.

Halo: Shadows of Hope

Chapter 6: Dark Loomings

M12 LRV Warthog Romeo 1

Location: Plains north of Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")

Mission: Rescue/recover Orbital Drop Shock Troopers dispatched from Aeros

"So el-tee, you think Ellison's working on his pet project? Or slacking off?"

With a start, Physon was brought out of his revile. It was strange as to how engrossing barren soil could be, especially when one considered that it was the same soil that had been present in your life for three years. Still, everyone had to find some way to alleviate boredom and First Lieutenant Phillip Physon preferred to do it without filling his system with…well, best not to go there.

"Sir?"

With a sigh, the CO turned away from what passed for a view and faced what passed for a marine these days, in this case, Private First Class Jack Hawkins. From what the lieutenant knew, the kid was twenty-one years old, had served in the UNSC Marine Corps since the age of eighteen and was full of himself as a result. Hardly surprising that he'd landed himself in this posting all things considered, thinking that the last month of the Harvest Campaign was as good as fighting in all of it.

But if that's the case, why am I here? Physon wondered, not bothering to squash the seeds of arrogance being reaped. Still, best to get to the engineer the grunt had mentioned.

"Ellison's working on what now?" the lieutenant asked.

"I asked whether you think Ellison's working on Goliath or taking a break," Hawkins asked, his gaze focused on the route to the northern canyon but his attention anywhere but. "Collie seems to have faith in him but…" He trailed off.

Physon didn't answer at first, turning back to face Corporal Ryan Collie, the NCO holding onto the Warthog's light anti-aircraft gun with one hand and holding a pair of field binoculars with the other. Thinking it best not to disturb him, Physon turned his gaze back to the PFC.

"I'm tempted to guess that he's working on his project," said the lieutenant slowly, leaning back against his seat as he did so. "But I think I'd be letting hope get to me if I did."

"The planet or the emotion?"

"Both."

Physon hoped that the conversation would end there. Considering everything that had transpired in the last few hours, he wasn't exactly in a talkative mood and besides, it was rarely a wise move for lieutenants to become too familiar with those under their command. Whenever that happened, someone usually ended up with a bullet between their eyes. Or plasma bolt as the case had become.

"Um, how would the planet get you to say yes?" asked Hawkins curiously, dashing Physon's hopes that he'd have some peace of mind for at least a few minutes.

"Simple," said Collie, lowering the binoculars and leaning forward over the turret. "The planet is so pisswater it gets to you. And when that happens, you have to place faith in-…"

"Pisswater?" exclaimed Hawkins, turning to look back at the corporal and driving over a pothole as a result. "I thought we agreed that it was backwater."

"And there's a difference?"

"Of course," protested Hawkins, driving over another two potholes and narrowly missing a boulder. "The difference between a backwater planet and a pisswater planet is-…"

"Hawkins, shut the hell up!"

Two pairs of eyes focused on the Physon, the result being another close shave with a boulder. Collie leant back from the turret while Hawkins gulped, seeing that Physon had reached his usual state of existence-borderline psychotic, the type of individual who'd be the first person you'd want with you in a fire fight and the last person to be with outside of one. And unless the roll of thunder was an indication of something the Covies were up to, Hawkins doubted that he'd find himself in the former anytime soon.

"Both of you have jobs to do," snarled Physon, his patience having evaporated. "And I suggest you do them."

"But sir, we were just-…"

"No buts!" Physon spat. "Focus on the driving private, or I'll shove my boot so far up your arse that you'll taste the dog shit I stepped in last week!"

Hawkins quickly and silently returned to the wheel, deciding not to point out that there wasn't a single dog or any other domesticated animal on the planet. At least not anymore. One of the marines had brought her cat with her, only to have the poor creature be used for target practice on a booze filled Christmas Eve.

Santa hadn't brought a replacement.

Physon returned to staring out over the dirt plains, knowing that even if Hawkins had continued to pester him, he couldn't have summoned up the energy to deal with it. Boredom had been an enemy faced by every soldier since day one and if Hawkins and Collie had to deal with it by acting like children, so be it. Of course, since practically every soldier on this planet was a child, no-one apart from Major Howard and Physon himself beyond their mid-thirties…Physon shook his head. He needed to think.

