Halo: Shadows of Hope

Chapter 7: First Strike

Individual: Unknown

Location: Alien artifact

Status: Unknown

Elites...

Well, that was one name for the seven feet tall aliens that had entered the relic. "Split-chin," "split-jaw," "squid-head..." The intruder knew he was technically free to use any of them. And if it wasn't in his best interests to keep himself hidden from the group of Covenant that had just entered this relic, he might have actually used them before jumping into the fray, doing to the enemy what they did to his kind. And while he had little love for the latter species, his hatred of the former was still intense. Nine years of being fed information tended to do that.

But how trustworthy is that information? wondered the visitor, watching the Elites point their type-25 directed energy rifles in all directions but his own. Why should I believe it?

All in all, he didn't know, or at least was aware that he didn't possess any hard proof of what had apparently been transpiring over the last nine years. Still, given the presence of the enemies that he'd been educated about, he supposed he should believe it. Not only were armed and armoured aliens on a human world, but from what he could pick up from their limited banter, they didn't seem to like the fact that they were the second ones here. Or rather the third. Because this relic certainly hadn't been made by human hands and given the Elites' cautious manner of entry, not to mention the Prophet's logs, it hadn't been made by the Covenant either.

"Keep it tight..." murmured the red armoured Elite...or at least something like that. The visitor could appreciate the spirit of the words, if not their exact meaning. And in the spirit of deciding that it was best if he kept his presence unknown, the visitor began to move. On a walkway that overlooked the main entrance, he silently and swiftly moved further into the artifact, letting the split-lips take their time navigating the entrance hall, avoiding everything from rubble to gaping holes in the ground. The Prophet's log hadn't given an exact date as to how long this thing had been around, but however old it was, time had done a number on it regardless.

Time...it had become almost meaningless to him...

Allocating his resentment to his mind's documents folder, the visitor used his brain cells to hit alt-tab and get back to the here and now, namely that which while here, belonged to an era long before the present. Yet somehow, it didn't feel like it. The triangular architecture, the strange writing, the gray walls...it was as if...as if it wasn't meant to be ruined, as if this place was meant to be in pristine condition even after being exposed to Hope's elements. The visitor didn't know why, but it just felt wrong to come across this structure as a ruin, as if whoever had built it were meant to have the technology to keep it in pristine order even with the lights out.

Maybe it's the Prophet's log...thought the visitor to himself, jumping over a gap in the walkway and steadying his balance upon landing to avoid toppling off the side. He spoke big about this place, but what if he assumed that it was still in tip-top shape?

Letting out a small grimace under his visor, the visitor hopped down to the ground level, satisfied that he was deep enough in the structure to be outside the Elites' immediate range. He'd read the logs, he knew what this place could supposedly do-it was why he'd exited the Covenant ship and arrived here before the hoofed lizards. But with the lights indeed out in this place, the only light coming through holes in the ceiling, how could-...

"Greetings. How may I be of service?"

Spinning around to the source of the sound, the visitor found it was actually light that caught his attention. Even now sight remained his primary sense and as a small blue light emerged from the darkness, he was grateful for it. Because this thing...this spherical, metallic, floating thing made no sound at all. And coming to meet him face to face, it was only until he spoke that the silence was broken.

"I see by your silence that you are surprised to see me," it (or was it "he?" Certainly the voice was masculine at least) began. "And I must admit, I am surprised to see you. Well, no matter. I am the Monitor of Installation G01, my designation being 042 Zealous Enigma. How may I be of service Reclaimer?"

M12 LRV Warthog Romeo 1

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

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

Ryan Collie was cold, wet and that the ODST that his vehicle and Romeo 3 were pulling up beside was protected by fully enclosed battle armour was cold comfort, no pun intended. And while making puns or other simple jokes might have helped rectify this discrepancy, the corporal couldn't bring himself to do it. A burning Warthog, strange, rectangular weapons and three bodies, only one of which was still breathing, demanded some silence, especially-...

"Wow. Covies did a number on these guys."

Collie grunted. Apparently Jack Hawkins had a different line of thought.

"Ah, Private Chambers, welcome back to your god among mortals," said Physon as Romeo 3's medic climbed out from the side of her Warthog, Collie unable to tell whether the CO was being sarcastic or not. "Wish the weather was better."

