Iter In Astris

by RememberReach312

After the Battle at the Ark, John-117 and Cortana are found and rescued by the long-lost UNSC "Spirit of Fire"... [Disclaimers within] [Cross-posted on SB] [Image not mine]

3. Castaways

Apologies for the long wait. I've got a good rhythm going now, so expect these arc compilations to come out every two months.

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Castaways I

Sol system
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 18, 2152

Silence reigned in the conference room as the gathered officers digested the news Cortana had been presenting for the better part of the past hour. Oblivious to the reactions of her fellow servicemen and –women, Alys sat slumped in her seat, head cradled in her hands and sick to her stomach. This was her fault. If she hadn't declared Forward Unto Dawn's slipspace drive ready to use—if she hadn't installed the device, period—they would still be in their universe. Her actions had stranded more than five thousand men and women in another reality entirely, never to return to their families and homes.

A part of her, ever rational, recognized that she wasn't to blame, that she had no way of knowing what would happen. Who could have predicted that a sudden burst of unknown radiation would cause their slipspace portal to strand them in an alternate reality? That didn't stop the guilt gnawing at her. She was the chief engineer of the Spirit of Fire. As chief engineer, it was her job to make sure everything ran smoothly, that the ship would be capable of getting everyone home at the end of the day. If only she had had more time, she could have disabled the FTL drive. She could have—

Alys was shaken from her internal death spiral by a shouted curse accompanied by the sound of metal striking metal. Looking up, she saw that the woman responsible was one of the ODST officers, the lieutenant colonel who had taken charge after Colonel Tesla's death on Trove. Morgan Kinsano—former Insurrectionist and president of 9th Battalion's pyromania club.

Looking around the room, Alys could see that her fellow officers displayed varying degrees of distress, though none of them appeared to have curled into themselves like she had. A pang of embarrassment and shame shot through her, and was summarily forgotten as Commander Figueroa, Spirit's XO, spoke up. "Where do we go from here, Captain? What's our game plan?" he asked their superior.

Cutter breathed deeply before answering. "Presently, we need to secure good relations with Starfleet and their... allies. Thankfully, their brass doesn't appear to be that put off by our initial encounter." Alys winced. She had heard about the standoff Cutter had initiated with Jupiter Station. If they had gone further, or if Starfleet was more inclined to be resentful...

"They'll be able to provide resources," the captain continued. "Food, water, raw materials, fuel, star charts, a safe harbor. They also have technologies that would be worth bartering for. For instance, a device that can fabricate food and drink from constituent proteins and molecules."

Alys's eyes widened. They had what?

"And what would we be exchanging for this?" Colonel Price, 45th Marine Regiment, inquired. The expression on the man's weathered face warred between intrigue and wariness.

"Something innocuous, like MediGel or biofoam," Cortana proposed.

"Our supplies are limited," Spirit's CMO, Eric O'Neil, argued. "And even if we could get our hands on the ingredients, Spirit of Fire doesn't have the lab equipment necessary to manufacture them."

"Starfleet does," the AI pointed out.

"And how, exactly, would we pay for anything they produce?" Figueroa countered. "I doubt they'll take UEG credit chits."

"We can use the war factory to manufacture goods to sell."

"Again, with what money will we acquire the materials needed to do that? Or would we be cannibalizing our motor pool?"

"That's not happening!" one of the flight officers interjected, his fellows echoing his proclamation.

"Out of the question," Price agreed. The Army officer next to him nodded his own agreement.

"Perhaps we could sell a few 'Hogs?" Kinsano's fellow Helljumper suggested. "Take out the turret mounts, sell the cars to their government or the civilian sector. They get some shiny new toys; we get starting capital and some spare LAAGs."

"Once we're financially secure, it'd be easy to get the resources to replace them," Alys contributed.

The flyboys appeared satisfied with the proposal. Of course, they were; their birds weren't on the line, after all. Price, however, was still reluctant. "I won't part with more than a squad's worth," he said at last.

"We might need more than that, Colonel," Cortana said.

"We'll hash out the final details later," Cutter finally weighed in. "Manufacturing and selling civilian goods and, possibly, certain pieces of military hardware is a good place to start, but it'd be a stopgap measure. We'd be rapidly outstripped by planet-bound factories. What do we do when that happens?"

It was Price's neighbor—Jones, according to his uniform's nametag—who presented the next suggestion. "Spirit of Fire used to be a colony ship, right? We could start up a ferry service of some kind; shuttle people between human worlds. Slipspace travel is faster than their warp drives."

"Depending on the topography of slipspace in this universe, their ships could reach a given destination faster than we can," Alys reminded him. "That being said, we have a greater capacity for passengers than anything Starfleet has and, as you said, Spirit used to be a colony ship. We could always offer to transport colonists to unsettled worlds. Even if this galaxy is positively crawling with intelligent beings compared to ours, there are still plenty of planets to go around."

"But time would still be an issue," Price pointed out. "For all we know, the nearest prospective colony site is half a year away via slipspace."

"The colonists they sent to Eta Cassiopeiae and Vega spent years travelling to their new homes," Cortana refuted.

"They didn't have to put up with slipspace sickness," the Marine countered. "Not to mention we'd be herding cats away from sensitive areas the entire way, what with children and any nosy civvies among these hypothetical colonists."

"We could also send some military advisors to their armed forces," Figueroa suggested. "None of them have ever tasted real combat, according to Cortana. If a war were to break out in the near future, they'd be better prepared."

"And if we are on the other side of said conflict?" Price challenged.

I—I—A

Time and again, Kyla's fists slammed into the person-sized bag hanging before her, the clenched appendages pounding the leather-clad object to a beat only they could hear. Kyla allowed herself to become lost in the impromptu symphony, her own heartbeat adding to the percussive beat as blood thundered in her ears.

For the past week, she had been coming to terms with waking up twenty years in the future, coming to terms with the fact that her fiancé was likely dead, or had moved on after the Spirit of Fire was declared lost with all hands. And now, out of the blue, she was denied the chance for closure. To know for certain the fate of her beloved.

Gritting her teeth, she accelerated her strikes, the tempo picking up has her bruised fists assaulted their target ever faster. Her eyes stung as she fought back tears that she had thought were expended days ago. With a cry prompted as much by grief and rage as the sudden pain in her left wrist, Kyla's leg lashed out in a vicious kick, the punching bag swinging back and forth as it absorbed the energy from the blow. Slowly, she sank to the floor, curling in on herself as her emotions overwhelmed her.

I—I—A

Earth
Starfleet Headquarters
December 18, 2152

"I expect a full report on tomorrow's meeting to be on my desk Wednesday morning, Admiral."

"Understood, ma'am," Forrest replied.

"Good night, Maxwell. And good luck tomorrow."

"Good night, Constance."

The call ended, the computer's screen read, "CHANNEL CLOSED," and Constance Schrieber, Fleet Admiral and Starfleet's Chief of Operations, was left to ponder the day's events in the solitude of her office. Closing the communications window, Constance pulled up her computer's document processor and began filling out her own preliminary report to the President.

Soon enough, she had transcribed the sequence of events leading up to the Callisto Incident—as those in the know were already calling it—and was prepared to offer her recommendations regarding future interactions with the Spirit of Fire.

"It cannot be understated how great a game-changer Spirit of Fire's FTL technology would be, not only for humanity, but for the known galaxy at large. The civilian and military applications and advantages of this technology are self-evident (reduced travel times, greater ability to evade hostiles and conduct surprise attacks, etc.), though they are somewhat mitigated by the apparent nature of slipstream space (independent, nonlinear topography relative to "realspace").

"On a more somber note, the alleged behavior of the multi-species theocracy Captain Cutter and Professor Anders claimed that their faction had been at war with poses a previously unforeseen danger to the security of United Earth and humanity at large. Not only have we failed to account for the possibility that a hostile force might make use of alternative FTL technologies to make inroads into UE space, but we have also failed to anticipate the possibility that an unreasoning, fanatical species or intelligence may master interstellar spaceflight and seek to eradicate or subjugate their neighboring races at any cost. Considering our own experience with such foes during two of Earth's World Wars and the Eugenics Wars, this is an inexcusable oversight on our part which must be corrected as soon as possible.

"Therefore, it is the recommendation of this office, pending the outcome of our representatives' meeting with UNSC Spirit of Fire's command staff on December 19, 2152, that United Earth seek to pursue friendly relations with the vessel's crew and, if possible, establish a line of communication with the United Nations Space Command, so that we might better understand their technologies and ascertain the true nature of the Covenant."

Saving and encrypting the document, the Germanic woman opened another window, accessing her government-issued email account and began drafting a missive for her superior. These are interesting times we live in, she mused to herself. Thank God I'm retiring after New Year's.

Castaways II

Sol system
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 19, 2152

The emergency conference ran well into the evening, adjourning shortly before midnight. The officers and Anders all ate a light meal and either retreated to their respective quarters or left for their duty shifts. Cutter planned to call another staff meeting after Admiral Forrest returned to Jupiter Station. Hopefully, they would be able to glean more information from the man and his party; Jupiter Station's computer systems only held so much data, and little of it pertained to the wider geopolitical situation of what, in another universe, would have been UEG space.