Hope had represented something once to D Company, and that was just that- hope. Early 2531 had been a good time period for humanity, what with Harvest being reclaimed and all, but the cost of the battle hardly fell under the classification of "good". Despite having been turned into a wasteland akin to nuclear winter, the outer colony had still featured Covenant forces on its surface and while the human and alien navies battled in the skies, a number of marine forces had been deployed planet side.

Like every encounter with the Covenant (at least as far as Physon could tell), the results were costly…so costly that the 31st had been largely decimated, with D Company no exception. New recruits, Collie and Hawkins among them, had been shipped in to replace the hole in the closing stages of the campaign. The problem however, was that the hole pretty much resembled D Company as a whole, ensuring that it was green, but hardly "mean" or a "fighting machine." A huge disparity existed between grizzled veterans, newbies and with not enough people to bridge the gap, a dichotomy existed between old and new that at times, threatened to tear the unit apart. In the aftermath of Cole's final victory, it was clear that something had to be done.

And then they sent us to Hope reflected Physon. How decent of them.

It had certainly seemed decent at the time. Harvest had been hell and while the war was far from over, to keep the largely decimated 31st in the field would have been counterproductive. To allow a swift recovery, D Company had been transferred to Hope for some quick R&R and wait for further orders.

But they never came reflected Physon bitterly. They never fucking came.

With the benefit of hindsight, Physon knew that the situation was strange from the start. Five companies separate from their division to stand guard over a planet without any other ground support? True, it needed time to recoup from its losses, but it also needed to train its recruits and the lack of real combat wouldn't accomplish that. And why use marines to guard a planet anyway? Why not simply use the Army, or train a Colonial Militia? True, the civilians knew how to use weapons-three years of casual interaction saw to that, but it hardly counted as CMT…

And what's there to protect on Hope anyway? Physon wondered. What could possibly warrant us staying here for three years to do jack all?

The CO didn't know and his current mission to lead Romeo Reconnaissance Team, or in a search for missing ODST soldiers in light of a Covenant battlecruiser crash landing wasn't helping his state of mind. That they'd taken M12s instead of M914s or M831s (neither of which the company had) had seemed to pay off, but it was cold comfort in the end. Driving straight into what had become enemy territory, territory which was now featuring thunder, the occasional streak of lightning and now the first hint of rain was hardly on the el-tee's favorite things to do list.

"Rain rain, go away, come again another day…"

"Shut up private," the lieutenant grunted, watching as Hawkins somehow managed to tie a red bandanna around his head with one hand while steering with the other. While Physon was dubious of the marine's levels of concentration, he couldn't fault his driving.

"This isn't going to do our sweep any favors," Physon murmured, cursing Romeo's lack of vehicles. Romeo 2 was in the hands of Sergeant Ventrallis, Romeo 3 was mainly being reserved for supplies and a Romeo 4 didn't even exist. He turned to look at Collie, the NCO's wild blonde hair already becoming damp.

"You got anything yet corporal?" the CO asked.

"Only the same thing I've had for three years," Collie murmured. "Diddly and screw all."

"That's two things," Hawkins murmured.

Physon ignored him. "You using night vision?"

"I am now," the corporal answered, flicking a switch on the binoculars.

"Alright," said Physon, shifting his gaze and doubting whether it would make much of a difference. "Let me know if you get-…"

"Sir, I've got something!"

The Warthog screeched to a halt, Physon grabbing on for dear life to avoid being catapulted through reinforced glass. Perhaps seatbelts weren't a bad idea…

"You have what now?" Hawkins asked.

"Just a sec," said Collie slowly, his British accent still distinguishable over yet another rumble of thunder, the sign of a large storm. Then again, they were all large. Hope had no major bodies of water and due to lack of tectonic activity, was a flat, featureless ball of rock. Water vapor could remain in the atmosphere for years before being released. However, as patient as the world's troposphere was, Physon's didn't even come close.

"Anything yet?" asked the lieutenant impatiently.

"Maybe…" said Collie slowly as he lowered the binoculars, adjusted the dial and raised them again. "I've switched to thermal. With any luck I…oh."

Slowly and silently, Collie handed the binoculars to Physon and upon raising them to his own eyes and following the Corporal's line of sight, Physon could understand why. Collie had found Romeo's proverbial Juliet- a burning Warthog with three bodies around it. Only one of them was illuminated fully…

"Jesus," murmured Physon as he slammed on his CH252 helmet and established a link through the binoculars' systems to his eyepiece's HUD, a nav-point appearing over the burning vehicle.