That, at least, was genuine and all in all, the corporal couldn't disagree with it. And while he was no medic, he also agreed with Rachel Chambers's comments that working in the rain wasn't ideal circumstances and they should try to keep her patient as dry as possible. Fortunately this plan didn't involve Romeo 1's stooges, allowing Collie to follow Hawkins's example and lean against the vehicle, keeping the effects of the rain to a minimum.

"So, how long do you think this'll last?" the corporal's subordinate asked. "You know, the rain."

"From experience, as long as it takes for us to develop hyperthermia," murmured the NCO.

"Experience? But, it's never really rained like this be-..."

"Sarcasm, Jack. Sarcasm."

It was testament to the relationship between the two marines that they functioned like some cheap Christmas lights-a one way electrical system, where if one bulb failed, the entire system would go out. Collie knew, or had at least been assured by Physon that he was like Hawkins in many ways, albiet being the brighter bulb on the tree. And while Christmas had come and gone and such analogies were already losing their touch in the returning tides of monotony, it was fair to say that his bulb often jump started the newbie's.

Wish we had some lights now...thought Collie grimly, watching lighting strike somewhere to the east and wishing that he could have a fraction of the heat beside him. Taking off his helmet, he put it on the ground before him and toyed with how long it would take for the 'pasta dish' to fill up. Not a particularly constructive use of time, but with Physon not requiring his services, he didn't have anything better to do.

Hawkins however, had other ideas...

"I don't get it..." murmured the PFC, some of his voice lost to the roar of the wind. "What were these Helljumpers doing out here? And why'd they deploy in Thunderville rather than jump into Hell the old fashioned way?"

"I dunno," answered the corporal. "Maybe we can ask the guy when he wakes up."

"The guy," as Collie eloquently referred to him as, was currently hidden from sight, courtesy of a trio of regular marines huddled over him. Chambers was working her magic while her fellow soldiers provided illumination, courtesy of the flashlights attached to their MA5Bs. Physon however, was nowhere to be seen.

That's odd. Where did he-...

"Collie, get your arse off the ground and help me with this!"

...go?

Under normal circumstances, the corporal would have scrambled to his feet instantly, allowing himself to be at the lieutenant's beck and call. However, a combination of reluctance to expose himself to the elements and a desire to postpone a tongue lashing for taking it easy prompted Collie to rise as slowly as possible. And coming face to face with his superior, his ursine-like hair saturated with water, the corporal was able to rationalize that delaying the inevitable was a good idea.

"Having a nice shower?" the lieutenant sneered. "God knows this situation stinks enough already. I suppose a bit of hygiene would do you good."

"I'll say," Hawkins murmured.

While Collie was facing the bear, he at least had enough sense not to poke it in the eye. However, not only had Jack Hawkins managed to do that in two words, he'd managed to tread on the bear's paws also.

This won't end well...

"Hawkins, while our corporal and mutual friend might smell, there's at least the chance of his odour being removed from my presence," the CO sneered. "You however, are beyond redemption. So, since smell gravitates towards smell-..."

"I hardly think that's a law of physics."

"...you're on burial detail," concluded Physon. He gestured towards the two ODSTs who hadn't been as lucky as their comrade currently under Chambers's care. "Get them loaded in the back of Romeo 2."

Hawkins suddenly turned pale, and not only because of the low temperatures. "Wh...what?" he stammered. "You...you want me to...handle bodies?"

"Yes Hawkins, I want you to handle bodies," snapped Physon. "What, didn't they teach you how to do that at boot?"

"No sir. They taught me how to create dead bodies, not handle them."

Part of Collie wanted to joke that Hawkins had never created a dead body in his life. Part of him wanted to point out that black ops or not, the dead deserved more respect. However, the largest part of the NCO's psyche prompted him to keep quiet. Hawkins had suffered enough and it was probably best not to make Physon any angrier. So, with the PFC heading off to play the Grim Reaper, he waited for his own orders.

"Well, that'll put some spine into the youngling," said the lieutenant eventually. He turned to face Collie. "Now then. Help me with the radio will you? I need to get Romeo 2 to converge on our location."

Collie nodded, climbing into the passenger seat and working the frequencies while Physon took the radio proper. However, based on the 'quality' of the equipment D Company had been left with, he knew it would take some time. And deciding to make a pre-emptive strike, he looked up to his superior.

"So, how's the Helljumper doing?" the corporal asked.

Physon grunted. "Don't know. Don't particularly care either."

"What?" asked Collie, surprised, but only slightly. "Why don't you-..."
"Collie, those Helljumpers serve the Aeros, not us," murmured Physon. "And unlike Hawkins, we both have the intelligence to appreciate that they were up to something when they landed this morning, something that pre-dated the arrival of the Covenant. So, hopefully the guy will live and fill us in. If not, well, it's no sweat off my back."

