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  • Subject: [FF] Halo: Lost and Found (A Halo Wars Epilogue) [Chapter 12]
Subject: [FF] Halo: Lost and Found (A Halo Wars Epilogue) [Chapter 12]


Alice exchanged a glance with Douglas who merely shrugged. "Okay," she said slowly. "Is that a good thing?"

"Why yes, of course. My Makers allowed a generous amount of flexibility in the overseeing of B-23, and I have put it to full capacity."

Alice frowned. "What's so important about the Library?"

Contrite Variant tilted slightly on his axis. "It contains the catalog of every living being in the galaxy the Librarian was able to record. Along with pertinent information on the research regarding the parasite known as the Flood."

"A giant database," Douglas muttered. "You think this 'Flood' is the same thing we encountered on that shield world?" he asked Alice quietly.

With eyebrows raised, Alice nodded. Douglas had beat her to the simple conclusion of the 'parasite' reference and had more that likely placed their apparent common enemy. "Monitor, do you have a visual example of the Flood available?"

Without hesitation, a static image popped up on all of the holographic displays and revealed a bulbous, multi-tentacled form. Contrite Variant seemed to shudder as he moved in closer. "This is primarily known as an Infection Form. It is capable of tracking down a host, either recently deceased or alive and-"

"Yeah, we get it," Douglas interrupted with a raised hand. "We've seen their work."

The Monitor perked up. "You have?" he said excitedly. "Then you must know how important my research is and why we must act with haste."

"No, we don't," Alice said through clenched teeth. Why are AIs so high strung all the time?

"From the beginning of my Makers' campaign against the Flood, they had hoped to find a way to neutralize their adversary. With the construction of the Rings, they built a series of super-weapons that, when activated, would destroy all sentient life in the galaxy in order to starve the Flood."

The passiveness of the Monitor's comment didn't send Alice rocking back on her heals but his words did. "As in kill every living thing?" she breathed, wanting to make sure she understood him properly.

Contrite Variant made an approximation of a nod. "Every life-form that could become a Flood host, yes." Then his eye appeared to brighten. "But after centuries of labor this facility has made progress."

"And that is?" Douglas asked with strained patient.

Alice could understand his frustration. If Contrite Variant's Makers had the ability to eradicate all life in the galaxy, then ONI Command needs to know about these Rings ASAP. Another quick look at Douglas' rigid posture told her he too was troubled by this new intel. Alice stared back up at the Monitor who looked as if he couldn't decide which Spartan to look at.

"While the Ring Installations did stop the Flood, I have discovered a more excellent way to finish off the parasite once and for all." Contrite Variant raised himself a meter in the air. "I have found a way that successfully configures Installation 03's firing array to directly eliminate the Flood itself."

The moment of silence following the Monitor's statement lingered for a few seconds.

Alice's frown deepened. "So the only way to removed the Flood was to starve it?"

The floating machine dipped a half meter. "Until now."

To punctuate the Monitor's words, a burst of light pulsed from deep within both ends of the vertical shaft to gather at the opened area before the two Spartans. Contrite Variant was silhouetted briefly until the light collapsed into a single floating image of an angular letter T. Along its slender shaft it glowed a shimmering green.

"This is the newly created Index," Contrite Variant said pridefully. "A variation of the original found on Installation 03." The Monitor lowered itself to eye-level. "But it's activation will require a Reclaimer to initiate such a high-level protocol. If you are willing, I can begin the preparations."

Alice's mind began to race as the weight of the situation pressed down on her shoulders. From her previous engagements on the shield world, Alice knew of the overwhelming capabilities of the Flood and how it didn't distinguish between human and Covenant as enemies. And if the Flood had caused the builders of this facility to make a last ditch weapon . . .

Alice shook her head. She wasn't about to get pressured into committing genocide- regardless of the victim- but if nothing else, Captain Cutter had to be informed of all this. If the Spirit of Fire ever makes it here.

Beside her, Douglas stepped forward. "Look, you have to understand that we need to discuss this with our superiors and form a consensus," he said diplomatically. "A decision like this requires in-depth analysis and study of the end results." Douglas looked over at Alice nodding invitingly.

Then it clicked in Alice's mind. Just buy some time. "Yes, that's right. If you could provide us with-"

Her request was cut off by the sudden shift of the overhead light panels from pale blue to yellow then back to normal again. On the multiple displays, the image of the Flood infection form was replace with that of the Covenant cruiser performing a docking maneuver on what looked like one of the many spires extending from the central base of B-23.

Alice's eyes grew wide. It wasn't that the ship's arrival was unexpected, but coupled with the fact that it appeared to draw attention from whatever security measures this station had was enough to turn her stomach to ice.

"Looks like our ODST friends are here," Douglas muttered.

"You have allies aboard a hostile vessel?" Contrite Variant demanded softly.

Alice took another step forward. "Yes, and they mean no harm to you. Or to your work here," she added, hoping to quell the situation without the Monitor jumping to action.

Contrite Variant seemed to consider her words then bobbed up and down in acknowledgement. "If they show no hostility then they will be left alone." His eye dimmed briefly. "But if they act unbecomingly the Sentinels will carry out security measures as they are programmed."

"Sentinels?" both Spartans asked simultaneously.

"Yes, they will follow protocol." The Monitor lifted up and started moving backward.

Alice held up a hand. "Wait, where are you going?"

Contrite Variant turned to face her. "As per protocol, I will initialize the new Index for transport, though it may take some time to do so."

"Fine." Douglas shifted his weight. "And what about examining the data and contacting our commander?"

The Monitor gave a little chuckle. "I'm afraid communications are temporarily disabled in compliance with security measures. But if you wish to review the data . . ." Once again the holo-displays flickered and lines of undecipherable text filled in all around them. Countless pages scrolled every which way and various images cycled quickly, pausing a split second before being replaced by another.

"Though this installation is rightfully yours to inherit, please remain here while I attend to the Index." And with that, the Monitor sputtered way, down into the vast opening in the floor.

After a moment, Douglas spoke, still staring at the vertical shaft. "I don't know if I find the light-bulb's lack of concern over the Covenant cruiser disturbing or comforting."

Alice nodded. "I know." They turned to face each other. "You think these 'Sentinels' are going to be trouble?"

"I would count on it," Douglas said with a shrug. "But until we find a way out from under the Monitor's eye, the ODSTs are on their own."

  • 04.12.2011 3:30 PM PDT


---------------------------------------------------------------

Nathan Parker waited with his reunited squad at the airlock's inner door. He knew they were taking a big enough risk to trust the docking collar being positioned by an unknown operator, and the quiet nervousness in the small anteroom was palpable. Parker didn't know if the cruiser was on an automated approach or if someone- or something- was steering the ship to the docking port. Regardless, it was the only way to board the massive space station and knock out the jamming that could bring down The Spirit of Fire.

In other words, it was a Priority-1 assignment and whatever fears one had were irrelevant.

One of unit's techs confirmed that breathable air was inside the facility but recommended the standard helmet filters to remain on full. It was also decided that a small team would stay with the wounded on the cruiser's bridge, and given a cataclysmic event, they would attempt to break off and head for deep space- if they could. It was a fail-safe that Nathan hoped they didn't have to use.

Parker watched as his commander squeezed through the crowded ranks and started for the airlock. Frowning, Nathan sighed. A motivational speech was the last thing he wanted to hear after giving himself a good dose of a lecture. Still upset about his screwed-up exchange with Toril, Nathan was beating himself up mentally for being so quick to judge. Deep down, he knew better- he was raised better. In their debriefing with Williams and Miller, Nathan hadn't had the chance to officially apologize to Toril, and remorse was slowly eating at the back of his skull. Better shape up, he thought. Feelings get put on hold in battle.

"Weapons check," Sergeant Williams called from the front of the group. He allowed his soldiers a moment to gather themselves then turned around. "While we do have a clear objective, achieving it may not be easy. All we know from Corporal Winters' passive scans is that the waypoint on your heads-up-display is our destination. Whatever equipment we'll need to disable is unknown. Whatever security we'll need to bypass is unknown. So trust your equipment, your fellow soldier, and your gut." With a nod from Williams, Miller, standing next to the release panel, hit the control pad and the airlock began to open.

Taking a deep breath, Nathan cleared his mind and kept his eyes on the slowly parting doors. There were a lot of things that could go wrong once inside the facility, but there was also the hope that the two missing Spartans were already on board. And if the ODSTs could complete their objective, they could end the comm jamming and link up with Alice and Douglas.

Swallowing past the bitter taste in his mouth, Nathan knew it was a big "if."

  • 04.12.2011 3:33 PM PDT

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!

F-fou... f-f-found a way to kill the Flood itself? Oh my. I think I'm going numb.

Seriously though, WOW. Amazing chapter, everything just felt like it clicked into place. The afterthoughts of Jerome and Ellen's conversation were bang on. Contrite's dialouge feels authentic as well, that's something I've been looking for for a long time. You're doing a bloody awesome job with this.

MOOOAAARRRR

  • 04.13.2011 4:08 AM PDT
Subject: [FF] Halo: Lost and Found (A Halo Wars Epilogue) [Chapter 14]

Am I supposed to write something funny here?

Yes, MORE!!!!

But did Tradewind's crew die?

[Edited on 04.13.2011 4:20 AM PDT]

  • 04.13.2011 4:20 AM PDT

hey guys, thanks for reading!

@Gamer Whale:
along with the acting-captain, only a handful of survivors were left. 80+ years in a first-gen cryo would have some devastating effects on the human body.

i'll try to get another chapter up soon.
also keep in mind that things might get a little steamy with Jerome and Anders, as in romance.