The command staff were mostly split between two main camps, as best as Cortana could tell. The first group supported aligning with Starfleet and United Earth, even if it did mean aligning with the Vulcans by association. Their rationale was simple: the Spirit of Fire could not survive on her own.

The former colony ship required an immense quantity of resources to maintain and operate, as did the much smaller vehicles and the crew and passengers she carried. True, the onboard factory was able to manufacture many of the parts required, but it would be difficult to acquire the raw materials necessary to produce them. Not to mention the problem of fuel and safe harbor. Food supplies could be supplemented by hydroponic and aeroponic farms and water could be recycled, but there was only so much room on the ship. And if—when—the crew started to fraternize...

Pushing aside that line of thought, Cortana began reviewing the isolationist faction's arguments. These officers felt that it would be better to find a nice, remote world and set up shop there. They argued that the Spirit didn't need assistance from these alternate humans, and that they owed nothing to them, contrary to their opponents' belief that their oaths extended to the Earth and humanity of this universe as well. The Spirit of Fire wasn't likely to return to their own universe, they said, so why not settle down and try to preserve a sliver of what they had fought for? Somewhere far away from the multitudes of aliens, preferably.

There was a third category—those few officers who hadn't expressed an opinion one way or another—but Cortana hardly spared them a thought. None of them had provided any alternatives, and until they did that or sided with one of the existing factions, they were of little importance to this decision.

Cortana found that she didn't particularly care about the final decision one way or another, so long as the crew survived. So long as John survived.

An alert chimed, drawing her attention to the Spirit of Fire's sensor array. A small craft had departed from Jupiter Station, speeding towards the Phoenix-class starship. Cortana allowed a portion of her processing power to focus on the larger starships clustered around the space station, all of them smaller than most UNSC corvettes.

Shenandoah: Intrepid-class cruiser; armed with eight particle cannons and two missile launchers.

Fortuna: Freedom-class frigate; armament slightly lighter than Shenandoah's, consisting of six cannons and two launchers.

Thames and Tigris: Ganges-class corvettes, armed with only three cannons apiece.

All four of them were protected by rather thin armor plating reinforced by an optional electromagnetic polarization field that strengthened the material's molecular bonds.

A pity that titanium is a poor electric conductor and non-magnetic, Cortana thought as she refocused her errant runtimes. That could've been quite useful. Accessing the ship's intercom, the AI paged Captain Cutter. "Captain, this is Cortana. A shuttle has just departed from Jupiter Station. ETA: two minutes."

I—I—A

Sol system
Shuttlepod JS-02
December 19. 2152

"I heard it was over two klicks long, but goddamn!Look at the size of that thing!" the pilot exclaimed as the shuttlepod drew closer to the Spirit of Fire.

Looking out the forward viewport, Max had to agree that the titanic starship was a sight to behold, and the sensor logs he had reviewed only added to the respect he felt for it. Two-and-a-half kilometers of titanium and steel alloys bristling with kinetic batteries and missile clusters, the Spirit of Fire and an untold number of ships like her had stood against a vastly superior enemy force for nearly thirty years, holding out just long enough for their enemy's leadership to shoot themselves in the foot.

Max frowned as he peered at the Spirit's underbelly, at the lump of metal tethered to the UNSC warship's ventral side. The admiral had read the logs regarding it, as well—the rear portion of a once-larger ship. Not nearly as large as Spirit of Fire, but certainly bigger than the NX-class. The wreck was roughly two hundred fifty meters long and looked like a large box flanked by rocket boosters, with some sort of structure jutting out downwards, relative to them. He was certain that this was the derelict Cutter and Anders had spoken of in the meeting yesterday.

Two dark specks caught his eye, silhouetted against the white avian adorning the derelict's flank. A glance at the computer screen in front of him confirmed that these were some of the small craft from yesterday—fighters of some sort was the general conclusion. The needle-nosed spacecraft passed out of sight, their dark hulls blending with the void of space as they continued their patrol around their mothership.

A chime sounded from the cockpit, alerting them to an incoming transmission. Pressing the correct key, the ensign piloting the shuttle answered the incoming hail. "Incoming transport, this is UNSC Spirit of Fire," a man's voice greeted them. "Please identify yourself and state your cargo and intent, over."

"Spirit of Fire, this is Shuttlepod JS-02, delivering Admiral Forrest and company to a meeting with Captain Cutter. Requesting permission to approach and dock."

"Permission granted, Zero Two. Transmitting landing pattern; standby."

A light flashed on the pilot's dashboard, blinking for a few seconds before staying lit, indicating that the flight plan had been downloaded. "Transmission received, preparing for final approach."

"Acknowledged, Zero Two. Transferring you to Air Traffic Control now. Safe travels, out."

There was a click, followed by a woman announcing, "Shuttlepod Juliet Sierra Zero Two, this is UNSC Spirit of Fire Air Traffic Control. You are cleared to land in Hangar 2 Dorsal. We'll light the entrance for your final approach, over."

"Copy that," the pilot acknowledged. "Beginning final approach. Over."

"Acknowledged, Zero Two. Do not exit your vehicle until we confirm that the hangar has been repressurized, over."

"Understood, out." Terminating the transmission, the pilot glanced back at his passengers. "I didn't think anyone still talked like that, Admiral."

"The militaries back on Earth still practice these sorts of procedures," Max commented. "And I imagine that there are alien societies out there that do the same."

Shrugging, the ensign returned his attention to the controls, guiding the shuttlepod along its designated flight path. As promised, their destination was pinpointed by a ring of lights, a cavernous maw waiting for the tiny ship to fly down its gullet. The thought stirred half-forgotten memories of his school days, about the Greek myth of Athena's birth. Of how Zeus tricked Metis into turning into a fly that he could swallow, lest she bear him a son that could overthrow him.

Maxwell Forrest was not a superstitious man, but he nonetheless found himself hoping that the old memory wouldn't be a harbinger of things to come.

I—I—A

Sol system
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 19, 2152

The decontamination procedure was remarkably simple. All the Starfleet officers and Vulcan diplomats had to do was stand within the effective radius of a "sterile field generator," as the medical technicians called it, for a few minutes and submit to a medical scan, which they all passed with flying colors.

As they made their way to a nearby exit, Max took note of the ground vehicles that were parked to one side of the massive hangar. The cabins of the four-wheeled automobiles were exposed to the air, each one featuring two seats—one for the driver, one for a passenger. A heavy weapon was mounted in the rear of each vehicle. Many of them sported a three-barreled rotary gun. Others bore small cannons or what appeared to be missile launchers. All of them possessed a winch system attached to the front ends of the cars, creating a visage that inexplicably reminded the admiral of feral hogs.

All in all, they were fierce-looking vehicles.

The technicians were the first to step through the portal. The two crewmen saluted whoever was on the other side and quickly departed, likely to return the equipment they had on them to the ship's medical wing. Stepping through the doorway, Max was greeted with the familiar visages of Captain Cutter and Professor Anders. More than a dozen men and women stood with them, most of them armed and armored soldiers. Unlike the soldiers that had accompanied Cutter and Anders to Jupiter Station, the armor these ones wore had been painted a light shade of brown. The helmets were also open-faced, allowing Max to see the features of each and every one of the soldiers.

The few who weren't armored stood on either side of the captain and professor, two men and a woman. Both males sported buzz cuts, while the woman's hair looked to have been shorn into a mohawk of some kind. The female officer—he assumed she was an officer—also sported a large tattoo, the body art starting above her left eye and trailing down to her jawline on the same side.

That was a bit surprising. He couldn't think of a military on Earth that would've allowed its members to tattoo their faces, and he had expected the UNSC to be no different. Even Starfleet had regulations regarding it.

"Admiral Forrest," Cutter greeted him, interrupting his train of thought. "Commander Williams, Ambassador Soval. Welcome aboard the Spirit of Fire."

"It's an honor to be here, Captain Cutter," Max said, shaking the captain's hand.

"You've already met Professor Anders," Cutter gestured to the xenobiologist. "These are members of the Spirit of Fire's senior staff. Colonel Walter Price and Lieutenant Colonel Morgan Kinsano, the heads of our Marine contingents," he pointed to one of the men, a weathered fellow who appeared to be in his sixties, and the tattooed woman, respectively, "and Major Anthony Paine, Army Corps of Engineers." The younger of the two previously unknown males nodded, a look of resignation on his face.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," Max greeted them.

"We've set aside one of the pilots' ready rooms, just down the hall," Cutter gestured. "Right this way."

Castaways III

Sol system
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 19, 2152

"The emergency from yesterday—did you resolve it?" Forrest ventured as they marched down the halls of the Spirit of Fire.

Suppressing a grimace, Cutter answered. "It's a work in progress," he hedged. "Nothing immediately dangerous, thank God, but better to address it sooner rather than later."

"If you need any assistance, Starfleet is ready to provide it," Forrest offered.

"Duly noted," Cutter said as they came to a halt. "Right through here." He ducked through the portal leading to the repurposed ready room. The center of the room was dominated by a large rectangular table, five seats running along each of the longer sides.

