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Halo: Shadows of Hope

Chapter 15: Eleventh Hour

Within the Void, the bearers of the truth carried light.

Light sought out its sources through entropy, whether it be the emptiness of the material universe or the Void itself. However, other sources called to the light. Specifically, only one source, originating from the fourth planet of an unremarkable star system.

And as such, the light moved towards it.

Chi Mu System, 31st Marine Division Command Center

Planet Hope

"Echo-212, requesting landing co-ordinates."

"Hotel-911, proceeding to Haven."

"This is Charlie-159, we've got too much in our payload. We'll have to touch back down."

"This is-…"

Howard drowned out the chatter from his mind. It was relevant, but only to those in the command centre actually performing command and control duties. Technically that included himself in theory, but in practice, it was just his job to oversee those doing the work. Which was just as well. He was tired, he had a headache and there was no coffee or analgesic in sight. Still, as he fought his way to the command center's viewscreen, he took solace that at least Sattler looked as bad as he felt. Maybe even worse.

Considering that Sattler was the one who would have to bear the largest burden of transport when it came to it, the major couldn't blame him.

"Well Howard?" the captain asked, taking a sip of what the marine supposed was coffee but actually looked like brown sludge. "What's the sit-rep?"

"Evacuation's underway, and the people are proceeding in an orderly manner to the designated LZs," answered the major. "The rate of evacuation though…well, it could be better."

"I've noticed," murmured the captain grimly, passing his sludge to a passing ensign. "The Haven's barely got any people onboard right now and none of the Wild Endeavour's Pelicans have returned yet."

"It'll get better," Howard pointed out. "All we have to do is designate more landing zones and-…"

"Then why haven't you?" Sattler asked. "Thunderville is cramped, but the area around it is open. If we spread the D77-TC's out, assign more-…"

"That would leave them too exposed," Howard pointed out. "It's a risk I'd rather not take."

Silence fell between the marine and swabbie, broken only by the hustle and bustle on both their ends. Howard knew it was within Sattler's power to order otherwise, but he also knew that that was unlikely. The confrontation with Keancros was still taking its toll on the captain and initially, the major had wondered whether this operation was going to get any oversight at all. Still, the sensor issue was one he'd rather not bring up, how there was the occasional indication of something(s) being detected north. If it became important he'd report it but for now, Howard wanted to confine the Pelicans to Thunderville-if a flood came, at least the soldiers and civilians would be on the right side of the floodgate.

Well, almost everyone…

"How's the painter going?" Howard asked, his reflections on Thunderville's defensibility reminding him of the only human outside its walls bar Harwood's little monster. "You're in contact with him, right?"

"Sierra-044?" Sattler asked. "Last I heard, he'd arrived within proximity of the artifact. He should have the target painted within minutes."

"Good…well, that should be all. Howard out."

With a click, the image of Sattler faded, leaving the major alone with his own thoughts and the microcosm of the entire situation on Hope that the command center represented. He was tired, and didn't want to draw out the conversation any further. All he wanted to do now was let events take their turn, sign form a, berate pilot b and hope that the eventuality of c was never reached. If it wasn't for the prospect of actually getting off this rock, he might have collapsed in a chair then and there. This evacuation seemed like a knee jerk reaction, but it admittedly had its benefits.

"This is Charlie-159, we now have optimal payload. We'll be making our way to the Haven, over."

"Acknowledged Charlie-159. Godspeed."

Howard allowed himself a small smile. There would always be hiccups in any operation. But at least in this one, they were the exception rather than the rule. The issue of the amount of room on the two starships orbiting Hope was another matter, but he supposed Sattler and Ling would cross that bridge when they came to it. Right now, the only bridge he had to cross was-…

"Major! Major Howard!"

It was a miracle that such words were able to reach the CO from the other side of the room. It was even more of a miracle that the utterer of them was able to fight his way through the tides of CIC to reach its head honcho. Yet somehow, the jarhead messenger boy did it. Unfortunately.

"Major!" the marine repeated, seemingly having trouble with branching out from his previously established vocabulary of two words. "I…you…"

"Slow down son," Howard murmured, wishing that he could slow down himself. "Just take a breath, calm down and tell me what the matter is."

The kid took a breath, but he still looked anything but calm. And as his verbatim branched out even further, the marine could understand why.

"The Covenant sir. A force twice as large as the one that attacked yesterday. And it's right outside town."

Spartan-044 (Anton)

Location: Upper valley walls adjacent to alien relic

Mission: Paint target for orbital magnetic accelerator cannon strike

"Sierra-044, in position, over."