"Jesus what sir?" asked Hawkins. "Jesus Christ? Jesus wept? Jesus-…"

Hawkins let out a yell as Physon slammed his helmet down over his head. "Hawkins, follow that nav point and get us to the target ASAP!" he yelled. "I'll call in Romeo two and three. Collie, perform an ammunition check."

"Sir, yes sir!" both marines shouted, the promise of actions boosting their will. Physon, priming his M6C magnum sidearm, wished he could share their confidence. The Warthog was two miles out from the canyon and given its angle, had been heading away from the landform. It had been hit, and hard, the enemy possibly still nearby. As such, the ammo check, while a practicality, was also a necessity…

…he couldn't shake the feeling that bullets were going to fly before the day was over.

As the rain increased in intensity, thunder rolled…

…the dice went off the board.

Settlement 01 ("Thunderville"), underground hanger (Zulu Base)

Planet Hope, Chi Mu System

Despite Zulu Base being fifty meters below Hope's surface, the sound of the heavy rain could still be heard, making it one of the few instances that that Engineer Alan Ellison was grateful for spending such a large amount of his time underground. Little precipitation occurred on Hope, but each occasion in which the planet's bladder gave way stuck out in his mind like a sore thumb. True, there were usually warnings of an oncoming storm, but there was never any middle ground between not raining and bucketing. The results were drenched clothes, a shivering body and a cold for the next few weeks.

Hell, this planet needs meteorologists, not cloak and dagger R&D the engineer mused, tapping the side of his bench. He quickly stopped. It was a nervous habit he was getting into and the cancer sticks were bad enough, as the pile of nine in his ashtray, a tenth soon to join them, attested to. Taking a puff of said cancer stick, he leant towards the intercom.

"Alright, let's begin the field test." He paused, reflecting that he'd repeated the same words he'd uttered. He leant forward again, "and for God's sake, try to last more than five minutes this time!"

"Demanding results will not guarantee them sir."

Ellison remained at his desk, looking out over the hanger at the thing residing below, the rumbling sound signifying that testing had begun. Despite having worked on the damn thing for three years, he couldn't help but feel…engrossed, somehow. Maybe it was due to Hope itself. Maybe it was because the original designer was officially missing in action. Still, with nothing interesting occurring on the surface, this hanger was the resource his mind automatically turned to for excitement.

Or maybe it's because it hasn't broken down yet, Ellison mused, turning around to face his counterpart and giving an idle wave by way of a greeting.

"Doctor Robins," the engineer said calmly, albeit with a tone that hinted at something else "It's good to see you."

Robins answered in what Ellison assumed was the affirmative, having already started to drift off. Any normal person would have picked up the sarcasm in his voice within seconds. Still, an individual who worked for Section 3 of the Office of Naval Intelligence at the age of 87, having held his position for at least four decades and shipped down from the Aeros three years ago could hardly be accused of being "normal".

Why's he still working for ONI anyway? Ellison wondered as he turned back to look over the hanger. Why hasn't he retired and got to work on his time machine?

In truth, the engineer was only half joking. Robins definitely looked and at times acted like a mad scientist, what with his white suit, a few wisps of equally white hair and large spectacles that Ellison doubted were necessary, considering the current level of technology in ocular laser surgery nowadays. Yet somehow, this…man had come to be the head of this little venture.

Desperate times call for desperate measures I suppose…

"Here's the latest results," said Robins, yanking back Ellison to the monotony of reality by tossing a file onto his desk.

"I'll get on them," Ellison grunted, lying through the skin of his teeth. He returned to looking back over the hanger, the exercise still going smoothly. He didn't have any particular love for the vehicle below, but when, or rather if it was deployed, he had no doubt it would be a sight to behold, especially considering-…

"Why Goliath anyway?" Robins asked suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"I asked why it's called Goliath," Robins repeated, actually sounding rational for once. "I mean, it's a pre-existing vehicle for starters that's already been designated a name in sync with conventional UNSC norms. So why bother?"

Ellison blinked. Robins could be many things, but cynical wasn't among them. And while he wanted to find out whether this was a good or a bad sign, he decided it was best to answer the scientist's question.

"I've never been fond of our 'animal farm' naming," the engineer murmured, toying with using the pod as an example but deciding to push the ugly dropship out of his mind. "Besides, Goliath is just a nickname. You know, big, brutish…just like the Goliath of ancient history."

