A/N: Once again, everyone, give a billion rounds of applause to visitor for being such a great beta reader!
In Tim's estimation, he'd been slowly improving in his spars against N'tho, and then, for reasons that he couldn't quite fathom, Shipmaster 'Taremee had decided to involve himself personally in their exercises. Training against the seasoned warrior had been an instructive, if painful, experience; in a way, Khor reminded him of one of his drill instructors—harsh and unforgiving in his training methods, but encouraging his students to be all they could be and more. Tim had reveled in how much more capable his Sangheili body was before, but it was illuminating to see just how far he was from the peak of his potential, and as desperate as he was to hold onto his humanity he was grateful for the veteran Elite's instruction.
He would have made a hell of a marine if he were human, Tim thought; shame he's on the other side.
Laying in his bunk as he nursed his latest round of bruises, he listened intently to the daily sermon. After what N'tho had said before, Tim had resolved to pay more attention, and perhaps see if he couldn't discover exactly why they were so determined to exterminate humanity in the first place. The sermon itself was a fairly boilerplate affair, but now that he was actually paying attention he was starting to pick up on the details behind the flowery religious rhetoric. He still thought a lot of it was nonsense, but at least now he had some context.
The Sacred Rings, of which he had been so dismissive before, were central to the Covenant faith. The Covenant believed that the Forerunners had ascended to godhood through technological means, and that such means still existed for them to use. It was nothing less than their bid at immortality by escaping the inevitable entropy of the universe, and the Covenant's founding mission was to enlighten all to the promise of salvation. Of course, the war seemed to run contrary to this evangelist doctrine of universal conversion; that, plus the fact that the Sangheili clearly seemed to be kept in the dark about the true cause of the war, pointed to some form of deception on the part of the Covenant leadership. Unfortunately, Tim still lacked enough information to understand what that deception could be. So far, all he had to go on were allusions to a Holy Oracle, which he now understood to be some sort of recovered Forerunner AI.
If the Prophets are as full of shit as I think, I bet that they'd hate for anyone to hear what that AI actually has to say. Assuming it exists...
Tim's musings were interrupted by the arrival of an Unggoy orderly, informing him that he was needed with the rest of the SpecOps contingent in the war room for briefing. Setting the mystery aside for now, he steeled himself for what was sure to be another combat deployment and made his way to the war room.
Upon arrival, Shipmaster 'Taremee addressed the gathered SpecOps group as a hologram of a space station floated behind him. "Thanks to the data recovered from the human colony—as well as extensive scouting—we have discovered the primary source of supply for the sector: a space station run by Kig-Yar pirates. These heretics must be destroyed; not just for their crimes against our Holy Covenant, but to better disrupt the human forces in this sector. The honor of doing so has fallen upon us alone, as the rest of our fleet is tied up in other efforts against the humans. Our orders are to take the station intact, and—if possible—capture their leader for interrogation. All other heretics are to be eliminated."
Tim noted a clear tone of anger in 'Taremee's voice; it was clear that this was the same group that—according to scuttlebutt—had gotten the captain of the Inspiration on patrol duty in the first place.
The Shipmaster continued his briefing, looking over the assembled Elites. "The station is relatively well-defended, and standard estimates from our scouting probes place the enemy forces aboard at a fairly significant number. The command deck is in a central location, which means that any attempt to seize it would require the invading force to fight through the entire station to reach it; this would necessitate a large force deployed by dropships. Unfortunately, there is only a single hangar large enough to land our dropships in; this hangar is protected by a forcefield as well as a large array of anti-ship cannons. You will be inserted via boarding craft, which will penetrate the hull at this point," 'Taremee continued, indicating a spot on the hologram on the same deck as the hangar, but on the opposite side of the station. "Proceed immediately to the hangar; once there, disable the forcefield and cannons so that our dropships can land. With the help of the reinforcements within, you can then fight your way to the command deck with far less difficulty."
As soon as the briefing ended, Tim joined his fellow Sangheili in the armory and entered one of the many boarding pods, bracing himself for combat.
Once more unto the breach...