"Acknowledged Sierra-044. Proceed to designate target for orbital strike, over."

"Will comply. Sierra-044, out."

It seemed a bit…odd, somehow. Usually, Anton was referred to as "Green 2," bar a more informal designation. Out here though, he was on his own, his only contact being the Haven. Out here, he wasn't part of a team. Out here, he was only an alpha-numeric. And as he adjusted the laser guidance system on his SRS99 sniper rifle, the petty officer was perfectly comfortable with that. He wasn't a sniper in the same league as Linda or Fred, but he made for a good field scout. Out here, alone, in the silence…the only welcome interruption would be the sound of waves hitting a beach and there wasn't a world where that was possible in this entire star system.

Speaking of which…

Anton briefly glanced away from his work, his polarized gaze shielding him from the light of Chi Mu. His visor was redundant right now however-the star was faint enough at the best of times and as it sank below the eastern horizon, its light was simply pitiful. All in all, the only real indicator of its presence was the long shadow it was forming against the Spartan and his Warthog transport. Which, like the solitude, suited Green 2 just fine. He was a shadow in every sense of the world and being so close to both the relic and Covenant battlecruiser, that was for the best. Even if the relic wouldn't be standing anymore in a couple of seconds…

"Sierra-044 to Haven, over," the Spartan whispered, a thin red line extending from the sniper rifle to the relic. "The target is painted. Now call down the thunder."

CCS-class battlecruiser Divine Crusader

Location: Seven miles north of human settlement, upper canyon wall near Forerunner relic

"Ah, 'Tikawomee. So glad you could join us."

"Us?"

"My mistake. Please, come in."

Standing in the doorway of Devotion's personal quarters, 'Tikawomee hesitated. The Prophet had effectively given him an order and he was obliged to obey it. Yet he could not help but wonder why an order was given when the Prophet looked…happy. Or at least that was the impression the san 'shyuum was conveying. Yet what his master would be happy about right now after everything that had gone wrong was a mystery. If anything, the sangheili expected Devotion to become happy after he-…

"That wasn't a request, ship master. Please, come in."

Shaking his thoughts aside, 'Tikawomee did as instructed. Overanalyzation would have to wait. The sound of the door closing seemed to agree with him.

By the gods…what is that smell?

"So, 'Tikawomee…" the Prophet began, clearly warming up to something and preventing the sangheili from pursuing the repulsive scent filling his nostrils. "I believe you have news for me."

"I…yes, my lord," the sangheili spluttered, caught off guard at Devotion's insight. "I actually sought you out before you summoned me to relay it to you."

"And? What is it?"

"Not so long ago, I regained contact with the V'tar and B'las Legions; the flanking forces of the J'ma Legion. They are currently within range of the human settlement and will proceed with their attack shortly." The sangheili let himself smile. "It's over, my lord. We've won."

"We?" Devotion sneered. "What's this we you refer to?"

The smile faded. So did 'Tikawomee's confidence for that matter.

"'Tikawomee, you can present yourself as a loyal servant who's salvaged victory from the jaws of defeat, but you cannot fool me," the san 'shyuum continued, his façade of pleasantry having gone the same way as the ship master's confidence. "A mere unit ago, I ordered you not to contact the Fleet of Purity. And yet you did so. So even when your forces have emerged from the nether and lay waste to the human pile of refuse, don't think for a moment that the victory belongs to you."

"We…will achieve victory before the fleet arrives…" said the sangheili slowly, flexing his fingers slowly.

"Indeed. Which means you wasted their time and mine."

"Wasted time?" 'Tikawomee whispered, his fingers forming a fist. "My lord, the human settlement is one thing. The human starships are another. Even if we achieve victory on the ground, we'll need the fleet to-…"

Devotion brought his fist down. And for a species as frail as the san 'shyuum, its echo was enormous.

"'Tikawomee, I care not for your reasoning…" the Prophet hissed, leaning forward and meeting the ship master's gaze with his own. "My orders, my reasoning, my goals…these are the only things you should be concerned about! Now obviously that isn't the case, but I'll assume that at least some of that concern applies to your position within our Covenant! And if that's true, you'll answer my question as to why the fleet's arrival is imminent when it should be nowhere near this star system!"

Devotion was trying to assert his authority, to return the status quo. Clicking his mandibles, the sangheili hoped to make it clear that it wasn't working. He was Devotion's servant, not his slave. Gone were the days when he was willing to follow the Prophet's orders without question. He'd saved the Divine Crusader from destruction and by the gods, the san 'shyuum would realize that.

