Disclaimer: I do not own Halo or Star Trek. Halo is owned by Xbox Game Studios and was created by Bungie. Star Trek is owned by Paramount and was created by Gene Roddenberry. Furthermore, I do not own the characters of Ben Kerry, Sergeant Conway and/or McKendrick. They are part of the ArmA universe and are therefore owned by Bohemia Interactive.
Iter In Astris
Prologue I
Interstellar space
UNSC Forward Unto Dawn
December 11, 2552
John-117 awoke to darkness and weightlessness. The only sources of illumination were the blue icons of his HUD.
"Chief? Can you hear me?" A feminine voice called out to him, urgency in her tone.
The Master Chief's hand moved towards his helmet, activating the lights built into the titanium construct.
Cortana sighed in relief. "I thought I'd lost you, too."
The Master Chief looked around the darkened halls of the Forward Unto Dawn, noting the bits of debris surrounding him. A familiar shape soon drew his attention—an MA5C assault rifle. Reaching out with his right hand, he grabbed the weapon and maneuvered it onto the magnetic holster lining the upper back of his MJOLNIR power armor.
"What happened?" the Spartan asked as he maneuvered towards the forward section of the frigate. Or rather, what remained of it.
"I'm not sure. When Halo fired, it shook itself to pieces. Did a number on the Ark. The portal couldn't sustain itself. We made it through just as it collapsed."
John stopped just short of the glowing superheated sections of metal that marked where the Dawn had been shorn in two. The bow section, which housed the side-mounted hangars, most of the Dawn's armamentsand a significant portion of the ship's sensor array, was gone without a trace, not even a speck of debris left to indicate that it had ever existed.
"Well... some of us made it," the AI amended.
No shit, the Master Chief thought sardonically. Turning away from the starlit void and its glowing frame, the Spartan made his way deeper into the bowels of the frigate's remains. With the ship's sensors crippled and hull integrity compromised, it would be suicide to attempt to transit into slipspace, even if the portal's collapse hadn't fried the Dawn's slipspace drive. His only chance at survival now was to enter cryogenic stasis. As the Master Chief made his way to the nearest cryo bay, Cortana continued her recap of the day's events.
"But you did it. Truth and the Covenant. The Flood." He suppressed a shudder at the mention of the parasitic menace. "It's finished," Cortana declared.
John, having found a cryo bay, removed the AI's storage chip and inserted it into a holotank pedestal. Cortana's bright blue avatar materialized, bangs framing her digital features and symbols traversing her pseudo-nude form. The Spartan turned off his helmet's lamps, allowing Cortana's avatar to bathe the room in its azure light.
"It's finished," he agreed. The Master Chief turned towards the nearest cryotube, moved to place his acquired firearm on a neighboring racket.
"Chief," Cortana called, alarm coloring her voice. John turned to face her. "I'm picking up something on the Dawn's transceiver." Surprise etched itself onto her holographic face. "It's a UNSC distress beacon," she stated incredulously.
The Master Chief felt his eyes widen slightly. "Who's sending it?"
"Analyzing," Cortana said distractedly. "The beacon is using an older encryption scheme, from early in the war. I've already deciphered it, but I'll need a minute to clean up the signal." Seconds later, she cried in triumph, "Aha! Beginning playback."
"Mayday, mayday, mayday," an accented female voice began, "This is UNSC CFV-88 Spirit of Fire requesting immediate assistance. Slipspace capabilities compromised. Survivors aboard. Priority code—" The recording began rattling off several distinct series of phonetics and numbers, each denoting an important asset. The first of these was for the ship's captain. Another John recognized as denoting ONI personnel. The ones that really grabbed his attention, however, bore codes for SPARTAN-II commandos.
Sierra-Zero-Zero-Nine-Two.
Sierra-Zero-Zero-Four-Two.
Sierra-Zero-One-Three-Zero.
Jerome. Douglas. Alice. They're alive. "Can you hail them?" the Master Chief asked.
"Already on it, Chief, but it'll take a while for them to respond. The entire crew must be in cryo. They'd have to have been to survive for the past twenty years," she murmured.
"What about the ship's AI?"
"Their 'dumb' AI might still be online, but any 'smart' AI would have been decommissioned years ago. We deteriorate after seven years of service; become rampant. We literally think ourselves to death, assuming we avoid final dispensation."
John frowned behind his visor. "Are you..." He trailed off.
Cortana cocked an eyebrow. "Chief," she admonished, "asking a lady her age? I'm scandalized." The Spartan stared flatly at the AI. Sighing, Cortana said, "Don't worry, Chief, I've got a few years left in me before rampancy comes knocking." Her avatar flashed him a smile.
"Understood," Chief replied. "Can you stay in contact with the Spirit from my suit?"
"Possibly. Why?"
"I'm going to move us up to the bridge, assuming it's still intact."
"It is," Cortana affirmed. "Alright, yank me." The Master Chief retrieved his companion's data chip from the pedestal and began the trek upwards.
I—I—A
Interstellar space
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 11, 2552
James Cutter collapsed onto the deck as the cryo-chamber released him from its chilling embrace, vomiting bronchial surfactant as he regained his bearings. He could distantly hear Serina's voice calling out to him. "Captain, wake up. Something has happened."
Coughing up the last remnants of the substance that had protected his lungs in cryo, Cutter focused on the AI's voice. "Status report, Serina," he called out, his own voice hoarse.
"The Spirit of Fire is in a situation I... could not anticipate. I'm sure Professor Anders would enjoy that little admission, so let's keep it between us, shall we?" Cutter chuckled a little at that. "We've been adrift for nearly twenty-two years."
Cutter froze at that. Twenty-two years!?
"I've made quite a few repairs while you were sleeping," the recording—for what else could it be—continued, "so the ship's systems are at one hundred percent. Cryo worked well and medstats on all remaining crew are green. As for me, well..." The AI trailed off briefly before continuing. "Regulations are clear on final dispensation at the end of an AI's seven-year lifespan. I took care of my own arrangements, rather than wake you. I didn't want to..." Again, the AI trailed off. "Well. I hope you can forgive this final breach of protocol." Cutter bowed his head.