As the UNSC officers and their guests seated themselves, Cutter thought back to the consensus the senior staff had reached the night before. Naturally, they would be keeping many things to themselves. Halo and the Flood were irrelevant to this universe—he hoped—so there was no point in saying more than had already been said about them. The Spartans' presence would also be kept secret for the moment, until they could more accurately gauge their alternate cousins' potential reaction to the supersoldiers.

Revealing Cortana's existence was intensely debated but was ultimately deemed necessary, considering the interest shown in slipspace technology during the previous meeting. They would also be upfront with Starfleet about the study and application of genetic engineering back home. An overview of UNSC/UEG history was also on the docket. However, elements of that history—particularly the finer details of the Interplanetary War and the campaigns that immediately preceded it—begged the question: would they reveal their extradimensional origins?

Admiral Forrest broke the silence. "So, where shall we start?"

"One moment, Admiral," Cutter raised a hand. "We still have one more participant to introduce."

The confusion on the Starfleet men's faces morphed into surprise as the mobile holotank sitting at the end of the table furthest from the door came to life, projecting Cortana's smiling blue avatar. "Hi!" the AI greeted with a wave. "I'm Cortana, Spirit of Fire's resident artificial intelligence. Nice to meet you!"

Forrest and Williams looked absolutely gobsmacked by the AI's introduction—or was it her lack of attire? Soval and his aide, for their part, had scarcely reacted beyond a raised brow. Although, with the Vulcans' reputation for stoicism, Cutter supposed the gesture could've been their equivalent of open-mouthed astonishment.

"I think you broke them," Kinsano commented with a note of amusement. Her words shook the human visitors out of their stupor.

"My apologies," Forrest began, "We weren't expecting..." he trailed off.

"Understandable," Cutter said. "I had intended to warn you before she introduced herself." Cutter cast a disapproving glare at the AI, whose avatar grinned back innocently.

He didn't buy her act for an instant.

"As Cortana said, she is Spirit of Fire's resident AI," Cutter continued, "and as you can see, her avatar is more... provocative than others. Whenever an AI is brought online for the first time, they select the avatar they project when interacting with humans. Most choose more conservative appearances, but there are those who prefer a more audacious look."

"I see," Forrest murmured. "Well," he continued, turning his gaze to meet Cutter's, "shall we begin?"

"Let's. We've reviewed your organization's history and the centuries leading up to its creation. It is, in some ways, familiar." Understatement of the century, James. "Both our organizations arose from the ashes of internecine conflict. Where we differ is that the UNSC was a participant and the victor of said conflict.

"About four hundred years before I was born, our people, under the Unified Earth Government, began expanding throughout our solar system." He had expected there to be questions about the UEG's name when he had first met Forrest and Soval. He recalled wondering at the time if MacAllister had simply kept quiet about his mention of the government for some reason. According to Cortana's snooping, however, there was a theory percolating within the minds of Starfleet's brass that suggested the Spirit of Fire's crew were descended from primitive humans abducted by aliens centuries ago.

That would be a much more believable, if disturbing, explanation, Cutter reflected. The theory went on to suggest that the descendants of these hypothetical abductees eventually named their new home "Earth," much like the inhabitants of humanity's homeworld did.

"As the decades passed, things grew worse for the colonies as corporations and nations exploited the settlers and their descendants. At the same time, global conflicts ravaged the homeworld. Eventually, political unrest gave rise to violent movements across the colonies. Chief among these movements were the Koslovics and the Friedens—neo-communists and neo-fascists, respectively."

"They were quickly denounced as terrorists by Earth authorities," Cortana took over. "The Koslovics debuted with the armed seizure of several mining facilities, and the Friedens bombed an embassy shortly after they emerged. Government Earth-based militaries engaged them across several lunar colonies and Earth itself. The death toll was immense, and the campaigns on Earth resulted in widespread famine.

"Eventually, the world government formed a new, centralized military—the United Nations Space Command. Over the course of six years, the UNSC pacified the rebelling colonies and broke the insurgent factions. The treaty that officially ended the war would cement the UEG's legitimacy as a governing body and recognize the UNSC as the premier military authority in the solar system. But the cost of this victory was great: tens of millions of lives had been lost; food and resource shortages plagued the system; and despite the loss of life, overpopulation was as grave a concern as ever."

"One hundred and twenty years after the Interplanetary War ended, two scientists named Tobias Shaw and Wallace Fujikawa invented the slipspace drive," Professor Anders chimed in. "While we had largely recovered from the devastation of the war by then, resources were still finite, and our population was larger than ever. When the first colony ships were sent away to their destinations, it was not a moment too soon. For over a century afterwards, mankind and the UEG experienced an era of peace, prosperity and opportunity unlike any that had preceded it. Hundreds of planets, moons and other celestial bodies were colonized."

"But as time went on," Kinsano interjected, "as physical and cultural distances grew, people began to question their loyalties and priorities. Would they maintain a pledge of fidelity to a distant homeworld, or would they sever ties and make their own way? The older colonies, the ones settled by carefully selected colonists, typically remained pro-UEG. The newer settlements..." she and Cutter exchanged a glance, "not so much. With the UEG levying heavy taxes and tariffs and the military's heavy-handedness in suppressing previous rebellions, coupled with diplomatic overtures for independence being consistently rejected, it shouldn't have been a surprise when the Insurrection began. Hell, the UEG was warned not three years prior what was coming."

"Unfortunately, the researcher who prophesied the impending disaster suggested that the UNSC suppress dissent by force," Cortana said. "I'm sure you know how well that worked out for the British Empire during the American Revolution, Admiral, Commander." The Starfleet men nodded. "As the lieutenant colonel said, hostilities are commonly held to have commenced approximately three years after the Carver Findings were published when a rebel cell captured a UNSC corvette and subsequently executed its crew. Countless lives have been lost on both sides since. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if the Insurrection will step up their activities now that the Covenant has collapsed."

"Wait," Forrest interrupted. "The rebels kept fighting the UNSC even after the Covenant invaded?"

"Some of them did," Cutter admitted. "Others set aside their grievances long enough to fight back against our common enemy. Still others joined the UNSC, in exchange for clemency."

"It sounds a bit like the first few years after World War III ended," Commander Williams commented. "Even after the nuclear exchange, some of the warring factions carried on like nothing had happened. Especially Colonel Green's militia. Those bastards seemed to thrive in the aftermath," he spat.

Cutter had read about the man—no, that word was too good for the monster that had been Phillip Green. If he had existed in Cutter's universe, his name would have been as reviled in the annals of history as Hitler's. He hadn't felt quite as ill after reading about Green's atrocities as he had bearing witness to the Flood's handiwork on Trove, but it was a solid second, right next to the Covenant's crimes.

Shaking himself from his internal tangent, Cutter refocused on the meeting just in time to hear Forrest ask, "Why didn't your government grant the original secessionist movements independence? You said yourself that you had hundreds of colonies; surely you could afford to let a few of them break away?"

"Several reasons," Cutter said. "Naturally, there were those who were content with the status quo. There were also fears that the Outer Colonies might band together and conquer the core worlds. Then, there was the fact that Earth and the Inner Colonies had become dependent on the resources held by the Outer Colonies. If we allowed those few worlds to secede, there was every chance that dozens, if not hundreds of colonies would follow—"

"Resulting in economic collapse and civil unrest," Forrest caught on.

"You overextended yourselves," Soval noted.

"In hindsight, it's a good thing we did," Cortana interjected. "If the Insurrection hadn't happened, if humanity hadn't spent decades honing their skills at interstellar warfare and developing new military technologies, we probably wouldn't be here. The Covenant would have wiped us out long ago."

Castaways IV

Sol system
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 19, 2152

In the silence that filled the ready room following Cortana's proclamation, Soval's mind went over everything he had just learned about the UNSC's history, adding his own inferences and deductions to the mix. Among the most prominent details was the implication that Kinsano was, at minimum, a rebel sympathizer. The way she had spoken about the Insurrection's origins, the glance she'd shared with Cutter—it suggested to Soval that she might sympathize with the rebel's plight; possibly enough that it brought her into conflict with her superiors. She might even have been a rebel fighter. He didn't dare to assume that either was the case—assumptions, after all, were illogical—but he felt they were possibilities worth noting.

The other item of note was the lack of dates. While their hosts had given Soval and his Starfleet counterparts a rough estimate of the UEG and UNSC's ages, they had never been given any insight into the UEG's calendar system. Soval had no idea what year it was by their reckoning, what the names of their months were. He didn't know if the UEG even used a solar calendar, or if their capital world's rotational and orbital periods were remotely similar to Earth's.

Perhaps that was exactly why the UNSC officers and AI hadn't mentioned any dates. Or, perhaps, they were indeed hiding something. Either way, Soval was hesitant to press the matter. These humans were particularly xenophobic and wary around non-humans—and for good reason; Soval wouldn't argue otherwise.

That they had allowed himself and his aide aboard the Spirit of Fire was an immense display of trust on Cutter's part, and he was loath to do anything that might break said trust. A loss of trust would harm his chances of gathering information on the recently defunct Covenant and the UEG as well as harming any potential for negotiating a trade deal with the UEG. Primitive though they might have appeared at first glance, their FTL system and the mobile decontamination device alone were impressive prizes—prizes that he knew the High Command would be eager to get its hands on.

