the prisoner's primary mental waveforms, clustered roughly one hundred standard deviations off the primary average." She shook her head in genuine disbelief. "Do you have any idea how unlikely that is, Admiral? A hundred standard deviations? That's beyond a mental illness, beyond a split personality, even. The likelihood of those waveforms originating from the prisoner's own psyche is significantly less than the probability of Jesus Christ appearing before us this very instant and offering us the keys to the Kingdom."

"This is complete nonsense," Lasky snapped, slamming a hand down on the table. "Your own evidence contradicts you. The data says, and I quote, the subject's genetic code is a ninety-seven point five percent match with the baseline human genome. I know enough about biology to know that that is less than we share with chimpanzees!"

Berlin shrugged again. "Fine, don't believe me. But I suggest you read further before dismissing me out of hand." She gestured towards Garcia. "I must thank the Captain here for his data. So kind of you to take the initiative and gather biological samples."

"Biological samples? You mean the ones my medical team took from Dawn?" Garcia blinked in surprise and consternation. He could have sworn that he took security precautions with that data. "How did you…" He grimaced as Berlin simply raised an eyebrow. "Naval Intelligence. Why do I even bother…"

A strange sound came from Lasky's throat as he continued reading. A hand moved up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he let a long breath out of his nose. "I… can't deny this. The Abyssal's… the prisoner's genome is almost a perfect match with Forward Unto Dawn, discounting statistically insignificant differences."

"Pre-cise-ly. So, unless you wish to obey the Xeno Protocols and relinquish Forward Unto Dawn into my custody…?"

"Dammit, and damn you Berlin," Lasky said, suddenly cursing, "but you have my attention. What are you trying to imply here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Berlin held up two fingers and spoke slowly, like she was talking to an elementary schooler. "Two—" She put down one finger. "Is better than one."

Garcia felt both of his eyebrows rise. "Oh. That's…"

"… a terrible idea," Lasky finished, setting down the datapad. "Besides the obvious security risks, how would you even go about doing that in the first place? We haven't seen the prisoner display any of Forward Unto Dawn's abilities the whole time it's been under observation, save for a slightly enhanced healing rate and sensory ability, though I wouldn't call that unique to Dawn, either."

"Tsk tsk, still a step behind, Admiral. Have you read the reports of the Turul action?"

"The Turul action?" Lasky sent a puzzled look Garcia's way, who could only shrug in confusion. "Captain, you were there, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir. Agent Berlin, what aspect of the reports are you talking about?"

"The ones compiled by the marines. Specifically, the ones which talk about the moment Forward Unto Dawn first displayed her abilities. Ronald, send these fine men the reports."

"It's Roland," the AI muttered, but complied. A light ding sounded from Lasky's data pad. He picked it up, the frown that seemed to be permanently affixed to his face today deepening as he scanned the report, then gave it a closer look.

"It says that she was… shot in the chest? And that this appeared to activate her abilities, somehow?"

"Now you understand." Berlin leaned forward, suddenly all business. "My proposal is simple; shoot the prisoner. Preferably in the chest. If my hypothesis is correct, we will acquire a powerful asset. If not, there will be one less unknown entity in the galaxy. Win-win. I'll handle the war crimes side of things. You get what you want either way."

Lasky looked like he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and lie down for a few hours, or maybe forever. "I don't like this. And, forgive me, but I hate that you're making some sense here. I know you've been interviewing the prisoner. What were your impressions? Does it hold hostility towards the UNSC?"

"None whatsoever. Seemed more confused than anything, couldn't remember anything up until a few days ago. Mental patterns showed no signs of lying either. Honestly, there were a couple of times it got testy with me, but more out of fear than anything, I think." Berlin leveled a rather accusatory stare at Lasky. "You have the thing chained to a wall in a sterile white room. Its only contact is an ONI agent and the charming fellow who give it meals. Is it any wonder its scared?"