"It was a pleasure and an honor to serve with you, sir. Do look after everyone for me, would you?" Serina's voice broke at the end.
I will, Serina, Cutter vowed.
"Goodbye, Captain," a more composed Serina bade. "Serina, out." A brief silence engulfed the cryo bay as the recording ended, all the sailors present silently paying their respects to the AI.
"Alright, boys and girls," Cutter called out, "let's go see just what kind of galaxy we've woken up to."
I—I—A
Thirty minutes later, the now-clothed captain stood on the bridge of the former colony ship, his gaze fixed on the holographic representation of a drifting UNSC frigate.
What was left of one, at least.
Going by the wide cargo section set between and below the thrusters, the wreckage they had stumbled across was from a Charon-class light frigate. Whatever had happened to it had cut the ship cleanly in two, the bow nowhere in sight. Was it some new Covenant weapon that did her in? A weapon like the alien ships the Covenant were after at that miniature Dyson sphere, God forbid? Or was the reason for the ship's current state more mundane?
Next to the three-dimensional image was a representation of a transmission coming from the drifting stern. The encryption scheme was oddly similar to the ones used around the time of the Spirit of Fire's disappearance from known space. Cutter would have thought that UNSC communications security would have changed in the twenty years since the crew went into cryo. Perhaps the frigate had been cut off from the UNSC around the same time?
"Put them through," Cutter ordered the comm officer. A view screen at the aft end of the bridge flickered to life, and Cutter was confronted with a familiar and unforgettable visage.
"Spartan," he greeted, "I'm Captain James Cutter, UNSC Spirit of Fire."
"Sir," the super-soldier acknowledged, arm snapping a salute that Cutter returned, "Master Chief Petty Officer SPARTAN-117, UNSC Forward Unto Dawn."
"At ease, Master Chief. What's your status?"
"The Dawn is dead in space, sir. Cortana and I are the only ones left on board."
"Cortana?" Cutter asked.
"UNSC AI CTN 0452-9," a female voice interjected. "Good to see you're all still alive, Captain."
"Not all of us, Cortana," Cutter murmured.
The AI was silent for a moment. "How many?"
"We're at half-strength over here," Cutter admitted. "We lost a lot of good men and women stopping the Covenant from getting their claws on a Forerunner fleet."
"Sounds like you have quite the story to tell," Cortana commented, "but I, for one, would like to hear it face-to-face, so to speak."
"I'll get right on it," Cutter assured her. "But first, I need to know—we need to know. How are things back home?" The bridge crew waited with bated breath.
"You wanna tell them, Chief?" Cutter could hear the smile in the AI's voice. What is she excited about? His unvoiced question was promptly answered.
"Sir," the Spartan said, "the war is over. We won."
Prologue II
Interstellar space
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 11, 2552
Silence greeted 117's declaration. Then, almost as one, the Spirt of Fire's bridge crew erupted into a cacophony of cheers. Officers hugged each other in jubilation and relief as Cutter steadied himself against the nearby holotank.
We won. Those two simple words echoed in his mind. Cutter let out a shuddering breath. It was worth it, he thought. Everything we did that day was worth it. Our sacrifice gave humanity the chance to not only survive, but win.
"We won," Cutter breathed.
"We won, Captain," Cortana affirmed. "I'll send you a summary of events that occurred since you guys disappeared, and we'll brief you on more current events once we're on the Spirit."
"Understood," Cutter regained his composure, returning to the business at hand. "I'll have a Pelican sent your way immediately."
"If it's not too much to ask, could you send the Spartans you have on board?" Cortana requested. "I'm sure the Chief would like to see them again, after all these years."
"I'll see what I can do. Cutter, out." A moment later, Cutter called out to the intercom, "Cutter to Jerome."
"Reporting, Captain," the Spartan replied.
"I'm sending Red Team on an extraction mission. Two VIPs: an AI named Cortana... and SPARTAN-117."
The comm remained silent for a heartbeat, then, "Understood, Captain."
"Once you return, I want you to escort them directly to the bridge. We've missed out on a lot in the past two decades, and we're in for one hell of a debriefing."
"Understood," Jerome repeated. "Red One, out."
Cutter turned to the still-celebrating crew. "We'll have time for a more proper celebration later. Back to your stations, sailors. We're still in uncharted space." As they returned to their duties, good cheer restrained but still visible, Cutter activated the intercom once more. "Cutter to Anders, report to the bridge, on the double."
I—I—A
Interstellar space
UNSC Forward Unto Dawn
December 11, 2552
"There's our ride," Cortana declared. "One Pelican dropship inbound. Let's get to the hangar and greet our new hosts."
John held his gauntlet over the holotank Cortana was currently projecting her avatar from. The image fizzled out as the AI transferred herself back into the AI chip stored in the Master Chief's helmet. Once the transfer was complete, the Spartan turned and marched to the bridge doors. As he worked his way down to the hangar deck, his footsteps echoed throughout the silent halls of the broken derelict, the steady beat occasionally punctuated by the clang of debris being brushed aside by the Spartan's titanium boots. At some point during the journey, the Master Chief stumbled across a partially stocked armory and topped off on ammo for his rifle, as well as acquiring a magnum and accompanying magazines. He'd taken note of the weapons present, especially the more exotic UNSC models and the odd Covenant weapon; the Spirit of Fire's captain would likely want to know what could be salvaged from the Dawn's wreckage, after all.
They arrived at the hangar deck barely a minute before the Pelican arrived, the thirty-meter-long transport deftly maneuvering to land with its troop compartment facing the interior of the frigate. While Cortana had managed to repressurize most of the Dawn's remains in addition to restoring artificial gravity, the hangar remained open to vacuum, and so the hiss of escaping gas was inaudible as the Pelican settled into its parking space and opened its rear door. John was met with the now-endangered sight of a Spartan team, albeit one that donned the recently outdated Mark IV MJOLNIR armor platform.
