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Halo: Shadows of Hope
Chapter 16: Endgame
Chi Mu System, unidentified alien relic (interior)
Planet Hope
"So Isaac…did you miss me?"
"I did…up until around six hours ago."
"Ah, you wound me."
The banter was slightly different than their first encounter, but as far as Isaac-039 was concerned, Kirk wasn't fooling anyone. Not as Kirk-018, not as SK-018 and certainly not as the man who was only now turning to face him, his narrow red visor shining in the gloom of the relic's core. A relic that had survived a MAC round and was currently putting on a lightshow…even if there was nothing to indicate that inside.
"Well?" Kirk asked, folding his arms as he stared the Spartan-II down. "Anything to say Isaac? No 'oh Kirk, how did you survive the-…"
"Kirk, how is this place still standing?"
The Reaper snorted. "Interrupting my sentences…honestly, I would have thought you'd have more respect for me, after bringing you back here."
The NCO remained silent, resisting the urge to raise his weapon. Kirk had claimed that he'd brought him here…a claim that he didn't find so far-fetched. He'd had his suspicions earlier and it looked like SK-018 was about to confirm or deny them. And while such explanations weren't part of the Spartan's mission statement, he wanted to hear them. Even if there'd never be a debriefing.
"Perhaps you have pieced it together…" Kirk began, beginning to pace back and forth across the walkway that led to the chamber's core, his gaze always in sync with his direction. "Perhaps you wondered why I let one of the marines escape, or why I spared you and Grace. Perhaps you gathered that I let you people escape, to run back to your masters."
"But you didn't know that Grace or I would come…" Isaac murmured, not taking his eye off Kirk, even if his former friend refused to meet his gaze. "You couldn't have anticipated that…"
"No, I didn't. But letting you go served me well anyway. Not only had I defeated a squad of lapdogs, but now two super-soldiers as well. Couple that with the presence of the Covenant and I was certain that striking this installation from orbit would be the next step. To bring down the hammer…" Kirk stopped pacing, turning his gaze to Green 5. "Well the hammer was brought down Isaac, and it's made the anvil stronger. Well done."
The Spartan remained steadfast, turning his polarized gaze to SK-018's own. "I gathered you wanted us to leave for some reason…but why a MAC? Why try to damage this structure in the first place?"
"Damage it? Who said anything about damaging this place?"
Technically, Isaac had. But it would seem redundant to point that out.
"It was a bit of a problem I faced…" Kirk began, resuming his pacing as he did so. "This place was old, and low on power. Not even the power it drew in initially was enough for it to fulfill its function. Not in the timeframe I needed before the place was stormed."
"Kirk, what are you talking ab-…"
"The light, Isaac. The white beam of light that was revealed along with this relic. The light that's streaming from the heavens as we speak. The-…"
"This relic's signal?" Isaac asked. "I know-…"
"Signal? You think it's a signal?"
Once again, Isaac was reduced to silence. Kirk had proven superior in action, and now he was proving superior in words. Right now, the only superiority the Spartan felt he possessed was raw firepower and even that was at the core's entrance. But who was to say Kirk would even let him head for it. Even if he was laughing like a mad hatter.
"Isaac, I don't know what black hole you were squatting in a few days ago, but surely you must have noticed how quickly you reached this world," the Reaper began. "Far quicker than a UNSC ship should be capable of."
"Yes…why?"
"Why? Isaac, it's because the beam is anything but a signal. The energy you see…the relic's not sending it outwards. It's pulling it inwards. It's pulling in slipstream energy to feed itself, like water going down the plughole of a bath. That's why you got here so quickly…you can't detect the extraction itself, your instruments aren't sensitive enough to measure such a refined process, but there's a whirlpool of slipspace energy around this world, just like the last stages of a tub being drained. Anything within range of the whirlpool is pulled towards it, travelling faster than usual."
"But the light…extended outwards."
"Only the connection into slipspace, beyond the planet's atmosphere. Since then, the stream has been feeding the relic. A stream that your MAC round was kind enough to re-activate."
Isaac remained silent, once again resisting the urge to reach for a firearm. Downing Kirk was on his to do list, but that could wait. Right now, he just wanted something to hold onto. He'd have to treat his former friend's words with caution, but in light of the…light, of the Wild Endeavour's speed…it added up. All of it did. Well, all of it bar the claim that a MAC round was required. Still, as if reading the petty officer's mind, Kirk proceeded to explain.
"I'm sure you're asking why I needed a MAC strike," the former Spartan continued. "Technically, I didn't. But as mentioned, even with its first activation, the relic would still need time to convert the slipstream energy into a source of energy applicable to the four dimensions of our own realm. However, it turns out that this place has a do or die protocol…if under attack from a source of sufficient power, it will carry out an all or nothing action, drawing in enough energy for immediate results. The strain will render the place inoperable, but the amount of slipspace energy drawn in will let me achieve my goal within minutes rather than days."
"And the MAC round was the source of a perceived threat…" Isaac murmured. "You let us go…to call down the hammer. You tricked us into striking from above, so that the protocol would be activated."
"Yes, pretty much. Clever, huh?"
Isaac remained silent. Kirk had played Hope's defenders for fools. Thin the herd, invite vengeance and laugh as vengeance exploded in the UNSC's collective face. Well, not that the traitor was actually laughing, but the Spartan suspected that whatever lay behind that visor, a smirk was present. And for good reason. Kirk was about to accomplish his goals…whatever they were. And while the normal COA at this point was to prevent such goals from being realized, Isaac still wasn't entirely convinced. Something was missing from Kirk's explanation. Something that he'd suspected back in Thunderville.
"Nice plan you've got…" the Spartan began. "But you've still left out a few things."
"Hmm? What are you-…"
"Three Covenant forces were going to attack Thunderville originally…" Isaac said, beginning to pace around in a manner similar to Kirk. "You stopped two of them."
"Of course I did. I needed you at-…"
"You only needed one survivor from this relic…but you allowed three to exist."
"Isaac, as I said-…"
"You even let Harwood live. You killed Clarke, but spared her."
"Course I did. Letting that bitch drown in her own guilt would be as close to vindication as I could achieve."