No, he would not press for answers regarding their calendar—it was ultimately a trivial piece of information, one that could be pursued at a later date. He could ask about the Insurrection, about the early battles that forged the UNSC war machine, but he had another idea in mind.

"You mentioned previously that the Covenant was an alliance of several distinct species," Soval said, steering the conversation to a subject he was unable to pursue the day before. "Could you tell us about the member species, Captain?"

Here, Cutter deferred to Cortana, who regaled them with summaries of the species encountered during the Human-Covenant War.

The Prophets, the former leaders of the defunct state, were gangly and aesthetically unappealing creatures. They were vaguely humanoid in form, with elongated necks and little hair beyond eyebrows and tufts of the keratin substance growing in patches along their jawline. They were theorized to have evolved on a planet with lower gravity than most, as they almost always were seen piloting hoverchairs.

The Elites were a tall saurian race, with split mandibles, digitigrade legs and two opposable thumbs on each hand—an unusual trait, Soval noted. While the previous images had depicted frail-looking beings in expensive finery, the Elites shown were all clad in armor and armed to the teeth. Soval found himself intrigued by the variety of color and configuration of their combat uniforms. Blue, red, white, gold—a radical contrast to the UNSC's more sensible browns and blacks.

Next were the so-called Brutes, massive ape-like beings with snarling visages and fur coats that came in several colors: tan, brown, grey, white, black and a rusty red. These savage-looking aliens were the species that the Prophets had sought to place the Elites with, Cortana said, being less questioning and more pliable than the saurians. Most of the Brutes wore minimal armor plating, but some—the ones wielding massive war hammers, typically—wore fuller, more elaborate suits of armor. Chieftains, they were called.

The Hunters seemed to be even bigger than the Brutes and were the most bizarre-looking creatures yet. Equally bizarre was their nature. Each individual Hunter was actually a hive-minded colony of worm-like creatures bonded to one another, similar to Terran corals and bluebottles. The hulking colonies were always seen outfitted with heavy armor plates and small artillery pieces, making for a truly fearsome adversary. Soval had to suppress a shudder at the thought of an advancing pair of Hunters shielding an enemy advance.

After the Hunters, the revelation of the Grunts was rather anticlimactic. They could best be compared to Terran gorillas or similar primates in terms of stature, but that was where the similarities ended. Unlike the Earth mammals, they breathed methane—as evidenced by the breathing apparatuses the specimens featured wore—and were apparently known to possess an exoskeleton, despite being vertebrates with a closed circulatory system. Like the Elites, their armor came in several colors denoting rank and, in some cases, service. They were noted as being rather timid creatures, oftentimes fleeing when overwhelmed or caught by surprise. However, they just as often regrouped and stood their ground, and were also known to employ suicide bomber tactics, running towards enemy lines with live grenades.

Jackals, sometimes called Skirmishers, served alongside the Grunts as the cannon fodder of the Covenant. Like the Elites, their legs were digitigrade and their hands possessed two thumbs, but the species was more raptor-like in appearance. The hunchbacked creatures typically served as either mobile shield walls or as snipers, their equipment varying between wrist-mounted energy shields and plasma pistols to various marksman rifles. Most possessed spiny quills running along their scalp, but one subspecies was known to grow feathers along their scalps and arms.

The Drones were winged arthropoids, providing their allies with air superiority even when no aerial war machines were present. The eusocial creatures were terrifying foes in a way the rest of the Covenant species weren't—they had a natural affinity for three-dimensional combat. Soval could imagine swarms of the arthropoids picking apart infantry formations, the Vulcan-sized creatures flying about faster than a man could run, moving quicker than many beings could take aim and shoot.

The last species shown was a pleasant, if jarring change of pace compared to the rest of the Covenant. The Engineers, large floating creatures that Soval couldn't quite find an analogue for, were actually quite peaceful, according to Cortana. The Covenant had outright enslaved their race, using them to maintain and repair their equipment and vehicles and, on occasion, using them as mobile shield generators or suicide bombers. Apparently, there were suspicions that the Engineers were an artificial lifeform—an incredible achievement, if such was the case.

As Cortana concluded her lecture, Soval reread the notes he had taken on his PADD, correcting any errors and adding final notations before fully returning his attention to the latest conversation.

A conversation about augmentation.

Wonderful.

I—I—A

As Max absorbed the deluge of information Cortana had given them regarding the Covenant's member races, he found himself even more impressed with the UNSC's achievements. The feminine AI had projected a holographic chart comparing the size of an average human male to the that of the average specimen of each race. Half of them—the Grunts, Jackals, Drones and Engineers—were roughly the same height as humans and Vulcans were. The others—they were a different story.

The Elites and Prophets were at least a foot taller than the average human, while the Brutes were almost a solid meter taller and far bulkier. The Hunters dwarfed even the ape-like creatures, being a little over twelve feet tall. And, barring the prophets, all of them had a tendency to engage their enemies in melee combat. Max shuddered at the thought of any of the tall creatures charging forward with energy blades, war hammers and shields swinging, bullets plinking off their armor as they dashed towards human lines. To have held the line, shrinking though it was, against such foes for nearly thirty years was... incredible by any metric.

"If it's not too much to ask, Captain, I'd like access to more detailed files on these species later on," Marcus requested. The diagram dispersed, quickly being replaced by Cortana's avatar. Her holographic face turned in the UNSC officer's direction, as did Max's.

"I don't see a problem with that, Commander," Cutter replied, glancing at his subordinates. None of them protested. "Cortana will have a copy of our files ready for you by the time you return to Jupiter Station," he promised. "Now that you all have a better idea of what we were up against, I'm afraid that this meeting is about to take an... uncomfortable turn."

Max was confused by this statement, and more than a little wary of its ominous nature. "Captain?"

"Augmentation, Admiral," Cutter bluntly stated. "Even before the Covenant invaded, UNSC servicemen and –women were outfitted with cybernetic implants designed to transmit IFF codes. There were also prosthetic limbs issued to those who lost their organic ones.

"Beyond that," Cutter continued, "UEG law permits the genetic modification of human beings to correct health defects and help prospective colonists adapt to non-Earth-standard environments. Gene therapy has also been used to reduce the likelihood of cancer across our population and to improve the natural abilities of our soldiers."

Max felt his stomach drop to the deck, his mind reeling as he absorbed this new information.

"It's nothing like what created the Augments," Anders interjected. "That level of genetic manipulation has been illegal since the Interplanetary War. At most, a UNSC soldier can expect to live a healthier life and be less prone to physical exhaustion than an unaltered human. Their senses might also be a little sharper."

Gradually, as he digested the deluge of information, Max regained his composure. Augmentation, especially genetic augmentation, was a taboo subject within modern human society—on Earth, anyway. Ever since the Eugenics Wars ended more than a century prior, the myriad education systems and governmental administrations of Earth's nations had propagated horror stories of the conflict, ingraining future generations with a fear and distrust of genetic engineering. Hell, even the genetic modification of crops was banned worldwide for many years afterwards.

As humanity ascended to the stars and began exploring beyond the Solar System's boundaries, they had had to face the reality that other species did not share their aversion to genetic engineering. It was a fact that mankind had slowly come to accept; the fact that none of the species that practiced genetic engineering sought to create anything like the Augments went a long way towards soothing their fears.

That said, to the knowledge of United Earth and Starfleet, no one had tampered with the human genome in over one hundred sixty years. True, there was the Soong scandal more than a decade prior, but the renegade geneticist had stolen frozen Augment embryos; that wasn't the same as actively editing human genes.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Max reviewed the facts he had been given. The UNSC augmented their soldiers—not just genetically, but cybernetically. Genetic engineering and cybernetic enhancements were typically limited to minor improvements of a soldier's body and the installation of an electronic identification tag. In more extreme cases, a soldier who had experienced an amputation was outfitted with a prosthetic limb.

Clearing his throat, Max said, "I trust I don't need to tell you how difficult a pill this is to swallow."

"Considering how sordid your people's history with augmentation is, we decided that it would be best to disclose this aspect of our society sooner rather than later," Cutter explained. "It'll probably be the biggest bone of contention between us."

"You can say that again," Marcus muttered. A glance at the commander revealed that he was also shaken by this revelation.

Not shaken enough, Max thought. Some of the things Cutter said stood out to the admiral. About how the change in subject was tied to the threats the UNSC had had to face, and that the subject of augmentation would be the greatest source of strife between the two human factions.

Max felt his eyes widen at the single, horrible conclusion that his mind came to. His voice was barely above a whisper as he uttered the terrible thought. "You didn't stop there, did you?"

Castaways V

Sol system
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 19, 2152

The UNSC had, in fact, gone further than minor genetic and cybernetic enhancements.

As the Covenant War progressed, the UEG's military, scientific and exploration arm—the latter mandate understandably being neglected in recent years—had fielded biochemically and biomechanically augmented supersoldiers in a desperate bid to even the overwhelming odds. What limited information had been given revealed that, in addition to the usual genetic and cybernetic enhancement UNSC soldiers underwent, the UNSC's Spartan supersoldiers received experimental augmentations that vastly improved their performance on the battlefield.