"A unit ago, when you gave the order…" 'Tikawomee began. "That nonsensical order to send the fleet away, I gave my own. I respect your will, my lord, if not your…appreciation of tactics. I ordered them to remain at the system's edge, to engage if necessary."

"So you defied me…" Devotion whispered. "You defied me right from the start."

"Since you've defied common sense time and time again, yes, I defied you. And I think it's fair to say that every rational mind in the Covenant would agree with me. So, since you're all done spying…"

'Tikawomee trailed off. Not due to Devotion, who looked like a zap-jelly ready to burst, but from this entire situation. Devotion had called him out on his transmission to the fleet…but how could he have known such a thing?

"How did you do this?" 'Tikawomee asked.

"Do what?"

"Discover my transmission," the sangheili whispered. "How could you know what I did? How…how did you know about the nature of our descent before I gave you my report? What did you mean by your ambitions. What…what did you mean by us?"

The Prophet smiled. And while he didn't feel fear from seeing it, 'Tikawomee came closer than he cared for.

"Astute questions, shipmaster…" said the san 'shyuum slowly. "Questions that I'm left to wonder as to whether they've only popped into your empty skull just now, or have festered here the whole time. Well, I suppose it doesn't matter anymore."

"I'll decide what matters, my…comrade."

"Indeed? Well my…friends might think otherwise." The Prophet let out a chuckle. "But since you asked about them, why not meet them?"

At first, 'Tikawomee didn't know what Devotion was talking about. With a click of the san 'shyuum's fingers, that changed in an instant.

What in the…

'Tikawomee's train of thought came to a halt. Five figures had stopped it. Five figures that were in the midst of deactivating their active camouflage. Five figures that were evidently the source of the stench he'd smelt earlier. Five figures that shouldn't have access to that kind of technology. Five figures that explained why Devotion had said come join us. Five figures that were…

Oh my gods…

"Jiralhanae," declared Devotion, gesturing at the five brutish creatures spread throughout the room. "My loyal servants."

By the Forerunners! This is madness!

While his thoughts raged with the fury of the gods, 'Tikawomee's body was frozen. Yes, there were some jiralhanae on this ship, tending to the most mundane of its maintenance systems that were below a huragok, but well suited to their primitive race's cranial capacity. But the presence of these jiralhane…jiralhanae that had access to cloaking technology and from what he could tell, Spikers and serrated blades…this was beyond the pale.

Pale…it was indicative of 'Tikawomee's coloration.

"Devotion, what…what is this?" the sangheili spluttered, spinning around in light of the brutes' leers. "You…you…"

"Employed jiralhane as my personal servants?" Devotion asked. "Used them to observe you, to gather data before you even presented it to me? To inform me of your contacting the Fleet of Purity? To make me realize how useful they are when compared to your own incompetence?"

"Incompetence?" 'Tikawomee exclaimed. "It was these simpletons' incompetence that prevented us from the Reliliquary humans warning their kind of our war machine nine years ago!"

Devotion waved a hand idlely. "Unlike some of our leaders, I believe in second chances. It's why I haven't removed you from command until now."

"Removed from…Devotion, this is madness! Arming jiralhanae on a ship like this is one thing, but to do it without my knowledge…you…you…"

The san 'shyuum chuckled. "Keep repeating yourself 'Tikawomee. My servants love it."

That was true at least. One, maybe two of the barbarians was chuckling and the others' leers had become more jovial. Well, 'Tikawomee thought, it mattered little. Jiralhanae always obeyed their leaders, having retained their pack psychology from when they were swinging through the trees of their homeworld. All he had to do was remind them of it and put Devotion in his non-military place.

"Devotion, this has gone on far enough," 'Tikawomee declared. "I am the shipmaster of the Divine Crusader and will give the orders in a time of war. So no matter what you may think, no matter what you may have done, these jiralhanae fall under my command."

"Oh, I'm afraid that just isn't true," Devotion laughed. "You see, 'Tikawomee, I'm their alpha male. And they obey no other."

"You jest…"

"Oh, you doubt me?" the Prophet sneered. "Then let me prove it to you." With a glint in his eye, Devotion turned to one of the jiralhanae and said two words. Two words that would be the last that Udo 'Tikawomee would ever hear.

"Kill him."

Letting out roars of bloodlust, the jiralhane proceeded to do just that.

If the jiralhane were lacking in one aspect of combat, it was subtlety.

Devotion couldn't argue with the results of their assassination and had no intention to. Still, as pleasing as it was to gaze upon the shipmaster's mangled corpse, he wished his followers hadn't been so messy about it. The splatters of blood did nothing to add to his room's décor.