As with the previous mission, Tim shared a pod with N'tho and two other Sangheili; there was a brief recitation of the Covenant's mission statement, followed by a brief sum-up of their goal and three gong sounds to precede the launch of the pod. Unlike the drop pod, however, the ride in the boarding pod thankfully lacked the stomach-churning aspect of the former, though the jolt from the pod impacting the side of the station and the loud hiss of the pressure equalizing was startling enough to compensate. Tim's squad was immediately greeted by about ten Kig-Yar, but they were quickly and easily— and almost dismissively—killed.
"Hardly the same challenge as the last mission," sighed N'tho in mild disappointment. "That they only sent ten is an insult!"
Tim couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the sound of snarling and cursing from a nearby hallway. "It seems they wish to apologize for that insult, brother..."
N'tho responded with the Sangheili equivalent of a smirk. "I suppose we should accept their apology, then!"
After another firefight—this one proving only slightly more difficult than the first—the quartet raced onward towards the hangar; as they fought, Tim couldn't help but fall into the mindset of a Sangheili warrior, feeling equal disappointment at the lack of challenge. At least I'm not fighting humans right now, Tim mused before shaking his head and clicking his jaws at the lack of the word "other" before "humans" in that line of thought. As they progressed toward their first objective, however, the challenge grew, nearly drawing him back into the alien thrill of combat; only the lull provided by the deactivation of the station's defenses and the arrival of four dropships kept his marine discipline intact.
"If we all charge through the same corridors, we risk being bottled up," observed N'tho; "There are four routes to the command deck. Let us each take a separate squad and flank the enemy from each!"
Tim agreed with N'tho's assessment and tactics, and watched as a small force of Grunts marched up to him.
"We ready for fight!"
A pause of almost a minute passed before Tim realized that the Grunts were waiting for him to give them orders. He clicked his mandibles, trying to calm his nerves at the fact that he would now have to command other soldiers for the first time.
"Um, yes, fall behind me. Those of you with fuel rod cannons, bring up the rear and discourage any enemies from following us; needlers up front, you'll help clear the path ahead. The rest of you, watch the side corridors. If you see any foes approaching, fill up the hallway with plasma. Move out!"
PFC to officer already? If not for the species change, Mom and Dad would be proud...
"I want OVID shut down immediately."
Fischer couldn't help but raise his voice in shock; of all people, he'd hoped that Aaron Gibson would be a sympathetic ear. And yet, the head of ONI Section Three Black ops seemed determined not to comprehend the monumental achievements of OVID. "What?! This is insane! That bitch Halsey does whatever the fuck she wants, with or without authorization, and she gets praise all across the board! I accomplish something she could only have dreamed of, and you shut me down?"
"I am fully aware of the... special treatment Halsey gets," sneered Gibson. "But dammit, I'm not stupid enough to jeopardize the entire war effort over it! To be perfectly blunt, Fischer, what the hell were you thinking?"
"With all due respect, sir, my project—"
"Was begun entirely without authorization, using funding obtained under false pretenses." Gibson stared right back, his eyes narrowing harshly at Fischer. "Hell, the only reason you haven't been convicted is because the breach in security you created would only get worse if this were to get out!"
"'Breach in security'? OVID is a landmark achievement in this war: the first genuine inside look at the enemy! My efforts have already paid off! We've gained valuable intel—"
"Yes," replied Gibson, "and all it took was placing an asset entirely untrained for covert ops squarely in the middle of enemy lines. Did it never occur to you that long-term, deep-cover assignments are difficult enough for fully trained covert operatives to handle without going native, even without physical augmentation or alteration of any kind? Now we have a marine—a PFC, no less, just barely past being green—with a head full of Cole Protocol-violating information, including the location of Earth itself, a hair's breadth away from either being discovered... or worse, cracking under the pressure of his own cover story!"
This time, a growl nearly escaped Fischer before he caught it between clenched teeth. "PFC Newman was on a very short list. The number of ONI operatives with the proper physical requirements necessary to even survive the conversion process is only slightly more than a handful; not to mention, operatives of that level are valuable assets. Marines are expendable."
Gibson breathed in deeply through his nose, gave Fischer a glare blazing enough to burn a hole through steel, and spoke with a spine-chilling monotone. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Lieutenant Commander. Keep digging that hole, you're in deep enough trouble as it is." A moment passed in silence before Gibson resumed. "I want OVID shut down, immediately. Do you understand? It never existed. Give me Newman's current location and status on my desk by tomorrow so we can wrap this entire debacle up before it implodes in Humanity's face. Then scuttle the base, delete every recording, wipe every database, shred every document. No loose ends. No research notes, no patient information, nothing."