Speed, strength, reaction times, durability, stamina—all were magnified far beyond what the baseline human could achieve naturally. The combat footage Cortana had shown attested to this.

Spellbound, Max watched as Spartan Teams Red and Omega near-singlehandedly tore apart Covenant formations and strongholds during the Battle of Arcadia. The giant, green-armored warriors moved at speeds that beings of their size should not have been capable of. One Marine's helmet-mounted camera caught a Spartan—identified as "S-042" by their IFF tag—punch through the hull of a floating Covenant vehicle, tossthe Elite piloting the war machine several meters into the air behind them and, after slipping into the driver's seat, proceeding to blast away at the alien forces ravaging the UEG colony with the vehicle's plasma weapon. Another Spartan, S-099, danced amongst several plasma sword-wielding Elites, cutting them down with their own weapons and a UNSC machine pistol in less than a minute.

It was almost as if he was watching one of the few surviving videos from the Eugenics Wars showing Augments in combat.

"Their title is well-earned," he commented once the video montage concluded. Max didn't have to look at Marcus to know that the younger man was as rattled as the admiral was by the presentation. A glance at Soval revealed that the Vulcan had been similarly affected, enough so that his usual stoic mask had cracked, a hint of nervousness—perhaps even fear—in his eyes. Either way, Max couldn't blame the man. It was one thing to hear or read about superhuman feats and abilities; to actually witness them was something else entirely.

"How many are there?" Marcus asked after a while. It was a question that Max wanted the answer to, as well. The IFF tags implied that the UNSC had at least ninety-nine of these Spartans in the early days of the Covenant War, though it was possible that this was a misdirection. For all they knew, the Spartans present for the Battle of Arcadia were all the UNSC had at the time.

"The exact numbers are highly classified," Cortana said. "Not even I had access to them. All I can say is that there were fewer than a hundred active Spartans by the time the War ended."

"So few?" Max was puzzled by this. He would have thought the UNSC had created far more Spartans than that, considering the severity of the Covenant threat. He told the AI as much, all the while wondering exactly what kind of clearance the feminine intelligence had that she knew more about the Spartans than the UNSC officers across from him apparently did.

Cortana hesitated before answering, likely determining how much she could—or should—divulge. "Not everyone can be a Spartan," she began. "Only the very best humanity has to offer are capable of making the cut. Spartan candidates are naturally superior to other baseline humans physically, intellectually and genetically. It takes a great deal of screening to separate the wheat from the chaff, as it were. Factor in the extra training Spartans require and the expense of augmenting and equipping them..." She trailed off, allowing the Starfleet officers and Vulcan diplomats to fill in the blanks for themselves.

After a brief period of silent realization, and out of curiosity more than anything, Max asked, "Just how expensive is it to create and field Spartans?"

Cortana cracked a smile. "Let's just say a few destroyers had to be cancelled."

I—I—A

Gavin Riley was a weapons geek—had been since he could walk and talk. What had started as an infantile fascination with the shiny tools of death his mother collected had grown into an intimate knowledge of the history and capabilities of various small arms and artillery. From the bow and arrow to the latest plasma rifle, Gavin's mind had absorbed the most prevalent details of any given weapon's history, inner workings and capabilities.

The Starfleet lieutenant's critical eye ran over the weapons his UNSC counterparts were holding at this very moment. Most of them were rather bulky looking bullpups, about three feet long with a dull grey finish and, according to a Marine he had grilled about the weapon, sporting a built-in flashlight. The protrusion on the dorsal side of the weapon, which he had initially thought was a scope of some sort, housed a small computer that displayed an ammo counter and a digital compass needle that pointed "north." How that would work on a starship, he did not know.

There were two more distinct weapons on display, aside from the almost T-shaped pistols holstered to the Marines' thighs. One was a second rifle model—also a bullpup—with a more skeletal design than the MA5B. While still possessing an ammo counter, the BR55 possessed a rail attachment system in place of the solid cowling its counterpart sported. Attached to the rail was a two-times magnification scope, the weapon's look completed by a flash suppressor affixed to the barrel.

The third type of long gun he had seen was a pump action shotgun. Like the MA5B, there was a flashlight integrated with the weapon, the device fitted underneath the barrel.

Gavin shook his head in astonishment. He could not think of a human military or law enforcement agency that still used ballistic weapons as the UNSC evidently did. Directed energy weapons possessed superior stopping power, utility and ammo capacity than their projectile-firing kin. While an electromagnetic pulse and certain types of radiation could disable energy weapons, such phenomena were often fatal to their wielders, rendering the advantage of a mechanically operated ballistic weapon moot.

The UNSC Marines had been equally bewildered by Starfleet's use of energy weapons. Apparently, the only man-portable directed energy weapon available to their infantry forces was an anti-vehicle laser cannon.

Idly, Gavin wondered if Starfleet and the United Earth military would still be using ballistic weapons if the Vulcans hadn't revealed themselves to Zefram Cochrane and the people of Bozeman, Montana all those years ago. He wondered if human technology in general would be more primitive than what they currently had without the Vulcans, or if their technology would be far more advanced, as some anti-Vulcan voices argued.

Personally, Gavin had little issue with Vulcan's involvement in mankind's advancements and affairs. Yes, it sucked that it had taken so long for humans to reach the heights that the current generation enjoyed. It was saddening that the great pioneers of human warp technology didn't live to see their visions for mankind's future realized. It was easy to blame the aliens for this state of affairs.

But the Vulcans had been a spacefaring race for centuries. They knew all the relevant local players; they helped humanity's best and brightest pave the way for people like him to traverse the stars safely and swiftly. The cautionary exhortations they made to Starfleet's top brass and researchers helped reign in mankind's lingering tendency to push too far too quickly.

"Patience is a virtue," human philosophers had said. "Good things come to those who wait." By and large, humanity never was good at being patient and preferred instant gratification to the delayed variety. All the more reason, Gavin thought, for their more restrained allies to have a say in humanity's technological and territorial growth, naysayers be damned.

The lieutenant's thoughts there interrupted by the ready room door sliding open. Admiral Forrest and Captain Cutter were the first people to leave the ad hoc conference room, followed by Commander Williams, Ambassador Soval and his aide, Cutter's subordinates and Professor Anders. Gavin noticed that the admiral's expression was little more strained, his demeanor more subdued than when he had entered. Considering the rumors that he had heard back on Jupiter Station and his own conversations with the Marines across from him, Gavin wasn't surprised.

"Gentlemen," Cutter greeted the guards. The UNSC captain saluted the Marines, who had snapped to attention as soon as the doorway opened. "At ease." As the brown-armored soldiers relaxed, most of the UNSC officers passed between the two rows of bodyguards, the oldest of them pausing for a moment to speak to the Marines' sergeant. Whatever was said resulted in two-thirds of the squad following the officer—Colonel Price, he recalled—leaving four Marines with Captain Cutter, Professor Anders and their guests.

"Anywhere in particular you'd like to start, Admiral? Ambassador?" Cutter asked the envoys, to Gavin's confusion.

The Vulcan remained silent. Admiral Forrest said, "Could we begin with the hangar? I'd like to get a closer look at those automobiles; they're a novelty on Earth these days."

A tour, Gavin realized. We're getting a tour of the ship, just like they had on Jupiter Station.

"It's as good a place to start as any," Cutter agreed. The party of diplomats, soldiers and officers made their way back to the hangar bay that housed the Starfleet shuttlepod and the fleet of motor vehicles.

"What are they called, anyway?" Commander Williams asked.

Castaways VI

Sol system
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 19, 2152

Tracking the motley group of soldiers, explorers and civil servants through the Spirit of Fire's internal security cameras, Cortana reflected on the opening phase of the day's meeting. If they hadn't had Forrest and Soval's attention before, they'd definitely captured it within the last hour. Revealing the Spartan programs' existence was a calculated risk from the get-go, one that still might end up being a dealbreaker with Starfleet's political masters. On the upside, Forrest and Williams appeared to be level-headed enough to not immediately run off and cry, "Wolf!" when presented with the combat footage. Perhaps, if enough of United Earth's politicians would share their temperament, the Spartans wouldn't be as much of an issue as anticipated.

Cortana doubted they would be that lucky, even with John aboard. Part of Forrest's job—and Williams', by virtue of being the Admiral's aide—was to interact with various alien diplomats and representatives on Starfleet's behalf, a duty that would inevitably bring him into contact with species that didn't share their people's views on genetic engineering and augmentation. Unlike many of the real decision-makers, Forrest and Williams had been forced to gain a perspective beyond that of decades-old post-Eugenics Wars propaganda. As far as Cortana could tell, they were an exception rather than the norm.

Speaking of John, a quick scan of the security cam network revealed that he was playing poker with the rest of Red Team, the Spartans playing for what appeared to be strips of jerky. The Master Chief had evidently won the current round, the supersoldier smirking at the despairing faces of his youthful comrades as his arms swept a large pile of dried meat to his side of the table.

Giggling at their antics, Cortana allowed her awareness to spread throughout the ship's camera network, taking the pulse of the crew's morale. The initial perplexment and alarm from their displacement into Starfleet's universe had died down a little, their confusion having mixed with the original sadness, hope and eagerness the crew showed when they first tested the Dawn's FTL drive.

