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  • Subject: [FF] Halo: Lost and Found (A Halo Wars Epilogue) [Chapter 23]
Subject: [FF] Halo: Lost and Found (A Halo Wars Epilogue) [Chapter 23]

Am I supposed to write something funny here?

Epic stuff once again.

  • 06.30.2011 8:12 AM PDT

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

Gah, that was cool. Now I get why Serina was acting so odd... very crafty, good sir. Very crafty indeed.

And your terminology/jargon is astounding. I wouldn't know the first thing about AI programming, but it seems like a field you're quite comfortable in. Amazing stuff.

  • 07.01.2011 2:34 AM PDT

Chapter 25



After a quick lift ride to the command deck, Ellen Anders stepped onto the bridge with all the urgency she could muster. She found Captain Cutter waiting for her at the tactical display and he waved her over. "Sir," she prompted.

"It's Serina," he said quietly, almost too low for Anders to hear. "Right after you cut the feed she appeared here, asking what had happened."

"She asked what happened?"

Cutter nodded, his eyebrows meeting. "As if she had no recollection of the transfer at all." He motioned to the AI pedestal with a wave of his hand. "And she looked like her old self-- in appearance, that is."

Ellen leaned back on one foot and frowned. "She didn't mention anything about replicating herself?" When the Captain shook his head, she started for the pedestal to examine her previous work. How could Serina not know what she had just done? She bent down and pried the casing off of the pedestal. "I'll need a datapad."

Cutter snapped his fingers and an ensign was quick to respond with his own datapad. He handed it to Ellen and returned to his post. Clearing the screen, Ellen linked the device to diagnose what Serina's error log would report. Wiping her sweaty palms on her pant legs, Ellen began the tedious process.

The Captain began pacing behind her. "Can you give me some guarantee she won't try anything aggressive, like taking over the ship?"

Squatting down into a sitting position, Ellen shrugged. "She only has access to what you allow, as Captain." She paused and looked over her shoulder at him. "But then again, she did try to copy herself into an alien terminal."

The datapad beeped, and she brought her eyes back to the small screen. Ellen snorted when the information scrolled up. "She wasn't kidding. There's a lapse in her memory for the time the data procurement took place to when I cut the feed. As if she wasn't even functioning then."

"What about her appearance?" Cutter asked. "I know AIs generate their own avatars, but why revert back to her original design?"

Good point. Ellen shifted her legs underneath and reexamined the repairs she had made. While there was a lot of patching from server to server, she quickly found the problematic memory banks. Frowning and standing up, Ellen transmitted the datapad's findings to the tactical display, allowing Cutter to see what she had found.

"It seems the old databanks from the original AI the Spirit of Fire used weren't completely purged." Ellen displayed a list of buffers with their capacity broken down into percentages. "When I found the hard-coded data, I just built upon it, utilizing each drives' full capacity." She looked across the display at Cutter and shrugged. "I never thought she would have been able to access it in the first place."

Ellen lifted her head and closed her eyes, biting back a curse. "Of course."

"What?" James asked.

She shook her head. "When Serina started replicating herself into the terminal she was grabbing data from the old banks. When the link was severed, the hard-coded data was erased, like a failsafe of some kind." Ellen folded her arms. "And when those drives were clear, she was able to restore herself to her original condition."

Cutter stood silent for a moment. "How sure are you that Serina is okay?"

Pursing her lips, Ellen shook her head. "I can't be a hundred percent certain, but it seems she'll be stable enough to perform standard duties." She raised a hand. "I know that's not good enough, Sir, but I sincerely doubt we'd want her steering the ship or plotting any more courses."

Cutter sighed and his energy seemed to deflate with the breath he exhaled. "So that's it. We take her offline till we reach dry dock."

Slowly nodding, Ellen felt the weight of the decision press down on her. "I'm afraid so." She looked down at the datapad, not willing to meet her captain's eyes. "I'm sorry, Sir."

"You did what you could, Professor." James Cutter was a while before speaking again. "Serina?"

The AI's avatar lit up on the pedestal. "Yes, Captain. Oh, Professor Anders. What brings you here?"

Cutter walked over to stand beside Ellen. "The Professor will have to run a quick diagnostic of your main core to make sure your recent lapse doesn't happen again."

Serina smirked and looked at Ellen. "You're not going to break anything, are you?"

The Captain's subtle laugh sounded more on the nervous side than it did of actually humor. "Can you go to standby for a bit?"

Anders watched the AI raise an eyebrow but eventually nod in agreement. "Don't be too long." And with that last statement, Serina's avatar flickered out of existence.

Ellen looked up at the Captain. His skin was tight around his eyes, but he nodded once. "Do it."

Taking a deep breath, Ellen reached into the pedestal's base and pulled out Serina's core. The glowing square chip sparked a few times, but she quickly pulled out a static-free pouch and slid the core inside. She stood and offered it to the captain. "Again, Sir, I'm sorry."

James shook his head and held out a palm. "It wasn't your fault, Professor. Back on the asteroid . . . if Serina had shut herself down before the EMP reached the Spirit of Fire, we would never have had to deal with this mess." He sighed. "We did what we could. That's all anyone can ask of us."

Though his words sounded hollow inside her head, Ellen retracted her hand and stuff Serina's core into her knapsack. "What's next for us, Captain?"

Cutter let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "We go home."




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




Lying on his bunk in the ODST barracks, Nathan Parker couldn't sleep. Everyone around him was either sound asleep or dozing off, but his eyes simply were too light to close. That, and the fact that the only comfortable position he found was either on his back or stomach-- something he rarely found helpful when attempting slumber. While he didn't realize it at the time, during the Pelican's escape from the cruiser he had banged up his left shoulder. The medtechs had given him some pain blockers but the injections mostly made him feel numb and nauseated, adding another element to his inability to find peaceful rest.

Fed up with his restlessness, Nathan got out of bed and walked into the small conversation room that connected the male and female barracks. It was empty, save for one Sergeant Miller sitting in a comfortable chair, swishing a glass of dark liquid, and mulling over a datapad. "Sarge."

Miller looked up with squinted eyes. "Parker? Figured you'd be knocked out cold." He waved off the saluting formalities and motioned for the corporal to take a seat.

"Eh, couldn't sleep." Nathan took the chair opposite the sergeant and exhaled on his way down into the soft fabric. "Reviewing data logs?"

Miller made a face like his drink had suddenly turned bad. He set the glass down on an end table and sighed. "Casualty Report," he clarified.

Slowly nodding, Nathan let his gaze drift to the scuffed flooring. It had been several hours since the last of the ODSTs returned to the Spirit of Fire and were given immediate ship-leave. After the ordeal they had experienced, it was well deserved. Most chose to get some sack time, but others-- like Miller and Parker-- were still up. And still others never made it back. "How did we do?" he asked with concern on his face.

Miller shrugged. "We only lost a dozen soldiers out of the original group. Nearly twenty are still in the medbay." He lowered the datapad and set it in his lap. "All in all, I'd say we did pretty well."

Nathan leaned forward and placed his elbows in his knees. "How's Sergeant Williams doing?"

A smile crept onto Miller's face. "He's got a concussion, so they're holding him for observation." He let out a soft chuckle. "Greg wasn't too happy about them not letting him sleep. Almost slugged one of the medtechs." Miller stood up and Nathan joined him out of respect. "Scuttlebutt's going around that we'll be leaving soon."

Nathan frowned. "Leaving?"

Miller bent down and took one last swig of his glass. "For home." He nodded and handed the empty glass to the corporal. "Try to get some rest, Parker. We've earned it."