"You please me Aratus," said the san 'shyuum to the pack's leader-the same one that had alerted him to the sangheili's final treachery in the first place. "Your methods become you."

"As always my lord, we exist to serve."

Quite right. And don't you forget it.

Would the other Prophets understand what he'd done? Would they condone it? Would they even find out? Devotion supposed those answers would come in time. But then again, if everything went to plan, whatever those answers were would be irrelevant. The Fleet of Purity's arrival was imminent and as a consequence, the Prophet had far less time to complete his objective than he'd anticipated. Yet with the jiralhane at his side…jiralhanae that would follow him into the depths of Hell itself…maybe he did have enough time. Time enough to seize his destiny…

A destiny Devotion hoped that the sudden boom and blinding light from outside wouldn't jeopardize…

UNSC Haven

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

"Replay that now."

"…sir?"

"I said replay that God damnit!" Sattler yelled, not knowing nor caring who had queried him. Identifying the individual by voice would have taken too much thought and while identification by sight might have made the job easier, it was a diversion that the captain couldn't afford. Not when his eyes were fixed firmly on the bridge's flatscreen. A flatscreen that while currently filled with static, had previously depicted something that he wanted confirmation of. Something that he could scarcely believe.

"Replaying…" came the mystery voice. "And stopped."

Stopped…right now, the only thing that was "stopped" was Sattler's heart.

It had seemed like a formality at the time. Sierra-044's video feed was being beamed up to the Haven as he painted the relic for a MAC strike. He trusted Turse's aim and even if the tungsten shell was off target, the relic would still be sent ten ways to Tuesday anyway provided it landed near enough. All in all, Sattler just wanted the satisfaction of seeing the device destroyed or even better, distract him from the logistical nightmare of Hope's evacuation. He couldn't have suspected that the real nightmare was yet to begin. That as the shell came down, some kind of energy shield would surround the relic, absorbing the blast without so much as a hiccup.

"Unbelievable…" the captain murmured.

"Pardon sir?"

Sattler glanced at the mystery man, who turned out to be Turse. "That shield. Covenant energy shields have absorbed MAC rounds before. But for a shield to suddenly pop up in time to intercept the shell? That goes beyond anything we've ever seen."

There was always more to see in this universe indeed. But as Sattler watched the rest of the feed, this was an exception. One or two seconds after the strike, the Spartan-II's video feed cut out. And the captain had no idea how or why.

Well, time to find out…

"Sit-rep," Sattler barked, turning to face the rest of his bridge crew that, given their gazes, had been watching the feed as well. "Any contact with Sierra-044?"

"Negative sir. No visuals, no audio. Not even burst transmission is getting through."

Shit…

That just about summed it up. Losing contact with the first team sent into the relic was bad enough, but burst transmission had worked back then bar the assault of Harwood's…no, Keancros's little monster. But now there was nothing. So either the shield had spread out the blast somehow towards Sierra-044's position, or there was so much interference that even outside the relic, he was out of contact. Maybe-…

"Sir! Massive energy spike from the surface!"

"The MAC?" Sattler asked, making his way over to Ensign Fryirs. "Is it a reading from that?"

"No sir…" the NCO whispered, her gaze fixed on the readout in front of her. "It's…Hawking radiation."

"Hawking?" Turse asked, walking over as if to see whether his blast had done its job. "You mean like that produced from slipspace drives?"

"Yeah…provided you got the biggest slipspace drive known to Man and increased its size geometrically."

Sattler had a general understanding of astrophysics, but "general" was still just that-general. As long as his ship possessed the ability to enter slipspace and travel faster than the speed of light, he didn't particularly care about the reasons as to how this was possible. But looking at the readout, as the reading climbed into the mesosphere…well, he didn't have to be a scientist to work out that something big was happening.

"What's its source?" Sattler asked. "Where's it…oh."

"Oh" may have been an understatement. "Oh" was what one said when a simple fact was given to them, such as the score of a gravball game or a piece of history, not when history was being made and gravball had become an impossibility. Because considering that the relic was the source, and it was producing more energy than anything man, or even Covenant made…

"The MAC…" Turse whispered. "Did we-…"

"Lieutenant, look at these readouts," Fryirs whispered. "This is…well, on the stellar level, not on the level of solar detritus."

"What?"

"Energy can't be created or destroyed!" the ensign exclaimed. "We couldn't have set this off! A thousand UNSC ships couldn't have!"

