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Chapter One: High Charity
Posted By: macskull<mac.skull@gmail.com>
Date: 30 December 2005, 11:57 pm
Read/Post Comments
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This story is an (almost) exact clone of the one that's currently being created on fanfiction.net. I just wanted to post it here to see what the HBO readers thought...
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"And where, Oracle is that?" the Arbiter asked calmly.
"Given the data put into my banks by those who created me, and assuming a margin of error of 0.04% due to changing from my units to yours, and attempting to use your geographical names, the location of the Ark is…" 343 Guilty Spark paused as he calculated – "in the Local Sector, Sol System, Planet Classification A923."
"Hey, tin-can, what the hell planet is that?" Sergeant Avery Johnson asked.
"Well, after studying your race and their terms, I believe you use the term 'Earth.'" 343 concluded. Johnson immediately coughed. "Say WHAT!?" he cried incredulously. "You've GOT to be kidding me."
There was a short silence as the two humans present thought about the implications of the Oracle's statement. The Arbiter broke the silence. "It seems that this 'Earth,' as you call it, has some importance to the both of you. If it is all right with you, you may proceed to my ship, the Enamored Glory. I believe it will suit your needs. We can then proceed to your planet."
"You're offering to continue this small alliance, Elite?" Commander Miranda Keyes asked. "Yes, and I would prefer it if you called me 'Arbiter.' This is the title given to me by the Prophets and I would like you to use it, human," the Arbiter said.
"Well, then. I suppose you'll have to call US by our titles. I'm a Sergeant, and she's a Commander." Johnson said. "Very well… Sergeant," the Arbiter replied. "I will call a Phantom from my ship, and we will return there."
Both Johnson and Keyes were relatively quiet throughout the trip back to the Enamored Glory. The Arbiter looked and saw their sad faces, and asked, "Of what importance is this planet… Earth? That you would be so saddened to hear of its attack by our – or, rather, what were our, forces?"
"Earth's our home planet. Everything we have to live for is there, you split-lipped bastard." Johnson stated simply. The Arbiter grunted. "Fine. We will call any remaining Sangheili ships and depart for your planet. Once there, we will dispose of any filthy Jiralhanae that put up resistance."
The Phantom on which they were traveling slowed as it entered one of the Enamored Glory's hangar bays. Once the Phantom stopped, the party of two humans, one Monitor, six Elites, and four Grunts stepped out onto the purplish-colored floors of the cruiser. After arriving on the ship's bridge, the Arbiter ordered "Osta 'Yalinshri! Contact all Sangheili ships in the system. Tell them to assemble here, over High Charity. Make haste, as we have much to do!" A crimson-armored Elite sitting at a control panel pressed some keys and spoke, sending a message to exactly four hundred sixty-three Covenant ships, all of which began to converge on that historic place.
"So you're no longer allied with those damn dirty apes?" Johnson asked. "That is correct, Sergeant," replied the Arbiter. "In fact, a new name for our collective of Sangheili, Unggoy, and Lekgolo is in order." The Arbiter spoke into a transmitter in front of him – "My brothers, for truly we are now brothers, we have been deceived. The prophets' only will is to propel themselves on the Great Journey, leaving all others behind. We have made alliance with the humans and will proceed to their home planet." The bridge of the Enamored Glory was filled with the roars of thousands of Elites as they uttered their battle cries. "We shall call ourselves, not the Covenant, for they are deceitful and unworthy of such a title, but the Order of Revelation, for with us we bring truth and light to our brethren," the Arbiter continued.
"Arbiter! I am receiving a signal from inside the city. I do not believe it to be hostile, but it is not Sangheili," the crimson Elite said. "Place it on the ship's speakers," replied the Arbiter. All eyes and ears turned toward the strange incoming message…
"Cortana to all UNSC personnel, can anyone hear me? I repeat, Cortana to all UNSC personnel within range, can anyone hear me? Respond over UE Tac-channel A23!"