Consider this a preparatory warning for some Graphic Content. although i might have to lighten it up, since this is the "Gallery."

  • 04.13.2011 1:21 PM PDT

'There are many aspects of the universe that still cannot be explained satisfactorily by science; but ignorance only implies ignorance that may someday be conquered. To surrender to ignorance and call it God has always been premature, and it remains premature today.'
-Isaac Asimov

Posted by: Footbutt
hey guys, thanks for reading!

@Gamer Whale:
along with the acting-captain, only a handful of survivors were left. 80+ years in a first-gen cryo would have some devastating effects on the human body.

i'll try to get another chapter up soon.
also keep in mind that things might get a little steamy with Jerome and Anders, as in romance.

Consider this a preparatory warning for some Graphic Content. although i might have to lighten it up, since this is the "Gallery."
I can't wait for the next chapter! Keep up the good work.

But I have one question
Since Spartans have suppressed sex drives, is Jerome just a special case?

  • 04.13.2011 11:25 PM PDT

Am I supposed to write something funny here?


Posted by: EnragedElite67
Posted by: Footbutt
hey guys, thanks for reading!

@Gamer Whale:
along with the acting-captain, only a handful of survivors were left. 80+ years in a first-gen cryo would have some devastating effects on the human body.

i'll try to get another chapter up soon.
also keep in mind that things might get a little steamy with Jerome and Anders, as in romance.

Consider this a preparatory warning for some Graphic Content. although i might have to lighten it up, since this is the "Gallery."
I can't wait for the next chapter! Keep up the good work.

But I have one question
Since Spartans have suppressed sex drives, is Jerome just a special case?

Supressed =/= non-existent
[edit]Altough I'm not sure if that kind of stuff fits the story[/edit]

And Footbutt, are we gonna see Tradewind's crew go like "200 years, aliens, aliens killing people, WTF!!??"

[Edited on 04.14.2011 8:56 AM PDT]

  • 04.14.2011 5:19 AM PDT

Footboot?

Wow, i haven't heard from you in a long time!

JJ from HWF, aka Night Angel?

  • 04.14.2011 5:49 AM PDT

jj, wow... hey!

no, i've been plugging away in this story for a while. PM me if you wanna chat. otherwise i hope you're doing well.

also to the previous posts:
you might see the crew from Tradewind again, but probably in a backstory or epilogue.

also, after talking with an admin about the possible "sizzle scene" i'll probably omit almost all of it.

The thing about Jerome, and all of the Spartans in this story, is that there's an emotional pull involve. romance is based upon both the attraction fueled by emotions and the physicality of it all. and yeah, i probably forced the subject in the story.
*cringes*

  • 04.14.2011 1:25 PM PDT
  • gamertag: [none]
  • user homepage:

This is a dead account.

Any messages received will be ignored, and burned.

I love your story o-o
It's got me hooked and I can't wait for the next part v-v

  • 04.14.2011 6:25 PM PDT

'There are many aspects of the universe that still cannot be explained satisfactorily by science; but ignorance only implies ignorance that may someday be conquered. To surrender to ignorance and call it God has always been premature, and it remains premature today.'
-Isaac Asimov

Posted by: Gamer Whale

Posted by: EnragedElite67
Posted by: Footbutt
hey guys, thanks for reading!

@Gamer Whale:
along with the acting-captain, only a handful of survivors were left. 80+ years in a first-gen cryo would have some devastating effects on the human body.

i'll try to get another chapter up soon.
also keep in mind that things might get a little steamy with Jerome and Anders, as in romance.

Consider this a preparatory warning for some Graphic Content. although i might have to lighten it up, since this is the "Gallery."
I can't wait for the next chapter! Keep up the good work.

But I have one question
Since Spartans have suppressed sex drives, is Jerome just a special case?

Supressed =/= non-existent
[edit]Altough I'm not sure if that kind of stuff fits the story[/edit]

And Footbutt, are we gonna see Tradewind's crew go like "200 years, aliens, aliens killing people, WTF!!??"
Oh I know I wasn't trying to imply they didn't have them. I was wondering if he was going to be a rare case and have some awkward super human strength Virgin.... just seems like a funny situation haha

  • 04.14.2011 11:33 PM PDT

Chapter 15



Examining yet another fallen Sangheili, Bren 'Rangdamee let out a frustrated breath. He slowly stood to his full height, and with a clenched fist over his armor chest plate Bren lowered his head. "Your sacrifice will not be in vain," he rumbled ominously.

The Ship Master looked up at the motley crew gathered before him, wondering if they would interject with the proper dirge of a warrior who had lost his life in battle, but they had enough sense not to overlap a superior, regardless of age-old tradition.

After locking the cruiser's controls to be instantly overridden at his command, Bren had contacted the remnants of his warriors on board Unwavering Fortitude and had rallied them to the forward docking bay. He was hoping for a better turnout, but the collective toll the Oracle and the humans had given left only a dozen Sangheili and two pairs of Unggoy. With a certain perspective, Bren figured it was divine intervention to sift his warriors like turnim at harvest to leave only the best for the journey ahead.

Regardless, it would be a challenge.

Bren waited until all eyes were once again on him. "While our numbers may be few, we still have a task at hand." He lifted his left arm and pressed a string of buttons on his data-bracer. "Tracking the Oracle by his energy signature may seem disrespectful, but we are out of viable options." Bren tapped the side of his lower-profile helmet. "The homing signal will lead us to our prize."

"And what of the Humans? Surely their Demons will attempt the same theft as before," a Sangheili warrior pointed out. His voice was firm and clear, not showing any sign of fear.

"Then we will improvise a distraction, if need be." Bren motioned with his left hand towards the Phantom. "Come, now. Let us find that which we seek."

The seventeen Covenant soldiers filed into the transport and Bren took the co-pilot's seat, already activating the cloaking systems. The Oracle had moved to the far end of the station, relative up, and taking the smaller ship to a closer docking zone or even a hangar would be much faster than attempting to navigate the Forerunner corridors on hoof. And Bren knew his small team couldn't stay unnoticed forever.

He just hoped that the end result was worth all the trouble.

After initiating the inverse jamming signal and bringing the shields up to full- just to be safe, the Phantom slipped out of the bay, and the pilot, as per Bren's instructions, took them in a lazy arc up and over Unwavering Fortitude. Seeing the pitiful exterior condition of his ship, Bren worked his mandibles in silent anger. The act of a Human treading on his bridge was enough to make his flesh pucker, but the crumpled frames and twisted, burned out turrets made Bren downright tremble in rage. They will pay for this.

Closing his eyes for a few seconds, the Ship Master pushed away thoughts of revenge and focused his energy on the current task. He leaned forward and flipped on the console's sensors to capture everything the station was giving off. Streams of data quickly filled the holoscreen and Bren hoped it would be useful for later examination and reflection.

It wasn't till they had fully cleared the cruiser that the scale of the Forerunner station was put into perspective. It was massive. Almost five times the size of an Assault Carrier, it was a wonder how it was able to stay in orbit without its own weight pulling it down into atmosphere. Bren offered a smile and dipped his head in marvel at the Forerunner's superior design and engineering.

The Phantom skimmed along one of the lower spires, but the speed in which they were traveling left the finer details of the station's outer surface undefinable. Brief flashes of light and a mix of gray, white, and blue blurred into one continuous streak. When the Phantom reached the central, triangular base, the pilot did well to keep the keel of the ship close to the hull of the station, throwing off any hidden point-defense weaponry that might be in place.

Out of the corner of his left eye, Bren noticed the calm collectiveness of his pilot and catalogued the observance away for another time where offering praise would be appropriate.

As they traveled farther upward, away from the planet and towards their destination, the spires on the upper portion of the station appeared more angular and boxy. At the base of several spires was a ring of dark material resembling a ghanli hive comb. In fact, the column the Phantom was heading towards had the same hexagonal pattern where it connected to the central mass. Bren wondered if this little observation would be useful later. Maybe I am trying to remember too many things. . . Shrugging to himself he brought an extended finger up to point at the distant waypoint now overlaying a short protrusion at the end of their spire. "There."

The pilot nodded and slowed the ship's speed, keeping the deceleration so consistently smooth for Bren not to detect any sudden jerk against his restraints. A fine pilot in deed. Perhaps he has the makings of a Ship Master. The Phantom's aft rose to level off their ascent and the landing area quickly came into view. Much larger than Bren had previously figured, the docking zone was big enough to accompany three Phantoms comfortably.

Pushing through the haze of an atmospheric containment field, the Phantom dipped into the spacious bay. Completely utilitarian in design, the opened area had nothing to clutter the walls or even crowd the floor with equipment racks. For all intents and purposes, the bay was completely empty. Wisely, the pilot turned the ship 180 degrees to allow a quick exit out the containment field, should they need it.

Without waiting for the Phantom to come to a complete stop, Bren unfastened his restraints and stood, placing a hand on the pilot's shoulder. "Stay here and keep watch over this bay. I'll contact you when we are heading back with the Oracle."

Nodding respectfully, the pilot eased the ship into a standard hovering height and flipped on the interior lights. Bren moved into the central passenger compartment where the Spec Ops troops waited for him. Even the Unggoy stood a little taller at the unprecedented event of a Ship Master leading ground troops into battle. Every other Sangheili warrior was sporting the cumbersome gravity-retrieval unit they would use to capture the Oracle while the other half the trusty, Type-33 Needler. All Sangheili carried the trusted plasma energy sword and a standard Type-25 DER.