"Maybe…" Isaac murmured, bringing his pacing to a close. "But maybe the truth is far more simple. Maybe after all that's happened, after all you've done…something's holding you back Kirk. Maybe deep down, past that armor, is a moral center. Just like the people you used to call friends. Maybe it's for that reason that you even hesitated long enough to let Grace save me…the reason you let us escape…"
Kirk sighed, though Isaac wasn't sure what that meant. Then again, he wasn't sure about anything right now. Not about his friend, nor why the core's control panel was lighting up. Glancing back at the console, SK-018 presumably noticed it as well. What that actually meant in practice however, was up for grabs. For now at least.
"Poor Isaac…" the Reaper began, walking back to the console. "Still deluded, still a puppet…still unable to see what lies before you."
"Which is what, exactly?"
"A gift from an alien species," Kirk answered, reaching the console and turning back to face Isaac, closing the distance between the two super-soldiers. G-zero-one…that's this place's name, Isaac. G as in godbringer…"
"God…what?" Green 5 spluttered.
"Zero-one…" Kirk continued. "The first…and only one of its kind. Left to rot…its creators could have had this place maintained, you know. But they sealed it…left it to crumble. But still capable of use. Or at least, use by one worthy to wield its power."
Something was different…and not just in regards to the console. Previously, Kirk had been casual, almost relaxed. But now, his voice, his words…he was like a man possessed. Hell, maybe he was.
"The power of the slipstream…" Kirk whispered, clenching his fist as he turned his back to the Spartan. "The sheathing of an individual in that energy…making them invincible. How could matter or energy pass through the armor of a pocket universe? At first, nothing could. But then…but then the creators lost their vision. The few, the proud, the chosen…at first they fought against their enemy. But then they fought amongst themselves. All that power…it was too much for even their minds. So after much loss, they were defeated, and this place sealed. Other methods would be used to fight the enemy…"
"Kirk, what are you-…"
"Isaac, this place is a gift, don't you see?" Kirk whispered. "It's…it's happening again. The power of a god, right at my fingertips. It's what the Covenant want, why they came to this world…it's what I want. It's what I need. I…I have vision. Even after years of stasis and agony, I haven't lost that, haven't been blinded by the fight for survival like humanity or whoever, or whatever came before. I…I can end the war Isaac. I can defeat the Covenant, I can show humanity the correct path. I…I can liberate us!"
"Just like the first users?" Isaac whispered in horror. "The ones who went mad with power? You're already a nutcase Kirk, but-…"
I'm not mad!" the Reaper yelled. "I'm not like you Isaac! I have vision! I have freedom! I'm the one who took the initiative and activated this place! Within a few minutes, the war will be as good as won for our race! I can set us free, Isaac!"
"No…you can't."
How Kirk knew this information, how he had gleaned it was a question that Isaac suspected would never be answered. All that mattered now was the fact. And the fact was that Kirk had…well, he'd become like the Covenant. Blinded by belief and willing to slaughter everyone who disagreed with it.
"Kirk…there's a reason that we're not meant to play god," Isaac whispered, remembering what Keancros had told him, how he should have known what the relic did in light of what had occurred in 2517. "It was done by this place's creators. It was done by NavSpecWar for us. The difference however, is that we were kept in line. We were kept loyal. You can resent Harwood and Halsey all you want Kirk, but remember they did what was necessary. There's a price of freedom Kirk. You want unlimited freedom. You want freedom even at the cost of everything else."
"I want freedom for all of us."
"No Kirk…that's not it. The real you, the one Keancros didn't twist would never sacrifice people's lives for personal gain. The real Kirk wouldn't put his faith in a piece of machinery that scared even its own creators. The real-…"
"Isaac, this is the real me," Kirk murmured. "You just can't see it."
And with that, he pressed the button.
It was a small motion, but the results were anything but. Rumbling filled the relic's core, the two super-soldiers fighting to say on their feet. Glancing down to the room's depths, Isaac could see why-seven pillars were extending from its depths, coming up to the same level as the walkway leading to the console. Up from the ceiling, a single pillar came down, its base shining with light…some kind of geometric pattern. It was a pattern that was brought down onto one of the pillars extending from below. A pattern that must have brought some kind of energy, given the steam extending from the small gap between the two.
"Seven conduits…" Kirk murmured, standing tall even as Isaac stared. "Seven pillars of foundation awaiting my mark. And when all bear it…the new age will begin. An age that I will lead."
"Over my dead body…" Isaac whispered.
Kirk chuckled. "Very well Isaac…I suppose all faith has to be validated by the spilling of heretics' blood."
Isaac remained silent. He knew that was true…for humanity, and certainly for the conglomeration of aliens that waged a holy war, slaughtering billions. A war that if Kirk succeeded, if he truly became what he thought was a god…could overshadow. By far.
This had to end. Now.
Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")
Outside his mind, there was chaos. Inside his mind, there was calm.
It was a paradox that Joshua suspected few would understand. Battle was a time of panic, of irrationality, of hatred and fear. Yet in battle, he was home. In battle, he could be himself. In battle, he could do what he was born to do-in this case, defend humanity from its enemies. Even if those enemies had already won, courtesy of a newly arrived fleet, he would keep fighting. There was nothing else he could do. And as his shotgun felled yet another Elite, he had no regrets about that either.
"Nice," came a voice. "Bet I could beat it though."
"I'll take that bet," Green Leader answered, shoving in some more soellkrafts into the weapon's firing chamber while scanning his surroundings for threats, his eyes unneeded in the process of reloading. "Not sure what the stakes will be."
"Oh, you know. Pride, dignity…the works."
The NCO grinned, and not because of the pool of blue blood he'd formed a few feet ahead, courtesy of a careless Grunt. Yes, the situation was helpless. Yes, he was going to die on this world. But at least with Grace at his back, he wouldn't die alone.
Nor would she.
Taking cover behind the burnt husk of a dwelling as a volley of plasma fire came his way, Joshua briefly reflected on Grace's entry to the battlefield. It had been unexpected, considering she was meant to be resting from her encounter with Kirk. He should have known better, but the Spartan-II had asked whether she was up to it. Considering that her answer was to break the neck of an Elite sneaking up on him, Green Team's leader supposed she was just fine. It was a supposition that had been validated numerous times. Gazing out from his cover as Grace threw a fragmentation grenade at the Elites, this was one of them. Robbed of their shielding, it took only a few seconds for her SMG to mow them down or send them scurrying for cover in turn.