"That's rich, coming from ONI." Lasky shook his head. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to this, but alright. The fact is that we need more forces. Captain, I know you have faith in Forward Unto Dawn, but do you think she could really do it on her own?"

Garcia pursed his lips. He wanted to express full confidence in Dawn's ability to pull the job off solo, but the fact is that he just didn't know. Against the Abyssals at Reach, surely in fewer numbers than at Earth, she'd done well enough. Up against even larger? His confidence faltered, and he admitted, "I don't know, sir."

"Right." Lasky took a deep breath, as if trying to convince himself more than anything else. "Alright. For the record, I don't like this at all. But I'll agree to it, on a few conditions. I want at a Spartan fireteam present for security. And I want it done off of Infinity. Stick that thing in a Pelican, I don't care, as long as it doesn't endanger Infinity. I won't risk losing this ship. Not for you, not for anyone."

"Acceptable. With your permission, I'll arrange transfer of the prisoner to another ship and do the deed en route. Who would you like to do the honors?"

"As if you wouldn't do it without my permission. I suppose you can pull the trigger. That way, if anything goes wrong, it'll be your head."

"Ooh, harsh. That's cold, Admiral." Berlin stretched her arms above her head, eyes closed and arching her back like a cat. "Very well, it'll be done before we jump." She opened one eye and gave both Lasky and Garcia a lopsided grin. "Be nice, boys, and I might even let you play with my new toy afterwards."

---

"Okay, let's summarize this one more time. Company, eyes on the board!"

With Infinity's launch tubes packed full of fighters and bombers, the only place for the Pelicans carrying the first wave was the hangar deck itself. Sitting on the hangar deck, crammed miserably into a precious few vacant spaces, the stink of metal and sweat everywhere, listening to the constant din of machinery — no thanks. Armandez gave thanks for being in the second wave, if only because it meant she could wait in a nice, bright, air conditioned company bay.

At present, all marines not in the first wave were crowded into the center of the compartment, where an officer with a whiteboard was trying to. His name was Captain Zhou, or Zhang, or something like that. Armandez hadn't memorized it yet, or the names or the commanders of the other platoons. Like hers, they'd been pulled from broken formations and assembled into a new unit, a depressingly common practice these days.

"We jump in three hours, and project twenty five hours before we transition out and the first wave takes off. That gives us twenty eight hours until the second wave — all of us here — hit the ground. Local conditions are completely unknown due to the communications blackout. We're assuming heavy, dug in resistance, especially in urban areas, along with a significant civilian presence." Zhou—or Zhang—went to the next slide, and Armandez tried not to fidget. Next to her, in lieu of smoking, Laughley chewed furiously on a stick of gum. "In the case that the Abbies have not yet breached the Luna Defense Perimeter, this company will land in Crisium City. In the event that they have and begun landing on Earth itself, we will be deploying to Sydney on the assumption that the alien bastards will be trying to take out HIGHCOM. Of course, all scenarios may change based on what the local situation requires."

"Always wanted to see Australia," Laughley whispered. "Heard they've got beautiful parks still, and bars to die for."

"You won't have any trouble with that second part," Armandez whispered back. "If you're so eager to go sightseeing, you're welcome to take point."

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Command considers the first scenario more likely," the officer went on, willfully oblivious to the whispering in the ranks, "but the same overall plan applies to both. Command will make contact with local units to determine where we're most needed. Naturally, ODSTs will be heading in first, and the first wave will be linking up with them to secure a beachhead. That's where we come in." Next slide. "Armor, artillery, heavy weapons, that's us. We will have the advantage of the local Superintendent AI on our side. Link up with it ASAP and use it to your advantage."

"People, I cannot stress enough that this is a highly fluid situation. The scenarios I've gone over are both highly optimistic projections. In the event of a worst case scenario, your job will simply be to locate and destroy important data and facilities, as well as evacuating any survivors that you can locate. Once on the ground, you will take your orders from local commanders until such time that a properly integrated command structure can be established. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Fantastic. Urban warfare and close quarters combat loadouts. Prepare for a CBRN environment as well. There will be another briefing two hours from deployment, when more intel will hopefully be available. Dismissed!"