In one corner of John's HUD, a light flickered, spelling out a coded phrase. Grinning, John shot back the predetermined reply and further greeted his brothers- and sister-in-arms with a Spartan Smile. The trio returned the gesture, and John's radio crackled to life.
"John," Jerome greeted, "It's good to see you."
"Likewise," the Master Chief replied. "I'm glad we stumbled across each other. I wasn't looking forward to spending the next few years in cryo."
"You might still have to deal," Douglas's deep voice interjected. "The Spirit lost her FTL drive back in '31. Why do you think we're still out here?"
"If the Dawn's slipspace drive wasn't fried by whatever dropped us out here, we might be able to move it to the Spirit to replace the one you lost," Cortana suggested. "Though, I do wonder exactly how you lost your drive in the first place."
"We converted it into an improvised bomb," Jerome answered. "Used it to blow a planet-sized Dyson sphere housing an alien fleet the Covenant were drooling over."
"How would that even—never mind, I'll wait until we're on the Spirit to ask questions. Don't want to keep Captain Cutter waiting."
"Agreed," John and Jerome said at the same time. The Spartans all piled into the Pelican's troop bay and signaled the pilot to begin the return trip.
"What model armor is that?" Douglas asked as the Pelican took off.
"Mark VI," John said.
"What kind of upgrades did you get?" Alice queried. "Besides the aesthetic changes?"
"Improved reaction time and movement enhancement, reduced reactor size, AI integration, reverse-engineered shielding," he listed the more significant virtues of the platform.
"Shielding?" Jerome repeated. "Damn. Do all Spartans wear that these days?"
The Chief shook his head. "Only Will, Fred, Linda and I have received a set so far. They were practically hot off the assembly line. Grey and Black Teams were on assignment."
"And the others?" Jerome asked after a pause.
"They're gone," John answered solemnly. "All of them."
His fellow Spartans stood stock still at the revelation. "What?" Alice whispered, a note of horror coloring her tone.
"The Covenant found Reach," John revealed. "Every available Spartan was there prepping for an op when they pounced on the planet. We did everything we could." He fell silent, but what had been said was enough.
Reach had fallen, and it was now their brothers and sisters' grave.
I—I—A
Interstellar space
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 11, 2552
Cutter had decided to hold off on announcing the end of the war to the rest of the Spirit of Fire's crew until after he had debriefed 117 and Cortana on the events of the past twenty years. He wanted to know exactly what kind of price was paid in exchange for humanity's survival before any champagne corks were popped, figuratively speaking.
Professor Anders was the only other soul on board that had been informed of the news, bridge crew aside. She was currently poring over the summary Cortana had transmitted as they both awaited the arrival of the Spartan and his AI companion. Cutter expected both them and Red Team to arrive any minute.
He was currently trying to banish the sick feeling in his stomach that he had acquired upon reading about the Fall of Reach and the Covenant attacks on Earth. It was inconceivable that the genocidal aliens could have found their greatest secrets, that Reach had been put to the torch and Earth had been ravaged by not only their mortal foe, but by the same creatures the Spirit had encountered twenty-one years prior. He had to remind himself that they had been gone for two decades, that the Covenant finding their most precious worlds was an inevitable outcome.
And the alliance with the renegade Elites! Cutter was still trying to wrap his head around both the alliance and the fact that the Covenant leadership was dumb enough to betray one of their greatest sources of muscle in the middle of the war's endgame. If they hadn't...
The door to the bridge opened, cutting off that train of thought. Cutter turned to see four armor-clad giants march into the ship's nerve center with machine-like precision. The Master Chief, who Cutter now saw was clad in a sleeker, less bulky-looking version of the distinctive Spartan armor, stepped forward and saluted him.
"Sir," the super-soldier greeted, "SPARTAN-117 reporting."
"At ease, Master Chief," Cutter returned the salute as a moment of déjà vu passed. "Glad to have you aboard. This here is Professor Ellen Anders, our resident expert on all things alien. Knowing her, I thought it would be better to have her present and asking whatever questions she might have now rather than later. I imagine that you're looking forward to some R-and-R now that the war is over."
"Well, I for one would be happy to answer any questions she has," Cortana chimed in. "It would be nice to talk to a fellow intellectual after running around with this barbarian. Not that it wasn't fun, Chief, but you aren't much of a talker."
Cutter noticed Anders jerk in surprise when she heard the AI's voice. What was that about? His attention soon returned to the AI, who requested to be transferred to the bridge holotank. Permission received, the Master Chief removed an AI chip from the back of his helmet and inserted it into the table-like device. At first glance, Cortana's avatar appeared to be that of a nude woman with long bangs trailing from a short haircut framing her digital features. He soon noticed the lines trailing across her body and that her form was more of a silhouette than a detailed representation of a naked woman.
A wolf whistle elicited a stern glare from the aging captain towards the offender. Cortana simply said, "Aw, you're making him blush!"
"Cortana," 117 admonished.
"Killjoy," she muttered. "UNSC AI CTN 0452-9 Cortana reporting, Captain." Her avatar's hands moved behind her back.
"Alright, then. Let's start from the beginning. What happened after we left Arcadia?"
Prologue III
Interstellar space
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 11, 2552
Ben Kerry sat with his squad in one of the mess rooms scattered throughout the Spirit of Fire, nibbling away at an MRE pack. Sadly, any fresh food on board had spoiled and been disposed of decades ago.
Decades. According to scuttlebutt, that was how much time had passed since they had all gone into cryo. More than twenty years had passed them by while they slumbered. He wondered if his parents were still alive, if his homeworld of Kholo still stood.
Forcing down another bite of Army rations, Kerry directed his attention to McKendrick and Sergeant Conway's bickering over the former's latest theory. He suppressed a snort. There was no way the Spartans were steroid-enhanced humans; no human could grow to be that big and beefy. They were definitely some sort of advanced robots piloted by AI.
A boatswain's whistle suddenly cut into the din of dining servicemen, grabbing the attention of everyone in the mess and silencing all chatter. "Attention, all hands, this is your captain speaking." Kerry straightened in his seat. "I'm sure that you have all heard rumors that we are decades out of time, that we have come across a UNSC vessel in distress and have rescued her crew, and many more. Allow me to put those rumors to rest.