"Wort wort wort!"
Heh…guess I'll never know what that actually means.
Not actually a tragedy, but still, since something else than curiosity was going to kill him, Joshua couldn't help but feel some regret. He hoped it was an expression of terror, but it was all academic anyway. The purpose of his life was to stop Elites and any other Covie from ever speaking again. And as he threw his own grenade to where the split-jaws had taken cover, it was a purpose he fulfilled. Again.
"We're…gonna need more time to settle our bet," Grace wheezed, shoving a new clip into the SMG from her rapidly diminishing supply. "Can't…stand going out in a draw."
Joshua remained silent. Grace's stamina was clearly low and his own wasn't holding up so well either. So with no enemies in sight, he paused to regain his bearings, drowning out the gunfire, shouts and screams. His eyes were telling him what his ears were, that everywhere he looked, Hope's defenders and citizens were giving ground to the alien invaders. His plan of a skirmish line seemed to have worked, considering that Thunderville was still standing, but it meant that he had no idea how many humans were still alive on Hope. Heck, for all he knew, the swarm of marines and civilians running out in the open towards his position were the last ones left alive.
Them…and me.
"Come on!" he heard Grace yell, Green 3 gesturing towards her position. "Move like you've got a purpose!"
Apparently Green Team's explosives expert was intent on following protocol. Right now, Joshua didn't see the point. None of the group needed any motivation and there weren't any threats in the nearby area either. Right now, in this particular location, there was a lull in the battle and Green Team's leader was considering looking elsewhere for-…
Boom!
At first, Joshua didn't know what had happened. With an explosion of light and heat having occurred mere feet away, his instinct was to get behind cover and was indeed what he did. However, this prevented him from seeing the cause of such heat and light. Still, as he glanced back out of cover, that wasn't such a bad thing.
"A plasma mortar…" Grace whispered, all thoughts of competition gone. "Never saw it coming…"
Us or them? the Spartan-II wondered bitterly, surveying the carnage. A pool of melted glass had formed in front of him, such was the heat of the plasma. Glass that no doubt encompassed more carbon than it would had it not vaporized every human within its radius. Only those on its perimeter had been spared such a fate, but seeing their burnt, broken bodies lying on the ground and even on rooftops, it was cold comfort.
Do not pity the dead. Rather pity the living…
The Spartan couldn't remember where he'd heard such a saying, but either way, he couldn't agree with it right now. He was living…living as he was meant to. But these poor souls…they hadn't asked for this. And now, choice was forever denied to them.
"Josh?" Grace asked hesitantly. "Your orders?"
Green Leader blinked. Orders? Did orders even serve a purpose anymore?
"My orders?" the NCO asked softly. "My…my…"
"Stanforth…read…repeat…"
What the?
"UN…Leviathan…evacuation…"
"You hearing this?" Grace asked.
Joshua nodded. He was hearing "this," as Spartan-093 put it. Hearing a radio transmission to be precise. A transmission that as faint and garbled as it was, could still be heard in the clamor of battle. A transmission that was coming from a marine's backpack radio.
"Grace, eyes on approaches," Spartan-029 murmured, signaling his comrade to cover him as he moved to the burnt body bearing the slightly less burned long-range radio. A radio that was still working and as he the NCO adjusted its frequency, began to make more sense.
"This is Admiral Stanforth of Battlegroup Leviathan. We are currently engaged with the Covenant above Hope and cannot hold out indefinitely. If there is anyone still alive planetside, please respond now."
Stanforth? Name sounds familiar…
If curiosity could still be indulged, the Spartan might have pursued it further. Still, right now, curiosity had to take a backseat. Because if this message was genuine (and there was no reason why it wouldn't be-the Covenant hardly had to spring a trap right now to win), then the game had changed. Death in battle was no longer guaranteed. Hope, as faint as it was, had returned to the world of the same name.
"This is Admiral Stanforth of-…"
"Um, Josh?" Grace asked. "You going to answer?"
The Spartan allowed himself a small smile. Grace couldn't see it, but that didn't matter. Actions spoke louder than words. And when combined together, the effect could drown out even the death and destruction the Covenant had brought down on them.
"Admiral Stanforth, this is Sierra-029. I am requesting evacuation craft at the following co-ordinates…"
Marathon-class cruiser Leviathan
Status: Engaged with Covenant fleet in Chi Mu System
There were some things that Hieronymus Michael Stanforth didn't know. Why Captain Sattler had sent out a distress signal so cryptically was one such thing. How Battlegroup Leviathan had made it to Chi Mu was another. But as puzzling as these questions were, they were taking a backseat to what the admiral did know right now. And that was that the battlegroup was engaged in a space battle with a Covenant fleet and that while it had the advantage for now, such an advantage was fated to be temporary.
"Sir! Carriers Racetrack and Californium report successful strikes on Covenant destroyer!"
"Frigate Redemption has taken heavy damage! Requesting permission to disengage!"
"Longsword Squadron Charlie engaged with Seraphs and Banshee-class interceptors! Three confirmed kills, no losses!"
Stanforth felt like a puppet master, one who was obliged to treat his fifty ships better than Stromboli had Pinocchio. All in all, he would have preferred not to be a puppet master at all. But if there was one thing that space battles against the Covenant dictated, it was coordination. And that was what he was going to provide.
"Group the Racetrack and Californium with the Fantasia for another concentrated strike!" Stanforth barked, turning his attention to the tac-map of his fleet. "Alert Redemption that it is clear for disengagement."
"Aye sir!"
"Yes sir!"
Stanforth remained silent. There was no need to answer acknowledgements. Not when, as the Melody disappeared in a storm of plasma, four-hundred plus souls would never be acknowledging anything again.
Some might call him a micro-manager, but just as Cole had demonstrated at the Second Battle of Harvest, concentrating firepower was sometimes the only way to take a Covenant ship down. It was a tactic that had so far worked quite well. From what he could tell, the admiral suspected that the Covenant fleet had only expected to be facing a Phoenix-class carrier and a frigate, not a human fleet twice its size. That would explain their slowness in reacting to the newly arrived UNSC ships, allowing Stanforth to group his scattered fleet together, single out Covenant ships and assign groups of his own ships to target them. The result was that it was only now that he was beginning to take losses, as plasma torpedoes and energy projectors met the storm of magnetic accelerator rounds and Archer missiles. Unfortunately, these were losses that would only get worse as time went on.