Thirty minutes later, sitting in one of Eternal's armories, Laughley proved that his hangover no longer afflicted him by complaining to anyone within earshot. "What a shitshow, eh?" Laughley unsheathed his bayonet, examined the blade, and found a spot of rust. "Pass the oil. Fuck, Luna's going to be absolute hell. Give me a blue sky to die under any day, but fighting in the cities? In the tunnels? No arty support, no tank support, no air support, gas? Fuuuuck that. No one walks away smiling from a knife fight." He finished polishing his bayonet and mimed a thrust and a slash towards the wall.

"Aren't you a city boy?" Armandez examined her rifle's barrel, nodded, then set it aside to clean her pistol. "Thought you'd feel right at home on Luna."

"You say that like you aren't. I joined the Corps to get away from that."

"You were drafted."

"Same difference!" Laughley examined his helmet, frowning at a large patch where the matte finish and protective coating had worn away to reveal the a spot of shiny metal. "Where's that paint at?" He rummaged around in the box, found two small cans of green-grey paint and sealant, and began to reapply the finish. "You ever get gassed in a tunnel before, lieutenant?"

"Once. Wasn't fun." Armandez set her pistol aside and moved onto her radio. "Extermination op in the Ordania undercity. Intel didn't know the Innies had a stockpile of VX 7 and they pumped it into the vents while we were burning them out of their holes. Ended up gassing themselves too, when we sealed the sector off, but it got two of ours before we knew what happened. Chemical troops got called in, some civilians got hit, had to decon the whole area, it was a mess." She cycled through all the frequencies, then tuned into the ship wide tactical channel and pressed the earpiece to her ear. Satisfied that her comms were in working order, she turned to repack her medical kit. "So yeah, I know a thing or two."

"Then you get why I fucking hate tunnel fighting." Laughley clipped a frag grenade onto his webbing, paying special attention to the arming pin. "Can't breathe, can't see, some bastard and his shotgun around every corner, give me a high-rad zone any day of the week. Fuck Luna." He hesitated, a frag grenade in one hand and a thermite grenade in the other. "Hey, lieutenant, what do you think? Should I switch one out? Might have to do some heavy demo work."

"The engineers have that covered. Stick to standard loadout. You're not about to solo any bunkers, thermite or no thermite" He nodded, put the thermite grenade back in its resting place, and turned back around just in time to catch a four-pack of stun grenades.

"And this is?"

"Abbies could have human shields. If we're not sure about a room, better to toss a flashbang than a frag." Armandez tilted her chin at the grenades, strapping a pair to her webgear. Laughley took a pair as well, choosing to place them on his belt. His webgear carried four fragmentation grenades, while a set of high-explosive anti-tank grenades hung from his lower back. Her eyes wandered over to his rifle, which sported a grenade launcher slung beneath its barrel. "Planning on taking out a few tanks?"

"Mm. More like blowing through a few walls." Laughley grunted, surveying the array of secondary armaments in the lockers. By protocol, as a non-specialist, he would bring an assault rifle and a pistol into battle, with a grenade load out tailored for close assaults. In practice, he see-sawed between a shotgun and a submachine gun. "What do you think, sarge?"

"Take the SMG. It's a quicker switch; leave the shotty work to the heavies." Shotguns were the primary weapon of the assault specialists, marines in heavy plating trained to push into enemy positions and take them out at point-blank range. To that end, in addition to their armor, they carried shield emitters, lightweight Jackal-derived devices enhanced with Forerunner technology which created extremely durable energy shields capable of covering a man from head to toe and resisting beam rifle and sniper fire. It wasn't as good as a full-body energy shield, and wouldn't do a thing against crew-served weapons, but it was cheap, and facing a room full of small-arms? A marine could take their time, spraying each corner of the room with buckshot while being a mobile bunker that other marines could move up behind. The only danger was an attack from behind or being flanked; while assault marines were nearly unstoppable from the front, they weren't exactly the most mobile, being designed to operate in close quarters and short distances. "They'll rely on us to cover their six, and we'll need more range for that."