Pausing only briefly in the midst of his troops, Bren continued aft-ward and activated the gravity lift. Without hesitation, he jumped down through the opening. His hooves landed softly and Bren quickly moved towards the only exit, a large rectangular door that a Wraith could have fit through with ease. Keeping his Plasma Repeater held ready, he kept his vision locked forward, knowing his flanking warriors would be watching the left and right sides for any trouble. The semi-reflective surfaces of the landing zone floor and walls seemed very familiar to Bren and he wondered if all Forerunner decor was the same everywhere in the galaxy.

When the team made it to the dark gray door, Bren walked over to the release panel on the wall and pulled out a palm-sized, boxy device given to him by his father. Bren was told in confidence that the passive sensor packet would allow the user to mimic a biological code that could access low-level Forerunner technology. His father had sternly warned him to never tell anyone about it, in fear of a backlash from the High Council. Never truly hearing the complete story of how his father constructed or obtained the device, at the very least he was told how and why to use it. But this would be the first time Bren had the opportunity to put it to the test.

Clamping the small device to his data-bracer, he waved his left forearm over the release panel and was rewarded with a resounding thump. As the rectangular door lowered into the floor a soft cloud of dust descended from the ceiling. There was a brief tug of vacuum as the two open areas equalized in pressure. Two Sangheili marched through, alert and ready for any sign of danger, as the others followed in a defensive pattern. Bren quickly formed up at the head of the group and led them to a halt as soon as the rear guard cleared the doorway.

The large foyer they found themselves in connected two wide hallways to the left and right. Both turned in 90 degree angles several dozen paces down and Forerunner glyphs were marked above each entrance. Even with his limited knowledge of such symbols Bren identified both of them as research lab designations. Cross referencing his choice with the location of the Oracle's waypoint on his HUD, he waved the strike team off to the left hallway. "Onward."

His father had once told him that the fewer words one uses the more powerful those words become. It was a creed Bren learned to live by and one that could bring confidence to those around him. He would never classify himself as a Councilman-in-training, but he had always gravitated towards positions of power. He knew he wasn't the best Ship Master in the Fleet- far from it- but his leadership skills were what his commanders saw. Maybe one day he would rightfully take his father's place as an Oracle Master.

He snickered. If only the Council knew the full report of this mission . . . He brought his head up soberly. That is . . . if I live to complete it.

  • 04.22.2011 2:48 PM PDT

As they moved deeper into the facility, Bren began to notice several octagonal vent-like panels situated where the angled walls met the ceiling. They looked big enough to accompany a crawling full-grown Sangheili, but the solid, pink-red lights at the bottom of the panels told Bren they were probably not in use. Whatever purpose they had he didn't know. Shrugging to himself, he watched the waypoint distance slowly tick down with each step.


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***


It wasn't until the group of ODSTs fully disembarked from the cruiser that they realized the final distance calculation of their intended target. Nathan watched as Sergeant Williams bounced a fist off the newly opened doorway. "Blast it," he grounded out between clenched teeth. Nevertheless, he waved the forward squad on into the room attached to the airlock foyer.

Nathan frowned and quickly scanned his own squad for Corporal Winters, the man responsible for pointing out the source of the jamming. Winters betrayed no slackened stance or look of remorse for the apparent miscalculation, but Nathan, like everyone else, knew how difficult it was to translate the Covenant's measuring system on the fly.

Although, seeing as the cruiser had docked on the spire next to the one they needed to be on, there was little anyone could do to fix the situation other than to march towards the central triangular base of the station and press on down the appropriate spire.

Waiting for his turn in line to file through the doorway, Nathan caught a beckoning wave from his commander to another Sergeant. Squeezing past Nathan, he marched up to Williams. "Want to split up again? Cover more ground?" came the hushed words from Sergeant Miller.

A sour look flashed over Williams' face. "Tempting," he said, looking over the arched ceiling. "But without a nav-map you'd get lost real quick. The layout of this place is more confusing than a monochrome FPS."

Miller snorted. "So keep pressing on?"

Williams nodded. "Recon Pattern Bravo," he called out loud enough for the entire troop contingent to hear.

Searching his memory for his place in the pattern, Nathan quickly took position at the left flank in the larger attached room. The diamond-shaped format had been instilled in them since ODST Primary Training Camp and Nathan wasn't about to embarrass himself further.

Once in formation, Nathan kept his eyes searching for any sign of trouble lurking behind the darkened corners and angular pillars that rose to the ceiling to frame the room. But he felt his mind drift toward Toril Holmen and how he had wronged her.

His only romantic connection with a woman had been with a fellow marine recruit by the name of Mandy. She was all innocent and cute, but washed out of Basic before the second phase was over. Nathan was only 18 years old, and the slightest attention he received from Mandy was most inviting to a lonely military hopeful. But it ended almost as soon as it began when they found out how much of their upbringing had shaped their own line of thinking. Being on opposite ends of the spectrum on almost everything from religion to politics, Nathan quickly realized a relationship would never work.

Is it very much the same with Toril? he thought to himself, stepping over the threshold of another doorway and into an equally large room. He really didn't have any time at all to get to know her and find out what made her tick, but he could feel the attraction. It was amazing to Nathan how much a few years did to a man to help him distinguish pure lust from love. Though a gray area was quickly becoming a massive cavern into which he felt himself teetering on the edge.

Regardless of any mutual feelings, Nathan was hoping for another opportunity to talk with Toril privately. Even if all he could accomplish was an apology. A restoration of friendship might be wishful thinking . . .

Taking a quick glance over his shoulder, he spotted Toril on the right flank. Her weapon held tight in her grip, she kept her focus purely on the task at hand. Swinging his head back around and sighing to himself, Nathan wondered if he'd ever be able to get her to open up again.


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***


Captain Cutter marched onto the bridge of the Spirit of Fire, feeling more rested than he thought possible. The rest of the crew greeted him with warm smiles and nods, the expressions doing little to hide their anticipation for the re-activation of Serina. like most modern-day technology, people didn't fully comprehend their reliance on such things till they were inoperable or gone. And since a UNSC AI did so much aboard such a large ship, Professor Anders' reputation was given a well deserved boost for her progress with Serina.

Ellen was waiting for him at the AI's 'base of operations', and she held a datapad attached to the pedestal via a thick ribbon cable. She nodded. "Captain," Anders greeted him.

James came up to her and gave her a firm handshake. "When I heard you had completed your work on Serina I was surprised at how quickly you finished." He motioned at the pedestal. "Please, show me what you have."

Pressing a few keys on her datapad, Anders brought up a series of matrices on her screen. "After sifting through thousands of subroutines, I managed to defragment the corrupt lines of code and restructure them with the files we had on cold back-up. Since Serina is hardwired into the Spirit of Fire, I was able to identify most of her problematic servers."

"Most?" Cutter asked with a raised eyebrow.

"The rest were fried."

"Ah."

Letting a smile creep across her face, Professor Anders keyed the datapad a final time. With the smallest spark of light, the pedestal began to glow at its base. The blue hue grew in intensity and quickly rose up to the standard-sized height of the ship's AI. Dissolving in a halo that lowered back down to the pedestal's base, the multicolored hologram took shape in the slender form of a woman. The three dimensional image solidified and the familiar face James Cutter had known since taking command of the Spirit of Fire was beaming back at his.

Serina looked a little older around the eyes, but kept her perpetual expression of slightly raised eyebrows. Her long black hair was now pulled back into a thick braid and her outfit had changed to an older style of dress, resembling that of early colonists. Abandoning the black on white ensemble, Serina now wore loose-fitting, dark green pants and an old military-cut, gray jacket zipped to the throat. It was as if she had become one of the Spirit of Fire's original crew members, back when it first left the shipyard, and had rightfully usurped the title of "Acting Captain" aboard the ship.

The more conservative appearance matched her seemingly indecisiveness on the proper way to stand before the Captain. Shifting her feet and folding her arms across her chest, Serina nodded to Cutter. "Good morning, Captain. Did I miss anything?" Serina asked with a smile.

All around the bridge, crewmembers broke into a standing ovation at the much needed return of the ship's AI. Cutter joined in on the applause, but quickly brought the commotion back down when he waved his hand for calm. "Good to have you back, Serina."

"Thank you, Captain." Serina lifted her head thoughtfully. "If you will bear with me for a moment, I'll initiate a self-status update on the Spirit of Fire's systems." Without waiting for a reply, she lowered her gaze and brought her right hand up to her temple.

Cutter caught Anders stirring a bit. "Problem, Professor?"

Ellen Anders frowned. "I don't think so. While I did have to use some of the old memory buffers, I didn't think Serina would change her appearance so drastically."

James felt his brow furrow and pulled the Professor off to the side. "Is there a chance other portions of her programming have changed?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"Technically they have, but her decision to display herself like the first generation AI the Spirit of Fire originally had is a little worrisome." Anders blinked her brown eyes. "All her higher functions are nominal, but there must be some residue of the past from the buffers she's still able to access."

Cutter chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. "Well, she seems fine for now. Keep a diagnostic streaming to the chief engineer's console and hopefully Serina will phase out of it."

"Aye, Captain."

The two turned back to the pedestal and found Serina looking back at them. "My, you have been busy, haven't you?" Serina said, cracking a smile. "Still, you managed to keep the ship intact and adapt a new FTL drive as well. Impressive."

James exchanged a sideways glance with Ellen. Serina sounded different to him and the Professor had picked up the subtle casual nuance in the AI's voice as well. Her inflections sounded more natural and less mechanical. Cutter took this as superior tinkering on Anders' part and gave her an abbreviated nod.

"Are you experiencing any lag issues or decryption errors?" Ellen asked.

"None, surprisingly." Serina's gaze shifted to Anders. "You brought me back online, didn't you?"

Wordlessly, Ellen nodded.

"Thank you, Professor. It seems I am in your debt," Serina said with a warm smile.