"Sir, UNSC Notre Dame is disabled. They're…they're dead in the water sir."
Case in point, the loss of a Halcyon-class cruiser rather than frigates or destroyers. Soon, Marathons would begin to fall…
"Ensign Stitch!" the admiral barked, turning to his communications officer. "Has there been any word from the surface?"
"Negative sir," the young man answered, his trepidation evident. "Captain Sattler insists that they're still alive, but there's been no communication to back that up. Last we heard a Covenant force was overrunning their position."
Sattler sighed, closing his eyes and wiping the sweat off his brow. Even if Hope wasn't glassed, its people would be burnt either way. Maybe they were alive, maybe not. But as morally reprehensible as it sounded, the admiral couldn't stay up here on the basis of maybe. The Wild Endeavour had saved some people…but who was to say there was anyone left to save.
"Sir, UNSC Atlantis is…gone sir."
Stanforth remained silent. More lives lost…and no indication that they'd died for anything.
This had to end.
"Alright, I'm going to order disengagement," said the admiral despondently, turning to face his bridge crew while remaining like a hawk over Stitch, as if hoping for contact. "Order ships to-…"
"Sierra…nine…evacuation…"
What the?
"Sir, message from the surface!" Stitch exclaimed, his trepidation replaced with amazement in an instant. "Patching it through…"
"This is Sierra-029," came the voice again. "Thunderville is under attack, but still holding. If any UNSC ships are receiving this, please come down on this transmission. I repeat-…"
"Belay previous order!" Stanforth exclaimed, not needing the radio sender to repeat anything. Any Pelican, any Albatross, any Bumblebee for all I care…get them down to Hope and save its people by any or all means necessary!"
"Yes sir!"
"Roger wilco!"
"Sir, Covenant fleet in attack formation! Currently on approach vector, bearing at zero zero carom at point three-five!"
Good news on one hand, bad news on the other. Such was life. Well, no matter. Stanforth trusted his pilots to get down to the surface. Now he'd have to trust his own abilities and continue to co-ordinate his fire even as the Covenant ships approached to a range where their weaponry would be even more effective. It was up to him to ensure that as few aliens reached such a range as possible.
"Get a line with destroyers Robinson, Thunderbolt and Enchantment! Have them target-…"
Unidentified alien relic (interior)
It was like chasing an ant with a magnifying glass. The insect was doomed, but didn't have the intelligence to appreciate it.
Kirk knew…or rather hoped…that defeating his former friend wouldn't be as easy as the analogy that had sprung into his mind as soon as the Spartan had made it clear that he was past the point of no return. The relic only had enough power to grant near-invulnerability on one individual and given the 'all or nothing' protocol that had been enacted, no individual would ever follow in his footsteps. Still, that was not to say Isaac wouldn't have had his uses. Indeed, even if he didn't, the appreciation of setting the…child free would be also the thanks Kirk needed. But deep down, the Reaper knew that wasn't to be. Isaac was still a child, no different from the six year old that was brought to Reach all those years ago. Still following mummy and daddy, unable to see the world beyond the confined bubble of his existence. The only difference was that this child was capable of wielding all manner of weaponry. Including an MA5B…such as that was being raised to meet him.
Pitiful.
The NCO was quick on the draw, far quicker than Kirk would have thought possible with an assault rifle stuck to his back via magnetism. But the Reaper was faster. Fast enough to dart forward with such speed that only a few rounds struck. Numerous 7.62 FMGs fell to the control room floor, as Isaac found Kirk with one hand on his rifle, another on his shoulder.
"What?" Isaac whispered. "How-…"
"What, you think the magnetic field was the only protection I had?" Kirk sneered. "Don't be so naive."
SK-018 was beginning to wonder whether Isaac would live long enough to see his moment of ascension. He hadn't given it too much thought up until now-the Spartan was doomed to failure, but he could still be a worthy opponent. But now, as he threw the child to the floor and tossed the rifle down into the abyss almost simultaneously, Kirk knew it was well within his rights to toy with him. Indeed, wasn't that what Isaac and every other one of his ilk were? A toy soldier? Just…waiting to be broken.
Bringing a fist down, Kirk decided to find out.
Isaac rolled aside, leaving the Reaper's blow to hit nothing but the walkway's surface, followed by the Spartan kicking him from the side. Nothing too special, but enough to allow the Spartan time to get back to his feet. Kirk dashed forward, letting lose a volley of punches that Isaac could barely block. In the case of a blow to his stomach, he didn't.
"You've gotten rusty," Kirk sneered, bringing both his elbows down onto Isaac's back. "But then again, CQC was never your strong suit."
"Nor…was…yours."
Snarling, Kirk didn't answer. He simply brought his foot up, striking the Spartan's chin and sending him back towards the entrance. Like kicking a puppy out the door after it did its dirty business inside. Certainly that was all Isaac was good for right now. Just lying there, in his own filth.
"You know, I'm not sure what you expect of me Isaac," Kirk began, walking over to his enemy. "You're useless without a weapon, so why keep fighting? Is it that you want to see me herald in a new age?"
Isaac didn't answer.
"Well? Is it?"
Still, the Spartan remained silent. Letting out a roar, kicking him again and again in the stomach, Kirk managed to alter that somehow. Grunts of pain weren't much, but at least he was getting some kind of response out of the drone.
"That (thump) you little (thump) was the wrong (thump) answer!"
"I…didn't…say anything…"
"Exactly!"
Giving Isaac a final kick, Kirk decided a new tactic was required. One that would put an end to the need of tactics altogether and put the miserable child out of his misery. Grabbing the Spartan by his neck, he proceeded to
Thump!
A blow to his stomach…a second blow to his abdomen…a third blow that was blocked, but still sent Kirk staggering…towards the exit.
"Establishing your turf, Isaac?" the Reaper asked. "Want to send be back out to-…"
Kirk trailed off as another fist came his way. It didn't hit and given the indentation made in the wall, that was just as well. Not wanting Isaac to press his advantage, he flipped backwards, both his feet hitting the Spartan and sending him flying back to the console.