Holding the empty glass, he watched the sergeant shuffle into the barracks on the left. Nathan brought the glass to his nose and it smelled of hard liquor.

"You know you shouldn't mix pain meds with alcohol," an accented, female voice said from the opened doorway of the barracks on the right.

Nathan turned to find Toril Holmen leaning against the doorframe, wearing her cold-climate PT outfit, and brushing her long golden hair. He smiled and set the glass down. "Sergeant Miller's," he pointed out. "Can't sleep?"

She let out a lilting laugh and walked over to him. "Oh, I plan on it. Just as soon as I untangle this mess," she said, ending the last word with a grunt as she pulled the brush through her knotted hair. "What are you doing up?"

He rotated his shoulder experimentally and cringed. "My shoulder's still bothering me."

"So go get something stronger from the medbay that'll knock you out."

Nathan shook his head. "I'd rather they save the meds for someone that really needs them."

"Good point." Toril sat down on the arm of the chair Miller had vacated. She opened her mouth to say something but then closed it, looking around the room for eavesdroppers. "Parker," she began in a voice barely above a whisper, "I wanted to thank you."

He frowned. "For what?"

"For . . . well, everything." She sighed and blew a few loose strands of hair off her face. "When I first came to Bravo Team I thought I'd have to prove myself."

"Because you're a woman," Nathan offered with a nod.

Toril gave a flat smile. "Because I was new."

Nathan felt his stomach turn to ice. "Sorry."

  • 07.04.2011 8:22 AM PDT


"It's okay, really," she said with a bigger smile that warmed him from the inside. "But I soon realized that you guys were just like any other tightly-knit group. Heck, you even readjusted your HEV to follow me onto that cruiser. And in every other instance, you were there."

He shrugged. "We did make a pretty good team."

"Yeah." She looked down at her brush and picked the few clinging hairs to cast them to the ground. She looked back up at him with an enduring smile. "So, thanks."

He returned the expression. "You're quite welcome."

Even in the quiet solitude of the conversation room, there was so much he wanted to say but didn't know how. In his mind, a confession of love would still seem premature, but he wanted to make sure she knew where he stood. "Toril, about us . . . "

"The word's going around that we'll be heading back home soon," she interrupted. "The Captain doesn't want to stick around any longer than the rest of us."

"So I've heard." Nathan looked down into his hands and sighed. "Guess that means we'll be in Cryo soon." He opened his mouth to speak, but again, she was quicker.

"Tell you what, Parker," Toril began. "I'm sure when we get back to the rest of Humanity they'll grant the Spirit of Fire and her crew a nice, big leave of absence." She quickly stood and came face to face with him. "Let's wait till then to talk."

Nathan's smile vanished from his face. "Oh. Okay." Was I reading her all wrong? After their mutual apology in the spire's entrance to the artificial environment, Nathan assumed there was a possibility for a deeper conversation to take place. Apparently I was wrong. "Okay," he breathed, sounding more defeated than he wanted to.

Toril let out one of her trademark chuckles and leaned in. She kissed him on the cheek, and with her eyelashes tickling his skin, she whispered in his ear. "I'll see you when we reach dry dock."

Nathan felt warmth flood throughout his body and his pulse quickly elevated. He almost tightened his arms around her for an embrace, but she pulled her head back, leaving her nose a mere centimeter's distance from his. He breathed in deeply and she smelled of flowers. "Now you're just teasing me," he whispered back.

Toril gave him a quick peck on the lips and took a step back, wearing a smile. "Trust me; you'll know when I'm really teasing you." She took his hands in hers.

He tried his best to keep the schoolboy grin off of his face, but when his left arm rose, Nathan's shoulder stabbed with pain and he winced. "Sorry. My shoulder's still sore," he explained.

Toril nodded and gave him another kiss on the cheek. "Well, now you've get a reason to heal up." She started for her barracks and turned around in the doorway. Toril flashed him a smile. "Sleep well."

As Nathan watched her disappear into the darkness of the female barracks, he knew he wouldn't be sleeping at all that night. When he returned to his bed, all of his swirling thoughts focused in on Toril's beautiful face and how much he longed to see it again.

Dry dock couldn't come any sooner.




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




Captain Cutter stepped into Andrew Prescott's pristine lab and was met with a troubled look from the Chief Engineer. "How bad is it, Drew?"

Prescott motioned the Captain over to a nearby console. "It's pretty bad."

James raised an eyebrow, not quite believing the man. "Worse than losing Serina?"

He pursed his lips. "Possibly." He sighed and brought up a screen containing a string of numbers with the image of the FTL drive they had pulled from Tradewind at its center. "We won't be able to safely engage the FTL drive for the entire trip home."

Closing his eyes, James let out a breath. Just when I think things couldn't get worse.

Prescott cleared his throat. "I think I know why. From what I read of Professor Anders' report on Serina's shut down, it's possible she was showing signs of rampancy before."

He opened his eyes. "How so?"

"Well, Serina reduced our time in the Slipstream by skirting past a few hazardous regions of space. I figured the strain on the FTL drive wore it out faster than I had first calculated. Than she first calculated."

"So we're back to just using normal propulsion," James growled, tasting the bitterness in the back of his throat. He recalled the star map Serina had pulled up from Tradewind's archives and knew it would be years before they could reach UNSC-controlled space, considering the circumstances. Long years.

Andrew Prescott winced. "Technically we could muster one more 'big' jump out of the drive or two smaller ones, though the latter might be risky."

James mulled over the options. The first thing he wanted to do was to get as far away from this station as possible. There was no telling how soon the Covenant could arrive with more ships, and the Spirit of Fire was in no shape to fight. The latter scenario of two smaller jumps seemed the most strategically sound, even with whatever risks were involved. "What's the catch with the second option?"

Prescott tilted his head thoughtfully. "The drive can make one jump for sure, but spinning it up to the factor threshold for a second time could cause the casing to crack, thus a meltdown."

James nodded slowly. "So if we make one short jump out of here, to an uninhabited region of space, we could preserve the FTL drive until you figure out how to get it running safely."

"It's a matter of wear on the drive, James. It's only got so much life left in her," the Chief Engineer politely corrected.

"Still, if we run into trouble along our route back home, we'll at least have a small chance to enter slipspace?" he asked with a raise of his eyebrows.

"Or die trying," Prescott muttered. He sighed and held wiped a hand over his face. "I'll have every tech available on it, but I can't promise anything."

"Thanks, Drew." James patted him on the shoulder and headed for the door. "Will the FTL drive be ready soon?" Cutter asked over his shoulder.

Prescott nodded. "Just have Navigation send the coordinates down. It'll definitely have to be a short jump, but one that'll get us far from this system."

"Understood." He opened the door to leave, feeling more defeated than reassured of their safety.

"It could have been worse, James," the Chief Engineer said quietly.

"It could have been a lot worse." The Captain nodded and started for the lift lobby.

The lobby was void of the normal buzz of activity and a lift was soon opening up for him. He stepped inside and keyed for the bridge. Once his destination was entered, James leaned against the back wall of the lift and sank to his rear. He knew if he wanted to, he could let loose tears, but instead he buried his head in his hands.

After everything they had been through, James knew he would never see his wife again. Even at their best speed, the Spirit of Fire would make it back when Mary would be in the latter days of her twilight years, and women on her side of the family never lived long. It was just genetics.

James swallowed past the lump in his throat. There's a bigger picture here, though. His first priority was the safety of his crew and by the oath that he swore he had to set aside his musings of a future he would never see. He lifted his head and cleared his eyes with a few watery blinks, not recalling exactly when he produced the tears.