"Right," sneered Robins. "And exceptionally weak against David as well."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing."

It was only at the last second that the engineer stopped himself from claiming that his forename was Alan rather than David, recognizing the metaphor at the last instant. As irritating at being on the losing end of a conversation was, it wasn't worth digging a hole even further so Robins could fire rocks from his slingshot from a more dominant position. Still, with the field test coming to a premature end, Ellison found the entire scenario somewhat academic.

"And David strikes again," Robins murmured. "Sometimes I wonder where he gets all those stones from."

Jackass.

Then again, the stones were a good analogy really, all things considered. Or rather pebbles. Because while stones were easy to see, pebbles could get stuck in your shoes and could be impossible to find. Goliath was the only one of its kind on this planet and even after three years, they still couldn't get the damn thing back to working order. The Covenant had done a number on the vehicle in the final days of the Harvest Campaign and unless its original designer turned up, they weren't going to get a full readout of how it was meant to operate. Even with the company's three remaining Scorpions, there was only so much reference they could use for one of their variants.

Well, if at first you don't succeed…well, whatever, Ellison reflected bitterly. I bet it's the spirits of these animals cursing us for inappropriate naming. I mean, the Wolverine doesn't look like a weasel for one thing and the Warthog certainly doesn't look like a pig. Maybe a puma I guess, but still-…

"Ellison, are you listening to me?"

With a start, the engineer spun round, dropping his cigarette as he did so. He carefully squashed it with his boot as he met Robins's glare, not wanting another lecture on how he was wasting taxpayers' air.

"Pardon?" he asked, his mind still full of alternate names for the M12 LRV.

"I said that we'll schedule another test for fifteen hundred hours," repeated the scientist. "In the meantime, you get to clear up this-…"

"Fifteen hundred!" Ellison exclaimed. "That's over four hours from now! I-…"

"Yes, Ellison, fifteen hundred," Robins repeated. "Three pm, if that makes more sense to you."

"Doc, in case you didn't notice, a Covenant cruiser crash landed on this planet only two hours ago," said Ellison slowly. "And all things considered, it's only a matter of time before they-…"

"I am aware of this private," Robins snarled. "And let me assure you that I'm aware of the possible ramifications. However, that's no reason to rush into things. Even for you."

And with that, the scientist headed out. Just as well really. Ellison fingering his M6C magnum sidearm and toying with the idea of putting a .50 caliber, M225 12.7mmx40mm SAP-HE round in the scientist's skull was more than just a habit these days.

In truth, it had become more of a personal ambition.

UNSC Haven

Status: Maintaining geo-stationary orbit around planet Hope, Chi Mu System

There was a saying that anger was the essence of drama. If that were so, Captain Justin Sattler and Dr. Mina Harwood were both part of the greatest stage production in history.

"Damnit Sattler, are you trying to be obstinate! Or does it just come naturally to you!"

Given the pitch of the good doctor's voice, Sattler was glad that he was taking the message in his personal quarters as opposed to the ship's bridge. There were few individuals within this system that could yell at him without repercussions and unfortunately, the bitch was one of them.

"No, I'm not trying to be obstinate," Sattler snarled, leaning forward on his desk. "I am being obstinate, because I'm being ordered around by a civilian who doesn't know the first thing about the rules of engagement."

Harwood chuckled. "That's the best comeback you can come up with? I've at least had the restraint not to point out how little you know about my field."

Sattler actually started to get up at that comment but resisted the urge to put words to mouth. Firstly, he was only talking to a hologram so none of the various methods of physical assault running through his mind would do any good. Secondly, he could tell that Harwood was trying to steer away the conversation from the topic he intended to debate.

Besides, the longer the argument went on, the better…

"Harwood, I don't give a hell about whatever it is you do on that ship," the captain lied. "All I care about is that you're refusing my requests for reinforcements to this system."

The hologram of Harwood sighed, leaning back in what Sattler supposed was a chair.

"Captain, surely you understand that one downed enemy battlecruiser does not present a serious threat," Harwood said slowly.

"That's debatable ma'am," Sattler answered, cursing himself for lapsing into using formalities. "We have no telling how many ground forces it can deploy and Major Howard is known for reacting to enemy movements, not making movements of his own."