"Face it Isaac, you've lost," Kirk murmured, walking over towards his friend. "Look around you. Two conduits have already been linked, there's only five more to go. Even if you could beat me in the long run, that's not enough time provided. But then again, we have to come back to reality."
"Reality…" said Isaac weakly, getting to his feet, but clearly the worse for wear. "Don't lecture me on reality Kirk. You lost your grip on it years ago."
"Really?" the Reaper sneered. "Then why can't you appreciate the fact that you've lost? Your main weapon's gone, you're on the ropes and they can only bend back so far until you fall out of the ring. And…well, it's a long drop."
The Spartan remained silent, though SK-018 saw, much to his satisfaction, that he nevertheless glanced into the control room's abyss. His future grave…or something. Usually they were dug after the person had died, but since Isaac was as good as dead already, Kirk supposed the analogy held.
"So Isaac…" the Reaper began. "What's it going to be? Go out with a bang or a whimper? Because either way your world…the old order…is going to end. What's your answer?"
The Spartan didn't answer…not in a literal sense. Because while his only answer was to reformat his stance into something that passed for CQC, Kirk understood what he meant behind it. He was going to go out in a whimper, but with the intention of going out in a bang.
"Excellent…" Kirk sneered, watching the third conduit come down to its pedestal. "Let's continue then, shall we?"
Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")
Ardo was dying.
Alone, insignificant, unremembered...exactly as he wanted to be pretty much since this whole mess began, especially after he was compelled to spill the beans on the relic that he and Tara had found. The relic that had shot a stream of light into the air and as far as he could tell, was still doing so. Darkness was falling on Hope and the stream of light to the north was one of the scant pieces of illumination left. That, and the plasma that was flying around left right and centre.
Or, in the case of the energy mortar, falling down on him.
Struggling to get to his feet, and then realizing that they'd disappeared along with the bottom halves of his legs, Ardo settled with leaning against the wreckage of a Warthog. There was no pain strangely, but as he was getting no feedback from any of his other senses, maybe that was to be expected. It was tempting to just lie down and...
No...Tara...
Had she survived the blast that he and the rest of his fellow kind had been caught up in? Ardo didn't know. He'd been cast aside, sent flying by the release of energy that had formed a sheet of blackened glass where it had landed. It was a sheet that Tara could be part of. But if she had survived...where was she...?
"Tara?" Ardo whispered, his throat feeling scorched somehow, as if a cold had come and done its work with a flamethrower. "You out there...sis...?"
No answer. Nothing but shouts, screams and gunfire of both human and non-human origin.
Coughing, Ardo reached for a cigarette...then stopped. Something wet was on the ground, something that compelled him to stretch his neck over and find out what it was. Not blood, actually, which made sense-his stumps were cauterized. No...it was hydrogen. Liquid hydrogen, used by Warthogs and practically all other forms of vehicular transport. Something had done a number of the vehicle and ruptured its fuel tank but had somehow not ignited it. Light a cancer stick however, and that could change.
Crap. I'm going to die with blood in my lungs instead of nicotine.
Was it his fault, that this had happened? He and Tara unearthing the artefact, drawing the aliens here in force? As unpleasant as the answer was, Ardo supposed it was "yes." Certainly not with the intent of doing so, but intent seemed to matter little in this case. Intent was the finer point of law, not like the sledgehammer of alien justice. Or gravity hammer, whatever. Certainly not a glowing two pronged sword.
What the...oh no...
Elites.
Fighting just one of the bastards had been bad enough, but right now, the miner was confronted by five of them. What looked like their leader was wearing red armour instead of gold, but he still looked just as menacing. An ice hound rather than a doberman gator, but still perfectly capable of tearing his throat out just the same. Or impaling him. As the aliens approached, Ardo supposed he was about to find out.
"Hey...split-jaws...what can I...get for...ya?"
Did they understand? Well, if the aliens did, it was a mute point, given their guttural murmurings and what Ardo supposed was what amounted to a sneer when your mouth was composed of mandibles. Didn't these genocidal freaks have better things to do then raise their purplish weapons at him like a firing squad? Or were they so sure of victory that they were willing to send him off in style?
Off in style...wait a minute...
Ardo had an idea. An idea that was pretty much useless in the greater scheme of things, but satisfying was death. Tara was likely dead and if that was the case, her older brother was fated to follow. Unlike her however, he could choose the manner of his passing. Certainly the Elites let him reach for the lighter, staring at the flame with a perplexed expression, a disbelief that their prey thought he could do anything with it.
"Always knew these things would kill me..." Ardo murmured, gazing up at the aliens with the loathing he'd usually reserved for Riley as he held the lighter in one hand and twiddled with a cancer stick with the other. "Didn't know they'd kill you freaks as well..."
Clearly, the Elites didn't understand his words. Still, as Ardo dropped the lighter into the pool of hydrogen, that changed in an instant.
No-one would remember him. No-one would mourn him.
But as the first wave of Pelicans and Albatrosses touched down, not a single pilot missed his last hurrah.
Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")
Evacuation zone
Bloody surveyors...if they called a planet Hope, why didn't they call one Despair?
The answer to that question was that no-one would really want to name a planet "Despair" in the first place. Certainly not in a star system of five planets, where the terrestrials were as dull and lifeless as Luna (bar Hope) and its single gas giant was about as boring as Uranus and stank just as much given its methane content. Still, Jefferson indulged in such thoughts. Because while Hope was living up to its name right now, it was only doing that in part. The other part was reserved for its emotional opposite. And like the situation on the planet, the sergeant was tottering between the two.
As shouts of both joy and terror echoed throughout the night, the ODST suspected that everyone else was for that matter.
"Grunts! Coming hard!"
"Jackals! Elites!"
"Bravo Kilos! You want to Tango!"
Shaking his head, Jefferson ducked behind a burnt out Warthog, letting the blue and green streams of plasma remove even more of its paintwork. He didn't understand such terms and doubted he ever would...even if he did survive long enough to get off this rock. Which, as he reflected as he emerged from cover and downed a pair of gas suckers, was hardly certain. 50-50 he'd wager...just like the emotional see-saw that he and every other soldier and civilian was on.
