"Just what are you...?"
It was not often Gris found himself perplexed at something he had years upon years of experience with. The first two years of an Unggoy's life is a turbulent one, and he had every moment noted down in the palm of his hand. When to exact training regiments at what age, how to get as much out of someone as quickly as possible. If he was worth his salt he had to know the intimacies of Unggoy life.
Their lives depended on it.
So when he found something that disrupted this flow, he paid attention.
His three digits fidgeted on the table as he leaned back on his chair. The moon was bright out tonight, typical summer air... warm and dusky and full of flies. The flies...
He swapped at his face lest one crawled into his eye sockets.
His eyes gloss over the pages as if some hidden meaning would become apparent. But nothing. Every minute of an Unggoy's life was tracked and not once could it have been that Tol received any form of formal training.
Huffing, he rubs his swollen eyelids. Very odd. Very frustrating. If he could somehow replicate what worked for Tol, then this Unggoy batch would be half decent fighters by the end of this cycle. Then, Arbiter'd finally get off his back...
Nobody worked as well as Tol did. After all, critical thinking and spur of the moment decisions did not come easily when the military they bleed for expect them to charge headfirst into hellfire and hoping at least one head hits. Their approach with fighting the space pirates was scuffed enough. Didn't need to exacerbate it further by chucking good people down the drain while doing so.
So where did it come from - this sense of intuition? He didn't want to acknowledge it at first. Too ridiculous given the hand that the gods had given the Unggoy - to be a servant species... but as evidence mounts, so does his suspicion. Tol must be a Messenger.
...but he will deal with it later.
Slamming his work tablet shut, he reached to shut off the night lamp and headed for rest. His personal holopad briefly caught light, and his eyes ran through it before hastily swiping it close. He didn't need any more complications, least of all from his 'family'. But he will show them eventually.
Tomorrow... tomorrow.
Their living quarters were little better than a prison cell but as far as Tol's group were concerned this was a luxury. At least they could sleep in individual beds!
Yet tonight the air felt constricting, heavy. Dust danced in the fluorescent light, and it only just sunk in that they were finally home.
Various Unggoy slunk down to their places of rest, their steps heavy with fatigue. It was hard to take in, but the fact the batch average for that training program was that much higher than other batches gave all of them at least something to be proud of.
That didn't erase the fact they got absolutely stomped on.
But it wasn't an atmosphere of jubilation or relief as far as Pim was concerned. When your friend was slunk in a corner murmuring to himself, it was hard to feel anything but discomfort.
Tol felt a hand brush over his skin, and turning revealed two gigantic globes of concern. They were eyes full of tiredness, but the same sense of optimism Tol felt he needed more and more of. Whatever Pim was taking, he needed it. "Thinking again?"
Tol's hands crossed. "When don't I?"
"You can tell me."
Pim shuffled for a more comfortable sitting position on Tol's bed, stroking his back. The dejected Unggoy looked at him solemnly.
"I screwed up. Big time."
"How?"
"By giving the majors a reason to shove us into that without any real training."
"But we are proud, then!"
"Pim, you don't understand. It's getting worse. First they throw us into physical training we are nowhere near trained enough to do, and now they have us do this! I am turning us into a laughing stock. It's cos of me people are getting hurt."
"Don't think so. We mess up too, and yet we still going. We beat some Sangheili warriors! Now that's somethin' to talk about."
"That's exactly it. Some. Only some. All of us, and we barely managed to scrape only four of them? It is embarrassing, humiliating. We aren't ready, and we are running out of time."
"So we do better next time. Not everything has be bad thing, you know. We co'ave ended up like other batches - at least we have beds. And what's this doomsday thing, anyway?"
"Whatever it is... whatever this is, it's not enough for what's coming next." Unconsciously, his bad leg recoils. "Sooner or later something's gonna happen that is going to put us in serious danger. I gotta think o' something."
It was true. If he didn't progress up the ranks of the Covenant faster, millions of Unggoy were going to get hurt giving pain to another million who only stood in the way of some maniacally egotistical assholes' grand plan.
A hand clasped his, and he saw Pim's eyes burrow into his soul.
"Then tell me what this is."
But he looked back down, back to fiddling with his fingers. "Pim, there is no light way of putting this. You are gonna to think I am crazy. So let's just drop it, okay?"
Dejectedly, Pim pulled away. The bed creaked sorely as he got up. "Alright."
Before he walked any further to his side of the complex, Pim turned around, still radiant in his smile.
"But you let me tell you another story tonight. Got something been working on the whole day."
Almost like flipping a switch, Tol smiled for the first time in hours.
"Sure."
Somewhere, over the highest clouds... a queen waits patiently.