Collie remained silent. True, no-one would be sweating in this weather, but that didn't mean they had nothing to worry about. Unlike Physon, he genuinely wanted the Helljumper to live. However, he wanted himself to live even more. So instead of starting an argument, he continued working on the dials, to get Romeo 2 here and get a sit-rep. Because exposed to freezing water at best and a possible Covie return at worst...

...well, suffice to say, Ryan Collie didn't want to be out here any longer than necessary.

High in the sky, the elements howled. And slightly below, those howls were matched.

No...not howls. Screams. Screams between Heaven and Hell. Screams that matched those of the ones on the surface, screams that those between the two realms had caused. And unlike the vermin who would descend into the realm below, the angels of death would ascend when they met a far more glorious end.

But that was not now. Not even soon, all things considered. More screams were yet to come. Screams that, as before, would not just be their own. Screams that would be a mere introduction to the symphony that would reverberate around this planet.

And thus they ploughed through the storm...

Individual: "Reclaimer"

Location: Alien artifact

Status: In conversation with unknown class of AI

"Well? Is it done?"

"Of course Reclaimer. You expected otherwise?"

Remaining silent, the visitor, or "Reclaimer" as the floating orb insisted on calling him, reflected that he didn't really expect anything. He hadn't expected to find the Covenant on Hope. He hadn't expected to find an alien artifact that seemingly hadn't been built by the genocidal aliens. And he certainly hadn't expected to find some kind of alien AI that not only had the ability to communicate in his own language, but treated him like they somehow knew each other. But then again, expectations tended to make the ones who made them fall flat on their faces. If he'd had expectations, he probably wouldn't be in this possibly advantageous situation. And while he was playing his role as the "Reclaimer" on the fly, he had to admit that he'd done a pretty good job.

So far at least...

"I'm sorry that this facility does not have the capacity to generate more encapsulation charges," continued Zealous Enigma, or simply "Enigma" as the visitor had decided to name him for the sake of practicality. "While I have maintained this facility to the best of my ability, there was no intention of my makers to ever use it after it was abandoned, long before even the use of the array. Without any Sentinels to serve me, I'm afraid that this installation has succumbed to the elements and its recent emergence will only hasten the process."

The visitor nodded, having diverged from Enigma's lecture after the declaration that its pulse ability was no longer an option. None of this babble made much sense to him and inquiring about it would only serve to raise the orb's suspicions. At the least he hadn't been surprised that the "Reclaimer" wanted to stop the Covenant forces approaching a UNSC settlement south of this position, his disdain for the "interlopers" quite apparent. And thanks to this alien technology, two of the three Covenant groups heading towards it had been stopped in their tracks, if only temporarily. With lightning having come down from the sky, the hand of Man had become the hand of God.

The visitor smiled faintly. It was an appropriate analogy...

Still, if gods were meant to be benevolent, he had to admit that he didn't really fit the definition. Yes, he was buying the settlement time at the least, though the primary reason was to keep the Covenant and his former masters at each other's throats long enough for him to verify whether there was any truth to the Prophet's claims. No doubt the snake was in the know, but given his objectives...well, suffice to say, it caused the visitor to question his sanity.

And what about my own sanity? the Reclaimer wondered, once again feeling the bitter seed of doubt spread roots throughout his mind. Am I doing the right thing? Should I even be here? Clearly this AI thinks I'm meant to be but...

The visitor trailed off. Right and wrong...such concepts had gone out the airlock long ago. He had more important things to worry about right now and foremost among them was keeping himself in Enigma's good graces.

"All things considered, I'd say you haven't done a bad job with this place," said the Reclaimer eventually, deciding to appeal to whatever sense of ego the Monitor might have. "I mean, this place was abandoned, but-..."

"But not abandoned anymore," interrupted the AI.

"Pardon?"

"You are here," said the orb simply. "And unlike the interlopers moving their way through the halls, I can only assume that you're here with a purpose."

The visitor clenched his jaw, ignoring the pain spreading through his skin due to such a motion. The interlopers, or Elites as humans called them, were an issue he'd have to deal with, one that he couldn't have this Monitor aid him with either, what with lacking Sentinels and whatnot (whatever they were). Here in the control room, a vast cavern of a structure with a bridge leading to a series of terminals and pillars hanging from both the floor and ceiling, it was clear that he was in the centre of the installation and therefore as far away from the split-jaws as he could possibly be. Still, he had no ranged weaponry and if the Elites saw him...