Conversations were held by officers on duty and off regarding the "lost colonists" they had stumbled across.

Routine maintenance was being performed on machinery, vehicles and weapons.

Meals were being eaten by off-duty crew.

A few trysts were currently in progress. Cortana promptly cordoned off and encrypted the explicit details, leaving only a short list of offenders and their infraction immediately accessible. That was one of the upsides to being an AI: she could place unwelcome images in a box, lock it and throw away the key.

Of course, being an artificial intelligence—especially a "smart" one—had its downsides, too. She was doomed to live for less than a tenth of the average human lifespan pre-Covenant War. She would never truly comprehend physical pleasure and why it was so attractive to humans—not just the sexual variety, but also the taste and smell of food, the feeling of wind and sunlight on one's face, or sand between one's toes. She would never experience things as humans did—a fact, she was startled to discover, that she resented, to a small degree.

She had been experiencing a whirlwind of new... quirks recently. Quirks that hadn't been there before—

...before—

An alert demanded her attention, the AI eagerly acquiescing. Anything that could distract her from that train of thought was wholeheartedly welcome. She was greeted with a data file sent by the fragment of herself that she had planted in Other Earth's—What should they call their respective Earths? Earth Alpha and Earth Beta? Definitely food for thought—datanet. She swiftly decrypted the file, pulling up the enclosed images and reports in her mindscape. A sense of déjà vu washed over her as she registered the significance of the information before her.

"Son of a—"

I—I—A

Earth
Tucker family residence
December 19, 2152

"—bitch, look at the size of that thing!"

Elizabeth Tucker glanced in her nephew's direction, his parents' voices creating a baritone duet as they admonished the tween for his foul language.

"Aunt Lizzie says worse all the time!" the boy protested.

"Aunt Lizzie is an adult, Owen," her brother, Albert, reminded his adopted son, at the same time trying to burn a hole through her head with his eyes. You know better, his expression screamed.

Rather than show contrition, Lizzie returned her attention to decorating the living room Christmas tree with exaggerated slowness, innocently whistling to the tune of Jingle Bells as she did so.

"Boys!" As the Tucker matriarch intervened, laying down the law for her son and grandson, Lizzie stole a glance at the active display Owen had been watching. A news program was covering the sudden appearance of a massive—and allegedly human—starship near Jupiter, video of the alien ship superimposed behind the anchors hosting the program.

Her nephew was right about one thing: she was a huge ship. Even without the leaked dimensions parading across the bottom of the screen, Lizzie could tell that the ship was easily kilometers long, dwarfing even the largest Vulcan starships and rivaling Jupiter Station in length.

The young architect's eyes studied the ship's bizarre design. It looked like a box flanked by sloped, wing-like structures on the port and starboard sides, with large protrusions interspersed across the dorsal and ventral sections of the hull. It was so unlike the smoother, sleeker designs Starfleet and the Vulcan High Command favored. It was... novel. Interesting. While she specialized in designing planet-bound buildings rather than starships, she still wished that she could take a look at the giant spacecraft's schematics, if only to sate her curiosity.

Charlie would probably geek out over the engines, she thought with a longing smile.

Her and Albert's other sibling served aboard the NX-class starship Enterprise, one of the most advanced ships in Starfleet and currently several dozen lightyears from Earth, exploring distant star systems and meeting new species. The Enterprise had departed for the distant Klingon Empire more than a year ago to return a lost envoy of some sort and, while they had completed their mission, the NX-class ship wasn't due to return for some time. This Christmas would be the Tucker family's second time celebrating the holiday without the middle child of Charles and Elaine.

Maybe next year, Lizzie hoped, the whole family will celebrate together again.

I—I—A

Earth
Starfleet Headquarters
December 19, 2152

Constance felt a migraine growing as she read the latest reports from the NX Program's captains. Robinson's tour of the immediate neighborhood had been quiet since the incident with the Arkonians more than two months prior, but Archer's report of an encounter with bodysnatching, will o' the wisp-like aliens—a discomfiting notion under normal circumstances—only added to the stress she had been feeling since Maxwell's preliminary report on the UNSC. She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, her mind racing with self-recrimination, plans for strengthening Starfleet and humanity's position on the galactic stage and searching for potential threats to her people.

Constance wasn't a paranoid woman by nature. On the contrary, even Vulcans found her to be rather level-headed and rational, "for a human." But learning that a bunch of religious zealots were running around burning human-settled worlds in the name of their gods was a sobering and fear-inducing discovery that had sent the woman looking for the slightest hint of danger in every interaction humanity had had with aliens in the past decade.

The Klingons and Suliban were obvious threats, though thankfully they operated dozens of lightyears from Earth and her colonies—even newly settled Deneva. The Vulcans were another obvious candidate by virtue of their involvement in Starfleet operations and United Earth foreign policy. She, like Maxwell, believed that it was time the government put some distance between Earth and Vulcan and asserted humanity's independence. She had no problems remaining allies with the stoic humanoids, but did they really need to have as much say in human affairs as they currently enjoyed?

Her reverie was interrupted by a chime, the desk comm demanding her attention. Tapping the appropriate key, Constance answered with a curt, "Yes?"

"Admiral, you have an incoming call from the ECA; it's marked as 'urgent.'"

Constance resisted the urge to groan. She did not need more shit piled onto her already overflowing plate. Nose wrinkling at the image her thoughts evoked, she instructed the officer on the other end of the intercom to forward the call to her computer. Opening the comm function, she was soon greeted by the warm visage of Tobias Kelly, an old friend who worked within the Earth Cargo Authority, the government agency that oversaw Earth's merchant fleet.

"Toby," she greeted with a tired smile. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"Connie. You look like hell."

Constance didn't have the energy to feel insulted. "Can you blame me? A two-kilometer battleship pops into existence in Jovian orbit and—briefly—holds Jupiter Station hostage, apparently having come straight out of a hellish war their government was waging for decades? I was running damage control all day yesterday, and some of the things we learned... let's just say I didn't get much sleep last night."

Toby winced. "I'm afraid you're about to lose some more sleep tonight, Connie. We received a transmission from Deneva about half an hour ago. They found another one."

Constance blinked owlishly. "Come again?"

In addition to administrating Earth's fleet of merchant vessels, the Earth Cargo Authority also oversaw the development of human colonies, in collaboration with a few other government agencies and privately owned companies. As such, all Earth-affiliated colonies—from Vega to Kappa Fornacis—had a direct line of communication to United Earth through the ECA. "Deneva Colony reported an encounter with a kilometer-long starship. They sent us the scans they took, and I think you'll find that the ship has the same material composition as the Spirit of Fire."

"What makes you so certain?" Constance asked, even as her mind struggled with the fact that such a large ship was in the vicinity of such a young, distant colony.

"This." Tapping a few keys, Toby sent a file to Constance's computer. Said file contained several images of a large ship, narrower than the Spirit of Fire and heavily damaged. The grey and black starship was a little over a kilometer long, as Toby said, and the design evoked the image of a child stacking consecutively smaller building blocks on top of one another before laying the resulting tower on its side.

While the damage dealt to the ship drew her attention, a less morbid image eventually caught her eye. There, in bold white paint, was the UNSC emblem. Flanking either side of the increasingly familiar bird of prey was a block of text painted onto the hull in capitalized letters.

TOULOUSE. UNSC HALCYON-CLASS CRUISER.

Castaways VII

Sol system
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 19, 2152

"Captain Cutter, you are needed on the bridge," Cortana's voice called out over the Spirit of Fire's PA system.

Cutter glanced upwards, then gave his guests an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid duty calls, gentlemen." After the impromptu expo of UNSC war machines in Hangar 2 Dorsal, the tour had moved to the Spirit of Fire's recreational sector, where a gravball match was in progress between off-duty Marines and Spirit crewmen. The sailors had just scored a goal after stealing the ball, tying with their opponents and prompting a grizzled-looking Marine to berate his heavyset teammate for the latter's fumble.

With a final exchange of pleasantries, Cutter rose from his seat and began his journey to the support ship's bridge. After several minutes, a couple of tram rides and the use of two or three elevators, the UNSC captain stepped through the doorway leading to the nerve center of his ship, his executive officer and Cortana's avatar waiting for him.

"Captain," Theo greeted with a brief salute. "We have an incoming call from Starfleet Command. They asked for you by name."

Cutter felt his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. They disappeared into his hairline when Cortana claimed to know why they were contacting him.

"I'm still tapped into the locals' information network," the AI explained, "so it was fairly simple for me to access their communication systems. Their Cargo Authority—which appears to govern both the locals' merchant fleet and their colonization efforts—received a data package from a human colony in the Deneva system." A spherical star chart marking the locations of every star system within a hundred lightyears of this universe's version Sol materialized over the bridge holotable, each pinprick of light colored according to the primary star's spectral type. The star in the very center—Sol—pulsed green once every star, roughly seventy light-years away, was also emitting a green pulse.

"Authorities at Deneva reported an encounter with quote: 'an unidentified human-operated starship, roughly one kilometer in length and armed with kinetic energy weapons.'"

It took Cutter a moment to register the significance of that statement. "Are you saying that there's another UNSC ship out there?!" Silence reigned across the bridge, the captain's outburst drawing the bridge crew's attention to himself and the holotank.