James noticed Anders' head pulled back in astonishment. Whatever animosity the AI had previously held towards the Professor was apparently gone. Seeing this as another good sign, James nodded. "We are on course to arrive at a so-called 'Installation B-23' in about four days. We have troops there that are on their own till we get there."

"As well as a Covenant Cruiser," Serina replied contemplatively. "Should be interesting." She unfolded her arms. "I'm game."

"You're game?" James asked with a confused look.

  • 04.22.2011 2:49 PM PDT

"Yes," Serina said curtly. "Now if you'd like, I can take a look at the coordinates and see if I can plot a faster course to B-23."

At one of the bridge's consoles, Cutter noticed a head raise up. It was the acting-navigator, wearing a concerned expression. He was opening his mouth to speak, but thought otherwise and lowered back down into his seat. "Please consult with Engineer Prescott. He's the one that installed Tradewind's FTL drive to replace ours so he would know the limits that that thing can push."

"Of course, Sir. I'll let you know the moment we figure out if a faster route can be accomplished," Serina said. She waved a hand towards the crew pit. "And if you'd like to dismiss the backup personnel, you can. The ship is in good hands."

James exchanged one more glance with Anders and found a somewhat reluctant nod. "She should be fine, Captain," the Professor concluded quietly. "I'll keep an eye on her."

"Very well." He raised his head and voice. "Dismissed."

As the bridge crew filed out, James felt a wave of mixed emotions bleeding off of them. Some looked relieved while others were muttering under their breath at having been replaced by an AI. James felt for the latter. During Serina's departure the crew had banded together and functioned as the well-trained unit they were. Now they were given a proverbial hand gesture and a kick in the backside to usher them out of an AI-controlled environment.

When Ellen Anders gathered her things and left in the officers' wake, James wondered if he should have kept his crew on the bridge. Shrugging uncomfortably, he took a seat in his command chair. The sudden drop in personnel activity left the normal electrical hum of the ship to be the only sound to pierce his ears.

Suppressing a shudder, James realized the bridge felt much colder than it had a minute ago.


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***


Keeping his steps even and sure, Bren 'Rangdamee led his team through the fifth arched hallway they had traversed since beginning their search for the Oracle. Just like the previous four, the semi-reflective surface of the dark walls blended into the curved ceiling that contrasted the stark, white floor. The slight curve of the hallway gave Bren pause to wonder if they would not eventually end up going in circles.

But the plain gray doors appeared around a short jog as expected. However a different Forerunner glyph was etched above the advanced release panel to the side of the triangular doors: Containment Wing. Bren checked the distance-to-target readout and felt his hearts race. If his equipment was calculating it right, the Oracle was in the next section of rooms. He turned to face the fifteen troopers. "Prepare yourselves."

Raising his left forearm once more, he waved the device attached to his data-bracer over the release panel and was rewarded with a bright chirp. The locking mechanisms moaned and sputtered, but the doors parted nonetheless.

As the double doors opened, Bren felt the tug of changing air pressure brush past him and flow through the widening gap. Negative pressure. Bren looked back over at the glyph, noticing the tiny variations in the lines, and realized his first translation was slightly off. Containment Wing was really Quarantine Zone. A bitter taste formed in between his mandibles as he wondered what exactly was in quarantine.

But there was no turning back now. Bren straightened up and marched through the doorway with his Plasma Repeater held ready.

The Quarantine Zone was brightly lit and almost every wall, ceiling, and flooring was antiseptic white. They stepped into the airlock room that separated the main hallway and a smaller, narrow hall with glass-walled rooms attached. Bren accessed the inner door and stepped into the narrow hall. Feeling completely exposed, he swept his gaze over the empty glass rooms but tried to keep his main attention forward. Whatever was previously studied in this sector, Bren couldn't guess.

The hallway ended with another larger corridor running perpendicular to it, branching off to either side. Only this T-junction shifted the laboratory-white scheme to a more ancient industrial look. The walls and ceiling had pipes of various shades of gray running down the length and disappearing at random angles. Even the floor was a rough, hexagonal pattern and looked worn from use. Consulting his waypoint, Bren sighed when the readout informed him that the Oracle was dead ahead and either path would work. Without even breaking stride, Bren started to his left.

He came to an abrupt stop when he was met with an energy field that suddenly flashed into existence. "Halt," he announced over his shoulder before his fellow soldiers could run into the back of him. The field rippled a watery blue and blocked any entrance from floor to ceiling. Turning around, he noticed the same energy field blocking the other through-way. Swearing an ancient curse, Bren felt his pulse begin to quicken. Have we activated some security protocol?

He searched the corridor with his gaze for some sort of console or holo-control to deactivate the field, but the pipe-laden walls contained no such promise. Growling out loud, Bren slammed a fist against the energy field. Expecting to feel the bone-jarring force of his anger, he was shocked to find the field bow under his clenched fist. He watched as the ripples expanded out over the surface of the watery substance to dissipate after a brief moment.

And for a breath, the field parted and opened up at the spot of his fist's impact.

Narrowing his eyes in thought, Bren brought his left forearm up and placed the passive Forerunner key on his data-bracer against the energy field. With a short delay in reaction, the field bubbled outward and an opening somewhat shorter than an average Sangheili blossomed.

Silently thanking his father, Bren waved the others through while holding his left arm up like a stagehand holding back a curtain. The field held the symmetrical arched doorway till Bren squeezed through with the last rear guard and the opening collapsed into itself, masking any indication anyone had passed through it.

Bren marched through the ranks to his original position at the head of their small formation and was pleased to find a pair of Sangheili already scouting ahead. Taking the initiative was a welcomed change to Bren and he wished more troop commanders would encourage it . . . to a certain extent. "Report."

Keeping his gaze looking forward, the one warrior to his right motioned with his Plasma Rifle to both sides of the corridor. "Similar to the previous hallway, only these rooms have been in use."

Frowning, Bren moved past the scout and peered through the hazy glass of the first room on his right. Inside the glass room on the floor at the far corner was what appeared to be the skeletal remains of a bipedal animal. Skin and muscle had long since rotted away and only semi-decalcified bones lay in a pile. The room itself was plastered in a dark brown substance, as if a gravity ball containing the putrid liquid had exploded.

"There is another over here," the scout on the left said quietly. "You might want to take a look at this, Ship Master."

Hoping this little excursion wouldn't take too long, Bren walked across the corridor to look into the opposite room. It was the same scene as the other, but the scout must have seen something . . .

"By the Forerunners," Bren breathed. Laying on the ground against the far glass wall was another skeleton. Only this one had the unmistakable skull structure of a Sangheili. Even the lower mandibles were clearly identifiable amongst the dusty remains. Bren shuddered at the sight and didn't know what to conclude. Either the Oracle has been capturing all matter of life and studying it here, or others like us have gone before and found imprisonment as a reward for finding this station.

Or was that the Oracle's plan all along? Did he merely want more test subjects? Recalling the Quarantine Zone sign before they entered this portion of the station gave the findings of skeletal remains that much more worrisome. What kind of pathogen did the Oracle use on my people? Bile brewed in the back of Bren's throat. "Search the other cells," he ordered, pointing farther down the corridor.

As he waited for the pair of Sangheili to report back, he checked the Oracle's location and was relieved to find it had not moved since this most recent revelation.

Behind Bren, one of the Unggoy had removed his methane rebreather and was sniffing the air for any foul stench that he could detect. The Unggoy quickly fastened his mask back on and came up beside Bren. "The smell of death is still in the air," he said quietly to his commander. "Perhaps something more recently deceased is still up ahead."

Bren nodded and silently thanked the training officers these Spec Op troops had learned from. Even a lesser being such as an Unggoy was making himself useful. The scouting report came back with as much as Bren had feared: more skeletal remains of various species. He raised his voice for the other Covenant troops that stood in the corridor to hear. "This ends now."

He led the strike team around the corner where the corridor ended and broke off into a lobby with two symmetrical staircases to the left and a single oval-shaped lift stationed in the middle. A dozen large, translucent cylinders were placed on pedestals that formed a pathway from the bottom of the stairs to the door that would lead Bren and his warriors to the Oracle. The hazy brown cylinders contained various sized chunks of dark mass that were suspended in a thick yellow liquid. Bren could only guess as to what the Oracle had in those containers, but he figured "specimens" was the correct term.

"Ship Master?" a Sangheili beckoned behind him. "There is something heading our way."

  • 04.22.2011 2:50 PM PDT

"Ready weapons," Bren barked. He turned to a pair of warriors with gravity-retrieval units as he started for the door. "Come with me and we will capture this troublemaker." He knew calling an Oracle a "troublemaker" was a quick way to end his Fleet career, but the title fit the occasion. The two Sangheili followed and hefted the cumbersome devices in their hands, standing ready to fire at their Ship Master's side. Bren waved his left forearm over the holo-interface on the center of the door and anxiously waited for the locking mechanism to click in agreement.

"Contacts inbound," an Unggoy announced calmly.

Bren checked his motion tracker and sure enough, multiple moving objects were converging on all sides. But from where? Looking up at the vaulted ceiling, he noticed the same octagonal hatch-like panels as before, only this time there was a greenish light at their base. Bren opened his mouth to inform his team of the possible impending targets' locations, but the release on the door finally clicked and rumbled open. Spinning on his right hoof, Bren turned his attention to the inside of the room.

Not just any room, but a full-fledged Control Room. Rows of holo-monitors lined the walls with all manner of consoles humming and blinking. The only light was from the multiple displays, and Bren's visor took a second to adapt to the darkness.