Sattler was barely listening. The source of the energy was indeed the relic…seemingly. But he was more interested in what a false color sensor was detecting. A beam of energy extending to or from the relic. A beam that was stretching into space and one that they'd be able to see if human sight went into whatever the hell kind of spectrum the beam was.

A beam…just like…

Just like the one the miner reported he and his sister seeing when the relic revealed itself. Only this time, its fanfare was powerful enough that the Haven was registering it.

"Alright…" said Sattler eventually, realizing that while he knew nothing about the physics involved in this, he still probably knew more than most of the people on this bridge. "I don't know what's happened but-…"

"Sir, something's happened!"

Sattler glared at the ensign who interrupted him…an individual whose intelligence seemingly hadn't aged along with his body.

"That's the point, mister-…"

"No sir, from at Thunderville!" the man exclaimed, his name tag identifying him as Marsden. "A message from Major Howard! It's the Covenant!"

Sattler felt like he'd just been spaced…or rather how he supposed being spaced would feel like. Right now, it seemed like a possibility.

"Covenant?" the captain asked. "Did you-…"

"Yes sir, Covenant! On the surface! A force twice as large as the one that attacked yesterday and-…"

"Sir, incoming slipspace ruptures!"

Feeling like he was between a rock and a hard place, and that both points were trying to drag him towards them, Sattler spun round back to Fryirs. She was still hunched out over the readout, but as he neared, Sattler could see that the emission of Hawking radiation had become emissions plural and they all had their origins thousands of kilometers away.

That meant only one thing. Whether it was good or bad remained to be seen…

"Marsden, get in touch with Howard!" Sattler barked, not turning his eyes from the display. Nor did Fryirs for that matter, currently in the midst of pinpointing the ruptures' exact location and numbers.

"Twenty…no, twenty-five ruptures…" the ensign murmured. "Formation is…is…"

"Human ships don't emerge from slipspace in formation…" Sattler whispered. "We don't have the technology…"

The captain had whispered those words, but it seemed that everyone on the bridge had heard them. No, scratch that, they did hear them. And every single one of them looked the same way that Sattler felt…terrified. And as he gazed out into space, gazed out upon a series of white dots that corresponded to twenty-five Covenant warships emerging from slipspace on a bearing towards them, his terror only increased.

"Oh my God…"

"Jesus Christ, it's them!"

"Gotta get outta here!"

"Bloody Eliza…"

"Where's the Endeavour? Damnit, get communication with-…"

"Please, not now…not like this…"

Sattler let the panic continue. Like the approaching fleet, there'd be no stopping it. Not with a pair of human warships that would likely be fated to lose if the Covenant attacked with equal numbers, let alone over twelve times said number. All that remained was to see if he could make a difference. Or, more accurately, if someone else could.

"Um, sir?" Marsden whispered as Sattler approached him, clearly as spooked as every other individual on the bridge. "I've got contact with Major Howard…"

"Good, because I've got a mission for him," Sattler grunted, taking the ensign's data pad. "Probably the last one I'll ever give…"

AV-14 Attack VTOL "Hornet"

Destination: Unidentified alien relic

"This is Sierra-030, calling Thunderville Actual, over."

"This is Thunderville Actual, over."

"Alien relic is within sight. Will proceed to deposit MFDD, over."

"Roger that, Sierra-030. Keep in mind that there's a strong chance that radio interference in and around the relic might prevent you from keeping in contact with home base, over."

"Roger that Thunderville. Sierra-030, out."

It was formal…more formal than Vinh would have thought possible given the situation facing Howard right now. With a Covenant force approaching the settlement, and word having trickled down of a Covenant fleet entering the system, some would argue that this was the perfect time to panic. And while Green 4 knew that anything was better than panicking, the calm seemed somewhat alien to her…no pun intended. Maybe it was from all the emotion she'd seen expressed recently, how after the exchange with Keancros, a Covenant invasion had somehow become anti-climatic.

Or maybe it's because the climax has yet to come…

Vinh knew she had to be prepared for eventualities. And right now, a very likely and not at all pleasant eventuality is that she'd find herself with a Banshee squadron on her tail. It was through luck more than anything else that she and Isaac had managed to slip through the Covenant's lines in a Hornet, to deliver the package to the relic as part of what Captain Sattler had called his "final order." The aliens had almost certainly seen them as they closed the gap in their lines, but had neglected to engage in pursuit…so far at least.

But then again, it hardly mattered. The ultimate eventuality was that every human in Chi Mu would be on the end of an energy projector, if not a less powerful tool. All she and Isaac could do was fulfill their orders to the best of their abilities.

