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Halo: Shadows of Hope

Chapter 2: Shadow of the Covenant

CCS-class battlecruiser Divine Crusader

Outer reaches of Chi Mu System

Freedom…it was an almost abhorrent concept to the Covenant.

An exaggeration perhaps, but the notion still possessed a degree of merit. The value, if any, of the thoughts and beliefs of an individual were not really emphasized in Covenant society, given the nature of the caste system. After all, why should there be? A conglomeration of races, once scattered among the stars, now brought together in unity, completely dedicated to walking the true path. All were one and one was all, ranging from the highest san 'shyuum to the lowliest unggoy. The Great Journey awaited and unlike in the material universe, all who truly believed had an equal claim to the next world.

It was an undeniable truth that the Prophets often saw fit to emphasize. Freedom beget individuality and while free will could lead an individual to do great things, it could also lead to dangerous, unwholesome ones. The middle ground they sought was individuality as part of a greater whole, with personal distinguishment being earned only through devotion to the greater good. Any thought or action outside this definition was seen as an unwelcome distraction at best and heresy at worst. Luckily, those who did fall outside were a minority.

Walking down the hallway that led to the battlecruiser's control room, the golden armored sangheili, Ship Master Udo 'Tikawomee felt safe in the knowledge that he fell into the majority, knowing that his mind, body and spirit were dedicated to the betterment of Covenant society. As long as he adhered to the path of his forebears, retained spiritual purity and killed any infidel whose stench saturated the stars, his role in the Covenant and place in the future Great Journey were guaranteed.

All of it true. All of it undeniable. All of it part of a mental stream that 'Tikawomee kept running through his mind in order to remind himself of his stability in the greater scheme of things. After all, being summoned by a Prophet, a leader of the Covenant, was either a blessing or a curse, and having indeed been summoned by said individual, 'Tikawomee could not help but suspect that it was the latter. He'd performed within his ordained role over the last few cycles, true, but certainly nothing to be worthy of a blessing per se.

But even so, what could he have done, or not done, that would involve a curse?

I suppose the truth awaits me, the Ship Master thought to himself as he approached the door leading to the control room. With a hiss it opened, what dim light illuminated the centre of the ship reflecting off his golden armor. As 'Tikawomee expected, it was completely abandoned, devoid of life. Well, almost. This was to be a personal audience, one featuring himself and his superior…the Prophet of Devotion.

If the Prophet heard 'Tikawomee enter, he gave no immediate sign. He simply sat there on his gravity throne with his back to the lowly creature that had entered his presence. Although theoretically equals with the sangheili, the san 'shyuum held political power, ranging from the lowliest minister to the triumvirate of Truth, Mercy and Regret. This had the advantage in that it allowed the sangheili to focus on martial prowess; the hand of the Covenant with the Prophets being the arm. Both were significant in the grand scheme of the universe, subservient only to the gods themselves. But even so, Devotion's political power was making 'Tikawomee feel very insignificant indeed.

"Come," said the Prophet eventually, the Ship Master obeying without question. He walked up to the dais upon which the control panels were situated, kneeling down in front of his superior.

"I am here," said 'Tikawomee simply. Silence followed, silence which the sangheili interpreted as permission to proceed. Slowly and deliberately, he began to speak;

"So full of hate were our eyes that none of us could see.
Our war would yield countless dead, but never victory."

The Writ of Union…an oath of service to the Covenant. An oath which bound both sangheili and san 'shyuum to their cause. As such, the Prophet swiveled around and responded in kind;

"So let us cast arms aside, and like discard our wrath.
Thou, in faith, will keep us safe, whilst we find the path."

To an outsider, one who embraced ignorance either willingly or unwillingly, the scene could be seen as…strange, if only for the disparity between the two species. 'Tikawomee…a grey skinned creature of muscle and power, golden armored, eight and a half feet tall at full height. In contrast was Devotion; a feeble, olive skinned being seated on a floating chair, seemingly incapable of movement. While his ceremonial maroon robes and elegant circlet conveyed a certain nobility, there was still a feeling of…disparity between the two. As if the situation had been reversed from what should have been…

Clearly Devotion didn't think so. "Rise," he said simply. As with the Prophet's previous order, 'Tikawomee obeyed swiftly and silently.