"Holy shit," Miranda Keyes whispered.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"New contact, unknown classification!" the communication officer shouted to Fleet Admiral Terrence P. Hood. "It isn't one of ours. Take it out." Silence filled the COM room of the GSO (Geosync-Orbital) Super MAC platform Cairo as no less than four Super MAC cannons were trained on the strange new ship that had just appeared over Earth.
"This is Spartan-117. Can anybody hear me, over?" came the crackling voice over the station's radio. "Isolate that signal," Hood ordered. "Master Chief, what are you doing aboard that ship?" he inquired after a slight pause.
"Sir – finishing this fight." With that, John, Spartan-II number 117, picked up the Brute Shot dropped by a Brute he had just killed, loaded a fresh clip of four egg-shaped grenades into it, and boldly bashed down a locked door to his left.
John looked around. He couldn't see any enemies, but he knew there were some nearby. If only Cortana were here, she'd be able to help him out. Get a hold of yourself, John. You left Cortana at High Charity – you did the right thing, the Spartan thought. He turned a corner and immediately pulled back – he had just seen six Jackals coming straight toward his location, squawking animatedly at each other. Their shields were lowered, meaning they suspected nothing. He took advantage of the situation. Waiting until the threat had moved past, he jumped out and swiftly took out the rear three aliens with blows to the head. He picked up their plasma pistols and shields, activating a shield just before the remaining Jackals opened fire on him.
"Chief, you've got two choices. You can stay and try to fight the entire crew of that ship, or get to an escape pod and let us finish off the bastards with a MAC round." John winced as the voice of Admiral Hood clanged in his head just as he killed the last three Jackals with bolts of superheated plasma. "I'll go, you obviously don't want another Prophet landing on Earth," John answered.
"Prophet? On board that ship? Well, that changes everything. Chief, you now have five minutes to get to an escape pod before we blow that ship to hell – whether you're on it or not." "Understood, Admiral," the Chief said. He'd have to move quickly – the escape pods were quite a ways away, and there no doubt would be guards. He grabbed some plasma grenades from at his feet and moved toward the escape pods.
After charging through sixteen Brutes, twenty Drones, and twelve Jackals, John finally reached the escape pods. He picked a particularly promising-looking one and got in. He punched the 'launch' button just in time. As he did so, his HUD's countdown timer hit zero – the MAC guns had fired, and soon the Prophet of Truth would be just an annoying memory. His small escape pod was shaken several times by nearby explosions – Archer missiles, plasma torpedoes, reactors of dying UNSC and Covenant ships, and the occasional Longsword or Seraph, being hit by anti-single-ship weaponry. He then felt the shudder as a MAC round passed within 1500 kilometers of his small craft, heading straight for the Forerunner ship. John didn't even bother to shield his eyes as at least three MAC rounds cleanly impacted the ship, disabled its shields, and tore it apart.
"Serves you right, bastard," John muttered under his breath.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Give me the COM channel that message requested," gasped Keyes, still trying to get a hold of herself. "Commander Miranda Keyes to Cortana. I thought you were with the Chief." "I was," came the reply, "but he left on the same ship as the Prophet of Truth and I asked to stay. I've gathered lots of information about the Covenant."
"Cortana, the Covenant as we know it is no more. The Elites, Grunts, and Hunters are now part of the Order of Revelation – and we've just joined. We will need their help if we're to get to Earth to defeat the Brutes." Keyes stepped back from the control panel, but then quickly stepped forward. "Where are you, Cortana?" "The large building in the center of the city, third floor, southern wing."
Keyes turned to the Arbiter. "Could you spare a team of Elites? We need to go and get that construct." "Certainly, if it is of great importance to you," agreed the Arbiter. "Ylim 'Makatli! Your team is to go to the surface, and extract this human construct. Equip yourselves to deal with the parasite." "Yes, Arbiter," the gold-clad Elite replied, and then bowed. "We shall arm ourselves with the best weapons we have. We will take Carbines and swords to deal with the infestation." The golden Elite contacted his squad of one dozen hardened Elite soldiers, who headed for the Enamored Glory's armory. "Hang on, Goldie – I'm almost immune to the flood. I know more about that AI than any of your best scientists. I'm coming along," barked Johnson. "Very well, Sergeant," the golden Elite said. "Johnson, be careful," Keyes told the man. "Yes ma'am," he growled.