The Covenant, for all its size and might, was not impermeable to error. In their hubris, petty politics between species, and population not adequately justifying much of their land mass, small crumbs of information tend to seep through the cracks. For pirate queens like Eris, these pieces form part of a larger picture.
This, more than mere credit and gold, was her greatest pleasure.
Power.
The Might of Ruutia hung lazily over one of the many ice moons of Polar II. If her sleuthing proved fruitful, and if the stars aligned, a sizable gap within the Covenant cargo fleet should reveal itself soon. If her ship can sneak through, the Covenant would be none the wiser.
She gazed into the vast expanse of space from her cockpit. In the distance laid her prize.
A pea-sized rocky planet with little greenery, but nonetheless had signs of life contained within the glittery lights which dotted its surface. Synthesi was traditionally one of the unassuming planets which set the staging ground for 'fundamental' aspects of the Covenant military. Before more and more Sangheili and Jiralhanae soldiers were brought into the fold, the Covenant could rely on the stable production of Unggoy troops to carry out their deeds. Poor bastards. Nowadays, production has slowed down as the hand of the Covenant gripped ever tighter around the galaxies. No invasion, no need for Unggoy.
For Eris, this signaled opportunity.
Still, pulling this heist off would require duress and nimbleness unseen by her people in a long, long time. This was a multi-galaxy spanning empire she was contending with.
It wasn't the fact it was a guarded planet populated with all the very things she despised which scared her. It was her crew. This was one of the first times she was ever directly responsible for the lives of others, and if she screwed this up... she did not want to travel any further down that road.
"Ah..." The carbonated drink went down smoothly. A tang of bitter and sweet. She snickered. Ever the joke among her contemporaries. She can't stand alcohol, much less swiveling a dozen down before a mission. More often than not she was the target of ridicule during mission auctions in the Ministry of Tranquility. Not everything had to be done with intimidation, brute force, or pure muscle. Though drinking numbed wounds, it couldn't replace a sliced arm. She absolutely did not want to embody the kig'yar legends of old, who more often than not had terrible mortality rates.
Ironic, given that she was about to rob her formal employer.
Knocking. Her ears perked. "May I enter, ma'am?"
"You may."
The metal floors thumped and creaked. In her peripheral vision laid an imposing figure easily three halves her size. A Sangheili, which is unusual in of itself - but one which also adorned the colours and attire befitting that of pirates? Most would rather die.
Yet Lys was not most.
"Full diagnostics report?"
"You know me."
"Our propellants are in excellent condition, as are the engine linings. The rest are in... serviceable states of operation. Though, our last mission left the shields in a state-"
"Come on, I could not have seen that asteroid coming! It was like the gods literally flung it at us!"
"Be that as it may, I have said it before, and I will say it again: you have to be more careful. It is unsustainable to charge in with a vague plan and hoping to come out unseen and unscathed. We can fight back. It is important, for your safety and for your warrior soul. From experience, it is when - not if - the unexpected occurs and blindsides even the best laid plans; when the time comes to fight. It is in our line of work."
"You and your bloody honour. We are on a pirate ship."
"She is a part of me, as I am her. It does not matter if we stray in origin if our will remains the same."
"Yeah, and how did that go with the Prophets?"
Lys'Vadam did not respond. Eris winced.
"Sorry, I just..."
"It is alright. There are more pertinent matters at hand. Has the supply rotation changed?"
"Quadruple-checked. Still the same."
"It is settled, then." He nodded. "We are ready."
"Not even a sardonic reply?"
"I have learned long ago that arguing with you is a losing battle."
"Hah! Not even when we are about to rob your former bosses!"
Eris had come to loathe the silence which seemed to follow every interaction they had.
The tyranny of the sun was overbearing. Sweat glistened on their skins as they toiled the barren fields - it was like sweet nectar for the seemingly endless fleet of flies. Above the horizon was the almost flat landmass the facility grounds encompassed, though if one were to strip away the insidiousness of it all one might find the landscape to be almost calming.
This was apparently an initiative to remind the Unggoy never to rely so much on their nipples to nurture them. Pim was sick of it; for one, Tol was grateful that the slush would not be his only source of energy for the remainder of his short life.
"How deep do we do it with this one, Tol?"
"Well, this particular seed grows a vegetable that can only get its nutrients deep underground. Plant it too close to the surface and it will die. So we gotta start digging."
"Oh, so they special seeds."
"Sorta, yea. But each of 'em are unique in their own special way. It's like... comparing a Kig'Yar to a Sangheili. They both got different needs cos they are different species."
"Cool..."
As they went back to work, Tol notices something on the corner of his eye slowly making its way toward them. A set of glistening armour and a confident gait he could recognise anywhere.
But just what did Gris want with him?
Regardless, a light tap from Tol brought Pim out of his stupor as they both stood at attention. Contrary to their expectations however, the imposing Sangheili almost stood there apologetically.