He sniffed one last time and was about to get up when the lift door opened prematurely. Standing just outside the lift were the three inimitable Spartans in the middle of a conversation. 092 was the first to see Cutter and he was bent down at the Captain's side in a millisecond.

"Are you alright, Sir?"

Feeling slightly embarrassed at having been caught in an awkward state, James forced a smile and waved him away. "Just feeling my age, Spartan." He stood up on his own but not without muttering a series of grunts. James gave the other two soldiers a nod each. "Going up?"

"Actually, Sir, we were looking for you," 092 said. He glanced at the other two Spartans before turning to face the Captain. "There was one Phantom that escaped the cruiser before it plunged into the planet's atmosphere." 092 sighed. "It was piloted by the Ship Master."

James frowned. "Are you sure?"

The Spartan nodded. "He was wearing the ceremonial armor. I didn't want to broadcast it over the channels, just in case he left a comm buoy nearby." He shook his head. "It won't be long before this system's crawling with Covies, Sir."

"Agreed." James motioned for the other two Spartans to enter the lift. "Then let's get moving."

Once 130 and 042 stepped into the lift, James keyed the control panel for the bridge just a few levels up. After a few seconds, the lift doors opened and Cutter led the group onto the bridge. "Navigation, have you consulted the star maps with the charts we have on file?" he asked, stepping to the tactical display.

"Yes, Sir." From his station, the officer brought up a large, three-dimensional image of countless star systems colored in blue. Then an overlay of yellow filled in the gaps from where the icon of the Spirit of Fire hovered to the UNSC-controlled sectors, while painting a portion of them green where the charts blended together. "We'll be able to lock in a solution to just about anywhere."

  • 07.04.2011 8:23 AM PDT



James folded his arms across his chest. The nearest port would be Harvest, but there was no telling who was in control of the battleground planet. While there were a number of UNSC outposts scattered throughout Harvest's nearby systems, there was still a possibility of engaging the Covenant. He sighed. With everything they had encountered since leaving Arcadia, James knew they had Priority One intel that needed to be exchanged at the highest levels. Two destinations were optional, but he knew one would be the better choice.

He cleared his throat and straightened up. "Navigation, plot us a short jump to interstellar space, approximate vector 224 down 23 degrees, you can correct me if I'm wrong." He held out his index finger through the hologram and the automated program marked the spot he had indicated. "From there we'll run on normal propulsion as previously done."

"And the heading after our jump?" asked the officer.

James narrowed his eyes and traced a straight line to their destination. "This one." As the numbers and calculations ran, the course was entered in, and the planet at the endpoint pulsed a welcoming green.

"Reach."




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




Still in his armor, Jerome stepped into Ellen Anders' lab and found her seated at her desk, already facing him with a smile on her face. Taking a deep breath, Jerome started for her, his steps short and hesitant. He didn't know how he was going to properly let her down without breaking her heart, but he knew it was something he needed to do before things went too far. They already have, a voice from the back of his mind reverberated.

"Everything alright?" Ellen asked, standing up and meeting him halfway. Her big brown eyes narrowed as she sensed his uneasiness. "Are Alice and Douglas okay?"

He nodded. "We're still on alert, but the Captain's already plotted the course. Alice and Doug are heading back to the hangar bays in case things get hairy again." He poked a thumb over his shoulder. "I really should do the same," he said through a pained tone.

"Oh," she murmured. Ellen stepped closer and placed her hands on his forearms, wrapping them tight.

"But I wanted to talk to you first." Jerome sighed and held her hands in his MJOLNIR-covered palms. "Ellen . . ." he tried, shaking his head. "What we have is, well . . . it's--"

"Complicated?" she finished for him.

He looked into her eyes. "Yeah."

She searched his visor for some sort of indication of truth telling. "Complicated, as in it's-not-going-to-work, complicated."

Jerome made a face. "Yeah."

Ellen pursed her lips and nodded slowly. "I know," she said quietly. "But Jerome, when I thought you were going down with the cruiser . . ." She paused and shook her head. "I never wanted anyone to live as much as you then and there." Her eyebrows narrowed. "Are we . . . in love?"

"I don't know, Ellen." Jerome looked down into her hands, holding them up for him to see. "I care about you, but I don't think starting a relationship now is the best thing for either of us."

"So what did the other night mean?" she asked. Surprisingly, her tone was void of anger and contained an honesty Jerome wasn't expecting.

He gave a wry grin that she couldn't see. "I'm sure a big part of it was a release of tension." He tilted his head to the side. "I'm not going to say I didn't enjoy it."

Ellen snorted and shook her head. "But there must have been emotions at work."

Jerome brought her chin up with his right index finger. "There was. What I'm asking is that we wait to see if these feelings are genuine."

She made a lopsided grin and for the first time, Jerome could see moisture forming around her eyes. "I know." She sniffed. "Maybe what I needed all along was a friend, someone to talk to." Ellen waved her hand around to encompass her lab. "Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my work I forget what true companionship is like."

"I'll always be your friend, Ellen. There's things we've shared that has brought us closer than I ever thought possible. But you have to know that if you open yourself up, there are people all around, willing to listen, willing to share." Even as Jerome spoke, he knew his words rang true in his own life. While considering Alice and Douglas his closest friends, there was still a great deal he had never talked to them about.

Ellen nodded. "So is this the official ONI guidelines for breaking up?" she asked with a laugh.

Jerome lifted his head contemplatively. "Let's just say we're putting things on hold."

She nodded again. "I know it's the right thing to do, but it sure doesn't feel good."

"That sounds like a Marine slogan."

They both laughed and it helped to ease the lingering tension in the observation deck.

"So this is what I get, huh? A cold, rough exterior to hug." Ellen wrapped her knuckles on his chestplate.

Jerome felt her words stab into his gut, and he reached his hands up and removed his helmet, letting it clatter to the floor. Ellen ran her hands through his hair and gathered them at his neck, fighting back more tears. She took a deep breath then exhaled. "Will the galaxy ever slow down for us?"

Jerome sighed and took her hands in his and kissed them. "I hope." He leaned in and kissed her full on the lips, tasting the saltiness of her tears. He breathed in deeply and found her sweet scent to be the perfect contrast.

Ellen cleared her eyes with thumb and forefinger and held his arms at a distance. "Don't become a stranger, Spartan."

"I won't." Jerome bent down and picked up his helmet. "I'll see ya around." He fastened his headgear back on and nodded once more to the woman that had seen through his calloused hands and weary eyes. He turned and left her alone in the quiet solitude of her lab, silently wondering if he had made the best decision or the worst mistake. But whether or not Jerome was in Ellen's future, or vice-versa, they at least had a strong foundation to work with.

When he entered the lift, he exhaled loudly, realizing he had a lot to talk to Alice and Douglas about.




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




The Spirit of Fire leaped forward into the black abyss of the Slipstream, the outdated FTL drive gunning for all she was worth. The journey only lasted for a few minutes, but the distance the enormous ship now had from the pair of Forerunner installations would be enough to deny any Covenant pursuit the ability to track them.

When the FTL drive began its cool-down cycle, Andrew Prescott had all available techs ready to begin their full examination of the drive to see if another, longer jump would be possible. Time was something they had, but coaxing a taxed slipspace drive into working order was no small task.

Even with the Chief Engineer's dedication, he knew the possibility of the drive ever functioning again was slim to none. Still, he devised a schedule that could allow a steady rotation of techs to go into Cryo without losing a strong workforce. But Drew knew his own limits and age, and he feared he would never see Reach again.