...well, that would be interesting.

Still, what was even more interesting was this entire setup and more importantly, what it could do. So while the visitor was wary of the approaching aliens, he was far more interested in discovering whether this relic was worth his time. So, putting on a facade of interest that he hoped was conveyed even through his samurai-esque armour, he once again addressed the AI.

"Yes, you're right, I am here with a purpose," said the visitor smoothly. "But to do that, I'm afraid I need a run-down of this facility's systems, especially this installation's ultimate function. Its true purpose, as...another Reclaimer once referred to it as."

The orb rotated a few degrees to its side, looking at the new arrival in what appeared to be a quizzical manner.

"Its true purpose?" Enigma asked cautiously. "You wish to...use it?"

"Oh yes..." said the Reclaimer, a smile forming on his features. "Most definitely..."

Plains north of Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")

"Romeo Two, this is Romeo One. Please respond to this message and converge on our location. Co-ordinates as follows…"

Ryan Collie's words weren't lost to the howl of the wind, but in Physon's mind, they might as well have been. He'd been saying the same thing over and over for at least ten minutes and the results had never differed from the sacred trinity of radio silence-nip, nadda and zilch. Overall, the only problem with the analogy was that it was extremely unlikely that Romeo 2 was following radio silence and that the far more likely outcome was that Romeo 2 didn't exist anymore.

Well, I guess that depends on how one defines existence…thought the lieutenant bitterly, reflecting that any definition of his own existence right now would involve an obscene amount of H20. If they were taken out by plasma or fuel rod cannons there might be nothing left, but if the weapons of a lower caliber, we might be able to mind some more bodies to…

Shaking his head, the CO cut his train of thought. There were already two bodies in his close proximity and Hawkins covering them with traulupins couldn't hide that fact. And while surrounded by five other marines who were healthy apart from freezing didn't make him feel any better. If the Covenant had taken out the ODST Warthogs who'd been caught unawares, and a regular jarhead Warthog who'd known that a Covenant encounter was a distinct possibility, then what chance did his remaining RT members have?

Very little. Still, hopefully that could change…

For all his calculations and assessments of the situation, one factor, one nasty little piece of calculus that screwed up his algebra stood out to the lieutenant. "X," as he called the ODST, was waking up. And telling Chambers and her fellow car buddies to move aside, Physon resolved to square the situation. Because while he admittedly hadn't been trained to undertake suicide missions that involved jumping into what could be a literal Hell, he'd at least been on this planet far longer than the new arrival. So either he would help the lieutenant come to the end of his mathematical problem or he'd keep squaring "X" into infinity.

"So…" said the lieutenant slowly, looking down at the stirring and, despite his body suit, shivering specimen. "Since you've woken up and your morning shower had already been done for you, I'll ask if we can cut to the chase."

"Mo…morning?" the Helljumper asked. "It's…still morning?"

"Nah, it's actually past midday," piped up Chambers. She looked at her chronometer. "If you want the exact time, it's…"

Chambers trailed off, courtesy of a glare from her superior. This was his interrogation and he wasn't about to bring a doctor into this.

Hoping that he could sustain the glare and that water running down his face wouldn't ruin it, Physon returned his gaze to the ODST. His helmet had been cast to the side long ago as part of Chambers's treatment, but having ignored him up until this point, it was the first time the CO had got a look at the Helljumper. Curly black hair that was long overdue for a regulation shave, emerald eyes, some kind of curious look that reminded Physon of the ones Hope's people had given him when he first arrived, an accent that was like Collie's yet far less arrogant…all in all, the guy didn't seem like ODST material. And while Physon hadn't exactly been saddled up with the cream of the crop this past few years, he was at least willing to admit that Hawkins and Collie could do their jobs without landing their Warthog in flames.

Figures, thought the lieutenant bitterly. Three years of lying around on a space station and he comes down here thinking he's ready for first contacts of the worst kind.

"So…" said the Helljumper eventually, breaking the ice that, at these temperatures, could literally form before long at this rate. "You here to rescue me?"

Physon grinned. Pleas for help gave him power. And he intended to use it.

"Technically, yes," began the lieutenant. "But before we get you back to Thunderville Sergeant Jefferson-…"

"What? How did you know-…"

"Symbols and nametags," interrupted Physon, pointing to three arrows on the ODST's left chestplate and nine letters on his right. "There may be water everywhere, but I'm not blind."