"Do you know why you are here, Ship Master?" Devotion asked smoothly, calmly flexing his two fingered, one thumbed hand.

"I am here because you called me to your side," answered 'Tikawomee.

"Incorrect."

The sangheili's four mandibles tightened. "Pardon?"

"I said that you are incorrect," repeated Devotion. "That is not why you are here. That I called you is how you came to be here most certainly, along with when you came to be here, but that is not why you are here." The Prophet leaned forward. "So, can you, or can you not answer my question? Why, are you here?"

'Tikawomee's head lowered, facing the floor beneath the Prophet's chair. "No," he said, a hint of shame in his voice. "I do not know why I am here."

Devotion leaned back, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "Good. You are at least honest." He gave a small smirk. "You may raise your gaze by the way."

'Tikawomee obeyed, but seemed reluctant to do so. Still, he managed in the end, regaining his line of sight as well as the right to speak.

"Tell me then, o' Prophet, why am I here?" the ship master asked. The san'shyuum remained silent for a few moments before answering however.

"You are here…" the Prophet said slowly, "because your recent actions, or rather, the lack of them, prompt explanation.

'Tikawomee was caught off guard. "Pardon?"

Sighing, Devotion pressed a button on his throne, a hologram of the system they were passing through appearing above them. The location of the Divine Crusader was clearly marked, along with the system's seven planets and single star.

"This," said Devotion, gesturing at the system's fourth planet and also its smallest, "is our object of interest." He leaned forward once again, this time akin to a hungry kig-yar facing a wounded unggoy. "Can you tell me why, ship master?"

'Tikawomee could indeed tell his superior why, but was reluctant to do so. He could see where this was going…

"The Prophets are known for their patience, sangheili, but there are exceptions." Devotion's tone had a considerable dose of venom to it. "In the here and now, you may consider me such an exception."

'Tikawomee considered him as such. "The planet is of interest," he said as diplomatically as he could, "because there are four human ships above it."

"And? Why do you suppose they are there?"

'Tikawomee clicked his mandibles. "They are there…because there is a human settlement on the planet."

"Then why are we continuing on our present course!" Devotion thundered, sounding like one of the gods that the Covenant worshipped. "The barbarous wretches are right under our noses and we're passing on as if we are immune to their stench! Why have we not changed course to purify this system with our holy fire!"

'Tikawomee shifted one of his hoofed feet uneasily. "My lord, surely you understand that while said wretches deserve holy fire rained down upon them, we possess not the means to carry out such a thing."

"Indeed?" asked Devotion, as if addressing a child. A particularly stupid one. 'Tikawomee lowered his gaze. Again.

"Yes. You must understand, holy Prophet, that while the vermin's technology is inferior, they still outnumber us two to one. A ratio that could still work to our advantage, but in light of …"

"Don't try to hide your cowardice!" shouted Devotion. "The heathens, no matter how numerous, cannot stand up against the might of the Covenant! Are we not blessed with the spirit of the Forerunners? Do we not have a divine mission, an oath to fulfill?"

'Tikawomee's gaze lowered even further. "We do, my lord. And that is why I thought it best that we continue our search for Forerunner artifacts and let the Fleet of Purity combine surprise with force that we cannot provide."

Devotion raised an eyebrow. "Fleet of Purity?"

'Tikawomee nodded. "I sent a message to the fleet when we detected the human presence. As a combat group, it has the right to carry out judgment and the means to do so."

"While you stand by, doing…what?" the san 'shyuum sneered. "Was I mistaken in thinking that your kind are warriors? Or are you just a shameful exception?"

Silence still gripped the ship master. He knew that his superior was appealing to the ambition inherent in every sangheili-to die a glorious death in battle and to devote themselves to the Great Journey. Indeed, 'Tikawomee longed for the chance to take a ship into battle but knew that day would probably never come. Instead, he'd been tasked with a fruitless search to find the artifacts left by their gods. The chance of actual combat gnawed away at him.