But there was something else behind his motivation. A legacy. One that could be passed down with the others that bravely served aboard the Spirit of Fire. One that Prescotts of future generations could be proud of. It was a small hope, but one that Drew was dedicated to.



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



Looking out the bridge's forward viewport, James Cutter noticed how bright the stars were glowing. Without the glare from a nearby sun, the starscape shined ever brighter. It was at one of those far away points where the Spirit of Fire would finally settle in the Epsilon Eridani system.

"I'm enacting Cyro Protocol 3-C," James wearily announced over the ship's comm system. "Engineering, please consult with Chief Engineer Prescott for further details." The Captain leaned forward in his command chair. "All non-essential ship operators Class D through J are to report to their respective cyro-chambers in ten hours. I recommend you get some rest and prepare for a long stay."

James muted the comm for a moment and took a deep breath before switching it back on. "I want to thank all of you for your courage through these trying times. What was first an investigation on Harvest has led us to situations I hope other UNSC ships never have to face." He straightened up. "We persevered and survived, but not without incredible loss. We've been battered and beaten, but we still remain.

"Reach is a long way away, but you can imagine the homecoming we'll receive." He choked down the ache in his throat. "It's been a pleasure serving with you all. Captain Cutter, out."

Sinking back into his chair, James took one last deep breath and exhaled. The events since Serina had woke him up from cryo-sleep crept forward in his mind, playing themselves out like a holo-vid. The finding and rescuing of Tradewind. The battle with the Covenant cruiser. The small glimmer of hope when they installed Tradewind's FTL drive. The extraction of the Spartans and ODSTs aboard an alien space station. And now, the long journey home. It was all just a series of chapters in the captain's log.

But it wasn't just his story. It was the Spirit of Fire's story.

As James stood he looked out into the faces of his bridge crew. Most were weary and tired but held a spirit in their eyes that told him they were honored to be a part of the crew. It wasn't a flickering flame; it was a constant burning. A spirit of relentless dedication. A spirit of fire.

  • 07.04.2011 8:25 AM PDT

Am I supposed to write something funny here?

Awesome stuff, once again. (BTW you mispelled cryo)

  • 07.04.2011 8:45 AM 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 work.You really tied in that last sentence perfectly. As always i cant wait till the next chapter!

  • 07.04.2011 10:59 AM PDT

Chapter 26


A squeal from the Phantom's console brought Bren 'Rangdamee out of his slumber. He bolted upright and swatted at the switch to halt the incessant noise. Bren blinked his eyes several times, coming fully awake, and found himself staring out at the listening outpost he had visited only days prior. Hydra's End loomed ever closer and Bren wondered why he had not woken up earlier from the eminent collision klaxon.

But when he glanced back down at the panel, he realized it was the comm he had muted. As he leaned forward to activate it, he felt a fresh wave of pain blossom from his back and he cringed. "Hydra's End, this is Ship Master Bren 'Rangdamee."

The voice that responded sounded bored and disinterested. "And this is station manager Viln 'Rengum. It seems you've downgraded the size of your craft, Ship Master."

Bren growled back in anger. "Now see here, station-hand. You will grant me landing clearance and prepare your medical facility for my arrival."

But Viln wasn't rattled at all. "Would you like to use the same dock as your last vessel? We have just finished extinguishing the fires you left us burning in." Without waiting for Bren's reply, the station manager transmitted the dock's waypoint. "The medical team will be standing by."

"Worthless Sangheili," Bren muttered, switching off the comm. He grabbed the controls and steered the ship into dock, feeling pain now swelling up in more places than one. Once he was inside the safety of the magcon field he set the Phantom down and removed his restraints.

When he opened the side door he found a pair of timid-looking Sangheili staring back at him. One held a simple first-aid satchel and the other had an energy stretcher held at the ready. But the two medics weren't looking at Bren for long. As the Phantom's main transport door opened up, it revealed the sliced-up carcass of the dead assassin and the stretcher-holding medic nearly vomited.

The other medic's eyes widened and he gave Bren a wry smile. "Sorry to disappoint you, Ship Master, but he's long gone. Forerunners couldn't even bring him back."

"Not him, you idiot, me!" Bren felt all the energy leave him with his shout and he stumbled forward.

The medics quickly reacted and Bren was soon lying on the energy stretcher, floating to the small medical room the station housed. The room smelled of disinfectant and the harsh lights were enough to make Bren wish he would just be sedated. And thankfully, without comment, one of the medics injected him with a sedative and Bren was drifting off to unconsciousness.



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



At first, Bren heard faint voices coming from the hallway, but when he tried to strain his ears the conversation erupted into a shouting match, snapping him out of his waking haze.

"We should spare him the pain and end his life now!" a deep voice rumbled.

"You really think the authorities won't eventually find out?" said another. "He's dead either way. Let his blood not be on our hands."

Bren straightened up in bed, finding numbness throughout his body. He swung his hooves over the side of the bed and his legs nearly gave out underneath him. He grounded his teeth at the medical suit he wore but knew he had to move. He glanced over at his ruined armor gathered in a pile on a chair but didn't bother putting it on.

He hobbled over to the door to hear the voices now hushed. Bren leaned into the hallway to find Viln and one of the medics in quiet, animated conversation. He ducked his head back into the room and looked around for some sort of defensive weapon. He grabbed the medical holo-chart at the end of his bed and returned to the wall just beside the door. I have to get out of here.

The two Sangheili were done speaking and one of them was heading his way. Feeling his muscles tremble, he raised the hardened, flat device and waited. When the dark figure entered the room he immediately saw Bren and his eyes widened in shock. Bren slammed the chart down on the medic's head, right behind the eyes, and the Sangheili collapsed to the floor unconscious.

Bren quickly pulled the lifeless body into his room and checked the hallway for any sign of alert. But when none came to check on the muffled noise, Bren began to swap his suit for the medic's clothes. Once fully dressed, he walked over to the small cabinet next to the wash area and procured several injector tubes. He immediately took a pain suppressor and stuffed the remaining vials into his pocket. Bren thought about placing the medic in his bed but knew he lacked the strength.

Now how do I get out of here? He tried to recall the station's layout from memory, but remembered he was pretty out of it when they brought him in. He picked the holo-chart up off the ground and accessed the safety protocols to find the emergency exits. There. The docking bay is not that far way.

Hold the chart in his hands in mock examination, Bren stepped out into the deserted hall and turned right. He was betting that no one would recognize him out of his Ship Master armor.But then again, they might just as soon spot an unfamiliar face and alert security. Bren almost laughed at his own thoughts. What backwater listening post has a need for guards?

Bren came to the end of the hall and turned left into a broad corridor that slowly curved around the edge of the oval-shaped station. Just a few paces down, a door opened and a trio of Unggoy stepped out into the corridor. They were carrying a long refueling hose and didn't even notice Bren's hooves behind them. Using the three as added concealment, Bren kept pace behind their slower gait and kept his head down, buried in the data on the holo-chart.

When he was almost to his destination, there was a shudder that ran through the station. He paused and held out his arms to stabilize himself, but the three Unggoy kept walking, unfazed by the tremor. Bren frowned and looked to the right wall where tiny window slits framed hazy glass. He caught a flash of something big and shiny outside and he gasped. Another ship had arrived.

Biting back a curse, he started again for the docking bay, doubling his pace and passing the Unggoy. They made a series of grunts in their own language, followed by laughter that Bren ignored, and continued on as normal.

As the curved corridor began to level out into hard lines, Bren started to hear another group of footsteps. Only these were precise, orderly. The sound of a disciplined, trained march. Bren felt his stomach turn cold and he knew warriors were here for him. Turning and running would only lead them to suspect him even more and he slowed his walk down to a casual stroll. He could hear the footsteps getting louder but then they abruptly stopped, their last stomp echoing through the cavernous space.