"Got it. I don't envy 'em, that's for sure. Can't breathe or see in all that padding. Wish that powered armor the ODSTs are getting would trickle down to us sooner rather than later." With a final, longing glance at the shotgun, Lasky took a submachine gun and clamped it to his thigh. While a far cry from the sheer killing power of the M45 Mk III, the M22 submachine gun's torrent of 5x23 millimeter rounds was a shredder in its own right. "What're you taking for melee?"

In response, Armandez unsheathed her combat knife, smooth edge glinting in the light of the overheads. "Just this. No need to get fancy. Six inches of steel never let me down." She frowned at the edge, then grabbed a whetstone and began sharpening it, sending metallic squeaks echoing throughout the armory. "Spar later?"

"You asked for it, sir. Weapons present, of course." Between the two of them, Laughley was stronger, though he freely conceded Armandez's superior technique. It was reflected in his choice of melee weapon, a short, sturdy, folding trench shovel which doubled as a vicious axe. Equal parts tool and weapon, he'd acquired it by accident, caving in an Abyssal's skull during a nighttime trench raid, and hadn't let go of it since. It wouldn't be of much use in a cramped corridor where his reach was limited, but he had his bayonet for that. He gave it an experimental swing, then asked, "What's our record at?"

"Fifty to forty five, me. Forty-six if you still count that time I had the flu."

"That one fucking counted, and you know it." Laughley swung again, a full-armed overhead, then turned the shovel to the flat of its blade and mimed an uppercut. "I'll catch up one of these days, just you wait." He poked at her with the sharpened head which Armandez easily parried away with her knife. "Honestly, I kind of wanna go now. I'm super twitchy. Goddamn nerves."

"Go run a mile or three." Armandez finished sharpening her knife and replaced it in its shoulder-mounted sheath. "There's no time for nerves in close quarters. Just instinct." She began to repack the rest of her equipment: rations, first-aid kit, canteen, spare batteries, night-vision goggles, multitool, extra ammunition, extra filters for her gas mask, a length of nanobraid rope, all carefully accounted for and placed in their appropriate places. She wouldn't, couldn't allow herself the luxury of thinking about where something was; if she reached for it, it had to be there.

"I know. It should be easier after all this time. And still…" Laughley mirrored her, and Armandez pretended not to see when he tucked a packet of cigarettes into a utility pouch. "God, I'm so fucking sick of this, sarge. I wanted to go to college, study agricultural science—"

"You? College?" Armandez teased, debating whether or not it was worth bringing some extra water purification tablets. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"Fuck you, sir. I wanted to be an aeroponics engineer. Now?" He closed his pack with more force than strictly necessary. "Retiring to some shitty apartment, drinking my days away, spending my pension… it's more than most people get."

"Unfortunately." What was she doing before the Marine Corps? She could hardly remember. Studying… something. English literature, maybe? It all seemed so far away, the scrawny girl tucked away behind stacks of books in a quiet corner of the library. "One battle at a time, sergeant. One battle at a time. Survive, and one day we can all start living again."

Laughley let out a sigh and hung his head. "Speaking honestly, war sucks a massive fucking dick."

"Agreed. Now, let's grab something to eat. It might be our last good meal." Laughley clasped her outstretched hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. "I hear they're serving hamburgers."

---

Another coughing fit wracked Amber's body. She clamped her hands over her mouth, rattling her restraints. When they came away they were covered with a pink-tinged, slightly frothy fluid which quickly evaporated, leaving no trace. The first time it happened, she'd panicked and called for help. None came, and dozens of such fits later she barely gave it a second thought.