Hope despair doesn't have any fat kids...
Ducking down from a Jackal whose ball of green went a bit too close to his head for his liking, Jefferson considered the situation. On the side of hope, in both planet and emotion, was the presence of around fifty UNSC warships in orbit, taking the fight to a Covenant fleet of smaller size. Not a guaranteed victory for the fleet's commander, or even the chance of a victory at all, but still enough time for the line to be held. For a landing zone to be set up at the 31st's command centre as Pelicans and Albatrosses touched down, squeezing in-between dwellings or sometimes flattening them completely. No-one protested at such actions, their main concern being to get the hell out of dodge. So for now, he and every other able bodied man, woman and...hell, even a few children was manning a drastically diminished perimeter and holding the Covies at bay while people filtered in through the lines to the waiting transports.
That, Jefferson thought as he managed to down the Jackal that took a shot at him earlier, was the side of hope encompassed in a nutshell.
"Nice shooting!" someone called out. "Next tree turkey is mine though."
"You're welcome to it!" the ODST responded, deciding that pandering to the lowest common denominator might be good for morale. "Just as long as I don't have to cook it for Christmas."
"Christmas was six days ago!"
"Hell, New Year's Eve then!"
Hope...so fleeting, so juvenile. But against the tides of despair, it was needed. Because there seemed to be no limit to the Covenant ground forces and there was still the issue of the space battle. How long could the naval forces last? When would they call it quits? And how many people would still be on Hope when that call was made?
Me certainly...no teleports this time...
Downing a Grunt that was fleeing with its arms waving like a child on a sugar high, Jefferson pushed the thoughts out of his mind. This wasn't Sanctuary. Things were different. A lot different. Different that there were far more ways to die.
"Wort wort wort!"
Uh-oh...
Even with the firepower of the marines and civilians, even with the command centre's turrets online (a firebase, effectively), it was inevitable that some Covies would make it through the killzone. It was also inevitable that given their strength, stamina and bloody energy shields, Elites would be foremost among such fanatics. And as Jefferson realized, it was also inevitable that he'd be on the receiving end of one of the split-jaw's left hooks as the eight foot tall monster jumped on top of the Warthog, knocking him aside with the force of a Cyclops.
Falling down, Jefferson reached for his rifle, fully aware that saying his name was nobody wasn't going to cut it. However, weapons hadn't availed the Greeks overmuch in that story and they didn't do him much good here. The Elite grabbed the rifle and tossed it over its shoulder. In turn, it raised its own...
"Hey split lip! Pick on someone as ugly as you next time!"
Jefferson watched as the alien's shields flared in the evening gloom, absorbing numerous rounds from an unknown source. Ineffective for the most part, but the alien nonetheless glanced at whatever the source was. The ODST however, didn't make the same mistake. Seizing upon the alien's distraction, he planted a grenade at its feet and dived aside, the sergeant took solace in the knowledge that the only thing the monster would be looking at now was its own tombstone.
"Hey pal, you okay?"
The voice...even in the midst of battle, with hundreds of other voices flowing through the air, it sounded familiar. As he got to his feet and found the source of the voice, Jefferson realized why.
"Private Hawkins..." the ODST murmured. "Didn't think you'd be the one to save my arse."
"Huh?" the kid asked, visibly confused. "Do I know you?"
"How many other ODSTs are on this rock?" the sergeant asked, un-polarizing his visor. "And don't answer Hawkins, I know that some are coming down on the birds from above."
It was cute, really, how Hawkins and his apparent significant other were still together, still fighting alongside each other in the gates of hell. It was even cuter to watch their expressions turn from ones of camaraderie to ones resembling a mix of confusion and dislike.
"Yeah, it's me, the cock blocker," Jefferson sneered. "Nice to see you too playboy."
"Whatever," Hawkins murmured. "I don't care what you think, sir, we just need everyone we can get our hands on right now."
"Yeah, I know how much you like a hands on approach."
Jefferson wasn't sure why he was being so snide when his life had just been saved. Maybe it was because he was sick of the whole charade of actually being a Helljumper. Maybe it was the privilege of rank. Maybe it was because Hawkins and Chambers reminded him of...no, scratch that. He didn't start striding towards his enemies with the glare that the private did. Nor did he have anyone to hold him back.
"Jack, don't," the medic said, leading him away to another section of the line. "Let him do his job, we'll do-..."
Bam!
It happened fast, yet not fast enough for Jefferson not to see what happened. One moment, Chambers was talking to her...comrade. The next, she was falling to the ground. What Jefferson had seen transpire between those two moments, was a ball of green plasma strike her in the back.
Son of a...!
Grabbing a battle rifle from some poor sod missing half his face, Jefferson opened fire on the methane suckers responsible. Only Grunts were stupid enough to stand there after a lucky shot. Only Grunts were stupid enough to run out in the open as he and Hawkins mowed them down. Only Grunts could die and not give you any satisfaction whatsoever...even when one of your own wasn't lying on the ground with her face in the same direction as the arthropods.
"Rachel? Rachel!"
The ODST moved over to where Hawkins and Chambers (or Rachel apparently) was. The marine was shouting frantically, having even taken off his helmet for some reason. It was tempting to follow suit, but the NCO resisted. He preferred anonymity, even if treating the medic might break it.
"Move aside kid," the ODST grunted. "You may be Romeo, but he was no medic."
"Romeo? What are...what are you doing?"
"Getting the armour off Juliet for your...well, not monologues, I can tell you that!" Jefferson snapped, peeling off the medic's burnt, brown armour and tossing it aside. "Armour absorbed most of the plasma, but that shot was highly charged. Having an oven around you isn't a good idea."
Hawkins remained silent as Jefferson checked the medic's pulse. He even remained silent as the sergeant rolled her shirt back, revealing the burnt, blistered skin below. She was still breathing, and there was no sign of penetration through her epidermis, but still, she was hardly going to be on her feet in the near future. There was only one thing for it. And as the ODST expected, the private didn't like it.
"What? Up with you? Are you-..."
"Kid, the ships are taking wounded along with civvies," Jefferson snapped. "Chambers counts as wounded, so she's going up as well. Because she's wounded, she needs someone to get her there. And since your knowledge of first aid is Medieval, you're not the person for the job."