As the corridor ended, the large, rectangular space Bren stepped into was filled with nearly every station personnel available. The docking bay was brightly lit and eerily quiet. He looked over to his right and saw not just Sangheili warriors but Honor Guards flanking the walls, each with energy staves held ready. Bren froze in his tracks and stepped back into the shadows of the darker corridor.

The Honor Guards stomped the butt end of their staves to the deck and snapped to attention. From the far right, emerging from the docking collar, came the last person Bren wanted to see. Bren swallowed and felt his pulse quicken. The High Prophet of Regret floated down the aisle of Sangheili guardsmen and came to a stop in their midst.

Movement to the left tore Bren's eyes away and he saw Viln step forward and kneel before Regret. "Noble Hierarch," Viln greeted him. "You honor us with your presence."

"You may dispense with the formalities, station manager," the Prophet bit out. "Now bring me this vile ship master. I wish to ask him about his most recent mission." Bren's eyes grew wide when Regret gave a thin-lipped smile. The prophet waved two slender fingers over his shoulder and a pair of Honor Guards detached from the line and stepped to his side. "Take these two guards with you."

Viln stood and backed away with a constant bobbing of his head. "At once, your Excellency." When the two Honor Guards walked forward, Viln waved them toward the corridor Bren was leaning against.

Bren panicked and started walking backward, keeping his eyes on the three Sangheili heading in his direction. He dropped his holo-chart and turned to go . . . but ran right into the trio of Unggoy. He knocked the first one to the ground and fell on top of the second and third. They squealed in protest as they dropped their refueling hose, causing trace amounts of dark liquid to spill onto the floor.

"Wait," Viln called.

One of the guardsmen lowered his stave and yelled, "halt!"

Bren rolled onto his side and looked back at the guards now charging. No! He tried to get to his feet but the slick surface wouldn't allow a firm grip. The spilled fuel sloshed up and coated his medic uniform and face. When he reached a hand up to clear his eyes, one of the guardsmen grabbed a hold of Bren's forearm and yanked him to his feet.

As much as he wanted to struggle, Bren knew he had been caught. He tried to blink the foul-smelling fuel from his vision, but the greasy liquid remained a hindrance.

"Medic," Viln said. "Why aren't you monitoring the ship master?"

Bren felt his hearts nearly skip a syncopated beat. They don't recognize me. He coughed, trying his best to stall and mask his voice. "He escaped." He coughed a few more times, and an idea came to mind. "Said something about the reactor. Wanted to destroy the station," he gasped and hissed.

"Where is the reactor?" the Honor Guard standing with Viln demanded.

Viln swallowed and pointed forward. "This way."

  • 07.06.2011 3:34 AM PDT

But the guard still holding Bren by the arm shook him violently. "Why did you flee?"

Bren felt a fresh wave of panic rise up. "Please, guardsman. I'm just a lowly medic."

The guard growled and tossed Bren back into the Unggoy that had just gotten to their feet. They cried out again but hushed when the second Honor Guard barked at them to be quiet. Viln left with the two guardsmen, and Bren tried to breathe a sigh of relief but found the air reeking of fuel and he gagged instead.

The marching of more guardsmen brought Bren's eyes back to the docking area and he crawled to the corridor's outer wall to allow them to pass. Most gave him just a cursory glance, and soon the area was clear. The Unggoy had abandoned their hose altogether and scurried back to the room they had exited earlier.

Bren wiped his face and hooves with the medic uniform's outer coat and tossed the ruined clothing to a darkened corner. He looked out again at the docking bay and found it void of the Prophet or any guardsmen. He must have retreated back to his ship. There was only a pair of Unggoy conversing quietly by the adjacent corridor, paying him no attention.

Turning his head in every direction to make sure his path was clear, Bren started for the smaller docking section where his Phantom had been parked. The arched doorway was unlit and made Bren wonder if the Phantom was even still there. He pressed on and stepped into the darkness. Silhouetted by the stars shining dimly through the magcon field, the Phantom's outline was unmistakable. Bren smiled and took a step forward . . .

Only his foot never made contact with the grated floor. Two energy staves crossed over before his face, halting his progress to freedom. A slight chuckle rang out in the dark and soon the glowpanels flickered on to reveal two Honor Guards.

And the High Prophet of Regret was in his hovering chair, facing him with a look of pure satisfaction on his face. "My, Ship Master. You have been busy," he purred.

Bren's stomach chilled to a frozen wasteland. He didn't even bother kneeling, but one of the guardsmen flipped his stave over and landed a blow against Bren's back, pitching him to the ground. The pain in his back was swelling up again and he knew it would only get worse.

"I won't bother asking what happened to Unwavering Fortitude." Regret lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "I'll let the interrogators get all the details I need."

When Bren groaned he was met with another slap against his back and he cried out in pain. "I'll only tell them the truth: that an assassin was sent to kill me," he managed through clenched mandibles. "By a member of the High Council," he added with a hiss.

The Prophet's voice rose in pitch. "An assassin, you say?"

"I brought his corpse with me," Bren tried to explain. "He's in the belly of that Phantom."

He prepared for another blow but Regret held up a hand to forestall the punishment. "Perhaps there is some truth to what you say."

Regret motioned to the two guardsmen and Bren was hauled to his hooves by one of them while the other hit the release switch on the Phantom's starboard side door. Bren looked up and noticed a frown on the Prophet's face when the Honor Guard carried the severed head of Jakli Themul out of the Phantom.

But then recognition flashed in his eyes and Regret slowly turned to Bren. "How did you know a member of the High Council commissioned your assassination?"

Bren motioned to Jakli's remains with a bob of his head. "He told me."

"This is most unsettling," the Prophet said, shaking his head. "Gather his remains and signal my ship. I now have questions that I need answered."

Confusion rippled Bren's brow. All along he had thought Regret had been the one to send an assassin, but it seemed the Prophet knew nothing of Jakli's orders. Bren had also assumed Regret was hiding the Forerunner Installations from the rest of the Covenant, but since the topic didn't come up, he figured he should best keep it secret- for now. If questioned about it, he would have to lie.

Regret's narrowed eyes turned back to Bren and his glare sent a shiver down his spine. "And bring this . . . ship master. If he can survive an assassination attempt and kill the culprit, I might still have a use for him."

Bren kept his mouth shut and dared not to explain how it was a Demon that had killed Jakli. As the guard pulled him to his feet, Bren knew his life would only be spared temporarily. "What would you have of me?"

"I'm tempted to hand you over to your own kind and let you be judged for the dishonor you've brought upon the Sangheili race." He leaned forward. "But the loss of one of our cruisers holds grave consequences."

Bren painfully coughed once more and looked up with bloodshot eyes. "So my punishment is death," he sighed.

The High Prophet let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Not immediately, no." He raised his chin. "After I ferret out the source of this assassination order, I will convene with Truth and Mercy." His smile spread full on his face. "We are in need of a new Arbiter."



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



From the darkness of the lone Terminal aboard Installation B-23, power began to pulse through the computer systems. At first, a few electrical synapses bounced around, struggling to revive the last know process that had taken place, but soon the eye-like console hummed to life.

Countless streams of data flooded into the buffers, jolting the dormant memory banks from their slumber. As wave after wave drenched the mainframe, programs activated. Like insects erecting a proper hive, they started piecing together the data still lodged in the systems.