It was tempting to say that he wasn't deaf either, given that he could still hear Collie yakking on into the radio. However, that would take the conversation on a divergence and right now, while he wanted to get some answers ASAP, getting back to Thunderville was a desire that applied to that acronym as well.

"And since I'm not blind, I can also see that you're not exactly following your normal COA."

"COA?" asked the ODST. "What does-…"

"Course of action," interrupted Physon, not even bothering to wonder why he wouldn't know that. "You deployed via Pelicans rather than drop pods, you headed up this way even before the Covenant showed up and your vehicle was stockpiling weapons like I've never seen before. So until we get answers to these questions, we're not heading back to towels, soup and in your case, a bloody razor."

Even with the howling wind and rain pelting him in a manner that felt like hail, Physon felt all warm and fuzzy inside. Having been out of action for three years, the only battles he could fight were with words. And taking the weapon that Private Fry handed him, a large, rectangular and above all heavy…thing, he pressed his attack.

"Instead of rifles, pistols or anything like that, you and your dead buddies-…"

"Dead? Oh Jesus…"

"…were carrying this," concluded the lieutenant, not willing to let grief get in the way of business. "So, start talking."

It didn't surprise the marine that Jefferson didn't start talking immediately. He hadn't been trained in interrogation and considering that all Covenant prisoners yakked on about the same bullshit like a glitchy music file, he had no particular desire to. Humans however, were more complex. Complex in a way that smart individuals would collect their thoughts before divulging information to their interrogator (or in an effort to wait for a lawyer). So while Jefferson didn't seem to have "iron balls" or whatever other pieces of anatomy Helljumpers prided themselves on, he was at least smart enough to decide what he said before he said it.

"Since you're probably freezing your ass off and want to get back to a heater ASAP, I'll tell you what I'm allowed to tell you," said the ODST eventually. "Yes, my team and I were dispatched before the Covenant arrived. Yes, the Covenant threw a hydro-spanner in the works before we could reach our objective. And in regards to your weapons query, the rectangular rifle your subordinate is carrying is an EC-55. Not sure how it works, but it was meant to get the job done."

"And what job would that be?" asked the lieutenant, wanting some real information.

"Sorry, that's classified."

Physon blinked, and not just to get water out of his eyes. He'd thought he'd heard bullshit from Hawkins, but the sergeant had just taken the concept of verbal feces to a whole new level. How anyone could say so much without truly saying anything was an interesting question, but the more interesting question was what the hell had brought the ODSTs out here in the first place, not to mention their method of deployment and equipment. And as tempting as it was to get back to Thunderville, Physon wasn't leaving without getting these answers.

"Let me make myself perfectly clear…" the CO began, lighting flashing as if to reinforce his position of the proverbial Zeus. "Right now, my men and I are your only ticket back home. So-…"

"Lieutenant, you should listen-…"
"No, you listen! I'm sick of-…"

What Physon would have said next was anyone's guess, though it was fair to say that the main options were either a dirty adjective or a lengthy description of what he was exactly sick of. What he wouldn't have been likely to say however, was…well, nothing. Because with Jefferson suddenly rising to his feet, grabbing the lieutenant's collar and holding up a finger, that was what he said.

"Listen…" whispered the ODST. "Listen closely…"

Part of Physon wanted to say "not bloody likely." Part of Physon wanted to call on Fry or Hawkins to restrain the Helljumper. But most of his mind's pieces told him to do what the NCO told him to do, realizing the seriousness in his voice. So he listened…listened to the howl of wind, the pitter-patter of rain, the howl of…of…

What in the…?

The CO stepped back, fingering his pistol as he did so. Somewhere, somehow, almost lost in the roar of wind, was something else. Something barely audible, yet distinct. Something that reminded him of the hell he'd left behind three years ago. A hell that involved screaming akin to a…

Oh no…oh no…

"Sir?" asked Chambers hesitantly. "What is it?"

Physon turned to answer, to convey the sound and what it meant. However, another sound beat him to it.

"Romeo Two, this is Romeo One. Please respond to this message and converge on our location. Co-ordinates as follows…"

Turning the other way, Physon saw Ryan Collie. The most immediate sound. The most immediate sight. And in a flash of green light and a scream of pain, the sight of a fully functional Warthog became one of a twisted piece of burning metal and human screams.

And to his horror, looking up through the sheets of rain, Physon saw that the Covenant Banshees above them screamed in reply.