"Sorry for intruding upon your work. Exemplary technique, by the way, Tollia."
"R-right. Thanks."
"But back to the matter at hand. I wish to borrow Tol for a moment."
Pimya widened to a smile and did not miss the chance to jab at Tol. "Well? Go already!"
Half-laughing, Tol complied. "Alright- I am, I-I mean, yes sir."
"Good lad."
A bit of anger simmered underneath the surface, but letting it boil over now would ruin everything. The nerve of this guy!
Reducing his efforts of uplifting his race to the will of the gods was so deeply patronising. Like they wouldn't have the capacity otherwise to come up with frankly asinine and mundane strategies...
However, this Sangheili's attitude puts into perspective for Tol the many bizarre training regiments the Covenant have put them through recently. Because the Unggoy did some things right, it had to be the work of someone else.
It all made sense now. These muppets never stopped to think, just for a moment, effectiveness in warfare did not have to be pure strength or pure agility. Of course such a poorly thought out and inefficient government would never lean into the strengths of each individual race. The entire Covenant was built upon nepotism - the idea that one race is more worthy than the other in inheriting the throne in this holy crusade.
This whole situation, lest anger gets him soon enough, was a golden opportunity for his people to shift courses and actually hone their strengths. But just how...?
"So are the visions true?"
Gris, to his credit, was surprisingly tolerant of someone who was his inferior staring off into space mid-conversation. Not that there was much to see on the beige walls lining the back alleys of the Complex, anyway. Shaking off his stupor, Tol's heart nearly stops. He had to think of something truly innovative to say to wade this guy off his masturbatory zealous high.
"Well," he starts. "I don't think I have seen the gods appear in my sleep yet, sir."
Gris' grin immediately fades, and a long sigh drawls off his mandibles like the wisp of a cigarette. "Right..."
"But what you said is true though. We are a special bunch," Tol grinned. "And I am willing to bet that a Zealot like you can pull-"
He was reminded of his lack of tact almost immediately.
"Let's get one thing straight. You and I conversing right now is probably the third worse thing I can do short of drawing graffiti onto our monuments. I do concede that your people require special provision and training, but defying the will of the Prophets is a foolish endeavour - in every sense of the word. They see further into the future than either of us can see."
"What do you mean? We are failing to meet their expectations... right now."
"I recognise that. Completely. But let me tell you something first," Gris started, straightening his posture. "When I was a boy, I thought exactly like you. We didn't need the gods in our seafaring House. Had they been with us from the Start, the bounties we reaped would have been much better than they were. As it stood, we were coasting the line between the right to our lordship and poverty. Then one day, one of the Prophets came to see us - in person. He spoke of our way of life ending soon, that the ocean would turn its back to us as the gods see a different future for our family. Naturally, we declined. Yet his words become truer day by day. Fish became a rarity. The vastness of our seas and not a sign of life swimming in its body. And yet, Tollia... despite our arrogance, they gave us opportunity. To become greater than we were in our holy mission. They gave me a life greater than myself. I would not be here if it weren't for them. No one could have seen the tragedy which would befall us except the Prophets. So whatever misconceptions and hardships you have right now... trust me; it will be worth it in the future."
...
Holy Stockholm syndrome, Batman. He knew that the Covenant races were forcefully uplifted but Jesus that was rough. Didn't even stop to think that the Covenant could have been pillaging Sanghelios for his resources. Still, they were more alike than they think. Gris was not a bad person - far from it. No Sangheili would dedicate this much time for a species they traditionally saw as cowardly and dim. He is also no stranger to hardship like the vast majority of his people. If he could leverage a little bit of this empathy...
"But we need opportunity too, sir. You know we can't match up to the strength of the Jiralhanae or the nimbleness of the Sangeheili. All I am asking is to redesign the course so it appeals to our own strengths. Teach us how to read, how to write, if nothing else. We are one of the best batches to come out in a while, after all."
In spite his beliefs, Gris stood to contemplate, a frown adorning his features.
"Perhaps this is something you also can't see."
Not before long, he closed his eyes and nodded, conceding. "I will see what I can do. I highly doubt that better equipment will be in order, but redesigning the course is not the most demanding thing in the world."
"Thank you sir. Seriously, thank you."
"Don't thank me just yet. For now, rejoin your kin. I will have to devise something truly cunning..."
As he walked back on the wet soil, Marcus felt springy in his steps - like he was floating on Cloud 9. The sun shone brighter than before.
Today was a good day.
Well this is awkward. Hello. Just felt like picking this up again. Thought more about where I want to bring this fic; many plot threads in this one. Hopefully I will be able to finish. And leave feedback in the reviews! I will ALWAYS read them.
For now, au revoir.