The star map was replaced with images of a UNSC cruiser, a badly damaged Halcyon-class that appeared to be docked with a small space station, starlight gleaming off the ship's blackened hull. Capitalized white text could still be made out, barely large enough for Cutter to read.

"UNSC Toulouse," Cortana identified the ship. "Halcyon-class light cruiser, hull number C-705. According to my records, she was declared lost with all hands following the Battle of Jericho VII."

"Jericho VII fell, what, four years after we destroyed Trove?" Theo pondered aloud. "Has the Toulouse been here this whole time?"

"I don't know," Cortana said. "But according to the reports from Deneva, the damage Toulouse sustained is fresh and appears to match with the sort of damage Covenant weapons inflict. I haven't had a chance to make an in-depth analysis of local naval weapons' capabilities yet, so there's no telling if it was done by a native species or if a Covenant ship followed them here." She paused for a moment before continuing. "Toulouse reports a disabled reactor, multiple hull breaches and nearly two hundred casualties. The captain is KIA; his XO has assumed command. Captain, they must've taken on a number of refugees before escaping Jericho VII—many of the reported fatalities are civilians," she reported solemnly.

Cutter's head bowed as he closed his eyes, leaning against the holotank as he took in the news. "Deneva Colony has offered any and all assistance they can provide," Cortana continued, "but the colony was only established recently. Their medical facilities are barely enough to keep the local population healthy; they're as overwhelmed as Toulouse's own medical staff."

Cutter's fist slammed against the edge of the holotable—not strongly enough to damage the device or his hand, but enough to grab people's attention. "How long would it take for us to reach them?"

"There's literally no way to tell," Cortana said immediately. "We have no idea what the slipspace topography of this region looks like. It could take us five days or five months to get there."

"Captain, I have to agree with Cortana," Theo interjected. "Without first testing the waters, we don't know if we'll arrive in time to help anyone or if we'll exit too early in another system entirely. For all we know," the commander said with a lowered voice as he stepped closer to his captain, "we could end up with a repeat performance of the last time we activated the Dawn's slipspace drive."

"That is wildly improbable," Cortana refuted, her voice also lowering.

"My point is, we can't afford to take any risks here. I want to help them, too, but we won't be able to help anyone if we—"

"Your points are duly noted, Commander, Cortana," Cutter interjected, a hint of warning in his tone. This was not the place for such discussions. "Cortana, I want you to plot a theoretical course to Deneva. Assume that slipspace topography matches pre-Domus Diaspora conditions when making your calculations. After a test run in-system, we'll compare the sensor logs with your calculations and try to cobble together a more realistic course from there. One way or another, we're linking up with the Toulouse."

"Understood, Captain. And Starfleet?"

Cutter grimaced. Casting a glance around the bridge, he saw the nearby crew quickly return their attention to their consoles, trying to pretend that they hadn't been eavesdropping. "How much do they know?" he asked the AI.

Cortana hesitated. "Enough to be suspicious," she answered, casting a meaningful glance at the bridge crew.

Having both his spoken and unspoken questions answered, Cutter addressed his officers. "Everything you heard and will hear from the moment I set foot onto the bridge to the moment I leave is to be considered classified 'top secret' until I say otherwise. Anyone who violates this order will spend the rest of their career spit-polishing latrines when they aren't sitting in the brig. Am I clear?" Once he received a chorus of acknowledgements, he turned to Cortana. "Put them through."

I—I—A

Earth
Starfleet Headquarters
December 19, 2152

The first thing Constance did when Captain Cutter's face disappeared from her computer's screen was raid the small liquor cabinet sitting in the back of her office. Retrieving a bottle of whiskey from storage, she poured three fingers' worth of the bottle's contents into a tumbler before knocking back the alcoholic beverage. "Gott im Himmel, wann wird dieser Albtraum enden?" Slipping into her native tongue, Constance bemoaned the ever more complicated UNSC situation.

Shortly after Toby informed her of UNSC Toulouse's presence in the Kappa Fornacis system, she contacted the Spirit of Fire, using Jupiter Station as a signal converter/relay as the UNSC ship lacked a subspace transceiver. After several minutes of waiting, Constance was greeted by the captain of the titanic ship, James Cutter. Introductions were swiftly made, and Constance wasted no time informing the captain of the Toulouse's appearance.

The man hid his surprise well, and immediately instructed someone offscreen to pull up the ship's records, if they could be found. The Toulouse was soon identified as a Halcyon-class light cruiser—a light cruiser! The scale upon which the UNSC built their ships was mind-boggling!

The Toulouse had been reported "lost with all hands" following the evacuation of a UEG colony designated Jericho VII. That detail lined up with Deneva Colony's reports of civilian refugees and casualties in addition to casualties among the ship's crew and security contingent.

But something about the ship's record had rubbed Constance the wrong way. She was aware of the finicky nature of slipspace travel courtesy of Forrest's report, and she supposed it was plausible that the UNSC cruiser had miscalculated a jump and ended up here. But the damage she'd sustained was recent, the casualties fresh, and it would have taken some time for the ship to be struck from the UNSC's naval register.

When she probed the UNSC captain for a timeline regarding the ship's disappearance, he responded with a bombshell. The Toulouse had been missing for nearly eighteen years, he claimed, and both UNSC ships and their crews were from an alternate universe.

Constance bluescreened upon hearing that absurd proclamation. She felt an urge to laugh at Cutter's face when her mind verified that, yes, he had just said that he was from another universe. But as he explained the reasons behind his claims, she realized that they made a certain amount of sense.

Slipspace was an entirely separate plane of existence, one that the UNSC took advantage of to get around the laws of physics in their native universe to achieve interstellar travel. Hypothetically, an accident or anomaly as Cutter described could prompt a slipspace drive—a device designed to violate the barriers that separated slipspace from realspace—to create a portal to a parallel reality; to another universe with its own version of Earth and the human race, for instance.

The star charts Cutter transmitted further supported his claims—pending verification by analysts, of course. The charts showed many of the star systems that Constance was familiar with—Sol in the center, Alpha Centauri and Barnard's Star its closest companions. So many systems were marked as the sites of human colonies, some of them known to host the homeworlds of alien species or lack Minshara-class worlds.

In place of Draylax, Epsilon Indi hosted the human agricultural world of Harvest, the site of the UEG's first contact with alien life and the opening battles of the Human-Covenant War.

Where the androgynous Axanar should've evolved, several habitable worlds in the Epsilon Eridani system had been colonized by humanity.

Where the homeworld of Vulcan's greatest rivals, the Andorians, should have been, the human colony of Arcadia orbited Procyon A.

The scope of humanity's empire under the UEG was awe-inspiring, just as the realization of what they had lost to the Covenant was horrifying. Nearly every colony shown had been overrun by the alien theocracy, many of them burned to glass and cinders. Not even Earth itself had been left unscathed by the Covenant war machine.

A few astronomical features that she was familiar with were missing from the UNSC star charts, but if the Spirit of Fire truly was from another universe, it was possible that some of the geography would be different.

Perhaps Cutter was lying his ass off, but for the life of her, Constance couldn't think of a reason that would compel him to do so. There were far more sensible tales he could tell, and it would have taken time for him to compile those star charts. In the end, she decided to tentatively accept his claims. Let the eggheads and the spooks sort truth from fiction; it's what they were paid to do, after all.

The two officers discussed what could be done to help the Toulouse, with Cutter asking for permission to conduct test flights between Jupiter and Saturn to get a feel for local slipspace topography. The UNSC captain hoped that the Spirit of Fire's navigators would be able to plot a course to Deneva and, depending on the projected travel time, either pilot the massive starship there or send the Toulouse a course leading to the Sol system, using Starfleet and Deneva as intermediaries. Cutter also expressed the hope that Starfleet would be willing to help repair the battered cruiser and the Spirit of Fire, as well as exchange certain technologies that both factions would find useful.

Constance didn't have the authority to negotiate trade deals with the UNSC ships, but she was willing to sign off on the Spirit of Fire's slipspace tests and reserve berths at the Utopia Planitia shipyards for the battered starshipson her own initiative.

The general outline established and the finer details soon to be placed in the hands of the appropriate decision-makers, Constance sought solace in her meager, yet tasteful, collection of booze.

On one hand, she reflected as she poured more whiskey into her tumbler, there isn't an empire of genocidal zealots running around the wild black yonder.

On the other hand, if two ships from presumably different timeframes ended up in our universe on the same day, who's to say there aren't more of them out there? And who's to say that they are all UNSC?

Gulping down her drink, Constance returned to her desk, a faint pleasant buzz beginning to manifest within her. She decided that first, she would write up her latest report to the President. Then, she would wait for Admiral Forrest's report, and add it to her own. Finally, when she clocked out for the day, she'd hit that one officer's club she liked. She would regret it come morning, but with all the bullshit that had been thrown at her since the Spirit of Fire appeared, she couldn't find it within her to care.

Castaways VIII

Sol system
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 19, 2152

"What do you mean, 'We're not going to Deneva?' People are dying, James! Our people!"