The spec-ops team armed themselves to the teeth with almost any weaponry they could find – Carbines, plasma rifles for sidearms, energy sword, and plasma grenades – then headed for Hangar Bay C32. They jumped into a Phantom, which flared its engines and then accelerated through the hangar's opening doors. A squadron of six Banshee attack fighters escorted the Phantom to the city's surface.
After a smooth five-minute ride, the group of thirteen Elites and one human landed in the middle of a flat, open area, opened the Phantom's loading door, and loaded their weapons. The fourteen soldiers moved toward the entrance of a tunnel seventy yards away, careful to be silent. When they were only twenty yards from the door, a large 'pack' of Infection Form Flood poured from it – and was immediately destroyed by plasma fire. "Yeah, popcorn chicken bitches!" yelled Johnson. "Do not be too confident, Sergeant," Ylim 'Makatli said. There will be more, and they will be armed. "Let 'em come! I'll kick their asses myself!" replied the human as he twiddled with his BR55.
The Elites went through the door first, weapons at the ready. They moved through the darkened, spore-clouded passageways of the dying city of High Charity, covering every angle against a possible Flood attack. After ten minutes of relative quietness, the team reached a small room with two pedestals in the center. "Over here, Sarge!" a cool female voice urged. Johnson looked, and saw a projection of Cortana on the pedestal to his left. "Get me out of here! Gravemind is probing my data banks and I'm running out of time," she added, more insistently. Johnson complied, not even bothering to ask whom this 'Gravemind' might be. He pulled Cortana's chip out of the pedestal and put it in his pocket. "All right, ladies, let's get back to that Phantom," he said, turning to Ylim 'Makatli.
The team set off, back the way they came. After what seemed like an hour, they emerged from the darkened hallways onto the pad they had landed on – and stared in shock. Flood Combat Forms were everywhere, and their Phantom was burning. Ylim 'Makatli surveyed the area and saw one Elite, their pilot, fighting valiantly against six Combat Forms. Eventually, though, he succumbed to sheer numbers and fell to a few rounds from an M9C pistol. Ylim 'Makatli growled and activated his energy sword. His teammates did the same. "By the Prophets…" began one, and then he stopped as he remembered the Prophets were meaningless. Johnson looked up – there were only three Banshees fighting the Flood from the air. That meant that – damn. These damn zombies were powerful. Ylim 'Makatli turned to Johnson. "Sergeant, you fire at them from long range while we get close enough to eliminate the parasite with our blades. May the gods be with you – and us." The gold-clad Elite uttered a fierce battle cry and twelve voices joined him. The Sangheili charged forward and began slicing at the Flood, who nearly scattered at the sudden appearance of this new threat.
Johnson trained his BR55's scope at a distant Combat Form and pulled the trigger. A burst of three rounds sped from the gun and dropped the parasite in its tracks. The Flood screamed in agony, alerting others to Johnson's position. Damn! was the only thing he thought. He continued to fire quickly as several Combat Forms advanced on his position. He fired at what should have been their heads, killing most with only a single shot. One, though, got through his barrage of fire and leaped into the air ready to kill the human – but exploded as an energy blade cut it down. "Thanks, Goldie," Johnson said to Ylim 'Makatli as he wiped Flood guts off his face. "Sergeant, we have disposed of all the parasite. My troops have done well, as have you," the Elite said. "I have contacted the Enamored Glory and they will send two Phantoms, one for us, and a medic team for my wounded. Our pilot is still alive, we will tend to him. It will be a five minute wait until our transports arrive."
