Jul 'Mdama is dead.
Like fire on a parched plain, or disease in an Unngoy den the news spread throughout the Covenant Remnant, from those who had seen their Supreme Commander fall to the troops at their side, until it reached the main communication channels, and finally made its way above the clouds.
The crew of Whispering Piety could only listen in stunned silence, watching as the UNSC Infinity tore into their comrades above Kamchatka. Jul had committed all of their ground forces to defending their outpost on the planet surface, but at the advice of his shipmasters kept their fleets greatest asset hidden behind the largest of Kamchatka's three moons. At more than ten times their enemies size, Whispering Piety could easily annihilate Infinity. But the supercarriers Shipmaster simply remained where he was, silently watching a simulation of his Supreme Commanders last combat orders. From the reassignment of the smallest Unngoy suicide squad to the deployment and swift retreat of the Kraken siege tower, he reviewed his deceased leader's final commands and shook his head.
Madness. Utter madness and stupidity.
Ever since they had left Requiem to burn, the only act 'Mdama had allowed them was to follow the directions and sate the every whim and curiosity of a withering human female. She sent them searching planet after planet, scouring long dead ruins, chasing shadows and legends. Though it could not have been said for certain before the Battle of Requiem, the shipmaster knew now that he was not alone in his doubts over the leadership of the so called Didact's Hand.
Like many of the Remnants commanders, he had served with Jul before the Great Schism. He knew the Sangheili the Lord of Bekan Keep had once been, and he watched as the proud warrior descended from calculating shipmaster to desperate zealot.
"Harka."
The shipmaster lifted his eyes from the holo display, turning to face the voice and face he knew it by. Harka 'Kycham knew what was coming, and what he saw in the face of the Sangheili before him, a face so much like his own, only confirmed it.
"Which frequency brother?" He asked, his tone already clipped and flat in anticipation.
"Supreme Commander 'Mdama's personal command line."
"Of course. Thank you Nal." The younger Sangheili bowed and turned to leave, making it as far as the door motion sensor threshold. "No. We are brothers, not only by combat but by our father's blood. If they wish to treat with one of us they must speak with both." Nal blinked for a moment, before nodding a silent agreement.
Harka let a sigh escape his mandibles as he keyed the new frequency in to the ships computer. His too timid by half brother had always been quick to avoid confrontations with his superior officers. It was only through Harka's maneuvering and the occasional show of Nal's true battlefield prowess that he now wore the rank and armor of Commander. But despite his younger brother's reluctance, Harka knew that they would need each other now more than ever.
The holo display shifted, simulated troops movements replaced with full body projections of three more Sangheili, their golden armor all bearing glyphs to match his own, those denoting the rank of Shipmaster.
"Brothers," He greeted, bowing lightly as the other shipmasters did the same, only for the center projection to scowl the moment the polite gesture had ended.
"Shipmaster 'Kycham. This dialogue is for warriors of our rank alone. The lesser of your father's blood has no place in it." Only the knowledge that the voices owner was out of his energy swords reach kept Harka from drawing his blade.
"He stays," The shipmaster growled from the back of his throat. "Whether you choose to accept the presence of another warrior is your decision, but my brother and I have no secrets between us." Harka felt his brother shift uncomfortably, but the older sibling held fast for the both of them, standing firm and silent until the left shipmasters projection broke the silence.
"Supreme Commander 'Mdama has fallen at the hands of the human demons. His seat must not remain vacant. As the Shipmaster of our armada's flagship, hierarchy dictates the burden of leadership falls to you Shipmaster 'Kycham."
"I accept the burden, and the honor." Harka was glad for his zealot armor's helmet hiding his mandibles, and the smirk growing over them. The center Shipmaster was already sulking in his armor, while those on either side of him wore the same stance of indifferent preparedness. Until the right most shipmaster turned away for a brief moment.
"The human vessel has broken orbit," he said quickly. "They are leaving. What are your orders Supreme Commander 'Kycham?"
"Recall our forces. Move your cruisers into position to affect their retrieval. Once it is done, we shall commence with Blind Temperance." No matter how unhappy his fellows were with his new rank, Harka saw them all rise with anticipation at his command. Blind Temperance was created by Jul 'Mdama as a fall back strategy to please his sub-commanders and quell the unrest then growing within the ranks. Now it would serve to cement the Covenants loyalty to their new leader.
"By your word," the formerly haughty shipmaster said, a fist raised to his breastplate in a show of respect that Harka had never honestly expected, but returned nonetheless. As the shipmasters ended their transmissions, Harka turned to his brother, his chest swelling at the hope that had finally returned to the younger sangheili's features.
"It is true then?" He asked, almost stunned as Harka clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"It is Nal," he smiled. "We are going home."