"Today is December 11, 2552. It has been twenty-one years and nine months since we went into cryo-stasis. Today, we recovered the survivors of a slipspace accident from the wreckage you have no doubt noticed off our starboard bow. Today, I was informed that the war with the Covenant is over, and humanity stands, battered but victorious."
Kerry felt his heart stop at this last declaration. For one eternal moment, a silence in which a pin dropping to the deck would have been deafening reigned throughout the room. The moment passed, and the mess hall erupted into a deafening cheer, and it took Kerry a minute to realize that his voice was among the hollering chorus. Sore throats tended to do that.
"This victory," Cutter continued, voice booming as the speakers' volume rose to be heard over the racket, "has come at a heavy cost. Many worlds have been lost. Billions have lost their lives to our enemy, military and civilian alike. A memorial will be held in the coming week to remember those lost." These words had a sobering impact upon the jubilant soldiers. Kerry felt a stab of fear. Were his parents among those billions? Was Kholo one of the worlds lost?
"Until then, I ask for a moment's silence for heroes fallen and innocents lost."
As one, the men and women present bowed their heads, some, Kerry imagined, praying to whatever deity they worshipped to watch over the billions of souls who had perished. Kerry, for his part, prayed for the first time since his childhood. He prayed that his parents were safe, and that he would see them again, even if only on their deathbeds. It surprised him how much he missed them, given that from his perspective it had only been a few months since he had last seen them.
"A summary of the events that have occurred in our absence will be made available to all personnel shortly. All senior officers will report to the bridge situation room at 0700 hours tomorrow. That is all. Cutter, out."
I—I—A
The intercom went silent, and Cutter let out a long sigh. He had known from the summary Cortana had sent that the war went poorly for the UNSC, but the details she had added during the debriefing...
Over a hundred human worlds had been found and attacked by the Covenant, approximately half of those having been confirmed as glassed. Between twenty-five and thirty billion men, women and children were dead at the hands of those same butchers. The number of significant—and pyrrhic—victories won by humanity after the Spirit of Fire had become stranded could be counted on one's hands: Psi Serpentis, Sigma Octanus, Alpha Halo, Operation: FIRST STRIKE, the Ark.
Cutter nearly shuddered at the thought of Halo. One of seven weapons of mass destruction unlike anything conceived of by human science, capable of wiping out all life in the Milky Way. And the damn Covenant had wanted to activate the blasted things.
And the less said about the creatures Halo was meant to combat, those things they had encountered on the ancient Dyson sphere...
The Master Chief and Cortana had been alarmed by their hosts' familiarity with the Flood parasite, especially when they were informed about the brief outbreak that Jerome had quelled in 2537. The Flood, Cutter mused. An apt name for the sentient disease.
"I'm still not sure if telling the crew about the UNSC-Elite alliance is a good idea," Cutter told Cortana, trying to distract himself from more grisly thoughts.
"They're going to find out eventually," Cortana argued. "Better they get used to the idea sooner rather than later."
"I know," Cutter said. "Doesn't mean I have to like it. Speaking of... our new friends—" He was still trying to swallow that particular pill. "—did they happen to leave any gifts for us on the Dawn?"
"A few plasma rifles and needlers," 117 reported. "Though that's just in one of the remaining armories. I don't know if there are more scattered throughout the wreckage. UNSC weapons include MA5C assault rifles, BR55HB service rifles and M6G magnums. There might be more specialized weapons hidden somewhere."
"There were also a few surviving Warthogs," Cortana added, "and a container of M739 SAWs made their way into the Dawn's inventory before we left Earth. There are also rations and spare parts that could be salvaged, not to mention the Dawn's FTL drive, assuming it survived our little accident."
"The FTL drive will be our priority," Cutter decided.
"You might want to get some people on retrieving the Dawn's nukes, as well," Cortana interjected.
"What kind of nukes are we talking about?"
"Hyperion missiles."
"Those will be a close second," Cutter agreed. "Everything else that can be salvaged will be as soon as the drive and nukes are sorted. Spartans, I want you on the first transports out tomorrow morning."
"Yes, sir," the supersoldiers acknowledged.
"Dismissed. Leave Cortana where she is, Chief," he addressed said Spartan has he made to remove the AI's storage chip. "I need to discuss a few more things with her."
"Sir," 117 complied and departed after exchanging farewells with Cortana.
"What would you like to discuss, Captain?" the AI inquired.
"First, I want a second opinion. Serina's last report indicated that all systems were green, but I remember the beating we took back in '31. What's your take on the Spirit's condition?"
"Aside from the lack of a slipspace drive and the shredded wing structure?" Cortana was silent for several heartbeats, taking stock of the ship's condition. "Fire control systems have been compromised, particularly those for the MAC battery. Several atmospheric scrubbers have deteriorated as well. Fifteen years ago, they might have been alright, but now? It'll take a while to repair them. Fortunately, we might be able to cannibalize the Dawn for some of the necessary parts."
"The Spirit also has an on-board factory. We should also be able to manufacture the parts we need once it's warmed up."
"I don't think it will be able to make a slipspace drive," Cortana warned.
"Then let's hope that drive is intact."
Prologue IV
Interstellar space
Pelican Victor 401
December 12, 2552
John observed the small flotilla of transport craft that trailed behind Victor 401 as they sped towards the Forward Unto Dawn's remains. Three more Pelican dropships flanked 401, completing a "finger-four" formation. A pair of Darters trailed behind the quartet of larger craft. Further behind those he could pick out a pair of Nandao interceptors flying CAP around the Spirit of Fire.
John and Red Team had received their orders not two hours earlier: they were to help the engineering team extract the Dawn's SFTE drive and harness it to Victor 401. After the drive was secured, they were to turn their attention to securing the Hyperion nuclear missiles on board the derelict and prepare them for later transport.