"But—"
"Did I stutter? It. Is. Over. Now get the hell out of my office before I change my mind about not throwing you in front of a firing squad."
With that, Fischer stormed out, jaw clenched. OVID was supposed to be his greatest triumph, one that would go down in the annals of ONI for its brilliance. Instead, it lay in shambles, destroyed by short-sighted cowards. But as much as it pained him to do so, he wasn't stupid enough to refuse an order under these circumstances. The choice was between his pride and his head; he chose the latter, and began making the proper calls before boarding a transport, letting out a string of curses and a shriek of pure rage as soon as the airlock shut.
"And by the Rings, the look on that pirate's face when he saw Brother Iz'run decloaking behind him!"
The Sangheili in question smiled proudly as the table of SpecOps warriors applauded; Tim couldn't help but join in. The mission had been an overwhelming success; no casualties had occurred among the SpecOps troopers, while the Kig-Yar pirates had been routed completely—save for their leader, who had been captured alive.
"Lest we forget," chuckled N'Tho, "Brother Tam opened the way for that feat by eliminating the fool's entire guard with a handful of shots!"
Iz'run clicked his mandibles and shook a talon. "Indeed. If he were nearly as talented in unarmed combat as he is with a carbine, he may actually approach my skill!"
The table erupted in laughter again, with Tim shaking his head playfully as he laughed along.
One of the many things he noted in common between Marines and Elites was the "after-action dinner", where the assembled would revel in the knowledge that they had lived to see another day, and celebrate the achievements of their peers. There were subtle differences, of course; for humans, the celebration was more a means of distraction, a way to balance out the horrors witnessed by focusing on the few positives in war. Here among the Elites, while there was a genuine sense of relief—and, in the event of a lost ally, sorrow—the celebration was much more... genuine.
"In any case," Tim interjected, "we have struck a powerful blow to the enemy in the region. Without these pirates supplying them, the enemy outposts will be even further weakened." At this, his fellows nodded, a few even clicking their mandibles in agreement.
N'tho followed up with a statement of his own. "More than that, Brother. With this victory, the Shipmaster has been cleared of the stain upon his honor. The Great Inspiration is clean once more!"
This particular announcement was met with proud roars and table-pounding; in the UNSC, this would have gotten one funny looks at best. Tim chalked it down to the differences in culture. For humans, war was war; necessary, but unpleasant, an affair to be dealt with professionally. For Sangheili, a people who prided themselves on their martial prowess, war was an art. All the same, Tim did not find it difficult to follow along. And though part of it frightened him, he reassured himself of his humanity by the constant comparison of such differences and similarities. After all, there was nothing wrong with admiring the camaraderie among soldiers, regardless of the side they were on...
Tim attempted to distract himself from the potential implications of that line of thought by continuing the conversation. "Perhaps now the Fleetmasters will allow us to be vanguard in future engagements rather than waiting for weeks only to be sent after a secondary objective—"
A gong sounded, followed by an order to gather in the ship's primary chapel for a special sermon broadcast, to be delivered by the Prophet of Truth himself.
Speak of the devil, Tim mused as he finished his meal. But the timing is completely off, and the heirarchs themselves usually don't broadcast live. Something big must be coming.
Tim followed his fellow warriors, curious as to the nature of the sermon. It began with the same sort of drivel as always, and Tim nearly tuned it out... until an announcement came that stopped his breath.
"The Day of Glory has arrived; rejoice, all, for the human Heretics are no more, their homeworld reduced to glass!"
Tim didn't hear the roars and cheers around him. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the horror of the moment.
"Yes, indeed, brothers and sisters of the Holy Covenant. The wretched world, that which the heretics called Reach, is no more. Only one vessel, a mere frigate, escaped the annihilation, pursued by the flagship. But greater news yet awaits, for the humans, in their foolish haste, lead us to a far greater treasure: one of the Sacred Rings! All are called to join us at High Charity, so that we may follow—and upon arrival, the Great Journey shall begin!"
For a brief second, Tim sighed in relief... only for a different horror to strike him.
Oh God. Reach. They hit Reach! Mom! Dad!