Still, he had the lives of his own warriors at stake. They would no doubt relish the chance of going into battle against the humans but even they could appreciate the difference between honorable death and suicide. Devotion's role was really due to that of being an emissary from the High Prophets and technically had no command over him. This was his ship, his forces, and both were his to command. But if word of disobedience made its way back to High Charity…

"Rescind the order," said Devotion.

'Tikawomee blinked. "What?"

"You heard me correctly, ship master," Devotion hissed. "Rescind your order. Recall the fleet."

"My lord…" said 'Tikawomee slowly. "May I point out that our ordained task is to search for legacies of the gods, not to undertake pointless battles?"

"Of course," the Prophet said, handing 'Tikawomee a data slate. "Which is why the planet concerns us."

'Tikawomee read the data slate, his eyes growing wide as he did so. "Are these readings accurate?" he asked eventually.

"Of course they are," said Devotion simply. "But that is beside the point. What is the point, is that these readings energy readings prompt investigation, no?"

"Indeed," said the sangheili, his heart racing at such a discovery (even with humans faking detection, luminaries never lied). "However, I believe that we should wait for support nonetheless."

"Come now," said Devotion, sounding calm, yet with an edge of menace to his voice. "Surely you believe in the Covenant, not to mention yourself? The spirit of the Forerunners shall protect us from whatever the infidels throw at us."

"I still think-…"

"Your thoughts are of no concern to me!" shouted Devotion, becoming rage personified. "I care not for whatever goes through your head unless it's dangerous thought that goes against what the Covenant stands for! And at this point in time, that seems to be the case! Unless you want me to file a report to the High Prophets concerning your insubordination and as a result have your corpse paraded throughout High Charity I suggest that you fulfill your duty to the Covenant and obey my orders!"

If looks could kill, 'Tikawomee would have been dead before he hit the ground. Luckily, that wasn't the case. However, Devotion's glare still had the desired effect.

"I concede to your decision," the sangheili murmured.

"Good." Devotion clasped his hands. "I'm glad that we've reached an understanding. To demonstrate this, you may rescind your order and prepare for battle."

And with that, he floated out.

'Tikawomee cursed under his breath as the door sealed shut, not knowing nor caring whether Devotion heard him. It was obvious what the Prophet's motives were; he wanted to secure the artifact himself single-handedly, even at the cost of his soldiers' lives. Granted, he had a point in that it fell under their jurisdiction, but even so, that did not mean having to exclude others who could aid them.

Yet there were things that didn't add up. 'Tikawomee had detected the human presence himself, yet had not informed Devotion directly. And how was the Prophet able to obtain readings before he did? The Prophets were entitled to knowledge that sangheili did not, but even so…

But what can I do? the ship master asked himself, not receiving an answer. Quite simply, there was very little he could do. Disobeying a Prophet's orders is these circumstances was little better than heresy. Yet if he did so, he would risk everything. Sighing, he made his way over to the bridge's main console, the device which, among other things, could send a message to the Fleet of Purity, namely one to withdraw his request.

Or not…

Instinct and loyalty clashed within him. He knew that he would have only a limited amount of time before Devotion returned to check his status. Whatever his choice was, he didn't have long to follow it. He stood there, unmoving. What would he do? What could he do? Eventually, he made his choice.

"Gods forgive me," the ship master murmured as he started typing.

Chi Mu System, Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")

Planet Hope

Thunderville was a dump.

Nineteen years of living on Hope had yet to change Ardo's assertion and despite having just had one of the worst, if not the worst nights of his life, his view had yet to change. Looking back at it, he was surprised that it hadn't been his last. Robbed of transportation, he and Tara had been forced to rely on what little shelter the cliff had provided against one of Hope's frequent storms that had struck after the…thing was raised. Finally, at around 3am, the storm abated, neither of them having obtained a wink of sleep. With that, they had begun a seven mile trudge to the planet's only settlement…

Thunderville.