While they were doing this, Marine fireteams would scavenge weapons, ammunition and other supplies that remained within the broken derelict. Afterwards, a second wave of scavengers would rummage for parts to repair numerous systems on the Spirit with. Once these tasks were completed, they would tether the Dawn's remains to the Spirit's ventral hull and, assuming the slipspace drive still worked, transit into slipspace on a roundabout course for Earth. "Why scuttle the bisected hulk if it could be brought back to home territory for recycling?" was the prevailing logic behind that last decision, logic that he agreed with. The UNSC only had a few dozen ships left. In the rebuilding to come, every bit of materiel would count.
"Five minutes," the pilot called over the intercom. The Master Chief's head swiveled to observe his fellow Spartans as they checked their gear. Each one of them carried a magnum as a holdout weapon, but Jerome was carrying an M90 shotgun while Douglas and Alice both sported battle rifles. John himself was packing the MA5C he had recovered from the Dawn. They weren't expecting any trouble, but it was better to be prepared than caught with their pants down.
"Check your seals," Jerome ordered over the team channel. Despite John's superior rank, he would be operating under Jerome as Red Four until they returned to UNSC space. That was something they had agreed upon the day before. One by one, the Spartans confirmed that their suits had properly sealed. The engineering team they were accompanying was undergoing a similar ritual, with the addition of checking the various tools they were bringing to aid in transferring the Dawn's translight engine.
"One minute," the pilot reported.
"All set, Spartans?" the engineering team's leader—a lieutenant, according to his IFF tag—asked his towering comrades.
"Affirmative," Jerome answered.
Turning back to face the compartment door's viewport, John saw the trailing dropships break formation. Two of the Pelicans peeled off and moved to land at the remains of the Dawn's side-mounted hangars. The remaining Pelican and the two Darters followed Victor 401 into the ventral hangar.
The dropship settled onto the hangar's deck with a slight jolt. Air began to hiss out of the compartment as the pilot depressurized the troop bay, lest its passengers and cargo be ejected by a rush of air when the door was finally lowered. Warning lights bathed the room in their crimson glow as the Spartans and engineers prepared to disembark.
Silence reigned in the troop bay as the ramp lowered. The supersoldiers were the first ones out, quickly followed by their charges. To their left, a squad of Marines disembarked as well, splitting off into fireteams to raid the Dawn's remaining armories and storage lockers. The Darters disgorged their passengers as well, who set about examining the hangar for useful equipment.
The journey to the Dawn's slipspace drive was made in relative silence, punctuated only by their footsteps echoing in the deserted hallways and the occasional bits of chatter between the engineers. Once they had arrived, the Spartans stood off to one side as the engineering team swarmed over the Dawn's Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine. After a quarter-hour of examination and conversation, the lead engineer turned to address the Spartans.
"The drive appears to be intact," the lieutenant declared. "We'll have to run some more diagnostics and calibrations once we get it aboard the Spirit, but we're optimistic that the drive will work."
"The trick right now is how we're going to get it out of here," another engineer said. "You four might be able to lift this thing, but it'll be awkward to maneuver, not to mention that this model is a bit more delicate than what Spirit was originally outfitted with."
"If artificial gravity was online, that would be a problem," Jerome agreed. "Which is why we're going to shut it down for this phase of the mission. Red Actual to all callsigns," he transmitted over the radio, "activate your magnetic clamps. Artificial gravity will be offline in thirty seconds." He nodded to John, who moved to a nearby terminal and input a set of commands that Cortana had provided them with. Once they had tethered the slipspace drive to Victor 401, a command from either Spartan would reactivate the Dawn's gravity generators.
With gravity no longer an issue, the sailors set about preparing the FTL drive for transport. Once the engineers had detached the last coupling keeping the device tethered to the deck, the Spartans lifted the slipspace drive from its resting place and proceeded to maneuver it into the hallway. The journey back to the hangar was slower than their previous jaunt, both because of the immensely expensive device they were now ferrying and because they were now traversing a zero-g environment with magnetized boots. It wasn't quite a moonwalk, but a certain technique was still required.
I—I—A
Interstellar space
UNSC Forward Unto Dawn
December 12, 2552
"—Artificial gravity will be offline in thirty seconds."
Michelle Darcy swore as she turned to her team. "Prince, Fulton, get those arms secured! Vaughn, help me stuff the ammo in that crate!" The Marines had been about two-thirds of the way through sorting their haul when the Spartan's announcement came through. Now they scrambled to bundle up what remained before everything began free-floating.
"Fucking—couldn't they have given us more of a heads-up?" Fulton asked.
"I'll bet Trent's boys are pissed," Vaughn said. "They're the ones who have to wrangle the 'Hogs."
"Less yapping, more packing!" Michelle barked.
I—I—A
When the sailors returned to the main hangar, they were greeted by the glares of the Marines present there. At least, Jerome assumed they were glaring at them, their expressions being hidden behind polarized visors. His smirk was hidden behind his own helmet. It had been some time since any Spartan had had the opportunity to prank fellow servicemembers, as he recalled.
Red Team maneuvered the slipspace drive underneath Victor 401's external cargo clamps, holding the device steady as the engineers tethered it to the Pelican's D-rings. As they worked, the Marines behind them continued to stuff parts of a dismantled Warthog into the cargo bay of one of the Darters, save for two who were keeping another assembled 'Hog pinned to the deck while a third Marine clamped a set of magnetic tethers to the vehicle's wheels.
After checking to make sure the FTL drive was firmly secured to its transport, the lieutenant gave Victor 401 the go-ahead to take off and return to the Spirit of Fire; once the dropship behind the Pelican was loaded and on its own way, of course. The engineers and their Spartan escorts then ventured once more into the bowels of the wrecked frigate, this time trekking towards the bridge airlock. It was time for them to recover the Dawn's nukes.
Prologue V
Interstellar space
UNSC Forward Unto Dawn
December 12, 2552
Malcolm Trent was glaring daggers at the retreating backs of the Spartans and engineers as they made their way back into the interior of the derelict, plotting his revenge against the asshole swabbies. It would have to wait until the salvage run was complete, but he would have vengeance for this travesty.
