Disclaimer: Don't own Halo or Dead Space. Do own all original characters and/or technologies.
_____________________________________________________________________
December, 2566
UNSC Patrol Cutter Trireme
Investigating UNSC Ishimura Distress Signal, one jump from target
Staff Sergeant Anthony Cromwell smiled predatorily as he gazed across the table at Petty Officer Samara Yeats. Yeats glared back, staring daggers into the older mans eyes and chomping hard on the end of her cigar.
"Your move, honey," Cromwell's deep, baritone voice grated, echoing dully in the small room.
"Don't call me honey, fuck-face," Yeats said, an edge to her voice that was rarely heard. She reached up and brushed the back of her hand against her brow, wiping away the sweat that had gathered there, then grabbed the cigar and placed it in the ashtray on the table in front of her. "Fine, I'll see your twenty and raise you ten."
Cromwell chuckled as Yeats tossed a poker chip on the table, sipped at the bourbon sitting at his side. He snorted derisively at her and threw down his cards.
"Straight flush, honey," Cromwell laughed a low, full bellied guffaw and downed the rest of his bourbon as Yeats looked on in disbelief. Cromwell slapped a massive, meaty paw down onto the pile of chips and started pulling them towards him. He didn't get far.
"Four-of-a-kind, fuck-face," Yeats said, slamming her own, much smaller hand down on top of Cromwell's in triumph. Cromwell clacked his teeth together in annoyance and shoved the pile of chips toward the Petty Officer as he stood abruptly, the metal chair clattering sharply to the floor.
"Fuckin' bullshit!" Cromwell ground out, flipping Yeats the bird as the younger woman laughed. "If you weren't a lady, I'd knock you the fuck out and take my money back."
"Lady?" a voice snorted behind him as he turned to the only door to the room to leave. "If she's a lady, I'm the Arbiter."
"Hey, fuck you, Sinj," Yeats muttered to the Trireme's Sangheili liaison. The towering alien warrior warbled out a chuckle, turned his body to the side as the Staff Sergeant stormed past.
"We are preparing to make the final jump to the Aegis system," Sinj Kanam grumbled, before retreating back the way he had come. Yeats stomped out her cigar, gathered her chips and followed him out.
_____________________________________________________________________
The Trireme shuddered as it transitioned almost instantaneously from more than sixty times light-speed to just eight thousand kilometres per second, and Lieutenant Isaac Clarke stumbled slightly as the inertia caught up with him. Isaac wasn't very experienced with Slipstream Space travel, having spent his entire life on the planet Dune, a vast desert world 300 light years from Earth.
He had joined the UNSC Engineering Corps at twenty-six, and now, aged twenty-eight, he was on his way to his first real assignment. He glanced across the bay at the four Marines and the single huge alien that would be accompanying him aborad the Ishimura.
Isaac was somewhat afraid of the alien, with its digitigrade legs, long, powerful arms and elongated squid-like skull. The rows of sharp carnivores teeth that shone dully in the light of the Trireme's shuttle bay did not help at all.
"So, do we actually know what's wrong with the Ishimura?," Lieutenant Jessica "Jessi" Simmons asked as she sidled up beside Isaac. Jessi was the Trireme's other Engineer, two years older than Isaac and with six years more experience, she remained a lieutenant only because of her disregard for authority of any kind.
"No idea, probably just a downed transmitter. Maybe an asteroid got past the mass drivers and took out a dish or something," Isaac answered, eyeing the hardware the Marines were packing. He was far from thrilled that he was going to be armed for this mission, even less so that the Marines looked about ready to take on a battalion of Brutes.
Jessi followed his gaze and frowned as she watched Staff Sergeant Cromwell loading an MA55A Assault Rifle. A hybrid between the MA5B/C assault rifles and the BR55 battle rifle, the MA55A retained the large magazine capacity and high rate of fire of the assault rifles and the mid-range accuracy of the battle rifle, making it a lethal combination and the weapon of choice for modern armed forces.
Although she admired the engineering that went into the design and manufacture of such a weapon, she held great contempt for anything that was designed to cause another living creature harm.