Thunderville had originally been designated as Settlement 01 upon Hope's colonization, the notion being that it would be the first of many. Expansion would follow suit, naming coming after. That had never transpired however, the planet proving more inhospitable than first anticipated. In the wake of the disappointment, the town had never been officially named. "Thunderville" however, became the unofficial one, a reflection of the near constant sound in the skies above it. Names aside though, it was, as Ardo's assertion maintained, a dump, possessing squat, grey buildings, less than a mile squared in area. To top it off, it was surrounded by a trench, courtesy of the marines that had been stationed (or "dumped" as some maintained) on the world for the last three years. It was the only dip in a flat plain that stretched for miles, the only exception being a small rise to the town's north that led to the valley where mining was carried out.

"We're here," Ardo murmured as he and Tara passed the perimeter, ignoring the inquisitive stares of the guards stationed there. Tara, who had been resting on her brother's shoulder for the last few hours. "You took your time," she murmured, her eyes barely open.

"Well pardon me. It's not easy to trudge across a dirt plain with you constantly leaning on my shoulder."

Under normal circumstances, Ardo would have expected a semi-witty response from his sister. However, she was far too tired for her usual rhetoric. They trudged through the narrow streets, heading for the single storied house (like virtually all of the town's buildings) that they shared, located mercifully close to the town's perimeter. Upon arrival, Tara walked up to the door, while Ardo remained outside.

"Aren't you coming in?" she asked, seeing that her brother had pulled out one of his near infinite cigarettes.

"Nah, I better report to Riley," her brother answered, smoke coming out of his nostrils that aptly reflected his disgust at his superior. The white haired man oversaw Hope's mining operations and it therefore fell to Ardo to explain why there was one less mining truck at his disposal.

Farewells given, Ardo set down the road. His stomach was turning, yet the fact that we was going to have his arse handed to him was only part of it. What struck him was how…normal everything seemed, ranging from the setting to those in it. Hadn't anyone seen the beam of light go up into the sky? Shouldn't paranoia be gripping everyone by now?

Well that was fine by him. If no-one saw the temple it was best to forget about it. Tara wasn't the assertive type, so she'd probably keep quiet. All that mattered now was seeing Riley and getting to sleep for a week. Best to forget about the whole thing…

Fate seemed intent on prolonging his agony however. Thunderville was basically separate into two halves, separated by a single square in the centre that one had to travel through to travel from one half to the other without walking around. Unfortunately, the square was currently occupied, marines keeping civilians at bay while four dropships touched down, each carrying a chaingun armed jeep, all of which were to be driven by the twelve black armored soldiers that were deploying in tandem with the vehicles.

Ardo was no particular military techie, but having spent his life around machinery and three years of said life among the military, he'd picked up a few things. He recognized the now ascending dropships as D77H-TCI Pelicans, the UNSC's primary craft for personnel and equipment transport just as readily as he recognized the jeeps as being M41 light anti-aircraft gun armed M12 LRVs often referred to as Warthogs due to the tusk-like tow bars. It was sad really, how he'd found the time to memorize these things.

The soldiers were a mystery however, just as much as the strange weapons they were carrying. They looked like giant black metal rectangular…things, almost fitting of their black body suits and visored helmets, completely obscuring their facial features. Within less of a minute of deployment, the Pelicans had departed and the troops had roared off in the Warthogs, almost as if they had never existed.

"Strange times, eh pal?"

Ardo turned to the source, a look of surprise turning into a small smile.

"Don't you have work to do Alan?"

"Don't you?"

It was a regular banter between Ardo and the Marine he was talking to, namely to Engineer Alan Ellison of the 31st Marine Division, five companies of which had been dumped on Hope three years ago, as if rebuilding the unit after the Harvest Campaign was too much trouble and forgetting they existed was the easier solution. Neither Hope's people nor the soldiers were particularly happy about the arrangement-you were throwing people who'd gone through hell for five years fighting aliens with people who'd never seen an alien in their life. Still, Ardo and Alan, or A'n'A as they were sometimes known, managed to get on well, if only for shared interests and common vices.

"So what the hell happened to you?" Ellison asked, taking off his helmet and igniting the tip of a cigarette with a laser lighter, Ardo doing the same.

"Pardon?"