It was a trap. The Oracle had moved on and was no where to be found. As the realization of the deception hit him like an energy sword to his gut, Bren's motion tracker lit up like a Jahrilli Festival at night. Pouring out of multiple octagonal vents in the Control Room were mechanical insects the size of Unggoy . . . and they were orienting to the three Sangheili in the doorway.

Without waiting for human-like rules of engagement, Bren fired a burst of plasma at the nearest target. "Fall back!" he shouted, already backpedaling.

The two warriors at his side immediately stepped forward to physically shield their commander, and they started laying down covering fire with their Type-25 DERs while following Bren out of the room.

It didn't take long for the enemy drones to react, and rays of golden light lurched out from their under-slung cannons. The short bursts of energy struck the two Sangheili's shields, immediately collapsing them, and Bren knew the next barrage would slice his warriors to pieces.

Clearing the doorway, Bren pitched his Plasma Repeater to the ground and grabbed hold of both Sangheili. He half threw, half pulled them to the right and the three landed hard on the lobby floor.

But the situation in the lobby was no better than inside the Control Room. Pink needles and blue plasma filled the air from all around Bren as the golden energy beams swept over the breaking formation of Covenant. From up above, the mechanical drones were pouring into the lobby like roused bugs from the catacombs.

Bren's two warriors helped him to his hooves, and they began to add their plasma fire to the target-rich environment. Clenching his mandibles in rage, Bren pulled out a grenade, armed it, and launched it at the thickest cloud of targets spewing out from a vent. The plasma grenade latched on to the chassis of one unsuspecting enemy and detonated in a brilliant flash of blue. While the explosion didn't completely destroy the target, the drone fell like a rock toward the ground.

Only it didn't quite make it. The charred remains slammed into the upper edge of the glass cylinder positioned on the end of the nearest of the two rows. The force of the impact tipped the cylinder off it's pedestal to come crashing down on the next one in line, causing a chain reaction of the entire row.

"Get clear!" an Unggoy called, diving out from underneath the falling hazard of the second cylinder. But two Sangheili engaged in combat never heard the warning and took the weight of the glass container on their shoulders, pitching them to the floor. The hazy glass shattered, cutting through armor and flesh with ease, and the yellow liquid with dark brown globules spilled out onto the floor.

By now the mechanical keepers of the station were emerging from the Control Room, and Bren lined up his weapon. He paused. Sentinels? Bren felt his mouth gape open and his aim wavered when he finally got a decent, up-close look at the drones. He had his suspicions but confirmed the theory in the span of a breath. Even with all of the Intel reports, he wasn't prepared to encounter his first Sentinel at point-blank range.

But instead of firing on the nearest Covenant, the Sentinels began moving toward the remains of the first broken cylinder. Focused on the spill and oblivious to their surroundings, Bren looked up as the last glass container tipped forward and landed right into the thick of the group of Sentinels, taking out a dozen in one enormous crash.

Turning his head to the side to shield his face from the blast, Bren noticed several Sangheili retreating into the safety of the stairwells towards the back of the lobby. Agreeing with this tactic, Bren raised his voice. "Make for the upper level!"

Stepping over the burned out chassis of a Sentinel, Bren waved his warriors ahead. Those Covenant already positioned at the base of the stairs started pouring on suppressing fire at the drones above. The lobby floor was littered with glass shards, nasty yellow liquid, and mechanical debris, and sadly, Bren noticed four more warriors had fallen in the short battle, their bodies in awkward, unnatural poses.

From the bottom of the left-most stairwell, an Unggoy yelled something unintelligible to Bren, but he kept running and firing at what was shooting at him, stepping to the left of the oval lift.

The only warning Bren 'Rangdamee had was the sensation of displaced air from behind him. He reflexively dove to his right to avoid whatever new threat had appeared- and the move saved his life.

A Sentinel had been shot down and landed on top of a dead Sangheili's body. A secondary explosion from the drone ignited the two plasma grenades still on the Sangheili's bandoleer. The one warrior accompanying Bren on the left took the brunt of the blast, but the wave of energy knocked the other forward to tumble over Bren's leaping form.

Pain spiked over Bren's upper back and his left arm went numb as he landed hard on the lobby floor with the fellow Sangheili's bulk pinning him down. His momentum carried him over the lift's round edge to land at the base of the console that controlled the raising and lowering of the lift. His head hit the short railing that glided down from the holo-control at a diagonal angle, and Bren saw stars explode before his eyes. He instantly tried to shake the blacking out sensation, knowing that if he fell into unconsciousness he would never make it out of the lobby alive. He had only one option left.

Still without feeling, Bren weakly raised his left forearm and made contact with the console's interface. The lift buckled at first, but soon began a quick and smooth descent into the lower levels of the Quarantine Zone. Fighting to stay awake, Bren shoved the dead body of the Sangheili warrior off of his torso and rolled onto his back, looking up at the diminishing circle of light that was the previous floor's lobby. The battle was still waging and Bren could see flashes of plasma cross over his collapsing view.

With labored breathing and pain throughout his body, Bren began to notice the darkness eating away at the corners of his vision. As much as he tried to fight, the blackness overwhelmed him.

  • 04.22.2011 2:51 PM PDT

"I will show you how a true Prussian officer fights!"

"And i will show you where the iron crosses grow..."

- "Cross of Iron"

Amazing as usual!

  • 04.22.2011 4:37 PM PDT

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!

So very... very awesome. This chapter cheered me right up.

The mystery of what has happened to Serina is brilliant. There was this feeling that something wasn't quite right inside me as I read it, you pulled it off superbly.

And the exploration of B-23... my God. There are no words. The character development of Bren... sorry. My brain just melted.

Great stuff. As usual, like Raptor said. MOOOAAAAAARRRRR

  • 04.23.2011 12:22 AM PDT

'There are many aspects of the universe that still cannot be explained satisfactorily by science; but ignorance only implies ignorance that may someday be conquered. To surrender to ignorance and call it God has always been premature, and it remains premature today.'
-Isaac Asimov

Amazing can't wait for the next part, keep up the good work!

  • 05.04.2011 10:50 PM PDT

Chapter 16


Standing behind Douglas, Alice divided her attention between her motion tracker, the six entryways, and the holo-screens. "Just make it quick, okay?" she said through a knot forming in her stomach. "I don't think the Monitor is going to take that much longer."

Hunched over the central console, Douglas sighed. "It's times like these, I wouldn't mind having Serina here-- or heck, even Anders-- to sift through this mess," he muttered, pointing to one of the holo-screens. "All this alien babble is enough to make one's head spin."

Alice smiled behind her visor. It was only hours earlier when they hijacked a Phantom to head over to the Covenant cruiser that Douglas had denied such involvement from the AI. Seems he's changed his mind.

The both of them had determined that to just run off without any sense of direction would be a waste time. Douglas, being more tech-savvy than Alice, had taken it upon himself to try to find some sort of map or directory to guide them out. It just wasn't going as fast as they had hoped.

While the Monitor's Library consoles had plenty of pages containing text and static images of all sorts of lifeforms, all the Spartans wanted was an exit and a way to ditch the hummings of an alien AI.

But the more information that spilled out on the screens, the more Alice realized how grave the situation truly was. This wasn't some half-hearted attempt by an ancient civilization at playing a deadly game of genocide, but a determined plan to eradicate life from the galaxy. And Doug's right; this isn't something we can handle at the moment.

Suddenly the overhead panels flashed from yellow to a rich, red hue, and on the leftmost console a window with scrolling red text popped up on screen. Alice snagged her MA5B rifle from behind her back and scanned the Library for any sign of danger. Douglas looked over at the alert, stepped to the console, and bit out a curse. "I think something just elevated the security protocols."

"Was it us?" Alice asked, turning around to maintain her visual scanning.

"I don't know; I doubt it. I was just searching files," Douglas growled.

Noticing that the doors leading into the Library were still open, Alice frowned. "We're not on any sort of lockdown here . . ." Who else could have set off the alarms?

Alice felt her pulse quicken and she spun on her heel to meet Douglas' gaze. "The ODSTs," they said together.

Ice settled in the pit of her stomach as Alice walked up to the console Douglas was attempting to access. "Can you find out where the breach is?"

Douglas looked over the console, searching for some sort of control panel or keypad. When none was found, he raised his hand and waved it over the holo-screen itself. The response from the console was a series of beeps and an image changed from text to an overview of the station, similar to a blueprint readout. "Finally," he breathed, sounding relieved.

The three-dimensional image showed a pulsing yellow dot at the central base of the station. "That must be where we are," Alice commented, pointing to the dot. She raised her finger to the glowing red section of a spire on the upper portion of the station. "And that must be were the trouble is."

Douglas tilted his head in confusion and pointed to the bottom of the holo-image of the station. "But the cruiser docked at a lower spire. How did the ODSTs make it up that far that fast?"

Alice shrugged uneasily in her armor. "Maybe they found a transit system."

"Right; something we could use," Douglas said, straightening up. "Okay, let me try this." He placed his hand through the hologram map and made a fist, as if he were grasping it. And amazingly, the holo-form moved with his touch. Douglas paused with the hologram in grip and gave Alice a look of surprise. "Um, I hope this works." He pulled his hand back to the base of his skull where the uplink connectors of his armor were. And as if collapsing into the MJOLNIR's hardware, the hologram vanished.

Douglas stumbled and Alice reached out to help him maintain his balance. Alice felt worry ripple over her scalp. "That was dumb, Doug." She held onto his left arm before his grip tightened on her right bicep. "You okay?"

As if absorbing the moment, Douglas shook his head then nodded. "Yeah," he answered quietly. "That was weird." He tapped the side of his helmet and shook off the last effects of the transfer. "But hey, we've got a map now."