"Nice place…" Green 5 murmured, breaking Vinh out of her thoughts.

"Pardon?"

"The relic…" her fellow Spartan murmured over the radio from his place on the craft's right skid, making a motion with his head towards the relic and its beam of white light (one arm was clutching the MFDD and the other the Hornet's rung). "Didn't realize how…big it was down on the ground. Then again, it didn't have the light show back then."

It was small talk, but Vinh welcomed it. She had been…was…worried about Isaac, about his increasing despondence and borderline irrationality. It was a moot point now, but even so, she was pleased to see that the situation hadn't flooded out any sense of self he might have. Even in the end of all things, he'd remain loyal to the mission.

"Take a good look at it Green Five," commented the petty officer, coming to notice that Isaac had a point. "Once you get in there and level it, there'll be nothing pretty to look at."

"Nothing but a…"

Vinh glanced at Isaac, static having continued his broken sentence. Still, as he gestured towards his mouth to the best of his ability, Green 4 understood. The radio interference had indeed extended beyond the relic, just as Howard had indicated earlier. The plan was for Vinh to remain airborne while Isaac snuck in and delivered the nuke. Not that long for the two to remain apart, but now it was guaranteed that there'd be no contact. Just as much as she couldn't radio Anton.

Anton…Vinh thought to herself, taking her eyes away from the relic and casting them out over Hope's barren, shadowed surface, the setting sun offering little in the way of illumination and the relic's white beam to the heavens providing roughly the same amount. Are you out there?

She didn't know. And while there was now an explanation for his radio silence since the MAC strike, that was still cold comfort. Was he alive? Or had he died an early death and escaped glassing?

Vinh shook it off. Like her, Anton was a Spartan-II. He'd understand that the mission came first. Even the last one that at best, offered a petty victory over the Covenant.

"Alright, I'm setting her down!" Green 4 yelled, hoping that Isaac might be able to hear her through the cockpit's glass and the hum of the Hornet's engines. "Quick smash, no grab."

If Isaac responded, Vinh didn't hear him. Then again, it mattered little. Her main focus was on landing the Hornet and studying the relic as she did so. A relic that unlike the MAC strike, showed no signs of a shield. In fact, if not for the constant, silent stream of white energy streaking up to the heavens, one would have assumed that it wasn't active.

Is the shield still up? Or did it only react to the MAC? Something to do with its speed? Its yield?

Vinh was tempted to find out, to fire a missile or two at the structure and witness the results. Still, she decided against it. She'd passed the rough threshold of the shield's radius when the MAC struck and even if the missiles hit, the Hornet didn't possess enough firepower to do any damage. Secondly, it might alert Kirk to their presence…if he wasn't aware already. Thirdly, they already had a medium fusion destructive device to do the job. And if Banshees did come to see the show, Vinh would rather reserve her firepower for them.

Still, as Isaac jumped off the right skid as she neared the ground, she wished she could do more to help. Indeed, what was to stop her? Hope was doomed, so why wait around for her…friend's extraction? Why not go in and help him?

"Shield's down," the petty officer heard Green 5 murmur, raising the cockpit's visor as he tossed a rock in through the entrance. "Guess that equates to the welcome mat being laid out in the culture of over-compensated architecture."

"Yeah…" Vinh said slowly, finding herself unable to laugh right now.

Isaac sighed, tucking the MFDD under one arm and drawing out his pistol with the other. He glanced back at his comrade, his visor making him all but unreadable.

"Thanks for the ride Vinh," Green 5 said softly. "It was fun."

And with that, he turned to enter the relic. And if not for Spartan-030's interruption, he would have done so then and there.

"Isaac, you don't have to go in alone," Vinh blurted out. "Even if I fly around, what good will I do? The Covenant will-…"

"Anton's still out there," grunted Isaac, stopping, but not turning his back. "See if you can find him. After that…well, return here I guess. I'll be waiting."

"Waiting…waiting for what?" Vinh blurted out. "The end of the world? To be incinerated? Isaac, you…you don't have to die alone."

"Everyone dies alone," Green 5 murmured, turning to face his fellow Spartan. "Still, at least out here, we can choose the manner of our departure."

Choice…hell, what choice did the Covenant offer, besides the technicalities of a plasma rifle, an energy sword or, if they felt Hope was worth the effort, incineration as the world's surface was turned to molten slag? Choice was often overrated in Vinh's mind, but right now, the lack of it was outright depressing.