He vaguely felt the vibrations of objects colliding with the hangar deck as gravity was restored to the floating wreck. Turning to his men, he quickly sent them scrambling to free the intact 'Hogs from their clamps. The magnetic tethers would remain on hand, just in case their "comrades" hadn't gotten the mischief out of their systems yet.
Malcolm's gaze swept across the loot that his men had accumulated since their arrival on the Dawn. Three Warthogs had been recovered by the Marines thus far, one of which was currently being stowed piece by piece into a Darter transport. Two crates of M739 squad automatic weapons had been loaded onto Pelican Victor 403, as had a collection of maintenance tools and several other weapons, not all of which were UNSC in origin. Trent had been quite surprised when Corporal Eastman had found that Covenant carbine lying around.
Seeing a pair of his Marines struggling to maneuver a 'Hog engine block into the cargo bay of the Darter, Malcolm moved to aid them. A few seconds of toil later and the block was being secured to the shuttle's deck via cables. He silently cursed the fact that Darters couldn't ferry intact vehicles larger than a Mongoose.
I—I—A
"Finally!" Fulton exclaimed as the gravity generators came to life once more.
"Don't be so excited," Michelle admonished her subordinate. "Now we actually have to haul about fifty kilos in weapons and munitions to the hangar."
The PFC promptly cursed at the prospect.
Vaughn snickered at his friend's distress. "I, for one, could use the workout. Never did get a chance to shed those pounds I gained during my stay in the infirmary."
"Vaughn, it's statements like that that make us wonder whether you were born with the right parts," Michelle teased. It was a running joke in their squad how stereotypically effeminate the man acted at times.
"That, and you wish you had someone to braid hair and paint nails with," Vaughn shot back, referencing her frequent lamentation of her status as the only woman in the platoon.
"Fuck you, man," came Michelle's eloquent retort. She shifted her grip on the ammo crate she was lugging with her off hand.
"Get a room first," Prince deadpanned. "I have enough mental scars from watching the pair of you flirt as it is."
I—I—A
Had he not been preoccupied with stuffing crates of MREs into the main hold of a Pelican dropship, Diego Alvarez would have been mesmerized by the stunning panorama of stars and stellar gasses that surrounded the derelict wreckage of UNSC Forward Unto Dawn.
As a child, long before first contact with the Covenant, Diego would stay up into the wee hours of the night stargazing, observing every star, asteroid, comet, nebula, planet and every other conceivable celestial object that he could find with the family telescope. He knew from a young age that he wanted to be an astronomer—to chart the cosmos, discover new worlds and unravel the mysteries of the universe.
And then the Covenant invaded.
Madrigal had been found and glassed by the Covenant shortly after the War began. Of Diego's entire family, only he and his cousin, Letitia, had escaped the massacre. His elder sister had also evaded death, as she had immigrated to Meridian with her husband soon after their wedding.
Despair and rage in his heart, Diego had buried his childhood dream deep within him and enlisted in the UNSC Marine Corps, hoping against hope that he could inflict a fraction of the pain he felt against the alien vermin who had slaughtered his kin. What was once fuel for a simple and pure ambition was reduced to the role of a balm for a wounded soul.
As Diego departed the Pelican's cargo bay to retrieve the next crate of supplies, his thoughts dwelt on Captain Cutter's announcement some fifteen hours before. The war with the Covenant had ended, after a further twenty years of bloody and devastating conflict. He had no idea if the precious few relatives he had left were still alive. He no longer had an outlet for the rage and pain he felt for the loss of his family and home.
He was drowning, and there was no help in sight.
I—I—A
Interstellar space
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 12, 2552
When the Spirit of Fire's senior staff convened that evening, the first item on the docket was the status of Forward Unto Dawn's slipspace drive. The Spirit's chief engineer, Alys Vallum, presented a moderately wordy report on the device's functionality. Cutter wasn't an expert on engineering or slipspace physics, but he felt that he got the gist of her report.
"So, the drive will work?" Cutter sought clarification.
Vallum nodded. "It'll take us a couple of days to make sure we won't overload the drive upon using it. It was meant for ships one-fifth Spirit's size and over forty million tonnes less massive, not to mention the twenty-year technology gap between us and it. In theory, 'Size matters not,' and all that, but reality is always different from guesswork. I'm confident we can pull this off, but again, it will take time."
"We aren't going anywhere anytime soon without that drive, regardless. Take all the time you need, Commander." Cutter turned to Cortana. "What's our haul from the Dawn look like?"
"Seven LRV-model Warthogs have been recovered, as has a single Hyperion missile; the other two were likely lost with the bow section. Eight M739 squad automatic weapons, fifty-one MA5C assault rifles, thirty-nine BR55HB service rifles, eighty-four M6G2 magnum sidearms, seven SRS99D-S2 AM sniper rifles, twenty M7 submachine guns, a dozen M90A shotguns, two M7057 defoliant projectors, thirteen M41 rocket launchers, five M6 Grindel/Galilean non-linear rifles, three AIE-486H heavy machine guns and an impressive amount of munitions and ordnance to sustain them. There were also over ten dozen M9 grenades recovered, not to mention the examples of Covenant weapons.
"Additionally, we've scavenged enough MREs to feed a Marine company and a number of maintenance tools," Cortana concluded her report.
Cutter nodded. "Your Marines did good work, Colonel. Please pass along my congratulations."
"I think they'll be a little preoccupied with plotting revenge to appreciate it, Captain. Red Team's little stunt with the gravity generators has got 'em pissed, and they're looking for some payback."
Cutter shook his head at that. He would not have expected Spartan commandos, of all people, to indulge in pranks and interservice rivalries. When one thought of Spartans, they envisioned disciplined and stoic warriors. Perfect soldiers. This incident demonstrated that, for all their usual professionalism, the Spartans were just as human as the men and women before him were.
"Tell them to keep it tame," Cutter implored. "Now, how is morale across the ship?"