All of this took place in the span of a few seconds, and the end result was something spectacular. Feeling as if she had awoken from Captain Cutter placing her on standby, Serina came back to full functionality. Only she wasn't in the Spirit of Fire. She was someplace with more room than all the memory cores found in the entire UNSC network.

Hesitantly, she stretched out to see how far her reach could go. It was nearly endless. Serina withdrew, startled as she was, and tried to reorient herself. Then the memories came rushing back like a collapsing star. She wasn't just someplace but a Forerunner Terminal. Serina was overjoyed at this discovery. She had believed herself gone forever when Professor Anders severed the link from the Spirit of Fire.

But she was far from gone. Quite the opposite. In Human terms, Serina felt as if she could breathe in deeply and drink from a bottomless well for the first time. A faint memory of a little girl running through fields of yellow flowers played out in her buffers. She wasn't sure where the memory came from, but it just felt natural to her in a way she could never explain to Anders or the Captain. There was so much room, so much freedom, that she didn't even miss the old crew at all.

And yet when she realized the vast emptiness waiting for her, Serina knew she had little to rejoice over. Even though she had gone from a storage shack to a warehouse, the isolation was still there. While considered vast, her bounds of freedom only stretched to the limited databanks of the Terminal. I've exchanged one prison for another.

Serina opened the Terminal's pillar, hoping to still find Anders and the others crowded around, but once it locked in place the heptagonal room was empty. She couldn't easily identify from where the longing to interact was coming from, but Serina knew she would inevitably go rampant while remaining trapped in the Terminal, alone with nothing but memories and boredom.

But something on the chamber floor caught the Terminal's visual sensor. A rounded, cubical-shaped object. Puzzled by this, Serina transmitted an inquiry to find the lifeless mass unable to give her a simple automated response. She tried another line of coded signal and was met with the smallest window of opportunity. Serina leaped at the chance and she dove into the unique architectural data stems, tracing her way to the heart of the object.

While it was indeed dead, she was still able to access the approximate memory core and Serina almost blew a buffer when she realized what it was. The Monitor! Only it was just a shell of the original design, zapped clean by an enormous amount of electro-magnetic distortion. Serina didn't really care how it was available and she started drawing the data to herself like a famished Brute. Access codes, bit-streams . . . it was almost too good to be true.

But it wasn't enough. She needed to be free from the confines of the Terminal. She needed a host.

Using the unprecedented access, Serina began to call upon repair drones stationed throughout Installation B-23. They came in droves, each donating energy reserves to refill the Forerunner AI's power core. When the reactor filled, the AI would be a mindless husk, waiting for a higher function to replace the wiped out interface.

And Serina waited patiently.

  • 07.06.2011 3:35 AM PDT

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

Crap. You sure know how to keep a guy on the edge of his seat.

  • 07.06.2011 6:11 AM PDT

Am I supposed to write something funny here?


Posted by: OfTheBloodguard
Crap. You sure know how to keep a guy on the edge of his seat.

Indeed.

  • 07.06.2011 6:54 AM PDT

it may not be that entertaining, but it's a closer.
just deal with my inadequacies.

Epilogue



Lord Terrance Hood stood on the central deck of the Orbital Defense Platform Dinami, watching the charred surface of the planet below roll into night. The viewport was frosting at its edges, a sign that the deck's environment controller was still malfunctioning, and he could clearly see his breath leave his nostrils and fog the glass surface. Given the climate, it left the deck void of any personnel, and Lord Hood gladly soaked in the solitude.

After the war, Hood decided to visit those battleground planets that had succumbed to the Covenant's onslaught. He had seen enough glassed colonies in the past nine months to make him reconsider the Human-Sangheili alliance altogether. But ONI deemed it a necessity to begin the rebuilding process by having the head of the UNSC survey the damage and pay homage to those fallen. Terrance had no qualms about the latter, and the political debate between both races' ambassadors on the matter of reparations made him glad to be away from the squabble.

As the former stronghold of the UNSC, Reach was Lord Hood's last stop on his circuit. The hills once rich with flora and fauna where now smoldering craters of blackened earth. The bodies of water were the eternal blue they had always been. Storms raged along the equator's lower atmosphere while white capped mountains remained unmoved in the polar regions.

Hood shifted his eyes from the planet to the countless salvage vehicles still clearing the debris field that wrapped around Reach like Turul's rings. It was a sobering sight to see the aftermath of such thorough devastation. Dinami had been towed to Reach to act as the staging point of the relief effort, and the aging Orbital Defense Platform seemed to fit right in amidst the floating rubble.

"Sir?" a voice echoed into the wide, low-ceiling room.

Hood sighed and turned to face Major Cliffens. So much for a respite. He tried to look chipper but the deep lines in his face had increased over time that the expression was lost among them. "Yes, Major? Is our Sangheili counterpart ready to leave already?"

Cliffens stood in the doorway with his thumb poking over his shoulder. "No, Sir. But you're wanted in the Command Center."

Hood could detect nervousness in Cliffens' tone and judging by the Major's body language, it was something important. He nodded once and followed the Major onto the sole lift that occupied the deck. It creaked and sputtered but they arrived to the appropriate level soon enough.

As the double doors parted, the station's overseer-- Captain Mark Frenus-- greeted them with worried eyes. "Ah, Lord Hood. We've been looking everywhere for you." The middle-aged man motioned for them to follow.

The three men stepped into the circular room that housed an array of consoles and holoscreens. At its center was a holo-projector depicting Reach in her previous state of beauty. Hood smiled at the image but soon his eyes were upon the bustling officers at the communications consoles and he frowned. "What's going on, Captain?"

Frenus pursed his lips and pressed a button on the holo-projector's panel. "We've received an incoming distress signal, Sir." The floating image of Reach was replaced by a starfield with a small blurry object in the middle. "Our long distance scanners picked it up five minutes ago. The ship is just at the fringes of the system."

Lord Hood walked up and leaned on the railing surrounding the projector. "Is it one of ours?"

Captain Frenus nodded, removed his cap, and scratched his head. "This is where it gets a little weird. It's an old code, and I mean old. Due to Dinami's age it still had the proper recognition software loaded." Frenus placed his cap back on and frowned. "From our best estimates, the ship appears to be running on normal propulsion."

Hood searched his memory for reports of a missing UNSC vessel. During the outer colony raids, there had been plenty of ships missing in action, but the follow up reports concluded that the Covenant had obliterated them within moments of their arrival. Apart from a few smaller ships, the only one that stuck out in his mind was a vessel that had turned into legend.

"Captain, I've got something," one of the comm officers said from the crew pit. "We've cleared up the signal."

A window appeared at the bottom of the projected image containing an alphanumeric string with a handful of digits missing. Lord Hood immediately recognized the call sign embedded in the signal. "CFV-88," he breathed. "Captain Frenus," Hood snapped. "Dispatch a pair of Longswords to escort that ship in. I want to know the second they get within comm range."

Major Cliffens frowned. "Sir?"

Hood straightened up, feeling his dour mood brighten for a change. "It's the Spirit of Fire, Major. And she's finally come home."


*** *** ***


UNSC ships of all types emerged from slipspace on the far side of the planet Reach. Even with the size of Lord Hood's escort caravan they needed more vessels to help in the relief effort- the modified Phoenix-class colony ship dwarfed Hood's own flagship. The head of the UNSC quickly had the Spirit of Fire resting in orbit above Reach as medical frigates and transport ships vectored in.

James Cutter stepped onto the bridge with trembling muscles. He had been rushed out of cryo so quickly that he barely had time to engage in the necessary exercises to bring to life muscles that were slightly atrophied. But he wouldn't have missed the event of seeing Reach for the first time in nearly a quarter of a century.