Home.
The last memory he had of home was running. Running and stumbling through thick tangled trees. Scrambling over roots, pushing limbs and leaves out of the way as they tried to esca.
They.
No. He was alone. The doctors said he had been alone when it.
A scream. A hand in his, pulling its owner behind him as they ran for their lives. Blood pumping, adrenaline flooding his body, all wasted on a scrawny twelve-year-old.
He yelled at her. Don't look back. He could hear it, snarling and growling, wood splintering and tearing as its claws brought it closer.
She screamed again and so did he. They stopped. The ground had ended. A cliff. They were trapped.
"Climb," he told her. "We have to climb down."
"I'm scared."
"I'll be right behind you."
They reached for the nearest vines, thickest they could see. Just like Dad taught them. She was nearly over the edge, ready to repel to safety when.
Claws. Teeth. A black terrible roar. He felt its claws tear into his side, lift him off the ground. Up and over the edge. She screamed his name. He just screamed. He fell, and it took her.
Miguel Torres bolted straight up, a sharp gasp throwing the air from his lungs. Wide dilated eyes searched his room, scanning the rest of the empty bunks. He leaned forward, groaning as he let his head fall into his hands, only for them to come away slick with a fresh cold sweat. He made a mental note to ask Dr. Willem to double check his meds.
It wasn't embarrassing, it was downright pathetic. Fifteen years of therapy, military training, genetic augmentation and he still woke up terrified of a damn nightmare. He wiped the fresh perspiration from his face, and was reaching for his clock when the pale blue display shifted, and the comm beeped for attention. Tapping the built in panel beside his bunk, Miguel did his best to steady his voice.
"Torres."
"Gwen here sir. Sorry to disturb you." Miguel couldn't help but smile at her voice.
"It's fine, I was up anyway. What's the situation?"
"The captain is asking for you," was her curt yet enigmatic response. "Something about going on the hunt."
"I'll be right there," He answered, about to close the channel but he hesitated at the thought of asking Gwen about his last dosage amount. Instead he keyed the comm off. The captain was asking for him, and that was not a conversation he needed to get dragged into right now.
A quick drop and He was pulling on a set of dark pants. Modesty-mods the others called them. Though his base-suit did technically conceal and protect everything anatomically important, most average soldiers didn't take well to seeing a seven-foot guy in skin tight anything. But then the reactions weren't that different than when he had his armor on.
Miguel clipped and tightened his belt, slipped on his boots and pulled the laces taught before reaching for the one item he wore that someone could argue was actually unnecessary: A tiny silver locket. Wrapping the worn steel chain around his wrist and into its usual place, Miguel had to slap himself when his hands brushed too close to the release, to opening up the all too familiar image.
Miguel squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the horrific memories like a shot of whiskey, letting the familiar wrenching knot settle into the pit of his stomach, where he could deal with it later. He definitely needed to ask the Doctor to check his meds. Two seconds later he was out the door and striding toward the ships bridge, only slowing his pace to acknowledge the salutes being thrown his way by the rest of the crew.
As part of the still growing Strident Class, Preemptive Strike was newer than most UNSC vessels in more ways than one. Having been built after the Covenant War's end and almost immediately tagged for deep space recon, no one could really say how effective she would be in a head to head fight with a Covenant cruiser, and her crew still needed breaking in along with the ships specialized systems. It wasn't obvious, but if you looked close enough you could see the differences between Preemptive Strike and her sisters. The engines had slightly higher output rates, and her hangar was just a few feet smaller to make room for a prototype long range sensor array a-la ONI.
As Torres made his way onto the bridge, he was greeted by the groggy where's my damn coffee faces of the rest of Preemptive Strikes main officers. He managed to catch the glare of Gavin Zokuvsky, the head of engineering throwing him a look that Miguel knew promised retribution for his fire-teams last mission.
In his defense, the pelican's controls had been sticking all day, and the explosion provided the perfect distraction.
"Bridge crew assembled Captain," the voice of the ships A.I. chimed as her avatar blinked into existence atop the bridges holo-table. Her transparent features were an image of classic European beauty, her dress denoting a medieval lady in waiting, almost as if she had pulled the design from an old storybook on earth.
"Thank you Guinevere," The ship's captain said, facing his crew with a turn that started at his shoulders and continued to the heels of his boots. Captain Thomas Starsgarb was known for having a sadistic sense of humor and a stubborn streak to match his bulldog like features. With his age starting to show and standing at only five foot three he wasn't the most physically intimidating person Miguel had ever met, but the reputation that stretched behind him all the way to Operation Trebuchet was more than enough for the Spartan IV. Unfortunately, he was also an insatiable glory hound in the twilight of his career.