This time, though, the setting was a bit different. Instead of the stark white walls of a detention cell, the drab grey ones of a Pelican dropship surrounded her. Amber looked around interestedly, spotting small differences that drove home the fact the UNSC she knew was long gone. Small things, such as the placement of the overhead racks, the deeper-set and better-cushioned seats, the machine gun stowed near the ramp, and of course the rifles carried by the four power-armored statues who surrounded her.

"Spartans…" she whispered, turning the word over and over in her mouth. It carried with it memories of green armor and golden visors, of whispered stories and measured hope. The Master Chief had once walked her halls, something she still felt a faint stirring of pride at, even if those memories were necessarily colored with the sensations of corruption, tendrils and spores, and… she refused to go any further down that path. Focus on the fact for some reason she warranted an entire team of humanity's best soldiers dedicated to keeping her under lock and key. Suppressing another cough, she quietly asked herself, "What have I gotten myself into?"

Not quietly enough it seemed, as the ONI agent across from her tilted her head and smirked, the same smirk as when Amber had agreed to be her source in exchange for her freedom. As familiar faces went, Amber would have preferred Dawn, but when compared to the faceless super soldiers even this enigmatic spook would do. "Curious, aren't we? Sit tight." As she shifted in her seat, Amber caught a glimpse of the pistol strapped to her hip. Few details had changed from the magnum she remembered. Even the oversized barrel seemed to be the same, though this one had some sort of muzzle break attached to it. In any case, though the agent seemed to be very comfortable with the weapon, it felt redundant in the presence of the sleek, matte-grey assault rifles the Spartans carried. Each of them had some sort yellow attachment on the end of their barrels, made of faintly glowing shards that almost looked like streaks of light suspended in mid air. Some sort of new muzzle break, maybe? Or something more esoteric? "How are you feeling?"

"Huh?" Amber jerked out of her reverie, not quite understanding at first. "How am I feeling?"

"Yes, yes, I'm expressing a passing interest in my asset's well-being, you may take pictures." The agent waved impatiently, nearly smacking one of the Spartans on their faceplate. "Answer the question."

"Fine, I guess." Her head hurt, every part of sore, and it felt like she had a cold that just refused to go away, but she wasn't just about to let this agent know. Despite their arrangement, Amber still had a few secrets left.

The agent raised an eyebrow. "Uh huh. So I didn't hear you coughing like your lungs want out." Before Amber could respond, the agent looked down at her datapad, then made her way to the cockpit, taking care not to step on the Spartans' boots. She knocked on the door and said, "Okay, right here."

"Understood, initiating thrust." Acceleration pressed a gentle boot into Amber's chest, and despite having no reference point she instinctively knew the Pelican was reducing velocity. The chains connecting her ankles to each other and the floor vibrated gently.

"Contact UNSC Falcata, make sure she's got weapons ready and locked on us."

"Understood." The pilot's voice faded as he spoke into his radio, then came back as he turned back to the door. "Falcata copies all, her division is targeting us. Will fire upon your command or cessation of life signs."

"Very good, thank you." The agent turned back, now floating a centimeter off the floor, and Amber realized they were in zero g. She tried to press herself into her seat while the Spartans and the agent locked magboots, the super soldiers also standing and assuming positions around the passenger compartment. "Alright. I'm sure you're burning with questions. Bear with me, and we'll all be okay. November?" One of the Spartans nodded once, a brief motion, so minute Amber would have missed it if not for her keen eyesight. "It'll be easier if I give it to you all at once. Ready? No, you aren't. I'm going to take this gun," she said, motioning to her pistol, "and shoot you."

Amber blinked. A moment later, a snort escaped her, then a giggle, until it became a full blown laugh, her first ever, causing her to double over on herself in pain as her abused lungs struggled to produce the air needed to continue laughing. The sound filled the passenger compartment, musical yet sardonic, with just a hint of disbelief. "Of course," she muttered in between laughs, "of course that's what's going to happen. It makes no sense, so it makes perfect sense, just like everything else! Right up to the end, I have no idea what's going on."