Alice wanted to scold him like a child for meddling with things he had no idea how to control, but he wasn't a kid and she wasn't his mother. "Just let me know when you're going to do something crazy next time."

"Copy that." Douglas looked down for a moment before nodding once more. "There, you should have it now."

Sure enough, an icon on her HUD glowed into existence above her motion tracker. With a flick of her tongue, she activated the map-- and nearly fell backwards when her visor went completely white for half a second before returning to normal opacity. When her heads-up-display returned it was supplemented by a outlining of everything she looked at. Raising her chin, she saw the angular shape of the consoles framed in green lines, while the places where walls met flooring and ceiling were a dull yellow.

"Huh," she said, thinking curiously. "This looks a lot like the ODST's VISR mode, only no low-light enhancement." Alice blinked several more times to clear the ghosting of the previous flash of white. "You want to grab anything else while we're here?" she asked, motioning with her assault rifle at the other consoles still displaying species data.

Douglas shifted his weight as he pondered the thought. "You think we should?"

Alice chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment as she thought about what ONI would say if they didn't. "Probably, but I don't think we can keep the ODSTs waiting."

"Right," Douglas agreed. He looked over to the nearest doorway and nodded. "All of these entryways lead out to an outer corridor ring. From there--"

He never finished his directions. From up above, emerging from the giant hole in the ceiling was Contrite Variant, humming to himself. Then as if suddenly remembering there were others in the room, the Monitor abruptly halted his previously lackadaisical cadence and quickly moved to block the Spartans' quick exit. "I have returned with the Index," he announced pridefully.

"Great," Douglas muttered, visibly tightening his grip on his SMG.

"Yes, it truly is great, isn't it?" the Monitor said.

Appearing by his side from descending, golden rings was what Alice perceived as the Index. Only this time it wasn't a hologram, but an actual, corporeal object. The haunting, greenish glow was as real as it got. Nervousness set her skin crawling when she knew what would be the next step: using said Index.

"Now we can continue the full activation of Installation 03." Contrite Variant lowered to meet the two Spartans at eye level.

"Wait a second," Douglas began. "We haven't even talked this over with our superiors yet."

The Monitor tilted his frame. "As I told you before, communications are temporarily disabled in compliance with security measures. Until the intruders have been dealt with, supra-luminous communications are unavailable." Contrite Variant's eye flickered once. "Are soldiers not able to make decisions on their own?"

Douglas exchanged a look with Alice that was all exasperation. "What?"

Confusing rippled over Alice's face. For whatever reason, this alien AI is pressing the issue and attempting to appeal to our sense of duty. In the span of a breath, Alice concluded that Contrite Variant was going to take both of them through the process even if it was unwillingly done so. "What about the alarms?" Alice asked when an idea sprouted in her mind. She motioned with the tip of her MA5B to the holo-screens. "Shouldn't we go and check it out?" Maybe if we can get to the ODSTs faster we'll have some added firepower when this AI proves hostile.

Douglas nodded. "Yes, we could help."

"Your concern for security is unneeded," the Monitor replied disinterestedly.

"But if we help you with these intruders, then you can end the communications blackout and we can contact our superiors," Alice asked through clenched teeth. How stubborn is this thing?

Contrite Variant raised his chassis up and was a moment before responding. "I'm sorry, but there is no time to waste. We must take this new Index to Installation 03."

"Look, if you've waited this long, you can wait another hour or so," Douglas bit out.

  • 05.05.2011 4:16 PM PDT


"There is no time to waste," the Monitor repeated with more forcefulness than Alice thought possible. The soft blue in the AI's eye momentarily faded to an orange hue before returning to its normal color. "We will go, now."

Douglas shot Alice a warning glance as he lifted his SMG into firing position.

She nodded and duplicated his movements with her MA5B, settling into a crouch to dive to her left.

But once again the hazy golden rings descended over the Monitor and the two Spartans, freezing them in place and transporting them away. Alice could feel something tighten around her waist and arms, as if locking her in a vise. She heard Douglas shout and squeeze off a short burst, but it was too late. They were literally bound for Installation 03, like prisoners in a refugee caravan.


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***



"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

James Cutter looked up from his desk in his Captain's quarters and waved the Spartan in. "Please, come in." He stood and greeted the towering soldier with a firm handshake. "Would you like to sit down?"

Jerome came to a parade-rest stance, clasping hand over wrist behind his back. "No, thank you. I'm afraid if I did I would just nod off," he said evenly.

Inclining his head at the remark, James wondered if the Spartan was saying that he would fall asleep from tiredness or from the boredom talking to a superior officer was known to bring. James took a step backward and leaned back on the edge of his desk. Folding his arms across his chest, he searched Jerome's passive face. While the hardened physical presence of the Spartan matched the armor he normally wore, there was a tightness in his eyes that spoke of distraction. "How are you holding up?" Cutter asked.

Jerome frowned. "Sir?"

"Spartans 042 and 130 are currently MIA."

"A mere label, Sir."

A frown tugged at the corner of Cutter's lip. "I was wondering how you were doing in their absence."

The Spartan's only response was to deepen his expression.

James nodded to the terminal on his desk. "I've had several reports of you being found in almost every section of the ship, wandering around various decks like a ghost."

"I wasn't aware that my authorization status had been changed."

Cutter gave a flat smile. "A tech seeing someone as big as you in their work area tends to raise some concerns." He waved his hand to dismiss the train of dialog. "I am more interested in why you're roaming."

"Can't sleep," he said in an automatic response. But then Jerome worked his jaw for a breath, reconsidering his answer. "Anxiousness, Sir."

"About the rest of Red Team's status," James clarified, trying to read the man's rigid posture.

The Spartan nodded.

James placed his hands on the desk and pushed off. "You know, I don't have a whole lot of information on the three of you, given the small window of time from when we first picked you guys up on Arcadia till when we went off chasing the Covies to that shield world. I never was able to open up an encrypted channel to ONI, but I've come to place my full confidence in your abilities." James raised his chin ever so slightly. "I can only imagine what the three of you have been through during your career, and I'm sure the bond you share is incomparable on the battlefield. But believe me, son, when we get to our destination we'll find them."

"I don't doubt that we will, Sir," Jerome responded in a mechanical fashion, his eyes still focused on an indiscriminate spot on the back wall.

Raising an eyebrow, Cutter narrowed his eyes. "So how are you holding up?"

The Spartan's gaze shifted down to the Captain for a brief moment before returning to its original position. "Better, Sir. I was able to talk with Professor Anders and the conversation was very helpful."

Anders? "Well, I wouldn't expect the two of you to hit it off so well."

Jerome made an abbreviated shrug.

Cutter folded his arm across his chest, wondering if he should ask the man what the two had talked about, but James could read contentment in the Spartan's words and chose to drop it. "Well, if you still need to take a walk through Engineering, you might want to comm them ahead of time," James offered jokingly.

Jerome gave a quick shaking of his head. "I'll stop spooking the techs from now on," he added mildly.

Cutter laughed. "Ah, don't worry about them. It's been a while since we've had Spartans on board and some are still getting use to the idea."

"Let's hope they can adjust, Sir," Jerome muttered with a half-smile.

Taking the small amount of humor as a good sign, James softened his own expression. "And in the meantime, if you still need to talk . . ."

The stiffness in the Spartan's stance slackened and he let a smile fully form on his lips. "Thank you, Sir, but I'll be fine."

James held his watchful gaze on Jerome for a few more seconds before finally nodding. "Very well, Spartan. Dismissed."

Jerome straightened up and saluted till the Captain returned the act. He spun on his heel and walked out of the Captain's quarters.

James stared at the closed door for a while longer, pondering the outcome of a bond forming between the Professor and the Spartan. In his experience, military relationships either burned out quickly or grew to something lasting. James reached back behind him and picked up the framed, static hologram of Mary and Ruth, his wife and daughter. They were locked in an embrace, both beaming with smiles, and James felt a tightness form in his throat. His marriage to Mary was as lasting as it got, and the love they had shared over the years only grown into something he could only have dreamed of.

Closing his eyes and taking a labored breath, James felt a single tear streak down his face. Mary, I swear that when I get back we'll settle down on some remote colony, far away from the racket of war. James sniffled and cleared his eyes with thumb and forefinger. But until then, I have a crew to prepare.


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***



Ellen Anders rubbed at the soreness in her neck, kneading the muscles at the base of her skull with her fingertips. Listening to the soft musical undertakings of a centuries-old composer playing over her lab's audio player, she let out a sigh and opened her eyes. The same string of coding was still running across her terminal screen, letting her know that Serina had not fallen below the threshold that would spark cause for concern. Ellen felt a brief wave of satisfaction wash over her. While Serina's avatar appearance was unusual, her higher functional programming hand not degraded one micron since her reboot. All in all, the success allowed Ellen to breath a bit easier.

With every free tech monitoring the AI's processes, Ellen was again put on the back burner as a secondary observer. At first she didn't mind it-- it let her get away from frantic people and return to the solitude of her lab on the Observation Deck, but now the loneliness she had once welcomed seemed to press down on her from all sides. Ellen had always been a loner and it was a lifestyle she had accepted way back when she chose her field of study.

But then there was that awkward confrontation with the Spartan, Jerome. Ellen leaned back in her chair and frowned. He was a peculiar subject to her, someone that had seen so much bloodshed and yet his only deficiency was the guilt he carried for living through it. Anders raised her eyebrows. Or maybe he's getting over it. She grinned and shook her head. Ellen knew the impromptu lecture she had given to Jerome about guilt was something they both needed to hear, and with effort they could forgive themselves of past travails which they had no control over.