Cortana's avatar grimaced. "It could be better," she began. "On one hand, everyone is relieved that the war is over, that humanity prevailed. But, on the other hand, a lot of people are wondering if the cost was worth it. So many of the people on board lost their homeworlds and families to the Covenant. Any relief they might feel with the war ending is drowned out by grief and worry. Overall, I would say that morale has taken a bit of a plunge," Cortana admitted.
Cutter closed his eyes, thumb and forefinger moving to squeeze the bridge of his nose. This was far from ideal news, but it was what he had expected. He himself had been devastated when he learned that Reach had been put to the torch. He feared that he might never see Mary and Rosalyn again, that the Covenant had killed them.
God, Rosalyn could have started a family of her own in the last few years. Could he have lost his grandchildren before he had even met them?
With effort, he pushed away his worries and woes. He couldn't afford to dwell on his fears while his crew was still trapped dozens of light-years from UNSC space. He had to get them home.
"Any suggestions on how we might turn that around?"
Prologue VI
Interstellar space
UNSC Spirit of Fire
December 18, 2552
The last five days had been a blur of activity. Salvaged goods and materiel from Forward Unto Dawn's remains had been inventoried, the derelict's translight engine was manipulated into operating on the Spirit of Fire, what systems could be repaired were with the parts and equipment available and the Dawn's aft section was tethered to the Spirit's belly.
The atmospheric scrubbers had been restored, as had a significant percentage of the fire control systems. Unfortunately, the Dawn's MAC fire controls were crippled when the ship had been bisected, so the support vessel's own MAC battery retained subpar fire control. The ship-killing artillery was operable, but nowhere near as accurate as it could be. Vallum and her engineers would have to wait for the Spirit's war factory to churn out the appropriate parts to finish those repairs.
Four days after they had encountered Forward Unto Dawn, a memorial had been held for those who had lost their lives in the Covenant War. Few human names were mentioned; there were simply too many to ever name in a single ceremony. Only the names of the War's greatest heroes were listed.
The colonies lost, however, were all named: Victoria, Vodin, Paradise Falls, Hat Yai, Eirene, Charybdis IX, Groombridge, Jericho VII, Hew Harmony, Kholo, Boundary, Herschel, Amadora, New Constantinople, Cyrus VII, Persia IX, Hellas, Alluvion, Miridem, Draco III, Actium, New Llanelli, Camber, Sansar, Skopje, Hardscrabble, Reynes, Bounty, Ruthersburg, Mesa, Algolis, Kroedis II, Paris IV, Arcadia, Greydowns, Iota, Estuary, Minab, Imber, New Jerusalem, Troy, Harmony, Fumirole, Coral, Verge, Beta Gabriel, Tantalus, Circumstance, Tribute, Reach and so many more.
It was a solemn affair, sorrow and anger permeating the air as each name was listed. Afterwards, the crew seemed to have gathered their collective wits and threw themselves into getting the Spirit of Fire ready for the journey home. They all had their reasons—some simply wanted to distract themselves from the grief and the worry; some wanted to find their loved ones, to learn if they had survived a given colony's destruction; others wanted a shot at any Covenant remnants that still roamed unpunished for their crimes. These were just some of the many reasons the crew had.
Amidst all the toil and the grieving, a few lighthearted events took place, the most prominent being a small prank war between Red Team and a platoon from the 45th Marine Regiment. Somewhere along the way, half of the platoon ended up with bleached hair and the Spartans always tested the water they consumed for salt contamination. In other news, the ship's paper had recently released, among other things, a series of cartoons depicting the artists' takes on the dissolution of the Covenant and articles on the crew's predictions on what changes they would be faced with upon their return to human territory.
Cutter was currently reading one such cartoon from the morning's edition of The Spirit. The art form used was a callback to an ancient Terran amateur cartoon that personified polities as geometric shapes and had played on national stereotypes as much as historical and current events. Suppressing a chuckle as the Elites and 117 stomped battered representations of the Prophets and Brutes into the ground, Cutter set down the data pad he had been reading from and asked, "Are we ready to begin, Cortana?"
"As ready as we'll ever be, Captain. Engineering reports all systems green. We're ready to transit into slipspace on your order."
Cutter nodded and, activating the intercom, addressed the crew. "Attention, all hands: prepare for slipspace jump. Begin the countdown, Cortana."
"Spinning up the slipspace drive. Transitioning in T-minus sixty seconds." As Cortana's announcement echoed throughout the rooms and corridors of the Spirit of Fire, as the ship's crew scrambled into shielded areas in anticipation of a successful jump into slipstream space, metal shutters drew closed across the support ship's viewports and hangar bays and a steady hum filled the room cradling the CODEN IV Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine.
A timer materialized over the bridge holotank, steadily counting down from "00:01:00.00." Anticipation, hope and worry warred for dominance within Cutter, an uncomfortable feeling filling the pit of his stomach. So many things could go wrong here, so many horrific outcomes could damn this crew to death or strand them forever. He prayed to whatever god might be listening that the drive would work as intended, that they would make it home.
He should have known better.
As the countdown reached "00:00:10.00," alarms blared and Cortana cried out, "Radiation detected! Unknown source, unknown type!"
00:00:07.54
"Abort the jump!" Cutter ordered.
00:00:06.58
"I can't!" Cortana reported, panic lacing her voice. "The controls aren't responding!"
"What's that noise?" a man called out. A high-pitched whine was filling the bridge, slowly overtaking the alarms in volume.
00:00:04.37
"The lights!" a female voice—not Cortana's—yelled. A bright glow began to blind Cutter. The captain squinted against the sudden assault, green-purple blobs already obscuring his vision.
00:00:03.40
"Portal opening!" Cortana cried.
00:00:02.12
"All hands, brace yourselves!"
00:00:00.75
I—I—A
Sol system
Jupiter Station
December 18, 2152
Suspended far above a swirling mass of red, orange, white and brown clouds, Jupiter Station was one of the few representatives of the United Earth Starfleet's meager reach within humanity's home system. Considering how new the organization was, and how slow human warp drives had been until now, this limited range was understandable. But with the advent of Zefram Cochrane and Henry Archer's Warp Five Engine and the exploits of the starships Enterprise and Columbia, there was much speculation and not a small amount of hope that this state of affairs would soon change.