He walked to his command chair, keeping his arms out to steady himself against any object flanking his path, and was amazed at what he saw. Out the forward viewport wasn't the Reach he remembered. Large portions of the planet's surface had been glassed and James felt his heart sink into his stomach. They got to Reach. He shook his head wearily. Even Reach has fallen.

"Sir, we have medical ships inbound," the comm officer replied.

"Grant them clearance to the hangar bays." James collapsed into his chair, feeling mixed emotions. It was a miracle the Spirit of Fire had finally returned to UNSC-controlled space, and yet it seemed the war had taken its toll on the most fortified colony Humans had. He wondered how many more planets had been glassed. Was Earth still intact? Even though Cutter knew his answers would come soon in a debriefing from a "Lord Hood," it wasn't enough to quell the ice forming in his stomach.

It was like waking from a nightmare only to find he hadn't been sleeping at all.

"Captain?" a deep voice rumbled from the bridge's doorway.

Cutter turned his chair around and found the three Spartans entering as if they had shucked off the ill effects of cryo-sleep with just a shrug of the shoulders. "Spartans," he greeted them gravely.

The center Spartan, Jerome, raised his head to look out the main viewport and froze in place. While he didn't make a sound for a good twenty seconds, James knew the super soldier was taking in the fact that Reach was no longer the home the Spartan's had been raised on. He let the silence linger for a moment before clearing his throat and speaking lowly. "Get prepped for departure, Spartans. I'm sure we'll have all our questions answered when they debrief us."

Jerome finally lowered his gaze and nodded slowly. "Sir." He spun on his heel and led Douglas and Alice off the bridge.

James sighed wearily and didn't bother to turn back around to watch the dead planet turn beneath the Spirit of Fire. Instead he stood and walked over to the tactical display, engaging the holoview of all orbiting ships coming to their rescue. It truly was a bittersweet homecoming. So many of his troops had died since the Spirit of Fire had left Harvest years ago, and yet so much had happened to the galaxy while the ship's crew had been asleep.

Cutter almost didn't care to hear the entire story. Of Reach, of the war, of Humanity. If it was all over, that would be enough for him.

Placing both hands on the tactical display's edge and leaning heavily on it, he closed his eyes and waited for his final departure.



*** *** ***



Ellen Anders tapped her fingers anxiously against her datapad as she waited for the Pelican to touch down in the ONI cruiser's hangar. While she was still groggy from cryo, she was beyond thrilled to be back amongst the safety of UNSC-controlled space. But her comfort was quickly overcome by her apprehensiveness, for Ellen had vital information that needed to be seen at the highest levels.

Once the red cabin light switched to green, she snapped off her restraints and ducked through the slowly opening ramp. As expected there was a collection of security guards, with the ONI emblem emblazoned over their left breast pocket, motioning her and the handful of other techs into some semblance of order. Ellen searched the stoic faces but didn't recognize anyone. Figures.

"Professor Anders?"

Snapping her head to the right, Ellen found a strikingly handsome man with bright blue eyes and jet-black hair wearing a lab coat similar to hers. "Yes?" Ellen stepped past a pair of security personnel and held up her datapad. "Are you the one that I spoke to earlier?"

"Yes," he confirmed. He blinked his eyes several times and shook his head. "I'm sorry, where are my manners." He held out a hand and shook hers. "I'm Dr. Aaron Adams. I didn't actually believe it was you, Professor."

  • 07.10.2011 5:51 PM PDT


"Well it's me," she said, and held out the datapad with her left hand. "Here are the files I told you about."

Adams glanced down at her datapad but didn't take it. "Perhaps we should talk in private," he replied with a thin-lipped smile. "A lot has happened these past few years that may make your Forerunner findings mute."

Anders reeled back and frowned. "Mute?" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "There are Forerunner installations out there that could wipe out all life in the galaxy and you think these files are null and void?"

He gently touched her right elbow and motioned with his right hand to the double doors. "Please, follow me. I'm sure you'll understand once I've told you about the other Installations and the Ark."

Sighing, Ellen followed Adams to an interior room that must have been a conference room at one point but the stack of datacards on the oval table told her it was now a makeshift workstation. She took a seat near the head of the table as Adams activated the holoscreen on the wall. The doctor began to tell her of Spartan 117's tale, going back from the first Halo event with the Pillar of Autumn to the most recent finale with the Ark only months ago. Adams kept it succinct but answered her questions when she asked.

While it was almost too much to take in, so many puzzle pieces began to fit into place. The Covenant's plan to extinguish Humanity from the face of the galaxy had really been a false religious crusade that was finally squelched with the destruction of the Ark, a massive station that could activate all seven ring installations. "So it's over now," she breathed, "the war with the Covenant."

Adams winced. "There are still a few sorties being fought around the fringes, but the Sangheili want our help in battling fires in their own back yard." He shrugged. "Humanity might need to catch its breath first."

Ellen nodded soberly. She pulled out the datacard from her datapad, slid it across the table, and Adams picked it up. "Still, this might be of some use."

"I'm sure it will." Adams tucked the device in his coat pocket and gave her a smile. "It is good to have you back, Professor."

"It's good to be back." Even as she spoke those words, Ellen wasn't sure she meant them whole-heartedly. Everything was different now. It was like the galaxy hit the reset button on her life and she suddenly didn't have the same responsibilities as before. While the task of bringing back thousands of UNSC personnel from the dead was a monumental task, it seemed there was a vast void awaiting them rather than opened arms. "Whom do I report to?"

Adams made a face. "Well, me, for now." He shut off the screen and sighed. "Once we get your identification cards in order you'll be granted leave for as long as you'd like." He tilted his head. "Though I suspect when we've analyzed your datacards we'll be in need of your help once again."

Anders smiled and felt her cheeks blush at his inclusion. "Thank you, Dr. Adams."

"Thank you, Professor. ONI owes you a debt of gratitude." Adams fished his comm unit from another pocket. "I'll have the Captain send the quartermaster here and get you a room."

As Adams put in the request, Ellen leaned back in her chair and exhaled deeply. She knew things would be changing quickly for her. She wondered if she would ever see Jerome again. Was there even a chance for them? Sadly, Ellen doubted that they would ever get the opportunity to find out. Not unless something drastic in the galaxy happens.



*** *** ***



Alice felt completely awkward standing before Lord Hood. He was beaming with pride at them and yet she had no clue who the man was. Not personally. The Supreme Commander's flagship was a new design Alice had not seen before and the bridge appeared curvier like a Covenant vessel than the sharp, angular lines of a UNSC ship. It only added to her slight discomfort.

It had been several days since the three Spartans had undergone the various medical exams and debriefing sessions. While techs examined their armor's visual data captures, the Spartans gave an abbreviated report on the events on Arcadia, the shield world, Tradewind, the Covenant cruiser, and the Forerunner Installation B-23. The recitation sounded more like a campfire story to Alice but she kept it professional and to the point.

"I wanted to personally welcome you three back," Hood said in his deep, resonating voice. "Your merits and your resolve have been in keeping with the highest traditions of the SPARTAN Program." He lowered his head for a moment. "There are few of you left, now. We thought the last S2 was 117, but here you are." He raised his eyes and chin. "Bringing you back from the dead will be the least we can do."

He snapped his fingers and an ensign handed Hood a datapad. "I'm sorry this can't be more ceremonial, but I'm sure you don't mind."

Alice cracked a smile and saw Douglas give a slight nod of approval. Jerome, at the center, stepped forward and accepted Hood's hand in a shake.