"But I-..."
Jefferson shoved him down, and not only because of the Banshee wreck falling down beside them.
"I'm not running," the ODST declared, surprised to be speaking the truth. "I'm simply getting...well..."
"And why not me?" Hawkins whispered, his gaze darting between the medic and ODST. "Why not-..."
"Because you can hold this line better than me."
"How do you know?"
"Because it's something you signed up to do. I didn't."
There...that shut him up. Shut him up long enough for Jefferson to pick up Chambers in his arms and walk towards a waiting Pelican, hearing the sounds of Grunts dying as an MA5B tore through them. Sometimes, telling the truth was for the best.
And if anyone on the Aeros thought differently, David Jefferson supposed the space battle made that a moot point.
Intercepted transmission between Haven and Aeros
Transmitted to Keancros via ghost software (excerpt)
J.S.: Stanforth's informed me that his fleet is reaching breaking point. How's things on your end?
M.H.: My end? You're checking up on me?
J.S.: The Wild Endeavour's down and the Haven may be joining it soon. If we go down...nothing can protect the Aeros.
M.H.: Bit late for that. Banshees and Seraphs have already had their fun with us. Apart from us on the bridge...I don't think anyone's still alive on this rustbucket.
J.S.: Am I meant to feel sorry for you?
M.H.: No, but you are. I can see that just by looking at you. And from the alarms blaring that the Haven isn't going to be going much further either.
J.S.: ...
M.H.: Why'd you stay Justin? If you'd made a break for Stanforth's fleet, you wouldn't have been isolated out here. There's only so many corvettes and destroyers the Covenant are willing to throw away before they send proper ships at you.
J.S.: Don't lecture me on tactics Mina.
M.H.: Mina? So we're both on a first name basis now?
J.S.: ...
M.H.: Look, it isn't so bad. The Aeros can still play a role. Its fusion reactors-...
J.S.: Fusion reactors! Mina, what are you-...
M.H.: ...are encased with lithium tietride. Something about maximum output in regards to containment of energy. But if that energy was used in another way...
J.S.: This isn't the time to talk about suicide!
M.H.: It's the perfect time! The Aeros is dead, the Haven is dead, everyone onboard these ships is dead! If we can buy Stanforth and Hope more time, then that's a sacrifice worth making. I...know all about making sacrifices.
J.S.: But you need the Haven to buy you time.
M.H.: Knight in shining armour thing, pretty much.
J.S.: You're no Guinevere Harwood.
M.H.: Maybe not. But you're Lancelot Justin.
External: Nice foreplay sir...
J.S.: Shut up!
M.H.: (Snigger overheard)
J.S.: Fine. I'll go out with you in a last hurrah. Oh, and Mina?
M.H.: Back to forenames I see.
J.S.: About the last three years? About the lies, the deception, about the Reaper, about Keancros?
M.H.: ...yes?
J.S.: ...I forgive you.
Unidentified alien relic (interior)
Isaac didn't like CQC.
Not because it was overkill against Grunts and Jackals. Not because it was inadvisable against Elites or Hunters. No...the reason that Petty Officer Second Class Isaac-039 didn't like CQC was that it was the last recourse available to him against Kirk. And SK-018 was far better at it than he was.
"Come on! Fight me!"
And he knew it.
Things were going slightly better now admittedly. Even as Kirk let out a volley of punches, Isaac was able to block them all, even while giving ground back towards the control room's console. Kirk suddenly stopped, bringing his leg around for a kick...which Isaac grabbed...only for Kirk to bring his other leg up, kick the Spartan under the chin and flip back to his feet.
"Pitiful. I-..."
Tackling his former friend the ground, Isaac shut him up. Bringing his fist upwards and then downwards onto the Reaper's helmet, the NCO hoped to shut him up permanently.
Thump...thump...crack...
Three strikes. Three strikes was all it took to make a dent in Kirk's helmet. One strike from Kirk was enough to send the Spartan rolling off. But the three strikes had done far more damage...enough to make the madman take his helmet off and throw it away in frustration.
"That..." Kirk said slowly, spitting out blood in-between gasps. "Was unpleasant."
"As unpleasant as your botched face job?"
"...you have no idea."
The ceramic ossification correction had done its job well. Well enough to send Kirk over the edge and well enough to ensure he was still in peak condition. Letting loose another volley of punches that Isaac couldn't block, he showed it.
"This...is...my...domain! You will kneel!"
"Fine."
Isaac did so, dodging Kirk's left hook. He then brought up his right one, landing a blow on the Reaper's jaw.
"What's the point of this!" the Spartan yelled, grabbing Kirk in a headlock. "Even if you get the energy, how will you get off this planet? What's the point?"
"Simple," the Reaper sneered, elbowing the Spartan in the chest, back-kicking him in the same area and cart-wheeling away, getting a strike on his visor. "The Covenant will investigate the relic, and I'll be waiting for them. I'll leave the planet. I'll...well, then I'll decide on how to tear down two civilizations."
"Tear them down? You're-..."
"A god? Not yet."
"No. A little baby on a beach who makes sandcastles before treading on them. Remember Emerald Cove? You're still a child Kirk! You think the world's your oyster and-..."
"Shut up!"
Kirk charged...and missed. At the last second, Isaac ducked and weaved, a tactic best suited for a Katana. Not that he had such a weapon, but he still made contact. Kirk now had his back to the console and for once, the Spartan had the upper hand.
"This ends now Kirk," the NCO said firmly. "You're finished."
"Hardly Isaac. Look around you. This isn't Moriah. Abraham isn't going to save you."
The Spartan didn't know what his foe was talking about, but looked around just the same. Looked around and saw that only two of the seven conduits had yet to be connected. Kirk might have his back to the wall, but-...
"Idiot!"
...scratch that.
One second. One moment of distraction was all it took for Kirk to regain the advantage. An advantage that had him, the madman on the walkway while Isaac was sent flying off it as part of his charge. In an instant, Kirk-018 wasn't his enemy. Gravity was.
"I'd tell you to drop in...but...oh wait, I don't need puns! I'm-..."