"Which is a problem…why, exactly?" Harwood asked, raising an eyebrow. "If Covenant ground forces attack, it would be better to have a skilled defender than attacker, no?"

"But what about the ship itself? What if we can-…"

"Capture it? Justin, we have hundreds of pieces of Covenant weaponry and shielding equipment and have yet to mimic their tech. So even if we could hold this planet long enough to salvage the craft, how much difference would it make in the long run?"

Truth be told, Sattler didn't know. But even after a three year hiatus, he'd fought the S. long enough to appreciate how significantly Covenant ships outclassed their human counterparts. And with salvage opportunities few and far between, given that Covenant ship commanders were either blowing their enemies away to hell's seventh circle, or destroying their own ships so that their technology couldn't be retrieved, he couldn't help but relish the opportunity.

Right…they just decided to give us a chance…

It didn't seem likely that the Covenant were springing a trap or anything, at least by themselves, which made the fact that the battlecruiser had crash landed on the planet so odd. Why crash land on an enemy held world instead of…well, self destruction was guaranteed death, but holed up in a ship in enemy territory was the next best thing. Short sighted cowardice perhaps? Or something else?

Harwood's voice brought him back to reality; "…and while I understand the possibility of more of our own ships arriving, that's a possibility we can't alter. Cole and the rest of the navy are all that stands between the Covenant and the destruction of the Outer Colonies and-…"

Sattler tuned himself out, letting the doctor yak on. Even after three years of isolation, he didn't need a reminder of what was going on, didn't need to have his guilt prompted that he and two now destroyed ships had been tasked with shuttling marines to a barren world and left to rot after an unexplained change in battlegroup designation.

FLEETCOM's losing its touch, thought Sattler bitterly as he noticed that Harwood seemed to be at the end of her lecture. And ONI for that matter.

"So while I agree on the need for evacuation of the planet's populace, I cannot condone diverting elements of the Navy to this planet, at least at this point in time."

"Fine, be like that," Sattler snarled. "But this is a military situation and-…"

"Which, as ONI's representative, I have control over. Not a position I relish, but one that I have to carry out. And if you want to selfishly risk thousands of lives on the off chance we can evacuate this planet and salvage the Covenant ship in the process, then that's your prerogative. I however, have work to do."

And with that, she signed off.

Sattler blinked. That had been…abrupt. He'd never expected Harwood to do anything more subtle than simply yell and scream at his "impudence." And what was even worse, she actually made sense. He'd already made his own request for more ships, however desperate. But every ship at Hope meant one less ship available to defend the Outer Colonies. Did such means justify the end of securing Covenant tech?

Damnit, I don't know. Maybe that's what separates me from the doc.

It was almost unfortunate really, the universal animosity between soldiers and scientists, the former looking down on the latter for not being able to field strip an assault rifle and the latter looking down on the former for not knowing the difference between relativity and quantum mechanics. Given that the Covenant seemed to provide the only linking of martial prowess, science and a dose of religious fanaticism to boot, perhaps such animosity was doomed to continue.

And perhaps you prefer it like that said a voice at the back of the ship commander's mind. Sattler didn't answer. There were certain perks that came with being top at the chain of command and one of those was that everyone had to follow your orders. A useful system of course, but one that lacked…challenges. And considering that Harwood was about the only person here who wasn't obliged to follow his orders, courtesy of her connections with ONI, he had to admit that he was...well, almost grateful.

Wait, what? Did I just…

"Yo 'capy, you listening to me?"

Under normal circumstances, Sattler would have deleted a few kilobytes from the newly appeared Ulysses for calling him "capy"-he couldn't shove or push the Ithacan wanabee, but he could still do the next best thing. Still, considering the train of thought he'd found himself on, he supposed he could make an exception. Besides, given the data that those kilobytes could contain, deletion was the last thing on his mind.

"Yeah, I'm listening," said Sattler absent mindedly, activating the holotank in the corner. "Did you get in?"

The AI grinned. "It wasn't easy, but I managed to launch my Trojan Horse. Pretty lax security overall. The Aeros could have certainly used Laocoön in this situation."

Sattler didn't know who Laocoön was and since he was probably from the same stories as Ulysses, he didn't particularly care either. All he cared about was whether his ploy of sending Ulysses into the Aeros' via the communication link with Harwood had paid off. Sattler knew she was hiding something and while Ulysses had been designed for ship navigation, he was the only chance he had of finding out what.