A rhythmic rap on the door at the far end of the room broke her trail of thought. She lifted her head and frowned. Who could that be? Pursing her lips and standing up, she put her lab coat on over her sleeveless red blouse she had grown accustomed to wearing and started for the door. She stepped over a pile of datacards and walked through a narrow gap between a pair of wheeled equipment racks to come to a stop at the door. Suppressing a shiver from the usual colder temperature of the Observation Deck, Ellen pulled her white lab coat tighter around her torso. She flipped on the tiny exterior camera she had set up to see who or what was outside in the hallway and watched the image on the small wall-mounted monitor materialize into the form of a familiar man. She hit the door's release button.

Ellen felt some of the tension she had gathered on her way to the door melt away when Jerome stood tall and strong before her. He wasn't a terribly muscular man, but one that was perfectly fit from head to toe. His close-cropped, black hair matched his full eyebrows, and the stubble on his face told her had had no trouble growing a beard-- if ONI regulations allowed for one. His dark brown eyes helped frame his angular face that, along with his name, must have been passed down from his Greek heritage. Ellen undoubtedly found him handsome, and the crooked smile he now wore only enhanced his charming looks. "Jerome," she prompted, giving him a curt nod of her head.

"Profes--" he caught himself mid-word and his brows met together. "Ellen," he corrected, sounding more like a statement of fact rather than a greeting. "I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time," Jerome said in one held-out breath.

Ellen shook her head and took a casual glance at her wrist chrono. Her eyes widened when she noticed the time; it was well into the evening hours. I've spent all day looking at code? She almost didn't believe it, but the sudden growling of her stomach told her how little attention she had paid to the clock. "No, no. I just didn't realize how late it was," she answered when she recalled that the Spartan had asked a question.

  • 05.05.2011 4:17 PM PDT


Jerome pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "I can come back later . . . or tomorrow."

Smiling, Ellen grabbed his left elbow and gently pulled him through the doorway. "It's okay. I could use some company." She immediately let go of his elbow, turned her back to him, and rolled her eyes at the triteness of her own statement. She walked over another pile of datacards then decided to pick them up to make the place a little more presentable. Gathering them in her hands, she placed them on one of the equipment racks and pulled the cart over to the wall to open up the deck's see-through floor space.

Ellen turned back around to see that Jerome had not moved from where she had previously let go of him. "What's this music playing?" Jerome asked, lifting his chin in the air with a look of concentration on his face. "Sounds . . . familiar."

Anders snorted quietly. "You know it?"

The Spartan shook his head.

Pulling out the compact datapad she used to network the finer furnishings in her lab, she held it out in front of her so Jerome could read the name she couldn't pronounce.

"Never heard of him. I like it, though," he said softly.

Ellen stuffed the datapad back into the right front pocket of her lab coat. "I've always had a fascination with the independent composers from Iceland in the early part of the millennium. Do you know any of them?"

Again, the Spartan shook his head. "Not by name, but I haven't had much time to sit and listen to much of anything since . . . well, ever, I guess."

"Oh," Anders said, casting her gaze to his shuffling feet.

"Would you mind if I sat and listened?"

Anders looked up into Jerome's face, his flesh tight around his eyes. "Uh, of course," she managed through a cracking voice. She cleared her throat and motioned with her hand to the stiff fold-out cot she used for taking quick naps in between long periods of work. She walked over to the cot pressed against the wall and gathered up yet another pile of datacards with one hand and shook out the small blanket with the other. "Sorry for the mess."

Jerome chuckled. "I'm sorry for imposing." He bent down and picked up the wadded jacket that Anders used for a pillow. His hands gently unfolded the tangled knot of fabric, straightened the jacket, and then folded it once to drape over his left forearm.

Ellen eyed him as she took the wrinkled jacket from Jerome, placing it at the foot of the cot. "Surely you didn't come just to listen to some long-dead composer's piano concerto. " She frowned and leaned in closer. "Did you?" she asked, wondering if the volume of the music had been too loud in the first place.

Slowly sinking into the cot's stiff surface, Jerome shrugged. "Sort of." He was silent for another three measures of ethereal, harmonizing violins. "I had a little chat with the Captain."

Raising an eyebrow at the statement, Ellen waited for the Spartan to continue, but he apparently was waiting for her prompting. "How did that go?"

Jerome looked up and gave her a flat smile. "He wanted to make sure I wasn't losing it."

A waved of embarrassing warmth flushed her face red. "Hey, I never told him what we talked--"

He held a hand up to forestall her explanation. "No, it's okay. I didn't mean it like that." He sighed and stared down at his boots. "When I mentioned that you and I had a conversation, Cutter seemed surprised." Jerome raised his eyebrows soberly. "I'm surprised we even had a conversation."

"Afraid we were too different from each other?" Anders asked, though the question sounded odd coming out.

"In a sense." He scratched at the back of his neck and looked up at her. "I just wasn't expecting to feel better afterwards."

Ellen smiled and folded her arms across her chest. "Sometimes talking does that. You should try it more often."

Jerome mirrored her expression. "With Alice and Doug, I really don't have to. We just . . . understand each other, you know?"

Ellen nodded, even though she only partly knew of what the man spoke. He had previously mentioned how the three Spartans had almost a "situational awareness" of each other on the battlefield, and it was no speculation to think some of that same unit functionality carried over into their downtime. So what is he getting at here? In hindsight, Ellen actually enjoyed talking with Jerome, even if getting him to say something was as hard as tasting flavor from a UNSC ration bar. Taking a seat on the edge of the opposite end of the cot, she frowned lightly. "So why did you come here?" she asked as gently as possible.

Jerome half turned his head to give her a quick glance. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hands and opened them wide to encompass the entire Observation Deck. "I needed . . . this. This peacefulness, here . . . this comfort." Jerome collapsed his hands onto his lap and looked Ellen full in the face. "I needed a friend."

Ellen felt her eyebrows raise in shock over his words but quickly regained control over her expression. Deep down, she realized the feeling was mutual, but hearing the words out loud brought a realness that attached itself to the seed of emotional responses she had bundled up in her head. Friendship was something of a luxury in her line of work that she couldn't really afford. Even past acquaintances had been just that: past. But now, here in this wide-open, see-through flooring deck, Ellen knew something was forming between her and Jerome. Something that made her heart race like never before.

Is it the way he's looking at me? Jerome's dark eyes were piercing to her soul, as if they were looking right into her very thoughts. Ellen had never truly considered a relationship in this stage of her life because there was always so much to do and so little time to analyze. But Jerome's gaze was not telling her how badly he would want to sleep with her, rather the softness around his eyes was asking for her trust.

Trust, in a friend. And that made him more attractive to her than anything else he could have said or done right then and there.

Ellen blushed. "I needed a friend, too." She reached out her right hand and gave his arm a squeeze. "Thank you for that."

In the background, the music faded out in a decrescendo and left Anders and the Spartan alone in the silence that followed. The moment lasted for a few seconds before the next musical piece swelled into existence, and Ellen sighed appreciatively as the peacefulness continued to last. But the volume of the first measure of the movement did little to cover Ellen's growling stomach, and she pulled her hand away from Jerome to rest it on her abdomen in a feeble attempt to quell the noise. "Sorry," she apologized. "I haven't eaten anything all day."

Jerome sat upright. "I could eat. Do you want to go grab something from the galley?"

As much as Ellen wanted to get out of her lab and stretch her legs, she really didn't want to break the relaxing mood the music was easily setting. She wasn't trying to seduce the slightly younger man-- as far as she could tell, but the tension she had built up during the day was easing out of her with every minute she spent with him. Ellen couldn't quite explain it, couldn't really tell if it was the dreaded word: love, but she was content and figured Jerome was too.

"Actually, I have some ready-made meals here," Ellen suggested casually, feeling a bit playful now that the seriousness of the conversation had passed.

Jerome raised a single eyebrow. "You have a flash down here?"

She gave a crooked smile. "Hey, when you spend days in a lab, it never hurts to have warm food for a change." Ellen bounced a fist off of Jerome's thigh and started for the small kitchenette counter to her left. She picked up the only two flash-meals left and held them up for Jerome to see. "How 'bout it? Rice or noodles?" She shook each packet to rattle the internal contents, as if enticing him like an owner would a pet. Oh, no. I've been cooped up here for too long. "Cooks in a flash," Ellen said with a grin. What am I, giddy?

Jerome chuckled at her remark. "Nice pun." He pointed to the one in her left hand. "I'll take the noodles."

Ellen nodded and placed the individual meals in the flash one at a time, and within a minute, she had returned to the cot with their late night dinner complete with eating utensils, sani-wipes, and two bottles of water. She handed Jerome his meal and took a seat beside him. "It's no Clarine's, but it works for me."

"Thank you," Jerome said, taking the multiple items. "I like the environment here better."

"Great company?" Ellen said with an exaggerated smile.

"Um, the absence of bad company, really," Jerome joked. He knocked his left knee against her right knee and laughed. "Kidding, of course."

"I know." Ellen softened her smile and took her first bite of the steaming rice and vegetable mix. It was nice to have someone that understood her dry humor-- what little she possessed-- and Jerome was good company. Even their ability to joke about Clarine's, a rough and tumble dive located on the outskirts of Arcadia's capital, spoke of their comfort level.

They finished their meals without another word, taking in the melodious harmonies of the string quartet as adequate banter to fill the void. Placing their empty trays on the ground, they both leaned back against the wall and exhaled simultaneously. She rolled her head over to the right to see Jerome smiling at their similar reaction. In actuality, the food wasn't that good, but having something in her stomach was really all she needed. "Are you . . ." she trailed off when she stifled a yawn. "Excuse me," she said, cupping a hand over her mouth.

Jerome patted her on the knee. "You should get some sleep." He leaned forward to get up.