Isaac drowned it out, focussing on his own survival. Twisting his body in mid-air, he reached a more favourable position, akin to one he'd use in a HALO jump. Difference was, he stretched out his arm. Not to lower his freefall velocity, but to grab onto the last conduit. And pull himself up.
"Like a drowning rat clinging to a piece of wood," Kirk sneered. "Well, no matter. I'll break both the wood and the rat."
Jumping up through the air to the platform, he proceeded to do so. And failed. Because in the instant it took for the Reaper to make the leap, it only took half an instant for Isaac to counter it. With both hands on the conduit's edge, he was able to flip himself up to his feet. The result was that Kirk was hit in mid-air and sent flying in turn...
"Nice try Isaac!"
...and land on the next conduit.
Isaac couldn't believe it. He was sore, he was aching and Kirk...not only was he apparently still in fighting shape, but he seemed even madder than he did before. His eyes white, his teeth like that of a doberman gator after tearing into its prey. He'd lost it.
"You're dead Isaac!" the Spartan's enemy yelled. "You've lost! I've won! I am invincible! I am the light of moon and day! I-..."
Crash!
"Kirk!"
It was involuntary. Both the exclamation, and the stretching out of his arm as if to save his friend. But it was too late. Kirk's mind had gone beyond saving long ago. And as the pillar had come down to the conduit Kirk was on, crushing his form, his body was beyond saving as well. Struck down by the very thing that was to make him invincible.
"You shalt have no other gods before me," Isaac whispered, not sure what he even meant by such words. "You shalt not make for yourself an idol..."
"And you...believe that?"
"After all you've done? Seems there's some wisdom."
Isaac felt...nothing. Not from Kirk's words, not from his gaze, not from him coughing up blood as the pillar pressed down on his armour. Electricity sparked from the apparatus, but it was all that was saving him. For now at least. There was no way over to the conduit and even if there was, Isaac doubted even his strength could move Kirk from the death trap he'd created for himself.
"I can't save you Kirk," the Spartan whispered, sitting down on his own conduit, safe in the knowledge that Kirk had stalled the entire system. "I don't know if I even want to."
"Then that's your problem."
The Spartan fell silent. Kirk, defiant to the end. Once, in what felt like an old life, it was endearing. Now...now...now he didn't know what to think.
"Kirk...why do this?" the NCO whispered, feeling the rage build up inside him like a volcano ready to blow its top. "Why turn against...against everything? Why change? Why would you think even for a moment that activating this relic would help humanity? Why...why did you stop being the person you once were?"
Kirk sniggered, even as the pillar moved down on him further. He glanced at Isaac, the light leaving his eyes.
"What you know, you know, Isaac."
What he knew...right now, Isaac didn't feel like he knew anything. Not who he was, not what he was, why he fought every single day to save a species that seemed to be doomed to extinction anyway. Why he got up every day and never for a second considered a different path. Not the one Kirk had taken but...well, what path? The one that puppet masters like Keancros set out for him? Was he like Kirk? A tool? A means to an end?
"I've got one last thing to say to you..." Kirk rasped, gritting his teeth as the pillar pressed down further. "You don't have to listen...you don't have...to believe me...but it's the only way."
"What way?"
"Isaac...I know what's...troubling you..." Kirk rasped. "And I'll tell you this. If you don't...believe...in yourself...in what you fight for...then you're indeed a tool. A weapon. A means to an end. But you're not. We're not. No-one...is..."
"What I believe in?" the Spartan whispered. "Believe like you did? Believe that your-..."
"I did what I believed was right. I believe in myself. Can you say the same?"
Isaac fell silent. Not so much from the words, but from the man behind them. Somehow, at the end of all things...Kirk had returned. Somewhere in that crushed form was the person he once knew. The person who knew when his friend was troubled...and would console him...
It was in this moment that Isaac knew what his friend wanted also. His voice, his gasps, the look of...pleading in his eyes...yes, the Spartan knew what he wanted.
Isaac un-holstered his pistol.
Hey, I'm Kirk. What's your name.
Reach...seventeen years ago. Funny how the mind worked.
Isaac. And...wait, who are you?
The safety was released.
René...the girl who rang the bell for our team.
The bullet reached the firing chamber.
Team? I don't want a girl on our team.
Isaac hesitated.
Come on Kirk, she's got a point.
...
Fine. I can be...friends...with a girl.
"Do it...please..."
Friends? Who said anything about friends?
"Please..."
What's wrong Isaac? You don't like making new friends?
"Kirk..."
I...nah, nothing's wrong. I can be friends with you guys.
"Isaac...do it..."
Best friends?
"Please..."
Yeah...best friends.
"Do it!"
Now...
The trigger was pulled.
And forever.
It was done.
Isaac just stood there. The gun in his hands, his...friend's limp body just lying there...being crushed by the pillar. He was alone. Again. Maybe he'd always been alone. Alone ever since that day nine years ago. In a way, Kirk had never come back at all. In a way, both Kirk and René-005 had truly died the moment they were put into the neutral-buoyancy gel tanks. Yet in another way, he had also lost them again.
Last time, he had managed not to shed any tears. This time, even as he jumped back to the control room's walkway, he failed. Failed even as he used his radio, not knowing nor caring if anyone would hear his transmission. Certainly Kirk and René wouldn't. Even if it concerned them.
"...it's finished."
A/N
In pre-emptiveness, I'll go ahead and say that this story was concieved long before Cryptum, let alone actually written. And while I did change some of the wording in this chapter to account for it, that still left me in an iffy situation as a whole for this fic in root concept. While not a "OMG, my fiction is ruined!" moment, there is the issue that the events of the Forerunner's struggle against the Flood, mainly from depictions in Iris and Origins, are either very different from what we were led to believe at best, or at worst, outright retconned. For most of the saga we've been led to believe that the Forerunners tried everything and anything before the resorting, the next, we learn that it was a case of the array or shield worlds in the midst of a political game and only entered 'epic struggle mode' when Mendicant Bias turned traitor. So how, in the midst of all this, did Forerunners build the thing I depicted here? Don't know, don't...meh. I'll spare you a rant. Anyway, criticism is welcome, though in the case of this branch of canon, I'd ask that any criticism of it is with the timing of conception in mind.
Update (08/05/2011): Corrected spelling and grammar errors.