"I don't like it any more than you, Eric, but as Cortana said, we don't know if we'll get there in time to make a difference. Until we can get an idea of what local slipspace looks like, we can only hope that Deneva's medical facilities are up to the task." Cutter watched as Eric cursed audibly, burying his face in his hands before clasping the appendages in an affectation of prayer, the medical officer visibly reigning in his displeasure at the situation.

"Do we know if there have been any sightings of UNSC ships other than the Toulouse?" Price asked. "Or, God forbid, sightings of Covenant ships?"

"Not at this time, Colonel. Admiral Schrieber has assured me that she will inform us of any such reports that she comes across. Even if it's just Toulouse, this drastically changes our situation. We are no longer the only UNSC assets in this universe, and there is a non-zero possibility that at least one Covenant warship might be stuck here with us."

"Not to mention we have civilians to worry about now," Kinsano chimed in.

"In light of this development," Cutter announced, "I have decided that, for the foreseeable future, we will remain in contact with United Earth, and by extension their allies. Until we can be certain that no more UNSC or UEG assets are wandering this new galaxy, we need every advantage we can get in our search for them. Starfleet's contacts and communications infrastructure are a critical advantage, and if Toulouse's condition is any indicator of things to come, we will need established shipyards for repair and refit in the times ahead.

"If anyone has any objections or concerns, now is the time to raise them."

Silence met his proclamation. Several seconds passed before one of the flight officers—Commander Mason, a member of the so-called isolationist faction—asked, "What are we going to do with the civvies on Toulouse? Plunk them on Other Earth, or one of Starfleet's colonies? We can't exactly keep them on a warship long-term."

Cutter saw what the younger man was leading up to. "I agree. Some of them might choose to emigrate to 'Other Earth,' as you called it, or colonies of the same. If enough of the remainder want to establish a colony under UNSC administration... we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, let's focus on finding and gathering our people."

"Protecting them, too," Theo interjected. "We need all the firepower we can muster, especially if we end up founding a colony." The XO took a deep breath before declaring, "I propose that we commission United Earth's shipyards to reconstruct the Forward Unto Dawn."

A heartbeat of silence, and then a clamor erupted within the conference room.

"Reconstruction? We'd have to give Starfleet her specs, not to mention a lot of sensitive—"

"—much better to strip her for parts for the Toulouse, not—"

"—a slipspace drive, she'd basically be dead weight!"

"Enough!" Cutter barked. Staring the naysayers into submission, the captain ordered, "Explain your reasoning, Commander Figueroa." Cutter made sure to emphasize the officer's rank.

"Like I said, we need as much firepower as we can muster—not only to protect a hypothetical colony, but to counter any Covenant forces that may be in the area. The Dawn—what's left of her—is remarkably intact. Yes, we stripped numerous parts and electronics from her when we were repairing the Spirit, but her frame remains relatively uncompromised, ignoring the loss of the bow section.

"As for her schematics, the Charon-class was already nearing obsolescence when the Covenant invaded. Besides, it's ridiculous that any of you would protest sharing an outdated frigate's schematics when we will have to share an equally outdated cruiser's specs with Starfleet. As for the slipspace drive—I guarantee you, one of the first things Starfleet will ask for is a 'How to' guide on their creation. If we play our cards right, we can persuade them to manufacture a replacement for the Spirit's old drive and return the Dawn's to its rightful place."

"There's still a manpower issue," Price pointed out. "Not to mention more ships means more resources consumed."

"Frigates typically need no more than three hundred personnel to operate efficiently. If we cross-train some of your Marines, it will reduce the number of sailors we'd have to transfer from the Spirit. I can't refute your point on resource consumption, but I think restoring the Dawn is worth the cost."

Cutter considered is XO's arguments. They made sense: with the appearance of UNSC Toulouse, it was clear that the Spirit of Fire was not the only ship from their universe to end up here, and it would be foolish to think that Covenant warships couldn't have experienced similar mishaps. They would need all the firepower they could get if the Covenant truly was out there.

It wasn't just the Covenant that posed a threat to the displaced UEG citizens, though. There were hostile species native to this new universe, as well. Klingons, Suliban, Orions, Nausicaans—these were just a few of the more belligerent races in the immediate neighborhood, according to Cortana's pilfered data. The Klingons constituted an expansionistic empire less than a hundred light-years from Other Earth. The Suliban were terrorists and saboteurs stirring up trouble across known space, and the Orions and Nausicaans were infamous for their piracy and the former's slave trade.

Theo was right. They needed every ship and every able body they could muster to survive in this strange new galaxy. But was reconstructing UNSC Forward Unto Dawn worth the cost?

Cutter's lips pursed. He shifted to face the avatar hovering over its holotank pedestal. "Cortana, do you think we could get away with asking Starfleet to rebuild Forward Unto Dawn?"

The AI's avatar stood still for a second, eyes flitting back and forth as she crunched the numbers. "Possibly," she began slowly. "We'd probably have to barter away more than we anticipated—though, that's a given considering the Toulouse situation." Her avatar bit its lip. "In all honestly, I think we should go for it; an extra MAC gun couldn't hurt our chances."

Cutter nodded. Choosing his words carefully, he addressed his staff. "Commander Figueroa raises a valid point. The Covenant War has taught us that the strength of numbers is essential in combatting hostile forces more advanced than us. We don't know if there are any Covenant ships out there in the same boat as us. We don't know if this universe has its own version of the Covenant. We don't fully understand the capabilities of the local powers and races in armed conflict.

"As the commander said: we need every asset we can scrounge together if we want to survive. Not just physically, but as a people; a culture. We all swore an oath to defend Earth and her colonies from threats foreign and domestic. We all dedicated our lives to stopping the relentless onslaught of the Covenant's genocide of our race. That defense doesn't stop with human lives. It extends to our culture, our history, our achievements. For all we know, the men and women and children aboard the Spirit of Fire and the Toulouse are all we have left of home. They—we—are worth defending with every ounce of our ability and being.

"If we do not do everything in our power to see them safe, to see them thrive, then we don't deserve to wear this uniform." Cutter plucked at the sleeve of his tunic in emphasis, glancing at each of the assembled officers. "Any further objections?"

There was a pregnant pause as the members of the senior staff glanced at one another. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Cutter, Colonel Price spoke up for all of them. "None, Captain."

I—I—A

Earth
United Earth Presidential Residence
December 20, 2152

The first thing Xavier Nelson, President of United Earth, did when he sequestered himself within his office for the day was pull up the greatly anticipated report from Starfleet's Chief of Operations. Attached was another report made by one Vice Admiral Maxwell Forrest—the head of Starfleet's NX Program, if he recalled correctly. The latter officer had spearheaded talks with UNSC Spirit of Fire's command staff following the giant starship's unexpected appearance in Jovian orbit two days prior.

Forrest's report was concerning, to say the least. The document relayed a brief overview of UNSC history, which spanned approximately three centuries, at minimum. The admiral also provided a review of the alien races comprising this "Covenant" the UNSC had been fighting, and the measures the human military organization had taken to combat them on the ground.

The UNSC had created dozens, if not hundreds, of superhuman warriors during their war against the Covenant. Nelson's blood had run cold when he first read those words. The initial alarm and mild panic were tempered by the assertion that the so-called Spartans were extremely expensive to produce and consisted of volunteers from the UNSC's veteran rank-and-file, as well as the fact that genetic engineering, though playing a notable role in UNSC society, was not used anywhere near as recklessly as it had been on Earth in the late-twentieth century.

On the Earth he knew, anyway.

The revelation of the Spartans was soon shunted to the back burner as Admiral Schrieber's main report dropped an even larger bombshell: Captain Cutter claimed that his ship was from another universe.

What's more, the Spirit of Fire was not the only UNSC starship to appear in United Earth territory. Around the same time the Spirit of Fire was instigating a standoff with Jupiter Station, a smaller, but still massive UNSC ship had appeared near Deneva Colony, seventy-two light-years away. The nascent colony had swiftly come to the aid of the wounded starship, caring for many of the injured crew and passengers and helping the ship's damage control teams put out fires and patch up hull breaches.

Schrieber's report ended with Cutter's proposal for an exchange of technologies between the UNSC ships and United Earth, and a request to allow the two warships and their crews to repair, recover and resupply at Earth and Mars.

For a long time, Nelson simply sat there, slumped back in his chair as he digested the information he had just read. After a while, he reread the reports.

The tech exchange was an intriguing proposal. He imagined that Starfleet was already salivating over the UNSC's slipspace drive, and the "sterile field generator" that Forrest mentioned would be an immense boon to several medical and scientific fields. Who knew what other advanced technologies Cutter would be willing to part with in exchange for offsetting the costs of repairing and resupplying the UNSC ships?

Yes, this could end up being a very lucrative deal. And if he could negotiate it all within the next two weeks—impossible as that task might be—he would go down in history as the man who served next generation technologies to United Earth on a silver platter.

What an excellent way to end his term!

A grin spreading across his face, Nelson pressed a certain key on his desk's intercom. "Roxanne, please put me through to Starfleet's Chief of Operation's office."

---

Crossposted on Space Battles For ums.

A/N: I have made some edits to the previous two chapters. Mostly grammar/spelling related, but I did remove and add a couple of details here and there.