"Nice to see the cowboys are having fun," she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm and disapproval. She never saw the frown that crossed Isaac's face at her remark, but she did see him rub his neck as his eyes darted about the shuttle bay, finally coming to rest on the D77-AS Pelican Mark IX dropship that occupied the corvette's sole shuttle bay.
"What's the matter with you?" she asked, concern marring her feminine features. Isaac continued staring straight ahead at the Pelican for a moment, eyes unfocussed, then shook his head and looked at her.
"Nothing. I…I've just got a really bad feeling about this all of a sudden," he said, eyes flicking back to look at the Marines and the alien warrior once more, suddenly glad for the firepower they were carrying and not really sure why.
_____________________________________________________________________
The Trireme's sleek form receded behind the Pelican rapidly, and Cromwell coughed quietly behind the faceplate of his combat helmet. He didn't know why it was necessary that he and his Marines carry so much firepower, especially considering that any attempts for pirates or privateers to hijack the Ishimura would have met a bloody end at the hands of the 300 Marines that served as the UNSC mining ships' security force, but a terrible feeling of dread hung heavy in the pit of his stomach, and he had the awful feeling that the weapons and ammunition they carried just wasn't going to be enough to ensure the teams safety.
The Ishimura herself hung in low orbit above the barely inhabitable shit-hole that was Aegis 7, the enormous ship rapidly growing to fill the Pelicans frontal canopy. Something about the blocky, yet somehow very sleek, form of the ship set his teeth on edge, and he concentrated so hard on it that the pilots voice nearly made him leap out of his skin in fright.
"UNSC Ishimura, this is Pelican Trireme-196, requesting landing clearance, how copy, over?," Flight Lieutenant Amanda Connelly spoke slowly, chewing vigorously on a stick of gum. Static was all that greeted the Pelicans cockpit.
"UNSC Ishimura, this is Pelican Trireme-One-Nine-Six. We are carrying a Marine fire-team and Engineering crew for you, requesting clearance to land. How copy, over?," she spoke louder this time, with an edge to her voice that bespoke of a short temper already reaching its limit.
"Can't raise 'em, Sergeant. I can go over to computer control, let the Ishimura's tractors guide us in."
"Do it," Cromwell said, without a moment's hesitation. If the Ishimura's short ranged communications were down as well as their FTL comms, there could be no chance of coincidence. The ship had either been boarded or sabotaged.
"Send a sit-rep back to the Trireme and tell them to get us some reinforcements out here," he continued, then turned back into the Pelican's troop bay. "Lock'n'load, boys and girls…uh, and aliens. The Ishi's short range comms are down as well, and I'm sure you all know what that means."
Jessi frown, raised her hand. "Ah, I don't."
"If their short ranged comms are down as well, that means something other than just a downed transmitter has happened," Cromwell said, clacking his teeth in annoyance.
"I don't understand," she said, shifting in her seat as everyone turned to look at her.
"Jesus-fucking-Christ! FTL Comms down, that's a stray asteroid or faulty wiring. Short ranged comms as well? That's a hostile boarding party or decompression of the whole ship. Do you fucking get it now, sweetheart?," Cromwell shouted, and the Pelican descended into silence as he stood glaring at the engineer.
"Well?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I get it," Jessi replied, refusing to meet the Sergeants eyes. Isaac shifted uncomfortably in his seat beside Jessi, but said nothing.
"Anything else?," Cromwell asked tersely. No one moved. "Good. Seal your combat suits and power harnesses against vacuum, check your ammo and watch your spacing as we move about, I don't want any friendly fire in there."
There were nods all around, followed by the sounds of various harnesses and suits being sealed. With shocking suddenness, the Pelican jolted hard and listed, sending Cromwell slamming hard against the wall of the troop bay.
"What the fuck is going on?," Petty Officer Yeats shrieked, as she was flung violently against her seat restraints.
"Fucking grav-tether is reeling us in too fast and won't let go!," Connelly shouted back, her voice strained as she fought for control over her bird. "Everyone strap in tight, this is going to get a little rough!"
_____________________________________________________________________
A/N: You've read it, you can't unread it...you can review it though.