Even super soldiers have psychological limits…

Vinh hadn't reached hers, as far as she knew. Whether Isaac had was another matter. And somehow, the answer of that question was still relevant to her.

"What about your retrieval?" Green 4 asked, knowing that the question was academic. "I go looking for Anton, but there's no guarantee I'll find him. What about-…"

"Don't worry about it," Isaac grunted, turning his back to the pilot and heading for the relic's gloom. It hardly matters."

Letting out a weary sigh as she lowered the Hornet's cockpit, Vinh found she agreed with him.

Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")

"Demon! Come out and face me!"

On the exterior, Petty Officer Second Class Joshua-029 was cool, calm and collected. On the interior, he was anything but. Problem was, the Elite was intent on tearing away his emotional cocoon-…

"Sir? I think the Elite wants you."

…and so were his brothers in arms.

"I got the picture," the Spartan-II murmured, not even bothering to glance at Mr. Obvious. His gaze was reserved for one thing and that was reserved for the golden armored, overshield-clad Elite standing on the slope north of Thunderville with an army at its back. An army that had prompted Thunderville's defenders to retreat from the perimeter and establish a skirmish line within the settlement. It would allow the invaders to gain ground, but the narrow streets of the settlement would prevent the Covenant from using their superior numbers to their full advantage.

Or they could just use energy mortars and shell us to-…

"Demon! Stop cowering and face your better!"

Scratch that. The Covenant wouldn't do such a thing. Not unless the Elite ran out of patience at least.

Sparing a glance at the marines gathered around him, fear and despair present in all their gazes, Joshua wished the rest of Green Team was with him. With Anton MIA, Grace's wounds regulating her to rear evacuation ops and Isaac and Vinh en route to the belly of the beast, he was the only active Spartan-II in Settlement 01. And while not highest in the chain of command, even on the field, he'd found himself having taken on the role of de facto leader. Certainly everyone looked to him when the Covenant force showed up, and everyone had followed his suggestion to retreat into the settlement's limits. And with word of a Covenant fleet having reached planetside, Joshua suspected that he was the only thing keeping the soldiers in position.

"Demon! This is your last chance!"

…and the Covenant.

The M90 would do jack shit against an overshielded Elite, but Green Leader found comfort in nevertheless, feeling the weight of the weapon in his hands as he walked out to the front, within sight of the Elite field master. He didn't know how the Covenant were aware of his presence, but maybe it was a blessing in disguise. From what he understood, the Covenant saw Spartan-IIs as demons and while that generated a great deal of hatred, it also generated respect as well. As much respect as it did among his own troops apparently, as numerous squads followed him to the front, in turn prompting more aliens to come down and join their leader. It was a standoff, but only two would be conducting what amounted to negotiations.

"So…" the Elite sneered, flexing its mandibles as Joshua stepped out from the perimeter. "You've answered my challenge."

"Challenge?" the NCO sneered. "You can provide such a thing?"

"You are either unbowed by the inevitable, or cannot yet see it. Either way, looking upon my army should enlighten you."

It was astonishing really, how well the alien could speak English. Almost as astonishing as the fact that Joshua was actually playing along. Anything could break the banter, but the longer it went, the more people could get off this planet safely. Hope was lost, but with two starships in orbit, surely at least some could escape.

"So demon…" the Elite continued. "Shall we duel now? Or shall my forces sweep you away in a tide of-…"

"How about neither?" the Spartan-II interrupted. "Neither of them worked with the last group of alien misfits that attacked."

"Perhaps, but that was when you had a chance of victory," the Elite continued. "Your death is assured, demon, as is the death of every other human on this miserable little planet. You should be grateful that I'm offering you the chance to choose the manner of your departure."

"Departure...as in, leave the planet? I'd love that."

It was moronic, it was cliché, and it was excruciatingly tempting to fall into the "what the hell" trap and simply open fire on the zealot, to spill his blood and add some color to the increasingly colorless terrain as final night neared, shrouding the white beam on the horizon. Still, the NCO managed to keep his cool. Just keep the alien talking and save lives. And when the talking stop, fight like there was no tomorrow and save even more lives. That was the mission. Nothing else mattered.

"Departure…" the alien sneered. "You think the Fleet of Purity would allow that? Your demise was sealed the moment it entered the star system."

"Then we have nothing to lose then."

The alien fell silent, and Joshua realized his mistake. On one hand, he had to convey an impression of strength, to prevent the Covenant from realizing how thinly Thunderville's defenders were spread out. On the other, he had to be willing to 'negotiate.' But he'd made an ending statement. He'd repeated what the Elite already knew. And as it activated an energy sword, it appeared that the alien had come to the same conclusion. 'Negotiations' were over and all that was left was the maelstrom of combat.