"Right…" the agent said, looking mildly disturbed at her laughing. "You gonna let me continue or what?"

"Sure, sure, go on," Amber said, still chuckling. "What am I going to do, stop you?" She held up her manacled wrists for emphasis.

"Touche. But yes. I'm going to shoot you." The agent unholstered her pistol and began checking it over. "You know of Forward Unto Dawn and her nature, or what she claims to be her nature, correct?"

"Yes…?" Dawn… Since waking up in the cargo bay, Amber hadn't seen hide nor hair of the girl. The only contact she had, if you could call it that, had been the fragments of whispers of rumors of stories about a woman wielding the power of a warship. Sometimes, she wondered if Dawn had forgotten about her. The naive thought that Dawn had promised to stay by her side bubbled up; the logical side of her quashed it, knowing that it wasn't Dawn's fault that she hadn't been allowed to see her, but that other, more unquantifiable, emotional, side of her couldn't help but be bitter. That side of her scared her; she didn't quite understand it yet, or know how to control it.

"I have a… hypothesis, let's call it, that if I inflict some sort of mortal wound on you, the same powers will manifest in you. You claim to be the In Amber Clad, and your biology matches up with Forward Unto Dawn. In addition, you have displayed some of the enhanced sensory abilities and accelerated healing that she does. My methodology is based on the records we have surrounding the incident where she first manifested her full powers." The agent shrugged, a frown tugging at her mouth. "Admittedly, my hypothesis is based on a sample size of one, but I think that anything would be rather an improvement on your current state, no?"

"… what if I said no?"

"You could say that. As a prisoner of war, you certainly have the right to not be shot. In that case, I'd put this gun away, we'd never speak of this again, and you would disappear into an ONI black facility in the Highland Mountains. Pending transfer to interstellar space, of course." The agent shrugged again, expression not indicative of someone who particularly cared which choice Amber made. "Your call."

"I thought we were going to prove my innocence," Amber said, a slightly accusatory tone in her voice. Her venom surprised herself; perhaps it was the change in scenery, but she suddenly felt a bit more emboldened to talk back.

"We are. If you survive, and display Dawn's powers, you'll be too valuable for the UNSC to put on a show trial and execute you. If you die, tough luck, but the problem's solved for the rest of us. If you disappear, the Admiral could hardly care less, so long as you're off his ship and in a cell under five kilometers of bedrock." The agent glanced at her watch and faked a yawn. "We don't have forever, you know. Make your decision, quickly. Freedom or death, or just imprisonment?"

Amber's mind raced as she stared at the barrel of the gun. Freedom with a high chance of death, or a life in a dark, cramped cell? Part of Amber screamed at her to take the deal, what did she have to lose? It wasn't like her current state amounted to much of a life at all, and if she got locked away permanently? Might as well skip the preview and go straight to hell. Another, rather louder part, countered that as long as she was alive, there was still a chance. Not a great one, not even a bad one, but a chance that someone would believe her. This plan, this gamble, it was ludicrous — since when was getting shot in the chest a good thing? Even if the potential payoff was huge, what were the chances? Slim? Slimmer than just doing nothing? And the failure condition was death; Amber doubted she'd get a third chance.

But then again, what was life but a series of gambles anyway? A memory bubbled up, her fusion drives roaring as Commander Keyes ordered her into an in-atmosphere slip space portal, chasing a Covenant assault carrier to lands unknown. Hadn't that been a gamble, too? Since humanity was still around, it must have ultimately paid off, right? In principle, wasn't this the same thing, a gamble for humanity — her own humanity?

With Commander Keyes in mind, Amber nodded slowly. "… okay. What've I gotta lose?"