"So what's this about Sir?" Gavin asked, leaning on a vacant chair whose owner had likely popped out to visit the head. Torres stood a little straighter at the smile that played over his captain's face.
"Guinevere, display long range scan data, marked white whale."
"Yes Captain," the A.I. nodded, her avatar stepping to the side as a model of the surrounding stars and planets moved to fill the majority of the display's projection.
"Ladies," the Captain began, pacing around the bridge and circling his officers. "At roughly o-two hundred hours, Preemptive Strike's long rage sensor array picked up the scent of the juiciest, the fattest catch any of us has ever seen."
The display shifted as a marker appeared over one object near the center of the largest asteroid field on the map, before zooming in to reveal the miniaturized but still imposing shape that had terrorized UNSC colony worlds for decades. A CSO-Class Supercarrier. Torres suppressed his own surprise into a subtle shuffle of his feet, while Gavin made no such effort.
"Son of a bitch," he gasped, leaning forward from his previous perch to get a better look at the projection. The rest of the crew stood shocked, until Torres broke the silence.
"Do we know whose it is?" All eyes flashed to the Spartan, then back to their Captain, who as usual let their A.I. do the talking.
"There have been no transmissions from the Arbiters forces regarding the movements of a Supercarrier, and ONI records indicate that both Burning Sword and Righteous Resolve remain in orbit above Sanghelios, while Shadow of Intent is currently in dry dock on Marathon. Which by my calculations leaves little doubt as to this vessels identity."
"Whispering Piety." Torres wasn't sure who had muttered the name under their breath, but he was glad someone had actually said it. Now his captain's hunter grin made all kinds of sense.
Ever since the Battle of the Ark, ONI had been keeping a close eye on the remains of the old Covenant navy, and that included a watch list of the remaining Supercarriers. Months of pursuit and clashes with Remnant forces had withered the classes numbers down to four, with just one left in enemy hands.
"That's right boys and girls," The captain grinned. "We've found her at last." It didn't take seeing the crew's nervous glances or the changes in their posture, all Torres needed to see was the look in his captain's eyes to know something had come off the rails upstairs. But a Spartan wasn't trained to question his commanding officer's orders.
"We're not equipped to take on something that size," Captain Starsgarb said matter of factly in a rare show of self-admonishment. "The guns would shred us before we even got close to MAC range, but there's no telling how long she'll stay where she is or where she'll go if she does leave. Lieutenant." Torres snapped to attention. "If we can get you inside, can your team take it out?"
"Taurus can take care of any target you need us too, but with all due respect Sir that's a big if." Countless attempted missions during the war had taught the UNSC it was nearly impossible to board a Covenant ship undetected. The only known example of someone pulling it off had been when Spartan Blue Team boarded a cruiser in the wake of a nuclear detonation, and the resulting EMP that fried the enemy's electronics. None of which was any kind of subtle.
"New scan data coming in Captain," Guinevere chimed as the bridges attention shifted back the A.I.'s avatar. "I can't 100% confirm it, but the ships ambient radiation discharge seems to indicate they are running on minimal power. Based on what we know about Covenant ship design and operating systems, it's likely they are operating purely on life support."
"Or," Torres added flatly. "It could be life support and auto-defense systems." The Spartan IV kept quiet beyond that, fighting down the very real urge to tell his commanding officer just how bad an idea this was, but the predators grin on Starsgarbs face told him it was already too late.
"And we could have another chance to catch the Remnants last supercarrier with her pants down again next Tuesday, but we can't count on that. Brief and prep your fire team Lieutenant. Operation starts at O-six hundred. Guinevere, I want you to help Taurus come up with an infiltration strategy, and tag along if need be. Dismissed." The officers all snapped their salutes, Torress included, but the Spartan couldn't help the glare he cast at the captain as he walked off the bridge toward his private quarters. With a resigned sigh he turned back to the holo-display.
"Gwen? What's the location of Taurus 2 through 4?"
"Damn it. Damn it all, to a THOUSAND HELLS!" The verbal tirade was punctuated with the snap-hiss on an energy sword igniting, followed swiftly by a familiar rhythm of soft thud and clangs.
Nal 'Kycham watched quietly, listening as his older brother's rage bled itself off in old practiced motions. He could tell by the noise made as he moved that Harka was using Velucyn style again, a cumbersome technique for something as swift as a sword, but his preferred style regardless. Another clang ran out as an armored dummy dropped to the polished floor of the training room, echoing off the empty walls as the rest of Whispering Piety's crew steered clear of the Supreme Commanders wrath.