  • 05.05.2011 4:18 PM PDT

"Wait," Ellen said softly, taking hold of his left hand on impulse. It was warm to the touch, albeit a little dry, but comforting nonetheless. "You don't have to go so soon." Ellen tried to convey her words to be more of a suggestion than a plea, and she hoped the meaning was properly understood.

A gentle squeeze from his hand gave her the assurance he knew. Jerome looked down at their hands and returned to his previous leaning position next to Anders. "If you'd like," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ellen felt her heartbeat quicken and warmth flooded into her veins as the proximity of male and female closed. Locked in the moment, Ellen wondered if they were both on the threshold of physical intimacy, and she honestly would not have minded it. In fact, the burning inside told her she longed for it. No one would question their motives or desires. And here she was, a professor that was throwing out all analytical thoughts and reacting to what her emotions and her instincts were screaming at her.

Not even thinking about it, she took the back of her left hand and gently stroked his cheek.

But when Jerome's right hand came up, he closed his fingers around hers and brought both of their hands down to rest on the other pair resting on her thigh. Jerome sighed and let his head sag against hers. "I'm sorry, Ellen. I . . ."

A fresh wave of embarrassment washed over her as his words came out with much difficulty. "Look, I'm sorry," she breathed. "I thought we were on the same page."

A puff of his exhale tickled the hair above her ear. "No, believe me. I'm sure we were on the same paragraph and sentence. But . . ."

Ellen slowly lifted her head and let a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. "I know. It's a little too soon."

Opening his mouth to say something but quickly clamping down his lips, Jerome smiled. "Not to say I don't want to." He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Smiling at his attempt at flattery, she playfully poked him in the ribs. "Considering the only other women you've see have been military types?"

He winced at the jibe, but caught her prodding finger. "You know what I mean," he said, smiling. "Just take the compliment." Jerome raised his left arm up and pulled Ellen in close for a sideways hug.

She returned the gesture by wrapping her arms around his torso, and she laid her head on his chest. "Fair enough."

As they sat there, locked in an embrace, Ellen couldn't help but appreciate Jerome's self-control and respect he had just displayed. She knew she had been acting out of overriding passion, and the Spartan's ability to recognize it and bring her down softly was comforting. Going so long without a meaningful relationship made her nearly forget what it felt like to be truly wanted by someone else.

It was a good place to be.

As she rested, half cradled in Jerome's arms, she felt her eyelids grow heavy as the music let her mind settle and drift off into sleep. In her dreams, Ellen couldn't tell what all was happening, but the overall themes were coated in happiness and better days to come.


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***



During the few shimmering seconds the weightless transportation to the Monitor's destination took, Alice figured she and Douglas had two options. The first was to just start shooting and hope to damage the alien AI enough that they could get away. The second option was to bide their time and wait for a better opportunity to escape. But our time just ran out.

When the golden haze settled at her feet, Alice hit the ground running- only to slam right into a solid wall. She took the brunt of the impact on her right shoulder and spun and rolled to her right, pressing her back against the wall. She let her eyes take in her surroundings before moving again and was confused to find herself in what looked like a glorified fighting pit. The small shiny room was circular with silver pipes running along the upper portion of the curved wall. A single basic console was to Alice's right, and a raised, glowing platform was situated at the center.

She looked past the glare of the platform to spot Douglas against the opposite side, looking relatively unhurt. "You okay?" she called out, her voice sounding oddly metallic as it reverberated.

"Yeah," he answered gruffly. Douglas shook his head and touched his helmet with both gloved hands. It was then that Alice noticed he wasn't carrying his SMG. The male Spartan held his pose for a few more seconds before straightening up. "I think that Lightbulb gave me a good shock."

Sounding like a voice coming from behind solid glass, the Monitor entered the conversation. "I'm afraid the use of firearms against a Caretaker is strictly prohibited."

"Where are you?" Douglas demanded, searching to his left and right.

"Easy, Doug," Alice said loud enough only to transmit via her comm. "Let me try something." Time for Plan C: Improv. "Okay, Monitor. You win; we'll go with you." Even when she heard Douglas hiss an exasperation, she mentally crossed her fingers but kept a firm grip on her weapon.

Alice was able to take three full breaths before another set of golden rings quivered into existence to her left, Douglas' right, and their AI companion appeared before them. Contrite Variant switched it's gaze back and forth between the two Spartans, as if trying to determine which to keep an eye on. "Very well," the Monitor said hesitantly.

"Okay," Alice breathed, watching the alien AI carefully and noticing the glowing green Index now fixed to the Monitor's upper chassis. A glint of metal caused her gazed to shift downward and she spied Douglas' weapon, resting on the black grated floor directly below the Monitor. Damn. She waved Douglas over around the other side of the platform, as she took a cautious step forward. If I can block the Monitor's view, maybe Doug can grab my extra pistol . . .

"This chamber houses the Stasis Transfer System," Contrite Variant began, starting to sound normal again. "This can instantaneously move us from Installation B-23 to Installation 03 and back again."

"So we're not at 03 yet?" Alice asked, trying to sound confused.

The AI chuckled. "Of course not." The Monitor tilted his forward frame up and the console behind Alice started to hum. "But this will take us there."

The central platform suddenly illuminated at its base, bathing the circular room in blue light. Tendrils of white mist unfolded from the center of the ceiling to form a perfect cylinder with the platform. Even in the midst of such dire circumstances, Alice still found the technology laden throughout the station mesmerizing.

Trying to further divert the AI's attention, Alice took another step forward and waved her left hand in a sweeping motion towards the platform. "After you."

Oblivious to Douglas now shielded behind Alice, the Monitor dipped down to the Spartan's eye level. "Why yes. Follow me," Contrite Variant beckoned. The AI entered the platform and began to glow when the tendrils of light reached out to gather its frame.

Alice force herself to take another step-- but her foot never made contact with the ground. A firm tug on her left arm halted her forward moment and she stumbled backward.

The Monitor turned around to face Alice, its eye flickering in the wash of light. "What are you--"

"Have a nice flight," Douglas murmured.

  • 05.05.2011 4:18 PM PDT

Alice turned to see Douglas hit a glowing orange holo-button on the console as he gave a mock salute to Contrite Variant. Alice spun back around just in time to see the Monitor vanish in a flash of bluish-white light. The platform was clear and the two Spartans were alone in the chamber.

Adrenaline mixed with anxiousness flooded into Alice's veins and she quickly lifted her MA5B and brought the butt end of the weapon down on the console, smashing it over and over till the glow of the platform ceased to exist. She breathed heavily, not wanting to turn around to see if the Monitor had returned. But she felt a weighted hand on her shoulder, and it brought her face to face with her fellow Spartan.

"It's gone," Douglas said into the silence. "Though for how long . . ." He trailed off and shook his head in a worrisome manner.

Alice let her thoughts gather themselves. "Okay, if Installation 03 was far enough away that the Monitor's transportation grid couldn't reach it, then let's hope we have long enough to get out off this station."

"Right," Douglas agreed. He walked over to his SMG and scooped the weapon up in his hands. Douglas panned his head around the chamber and shrugged. "So how do we get out of here?"

Alice glanced at the demolished console and swore under her breath. "Um, we might have a slight problem."

"How so? Oh," Douglas said, drawing out his last word. "Well," he began, running his left hand over the portions of the outer wall that wasn't covered in pipes, "there must be a release switch around here somewhere, right?"

Alice pursed her lips together and fought back the urge to mentally beat herself up. In her attempt to cut off the Stasis Transfer System's power to leave the Monitor stranded on Installation 03, she had managed to cut off their only exit. Of all the things done in haste, I had to smash the one thing that-- She broke off her self-admonishment when she remembered the recently added feature to her heads-up-display: the alien mapping overlay. She flicked the appropriate switch in her helmet with her tongue and the chamber was quickly bracketed by various colored lines. The now deactivated platform was pulsing in red while the rest of the circular room was mostly framed by green angles.

As she slowly panned her head from left to right, a subtle flashing of yellow caught her eye and she crossed over to it, brushing past Douglas.

"Find something?" he asked.

"Maybe," Alice said distractedly. Pointing to the spot on the wall where she had noticed the yellow anomaly, she waved him over. "Turn on that map enhancement we grabbed from the Library console and tell me if you see anything here."

Douglas complied and was soon at her side. "Yeah," he said curiously. He leaned forward and ran his hand directly under the lowest hung pipe. "Right . . . here."

His last word was punctuated by a deep thud and a short vibration. A two-meter wide section of the chamber wall retracted vertically like a window shutter, and a rectangular portion of the floor lowered to reveal a brightly lit passageway that bisected both wall and floor.

Alice exchanged a look with Douglas. "A maintenance hatch?" she suggested.

Douglas shrugged. "That'd be my guess. Let's hope it dumps us out somewhere close to the ODSTs."

Alice nodded and followed Douglas through the opening. If she was keeping proper track of time, roughly half an hour had passed since the alert sounded in the Library. She had no idea how the UNSC soldiers were faring against the station's defenses, but Alice prayed she and Douglas would get there before it was too late.

  • 05.05.2011 4:19 PM PDT

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!

Another chapter! And a brilliant one, at that. I've just realized how many plot points there are in this story, seeing you need more than one chapter just to advance the story for all your characters. Goodness me...

Anyway, this was awesome. The relationship felt just as you described it, and the bit where Contrite flashed orange/red for a second definitely opened my eyes beyond their usual half-openness. Amazing stuff, you must give us more. Please!

  • 05.05.2011 11:26 PM PDT

Am I supposed to write something funny here?

Another great chapter. (Any ETA on the next part?)

  • 05.07.2011 12:28 PM PDT