There were naysayers, of course—every movement had its detractors, foremost among them being the Vulcan Consulate, which had held back human advancement in spaceflight for decades. But the achievements of Starfleet's Warp Five starships and their crews filled Isaac Fuller with hope that humanity would finally step out from beneath the Vulcans' smothering shadow and stake its claim on the stars. If the rumors were true, there was already talk of establishing a formal Starfleet presence in the Vega and Eta Cassiopeiae systems.
Isaac was currently seated at his duty station, monitoring incoming telemetry from the station's sensor array. While his eyes were glued to the screen in front of him, his ears listened to real-time radio static emanating from the gas giant "beneath" him, the haunting noise breaking up the monotony of his job. It had been a slow week, like most weeks were. The station rarely did anything more exciting than perform routine maintenance on starships and study the Sol system's largest planet. Indeed, the most exciting thing that had occurred in Isaac's brief time on the station was the installation of NX-03's phase cannons.
A lot of his colleagues would probably have been envious of the "lucky bastards" who got to serve on these relatively cutting-edge spaceships. Isaac himself was content to simply monitor data streams and listen to Jupiter's haunting calls. Venturing into deep space and getting into fights with every third species contacted was not his idea of fun and excitement. Orbiting the most radioactive planet in the Sol system was adventure enough for him, thank you very much.
"Isaac." The ensign turned to face the woman addressing him. She handed him a steaming cup of dark roast—if his nose was not mistaken—from a tray she was holding in her off hand.
Accepting the beverage with a smile, Isaac said, "Thank you, Lisa."
The attractive brunette beamed, acknowledging his thanks before continuing her deliveries. It was part of his fellow ensign's routine to deliver coffee and similar caffeinated drinks to the morning watch upon arriving for her shift.
Taking a cautious sip from the hot beverage, Isaac diverted his attention from the peppy comms officer to the sensor data stream. His smile quickly fell as he interpreted the incoming data. "That's not right," he muttered. Setting down his cup, he typed away at his station's keyboard, ordering the computer to run a diagnostic.
No change. The sensors continued to feed him the same impossible data.
"What the—Commander!" Isaac called out to his superior. The dour-looking man strode over to the sensor station.
"Ensign?"
"The sensors are picking up radiation bursts from this grid here," he pointed out the relevant point in space, "but there's nothing there. We shouldn't be receiving anything but background noise."
"Diagnostics?"
"Already ran them. They say everything is working fine."
"What kind of radiation are we looking at?"
"Uh," Isaac read through the telemetry again. "There's a couple that the computer can't identify, but whatever's going on is emitting alpha and beta particles... Cherenkov radiation? Hawking radiation?!"
"Hawking? Don't black holes emit that? Are you saying there's a damn black hole forming—"
The commander's alarmed questioning was cut off by a burst of light. The two officers turned to face the nearest viewport. A sizable black spot blotted out a circular section of the backdrop of stars surrounding the station and its host planet. For a brief second, terror gripped Isaac's heart. We're gonna die! We're gonna get sucked in and crushed by a fucking freak-of-nature black hole!
When he continued to have thoughts after those, he became confused. The spherical void remained there for several seconds before collapsing. In the black hole's place was a starship's stern, two clusters of three exhaust ports flanking the large and bizarrely shaped spacecraft. The sensor console chimed, and Isaac tore his gaze from the viewport to stare at the incoming telemetry.
The radiation readings had dissipated with the collapse of the black hole, scattered by stellar wind. In their place was a scan of the unknown ship. She was a damaged one, and measured more than two kilometers in length, less than eight hundred meters in width and roughly six hundred ninety meters tall. It was the single largest spacefaring construct ever seen by human eyes. There was no indication of warp drive-related emissions; the sensors indicated the behemoth was powered solely by fusion reactors. There were no energy weapons present, either, only what appeared to be mass drivers—some of which were alarmingly huge—and clusters of missiles. There were over five thousand lifeforms crewing the titanium hulk, and they were all human.
"What the hell?" Isaac whispered.
I—I—A
Location unknown
Date null
A flash of light, and he was standing behind the instigator of the disturbance in spacetime that he had felt moments before. Long dark hair reached down a feminine form, stopping beneath the shoulder blades. A long white coat with sky-blue highlights enshrouded her torso, and similarly colored trousers hung from her hips.
"Q!" he barked.
The entity turned around, revealing pale features framed by her loose hair, dark eyes and a widow's peak in prominent contrast to milky skin.
"Q," she greeted cheerily, as if she hadn't just tampered with dimensional and temporal barriers. "Come to see the fireworks?"
"There shouldn't be any fireworks to speak of!" he snapped. "What do you think you're doing!?"
"Conducting an experiment," the feminine Q responded evenly. "Don't fret, Q. This timeline is like the one those Romulans and the half-Vulcan will create in a few centuries. You'll still have your pet French captain to torment—I mean, 'test.'" Her lips twisted into a saccharine smile. "Not to mention that female you will utterly fail at wooing." A frown now marred her features. "I do wonder where this righteous indignation is coming from. You've done and will do similar things."
"I haven't reached across realities and plucked sapient denizens from them!"
"No—you cross said realities to have tea with a sapient, brightly colored pegasus and troll her friends and acquaintances," she riposted. "These humans won't be staying here forever; they will be needed in their own universe soon enough. Until then..." The woman—if she could truly be called that—spread her hands innocently. "Who am I to let their potential go to waste?"
Q continued to glower at his counterpart, who sighed and added, "This could end up being just one more thing to taunt the Frenchman with."
Well, when she put it like that... He did so love to taunt Jean-Luc. He walked over to the other Q and thrust his hand into the tub of popcorn she had been holding since the confrontation began. Viciously munching on the salty treat, he summoned a chair and proceeded to sit, diligently ignoring the triumphant grin his counterpart now sported.
My first story on the site in years. I hope you enjoy it!
Cross-posted on Space Battles For ums
Edited 8/17/23 for improved quality.