"Anyway, I managed to find out a few tidbits of info," the AI continued. "Nothing really major, but still interesting…"

Sattler waved his hand for Ulysses to continue, leaning back in his chair and fighting his disappointment. Ulysses could be quirky, but he could still tell when he was being honest.

"I managed to obtain readings on the abnormal slipspace currents I pointed out a few hours ago. Coupled with the Aeros's more sophisticated systems…well, I think you better see for yourself."

Sattler nodded, Ulysses' avatar being replaced a diagram of Hope and what looked like…

"A magnetic field?" the captain asked. "But Hope's core is inactive. How could it-…"

"Capy, the planet's always had a magnetic field," sighed the AI. "We don't know how, but as it's protecting people down there from UV, no-one's really questioned it. No, what you see here are slipspace currents around the planet, flowing in a way similar to a magnetic field."

Sattler watched as the piece of coding replaced the slipspace image with that of a metal bar, as if to take him back to high school science. And with diagrams showing how magnetic poles worked, it was déjà vu instantly.

"Think of Hope as one of these poles sir, except not having a counterpart," Ulysses began. The courses of the slipspace energy around the planet are moving akin to a magnetic field, Hope acting as a kind of…central pole."

Sattler suspected that went against every law of magnetism but remained focused. "What does this mean in practical terms?" he asked.

"It means that slipspace currents are operating a pattern similar to an arc, with Hope as the point of origin." explained Ulysses. "Something's changed over the last day, sir. I don't know when exactly, but Hope, or something on it is accelerating the slipstream drastically. Whatever the reasons, it's behind the phenomena I recorded earlier. They're moving faster than anything I've ever seen and if any ship received your request and chose to follow up on it, they could be here in a matter of hours rather than days."

"…wow."

Both human and AI knew that "wow" was an understatement, though only the organic gave a visible sign of appreciating it, rubbing his thumb against his fist in thought. He'd sent out every one of the Haven's slipstream packages in a desperate attempt for more ships and in light of this information, it seemed that the gamble had been well played, not to mention the evacuation ships that Harwood had requested. Still, if human ships could arrive faster, no doubt Covenant ones could as well. True, there was no way to tell if the battlecruiser could summon reinforcements, but if it could…

Well, I'll find out I guess. Nuking it isn't an option with the settlement so close and the clouds are so thick that I can't use an accurate MAC blast either.

Life was cruel sometimes. But signaling for Ulysses to move on to report what he'd learnt in his infiltration of the Aeros's systems, he hoped that some worthwhile information might make life more appealing.

"Not all that much," the AI admitted, dashing the captain's hopes immediately. "Still, you remember that HEV dispatched yesterday? Apparently it was unsanctioned."

"What? How does that work?"

Ulysses shrugged. "I don't know. Granted, I'm not made for systems infiltration, but from what I can tell, there's no log of the dispatch, only that the station's HEV rack was rendered inoperable. I can only assume the ODSTs were sent down in Pelicans because of this. There's a log of that at least."

Sattler nodded, comprehending the information, realizing that, bar a likely manual launch of a HEV, the dispatch made sense. Through ONI a marine and Helljumper force was maintained on the station independent of his command, but he could still understand the logic. Drop troops in Thunderville so your foe couldn't see approaching craft. In the area that both it and the Covenant landed, the canyons could mask the approach of LRVs, unlike dropships coming from the sky.

But what came down in the first place? And why be so secretive about it?

The captain didn't know. Still, as Ulysses went on with his findings, he could take comfort in that at least the AI wasn't keeping his thoughts secret.

"The HEV rack isn't an isolated mystery," the piece of software continued. "I mean, the Aeros had a pretty poor architect to place it so far away from the troop quarters. Still, a place that is close to it is Lab Zero Nine.

"Anything on it?"

"A bit sir. The information concerning the lab and its projects is of the highest security level but I did manage to get some information, albeit precious little. In its log there are references to something called Project: Reaper and two codes are repeatedly given." The image changed again, showing two codes; SR-005 and SK-018.

"Ring any bells?" asked Sattler, already knowing the answer.

"No sir," said Ulysses. "It must be a black op. If you wanted the full story you'd have to ask Doctor Harwood or Doctor Clark. They're the only ones that have access to the lab and to those they choose to share the honor with."