Nal closed his eyes and sighed. Not four hours ago the ship had been a cauldron of anticipation and excitement. Harka had promised their battered forces a well-earned reprieve on their colony world of Oseidon before they made a triumphant return to Sanghelios itself to finally drive the Arbiter and his fellow heretics from their home.
Then two minutes after leaving Kamchatka Whispering Piety dropped out of slip-space mid-flight. The only warning they had noticed was a blip on their navigational array indicating a small slip-space anomaly near their position. Nal barred his mandibles, cursing his own decision to ignore the Gods sign. He had wanted to help his brother, improve crew moral by having them on their way as soon as possible. Instead he'd let them fly straight into a trap of the god's own making.
Before he could sink further into his own self reprimand, a snarling grunt and heavy foot falls from his left told Nal his blood brother was leaving the training hall. He fell into step beside the new Supreme Commander, their combined steps echoing in a way that almost made Nal believe he was within one of the Forerunners ruins rather than their own ship.
Nal had to keep reminding himself to check his pace, walking briskly to minimize the amount of time the lights around them stayed activated. At their chief engineers vehement advising, they had limited power use to life support systems as well as door controls, elevators and lights, though the later was put on motion sensor activation to conserve as much power as possible.
He fought the urge to click his mandibles, a nervous tick he had cursed since childhood but never managed to defeat, as his brother kept utterly silent while they made their way further into the ships darkened innards. Confining the crew to their quarters and stations wasn't a drastic measure, but the deafening silence of empty corridors only made Whispering Piety's titanic size all the more apparent. A short ride in the dimly lit elevator brought them to the only compartment left with an overabundance of light and sound, but it was ruined by the heavy odor of methane flooding the room.
"Mekek," Harka barked, raising his voice above the whine of the two massive glowing reactors that dominated the dome like space. "Report." Nal heard a scurrying from the walkways above them, tiny leathered paws carrying their owner back into earshot of the Supreme Commander, until a tiny voice could be heard.
"Sorry Sir," The unggoy squeaked, gasping for breath he could barely get with his rebreather missing as he looked down from above. "I'm doing my best, but I'm still trying to figure out the problem." Nal could hear a snarl building in his brother throat and quickly glanced over his brother to make sure he didn't have a ranged weapon available to vent his frustration with.
"How much longer until we are under way once more?"
"I don't even know what's wrong yet!" Mekek snapped, turning on his Supreme commander with a ferocity Nal had rarely seen an unggoy conjure. "Do you have any idea how hard it was just to keep the lights on?! You try juggling life support and bare minimum power levels with a possessed engine!" Nal braced for the sight of Mekek's innards staining the walls, but instead of grabbing the nearest loose object and hurling it toward the unggoy, Harka simply growled louder and stomped toward the drives.
Nal breathed a quiet relief. Mekek was many things: Boisterous, ill tempered, and skilled in deciphering technology most Covenant races used daily, but had given up trying to understand for fear of committing heresy. Mekek knew his skill with their technology made him valuable to his commanders, too valuable to be reminded of his species place in the Covenant hierarchy.
"At the very least," Harka snarled, glaring up at the two towering coiled columns that were the ships slips-space drives, the one to his right glowing significantly brighter than its twin. "Illuminate me as to what lies before us."
"Fine," Mekek huffed as he waddled over to another control panel and resumed his work. "The one on your left is drive one. According to these readings it's still functioning normally. It's drive two that's the issue. Not only is it generating ten times more power than normal but it's … Wuh-oh."
"For all the God's love and wisdom, now what?!" For a moment Harka's fury went unanswered, Mekek silently rushing down two levels of walkways and up to the control console nearest the second drive. He hurriedly tapped and navigated the display, trying the Supreme Commanders patience further until delivering the most unwelcome good news Nal would ever hear.
"Well, I found the problem," he squeaked, pausing while the two Sangheili joined him at the console.
"And it is?" Harka asked as the unggoy's hands became even more frantic. Then three things happened at once, which first Nal would never be sure of. Perhaps Harka finally lost his temper, grabbing the unggoy engineer by his methane tank and spinning him around, energy sword igniting in his hand. Or perhaps it was the red glyph that appeared on Mekek's console, a warning, or perhaps what set Harka off?
Regardless, everything stopped when drive two's already accelerated energy output skyrocketed, its glow blinding the three covenant nearby as energy lanced out, striking the walls like lightning in a storm. Consoles sparked and panels warped, melting where they were struck, until the sudden storm condensed, the strikes merging until all concentrated on a single point between the drives. Then as quickly as it began, it ended in a second blinding flash, followed by a blood curdling roar.
Decided to split the super-massive intro chapter in two. That means next chapter is ready and waiting, so I might just be able to keep a once a week update pace on this story.