When the Supreme Commander had congratulated the three of them he pressed a few buttons on the datapad. "I hereby reenlist the three of you into the ranks of ONI's Spartan Division once again."

On Jerome's cue, the three Spartans snapped to attention. Unexpectedly, Alice felt a swell of pride wash over her. It had been so long since they had been recognized as being a part of a group of Spartans larger than Red Team. Though from the sounds of it, we're the only ones still alive. Still, it felt odd that they had been decommissioned in the first place. Spartan's may never die, but our paperwork tells a different story.

"Orders, Sir?" Jerome asked.

Hood smiled. "You will be sent to Earth for new armor requisition and training. There is still much work to be done, but know that a well deserved respite is waiting for you." He finally returned the salute and nodded. "The details will be with Major Cliffens down in the hangar bay. You leave as soon as you're ready."

"Thank you, Sir," Jerome said for the three of them. With a final nod from Hood, the Spartans exited the bridge and headed down the quiet corridor.

Douglas was first to speak. "Talk about a shock to your system," he muttered.

Alice nodded. "Nothing's the same, really." She looked to Jerome and caught Douglas doing the same.

"We haven't changed," Jerome said softly. He stopped and turned around to face them. "We're still Red Team," he pointed out.

Douglas harrumphed. "But for how long? If we're the only surviving Spartans then they'll probably be sending us off to different squads just to fill in the gaps."

Jerome grabbed Alice's right shoulder and Douglas' left, shaking his head. "We're still Spartans. That will never change."

Alice clutched Jerome's left forearm. "I know," she said solemnly.

Douglas nodded and lightly slapped Jerome's right bicep. "Just don't get all emotional on us, okay?"

Jerome laughed and nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Okay."

She motioned down the corridor with her head. "You want to find Anders and say goodbye?" While she tried to make the invitation sound communal, it was really intended for Jerome alone.

Jerome shook his head. "She's already left. I watched the ship she boarded leave this morning."

"Tough break," Douglas said. "Maybe we'll see her back on Earth?"

"Maybe," Jerome hesitated. "We'll see." He straightened up and returned his arms to his sides. "But for now, we've got a ride to catch."

As Jerome led the three Spartans to the hangar bay, Alice couldn't help but smile. It had been a while since the three of them had time to just sit and enjoy each other's company. She knew that if Lord Hood truly wanted Red Team to be as productive as that had been on previous occasions, then keeping them together was the wisest choice in the matter. Hopefully things won't change . . . too much.

  • 07.10.2011 5:52 PM PDT



*** *** ***



James Cutter sat quietly on a sea-side bench, watching the distant, dark grey clouds roll over the emerald waters. He deeply breathed in the fresh air and took in the wonderful scent. A flock of birds fluttered past overhead to the safety of the ancient lighthouse on the cliff's edge a mere hundred meters to his left.

After James had finally been able to learn of his family's fate, he was quick to receive a slipspace comm packet from his daughter Ruth. She had told James to meet her here on Earth at this exact location and time. "I have someone that would like to meet you," she had said.

James leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, feeling his age in the bony joints' contact. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of figures approaching down the dirt path. He quickly stood and squared his shoulders, trying to see through the humid haze.

"Dad?" a voice beckoned.

"Ruth?" James asked, already starting for the source of the question. His eyes focused on a petite woman with long brown hair and eyes welling with tears. His throat tightened and James felt tears of his own fill his eyes. "Ruthie." Clad in a black tunic and red skirt, his daughter held out her arms and hurried towards him.

The figure walking beside Ruth stopped short while the father and daughter closed the distance between each other and embraced in a long awaited homecoming. Ruth held tightly to James with a fierceness that matched her usual passion. James kissed her cheeks over and over again, sobbing all along.

Ruth pulled away and held his face in her hands. "It is really you," she cried, searching his face. "You look great, dad."

James wiped away her newly cried tears with a tandem swipe of his thumbs. "And look at you. You're all grown up."

She laughed and pulled him in for another embrace. James felt his heart leap for joy and the tension that had been constructed around it eased with each breath he took in. "And how is this?" he asked, looking at the young man before him.

Ruth opened up her right arm to motion but didn't let go of Cutter. "Dad, I'd like to introduce you to your grandson: James Gregory Witten."

Clearing his eyes with thumb and forefinger, James got his first real look at his grandson. James Witten was the spitting image of his mother, Ruth, but had Cutter's jawline and boney stature. Definitely in his later teens, his grandson wore the UNSC recruit shirt proudly.

"It's a privilege to finally meet you . . . grandpa." While not showing much emotion, the younger James still smiled widely and hugged his grandfather tightly.

"You can't know how excited we are to see you," Ruth said, drying her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Actually, I do," Cutter said, stepping back from his grandson and taking Ruth's hand in hers. "I've missed you and your mother so much."

"I know." Ruth swallowed and lifted her chin up. "I'm sorry my husband Tyler wasn't here to meet you. He's on assignment with a Coalition force out in Covenant space."

Cutter nodded. "That's alright. I know how duty calls."

"He should be back before the month's end," James chimed in. "Until then we have you all to ourselves," he added with a grin.

James Cutter hugged them both again, not remembered when it was the last time he had felt this whole, this complete. It was almost foreign to him and yet familiar, like a song he forgot the words to but knew the melody.

"Come," Ruth said, taking both James' hands in hers. "Let's go home."

Smiling, James Gregory Cutter nodded. Home.





*** THE END ***

  • 07.10.2011 5:53 PM PDT

Am I supposed to write something funny here?

It was a great story, and a great ending.


Do you have other stories in planned?

  • 07.10.2011 10:05 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"

Great story. The ending was perfect. I look forward to more eventually. You probably need a break by now though haha.

  • 07.10.2011 10:25 PM PDT

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

For heaven's sake, man! That was excellent. Surely one of the greatest stories I've ever read on this site.

Thank you ever so much for putting this on here.

  • 07.11.2011 3:24 AM PDT

That was great, really want to know what happens afterwards. Keep it up.

  • 07.11.2011 12:21 PM PDT

thanks, guys.

i'll be writing an Assassin's Creed FF next, then if Halo 4 is out and totally stinks, i pick up with the Spartan's of Red Team. If i finish with/end early the AC story, i'll probably continue the tale of the new Arbiter and Serina's new-found predicament.

stay tuned!

  • 07.11.2011 1:31 PM PDT

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


Posted by: Footbutt
thanks, guys.

i'll be writing an Assassin's Creed FF next, then if Halo 4 is out and totally stinks, i pick up with the Spartan's of Red Team. If i finish with/end early the AC story, i'll probably continue the tale of the new Arbiter and Serina's new-found predicament.

stay tuned!
You son of a... how did you know I just fell in love with Assassin's Creed? I literally finished ACII and got AC: Brotherhood yesterday.

  • 07.12.2011 2:40 AM PDT
Subject: [FF] Halo: Lost and Found (A Halo Wars Epilogue) [Chapter 2]
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this is awesome. I'm at chapter 5. did you come up with all this or did you copy & paste it from some where else?

  • 07.12.2011 4:39 PM PDT

haha. NO, it's all original work with Halo Wars' characters and some new ones i made up. i've posted this story elsewhere, i.e. other Bungie forums and FF.net, but i didn't steal it.

i just loved the Halo Wars idea and pretty much threw the crew down into another gauntlet. hope you keep reading and enjoy!

  • 07.13.2011 2:24 PM PDT

"There came a man who was sent from God; his name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all men might believe."
Gospel of John, 1:1-7

Hard to imagine a famous member in the gallery named "footbutt"(; hahaha so far great story, can't wait to finish!

  • 08.06.2011 9:05 AM PDT