"Well I definitely wouldn't be one of them, at least if Harwood is anything to go by," murmured Sattler bitterly. "What about this Clark character? You have access to the roster of the Aeros don't you?"

Ulysses nodded and performed a quick scan, his usual dark blue becoming a lighter tone, at least in the facial regions; "Sir…there doesn't seem to be a Dr Clark."

"What? Are you sure you're searching correctly?"

"Of course I am!" shouted Ulysses, as if bordering on hysteria. "There's definite reference to a Dr Clark in the protocols of the lab but no profile is given in the roster. It's as if he never existed!"

Sattler raised an eyebrow. Ulysses had done well, but had obviously overextended himself. And right now, the last thing he needed now was a faulty, possibly even Rampant AI. Not that Rampancy was supposed to happen to "dumb" AIs, the condition usually being caused by an over-accumulation of information that only "smart" AIs were capable of given the nature of their processor matrixes, but right now, taking chances was the last thing that Sattler wanted to do.

"Also, there's one more thing," said Ulysses eventually, displaying the same resolve his predecessor had in laying siege to a city for a decade. "I managed to get a peek at the station's transmission logs. Harwood's definitely requested recovery craft, specifically from Venatir, packages are being sent to someone else. A simple codename that's popped up in the recordings of a number of transmissions. A codename that's either misspelt, or highly irregular."

"Show me," grunted Sattler.

"Very well sir." Once again, Ulysses' image faded, replaced with a single word…

KEANCROS

United Nations Space Command Priority Transmission (classified designation)

Encryption Code: Black

Public Key: file/excised access Omega

From: Dr. Mina Harwood, Office of Naval Intelligence Section 3 (civilian identification number classified)

To: Codename: KEANCROS

Subject: Changing Circumstances

Classification: RESTRICTED (BGX Directive)

/start file/

Keancros,

I don't know if you've received my last transmission yet (made on 12/29/34 at 1707 hours), but I can hope that your ship is somewhere close to this star system. Under that impression I will cut to the chase.

In the interests of maintaining confidentiality of Project: Reaper, I have denied all requests for reinforcements, though have taken the liability of requesting for evacuation craft (please see attached document for the specifics). However, the fact remains that the Covenant has indeed found Hope and whether this be by chance or design is irrelevant. Reaper's security is at stake and indeed, the security of Hope as a whole.

Please understand my situation Keancros. I didn't ask for this. I don't like deceiving Sattler, even if it's what I've been doing for the last three years. The subject is down on the surface and Kilo Squad is not responding or making any transmissions. Given all that has occurred, this could be for any number of reasons, most of them fatal. Right now, I feel that classification is irrelevant. We have over thousands of lives at stake here and the thought of sacrificing them for a lost cause is unthinkable. You're in luck in that I at least agree in restricting ships-there are far more important worlds out there. But any delay in getting the people off here is unacceptable. You dragged me into your world three years ago, but that doesn't mean I don't remember what life was like before it.

Besides, there's something else you should be aware of.

Something's up here. I'm no soldier and I never will be, but to my knowledge, a Covenant ship risking capture instead of self destructing is, as of yet, unheard of. The act of crash landing on an enemy held world demonstrates either poor tactical planning, or the hint of something deeper. And to be frank, I think it's the latter. The possibility of capturing a Covenant vessel aside, I think these accelerated slipspace readings (see secondary file) with Hope somehow as the focal point, speak for themselves.

Something is going on here sir. Something deeper than we can comprehend. Something that I think prompted that Covenant ship to land. Something that only they know of.

And if we don't act accordingly, we may find out what the hard way.

/end file/

Mina Harwood was right. The slipstream was moving quickly. Her assumption that Keancros had already received her first transmission was also correct. But right now, not only would any estimates of the time of arrival be over-estimates, but any belief that he actually gave a damn was also misplaced.

Well, maybe that was a bit harsh. But still…

It was amusing really, how the blonde actually thought she was in control. Still, she'd given him unexpected information. True, he would have learnt about the slipstream currents anyway, but still, collaborating data never hurt. And her theory that the Covenant knew it too was also valid…

For now, Keancros would wait and see how this played out.

A/N

I never got past chapter six in either of the previous versions. No particular reason, just how things worked out. Anyway, probably academic, but at least from here on out I can call the story original in that it's not re-posting edited chapters.

(2011-08-05)

Corrected spelling, grammar and "Spectre" typo.