"Come on man, you look like shit," the engineer grinned, his smoke joining Ardo's. "Stay up late or something?"

Ardo simply shrugged, hoping to avoid the question. He knew exactly why he felt and probably looked like "shit", but wasn't in the mood to talk about it. Ellison had never struck Ardo as an assertive individual (not unlike Tara, come to think of it). With dark hair, pale skin that served as a reminder of what low light conditions did to you and a general resemblance to a puppy that'd been kicked too many times, Ardo didn't feel at risk of having his little escapade be leaked. Still…

"So who were those guys touching down?" Ardo asked, hoping to change the subject.

Ellison shrugged. "Some gooks from up above," he said, gesturing upwards with a finger usually reserved for insults. "Hell if I know what for."

Ardo knew what for, or at least suspected it. The light beam may not have been seen from the town, but it could easily have been detected from up above, not to mention that pod coming down. But even so, why take Warthogs to the site of the landing? Why not simply land the Pelicans by the artifact?

Whatever. It had nothing to do with him.

"Anyway, I better go," Ellison said, looking at his watch and stamping out his death stick. "Goliath beckons."

"And you're just the David to do it huh?" Ardo asked.

"Bite me."

"Whatever. Gotta see Riley anyway."

With that the two headed off, Ardo to the other side of town, Ellison to…well, Ardo didn't know exactly where he went. They were friends, true, but that didn't give Ellison the right to break confidentiality. Meh. If it was to do with the military, it had nothing to do with him. All that mattered to Ardo right now was seeing Riley, making up some cover story that wouldn't link him to the relic that was inevitably going to be found and then catch some R&R. Let the brass do what they wanted. Their battles were their own.

Not his.

Pain.

It coursed through him. Pain. Every movement, every breath, brought the sensation.

Opening his eyes brought agony. Climbing out of the drop pod was a reflection of fate's sadism. Actually standing was…well, there was no word he could think of to describe it, so focused on dealing with that which crippled his armored body. No matter, he had something that could help him through it…

Vengeance.

A/N

This could be the last chapter for awhile, but this is unlikely to be the case. I'll be in New Zealand from the 24th to mid-January, which will hinder time for writing. However, it shouldn't hinder my ability to post the remaining chapters on a continued weekly basis. Responding to reviews could be another thing, but I should be able to get to it eventually.

A fair question would be as to why I didn't wait until mid-Jan to begin posting. In all honesty, I considered it a calculated risk worth taking and the notion of beginning to post in 2011 for a fic that began in 2006...hopefully I'm less of an arrogant arse than I was in the previous decade, but it's still something of a personal triumph to actually begin the third incarnation of this fic in '10 rather than '11, if that makes sense. Anyway, just a heads up.

In regards to some issues brought up in reviews, rest assured that MJOLNIR Mk. V is a typo rather than me expressing outright ignorance of canon (doesn't come into play till 2552, despite what Halo Wars might imply...) Also touched on was the origins of this fic conceptually. It's better explained in my profile, but the initial conception of this fic, before I started planning them out beforehand (indeed, it was this fic back in '06 that made me start such a practice) was a mix of the StarCraft novel Shadow of the Xel'naga, Metal Gear Solid and actually a short sci-fi story I read in primary school. Can't remember the book or author, but in a collection of short sci-fi stories definately aimed at children, it was by far the most mature. It featured a planet called Hope and as short as it was, it was a very effective and effectively moving portrayal of the nature of human perception, how people refuse to see and accept what's in front of them if they don't like it. There's little this story shares in common with that story bar the planet's name and nature, but it provided some, if not most of the inspiration for this. All of the afformiated aspects have been watered down in this version, so that I can call this story relatively original, but it seemed best to explain the origins in context.

So yeah. Merry Christmas, hopefully ch. 3 might find its way under your tree...if your Internet connection passes by it. 0_0

(2011-08-05)

As far as I can tell, whether there's a gap between ellipsis and the following letter is acceptable both ways, depending on which style (Chicago Manual of Style, Associated Press, etc.). Also, there aren't many double-hyphenated words that I know of, and the LAAG is no exception. Fixed other errors.