"Um, sir?" a marine asked timidly. "Should we-…"

"Fix bayonets," Joshua grunted, pumping his shotgun. "And wait for the charge."

UNSC Haven

Status: Preparing to engage with Covenant fleet

"Sir! Slipspace ruptures detected at-…"

Sattler drowned it out. He'd heard enough. More Covenant vessels coming from slipspace to add to the twenty-five vessels bearing down on him. Vessels that the Haven would be facing alone while the Wild Endeavour waited for the few people that could be saved before departing. While its carrying capacity was much smaller, the frigate would be next to useless in a delaying action. Phoenix-class vessel however, stood a much better chance. As horrific as the odds were, Sattler knew that he might…just might be able to slow the Covenant down. It guaranteed a fiery demise, but hey, that had become a possibility for billions of humans in recent times. That it was about to happen seemed to be a moot point.

"Snickett…" the captain murmured, not taking his eye off the approaching vessels. "Any word from the Aeros?"

"No sir. Nothing."

Sattler nodded, absorbing the fact. He wasn't sure why he was asking, or why he even cared. Had Harwood resigned herself to the same fate he had? Or did they realize they were last on the pecking order? Either way, the captain didn't care. All he cared about was-…"

"Sir, I repeat, slipspace ruptures at-…"

"Fryirs, I heard you the first time!" the captain barked. "More Covie ships are entering the system and-…"

"Sir, I don't think they're Covenant."

"…what?"

It was strange, come to think of it, how silent the bridge had become. Sattler had given his stand and fight orders almost right after sending Howard's Spartans to nuke the relic and no-one had complained. It was surreal really, and as he walked over to the ensign, it was like…like wading across the River Styx. The land of the living was behind him, yet the realm of the dead was just as ambiguous…or something.

Ulysses would have loved that…

"Sir, I'm reading around fifty slipspace ruptures a few thousand klicks away. Formation is…well, there is no formation."

"What?" Marsden asked. "But, Covie vessels always emerge from slipspace in formation."

"Exactly…" Sattler murmured, getting a glimpse of the Elysian Fields rather than Tartarus. "Which means only one thing…"

Well, at least he hoped he did. But as Sattler glanced at the IFF readout, as the ruptures materialized, as he gazed upon the new tac-map display…for the first time in three years, hope became manifest. Manifest in fifty ships…and ten words…

"Hang onto your name Hope," came the voice of Admiral Hieronymus Michael Stanforth, commander of the UNSC Leviathan. "Because the cavalry just arrived."

Unidentified alien relic (interior)

This time, finding his way was easy.

He'd walked down the road before, the first time with caution and unease. This time, he walked it without hesitation, without fear, without caution. He was letting his guard down, but this time, there would be no need to raise it. Not yet at least.

The MFDD had an explosive range of a kilometer within a structure like this. Probably even less with this kind of architecture though. Still, that would have still allowed him to walk in a fair distance into its interior, set it, get out and signal Vinh for evac, even if he had to resort to something as archaic as a flare. Yet that wasn't what he intended. He knew that. Vinh probably knew that as well. Maybe like him, she'd bowed to the inevitability of the situation. Or maybe she just didn't care. Either way, it didn't matter.

It wasn't long before he reached the control room, before he reached the structure's heart with the intent of tearing it out of its body. Yet the artery stood in his way. Stood with his back to him actually, staring into the core. But he knew he was there. Isaac could tell. He and Kirk had shared much. Enough for Isaac to lay the MFDD at the entrance at walk slowly towards his former friend. Enough for him to not raise his weapon as SK-018 turned to face him. Enough to remain silent as his enemy spoke the first words of their last confrontation.

"I knew you would come…"

A/N

Ladies, gentlemen and genders in-between, I give you the sound of hoofbeats. And behold as they're zebras rather than horses.

Metaphors aside, I guess I should explain that in more literal terms, namely how anyone who's read Shadow of the Xel'naga will recognise the 'calling down the thunder' scene. It was something that plagued me for awhile, how I could generate a similar effect, but at least make it slightly different. Mainly taking a leaf from the Onyx Sentinels, I came up with the answer.

And on another note, I guess it's worth mentioning that I originally planned for Admiral Cole to be used in place of Stanforth, considering that I generally prefer to use canon characters when possible. Still, Evolutions made the first choice a bit iffy, hence settling for Stanforth instead.

Update (08/05/2011): Corrected grammar error.