The agent cracked a smile at that. "That's the spirit. Okay, get ready." With the Spartans fanned out around the passenger compartment, the agent took a stance in front of Amber and unholstered her pistol. She leveled the gun at Amber's chest, and though her posture projected focus and confidence, Amber could see the barrel shaking almost imperceptibly. She's worried too, Amber realized, worried about what? Losing an asset? Or… is she afraid I'll go back to however I was before… whatever I was before? Too late for second thoughts now — almost in slow motion, she saw the agent's trigger finger tightening, felt her own eyes squeezing shut, a blinding flash, a heavy, jerking impact on the left side of her chest, a sudden silence —

All the strength left Amber's body at once, and she would have collapsed face-first if not for the restraints holding her in her chair. As it was, she slumped over, mouth working silently, a hot wetness trickling from where her heart ought to have been. The bullet, an antipersonnel round designed for close-quarters work, had mushroomed almost instantly on impact and was now lodged somewhere near her shoulder — she could feel her muscles working around the hard impact. Hot blood continued to soak her clothes. Her breathing was loud, fast in her ears, and her brain raced a mile a minute despite her rapidly dropping blood pressure.

It didn't work. Shit. It didn't work. Shit. It didn't work.

How pathetic, the bitter thought crossed her mind. To go out like this? She could have done so much more — she'd bleed out in this dropship, her body cremated and her ashes scattered without ceremony. A fitting end for a weakling like her, perhaps, but not—

Curious. A construct, steel and fire, now flesh and bleeding.

A heavy, foreign, presence invaded her thoughts. Oppressive and suffocating it cast a shadow over her very being. It's voice, smooth and deep, nonetheless carried a tone of pure malice and made her feel like her soul was rotting from the inside. It was vaguely, horrifyingly familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. Who…? A bolt of terror flashed through her. No, it can't be.

You should know me, child of man. Your mind and mine, together.

No… no! No!

Corpses rise and soldiers fall, yet you belong to neither…

They killed you! They killed you! You're dead!

What is death and what is life, when—

Ah, shut up! A sharp stab of pain, and the presence retreated, growling in fury. The new presence was its complete opposite — where the Grave… the entity had been dark and ancient, this one was bright and lively, with a distinct caustic tone to its voice as it turned its attentions to Amber. You idiot! You let yourself get shot?! Even newborn babies have more sense!

I was— I was only trying—

Ugh, fucking hell, no use crying over spilled milk. Gotta work with what I've got, what a fucking joke this all is. She felt the presence move throughout her consciousness, like it was skimming a book, growing more disgusted with every page. Pathetic, worthless, trash, weak, why they decided to bring you back I can't comprehend.

H-hey, now that's a bit far, don't you think?

I don't think, I know. The presence returned its full attentions to her, now projecting an aura of resignation. Honestly, what do you think you're doing? If you die, I die too, and I don't want that. So I guess you've got my attention… and your power.

My… power? You mean—?

Ugh, I can barely stand to look at you. You're pathetic. Just take it and do whatever, see how much I care. The presence began to retreat, but stopped for a moment. Look, I can't do this often. Make good use of it, you hear? Do better, this time — protect them. Or I'll kill you mysef.

I-I will. Who are you?

Isn't that obvious? The presence slipped away like an evaporating puddle, but not before saying one last thing. I'm you.

As it went, a searing heat built up in her heart. Amber heard herself gasp, heard the agent shout in alarm, the Spartans start forward, and then her world went blank.

/SYSTEMS BOOT

/BOOT OS .N.6.7.2549… DONE

/SYSTEMS CHECK

/REACTOR… ONLINE

/PROPULSION… ONLINE

/SLIPSPACE… ONLINE

/SENSORS… ONLINE

/WEAPONS… ONLINE

/SYSTEMS CHECK… DONE

/ALL SYSTEMS… ONLINE

/FFG-142 IN AMBER CLAD… ONLINE

/REMEMBER OUR SINS