"Commander, we should form defensive perimeters around the destroyed Phantom. It appears the parasite is massing on the far platform." A white-armored Elite motioned to a distant platform, and Johnson could see at least two hundred Combat Form Flood gathering – if they got here in less than five minutes, well, the entire squad would be screwed. "Sergeant, can you hit those targets at such a range?" inquired the white Elite. "Of course." It was only one hundred yards, and every good Marine knew the BR55 was accurate to 150 yards, up to 250 in good hands. Johnson jammed a full clip into his rifle and was satisfied to see the ammo counter read '36.' He took aim at an unfortunate enemy and fired round after round until at least seventy Flood combatants lay on the ground. "Impressive marksmanship, human," the white-armored Elite told him. "Thanks, you're not too bad yourself." The two looked at each other and realized that even though their species had a long way to go before they could actually be friends, these two could manage right away.
The Flood began advancing and Elites started opening up with their Carbines, felling row after row of the foul creatures. Their two Phantoms arrived minutes later, and the medics from the first took three wounded Elites onboard. The medical Phantom took off, and one of the three remaining Banshees peeled off to escort it. Suddenly, a rocket shot out of nowhere and destroyed the escort. "What the fuck?" swore Johnson. He turned just in time to see a group of rocket-carrying Combat Forms heading straight toward his group's position. "Hey, aliens! Take out those bastards!" The Elites fired upon the advancing threat as they scrambled aboard their Phantom.
Once all were onboard, the pilot punched the thrusters and they accelerated, unevenly to avoid the rocket fire. Ylim 'Makatli looked down over the pad and saw his remaining two Banshees heroically keeping the Flood busy – and then saw the rocket heading toward the belly of his Phantom. Before he could react, the Phantom's cannons fired at the rocket, miraculously destroying it. The Banshees swerved to avoid more rockets, but one made contact, sending the first aircraft and its pilot to their flaming graves. Ylim 'Makatli bowed his head in reverence as the other Elites did the same.
The final Banshee shot upwards toward the Phantom, turned, fired one more fuel rod cannon round and some main cannon fire, then swooped upwards as it barrel-rolled to avoid a final rocket. "Raise a communication link with the Enamored Glory," Ylim 'Makatli said to the pilot, who complied. "The link is up commander," the pilot said after several seconds. "Enamored Glory! Let me speak with the Arbiter!" The Arbiter replied and the voice was put over the Phantom's speaker system. "What is it, Ylim?" "Arbiter, the parasite destroyed five of our Banshees and their pilots. We should eliminate this accursed infestation by any means necessary." The Arbiter thought in silence before replying, "You are right. Return to the Enamored Glory as soon as possible. Four hundred sixty-three ships are currently arriving over the city. We will commence orbital bombardment and destruction as soon as you are on board."
The two Phantoms arrived inside a hangar bay after a bumpy ride. "All warriors to their posts! We shall begin the bombardment immediately," came the orders over the intercom as klaxons blared. Johnson scrambled out of the Phantom as his Elite comrades sprang to their battle stations. "Thank you, Sergeant. You fought well," Ylim 'Makatli said to him. Johnson smiled and headed toward the bridge. That's one damn tough guy – even for a split-lip, he thought.
He arrived on the bridge after a harrowing elevator ride – it was slow and choppy since most of the ship's power had been diverted to its plasma cannons and plasma torpedo launching mechanisms. Johnson could see though the video monitors hundreds of ships firing volleys of plasma onto the orbiting city's surface and Halo Installation 05, which was in orbit around the city. Sporadic radio transmissions were heard on most ships in the Fleet of Pious Loyalty – transmissions from Order of Brotherhood platoons that were scrambling to avoid the bombardment in their Phantoms and Seraphs.
The bombardment continued for ten minutes, during which sixteen teams arrived in different ships' hangars. After the bombardment was completed, plasma torpedoes were ordered to be fired at the city. The fleet moved away as hundreds of torpedoes streamed toward High Charity, impacting in a blinding flash of bluish light. When the light died away, Miranda Keyes looked. High Charity and Halo Installation 05 were gone – only small chunks of debris remained.
"Well, that sure as hell took care of that," she uttered.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Doctor, we've exited Slipspace," Kelly said to the middle-aged woman on her left. "There's damage to decks four through nine from that last Covenant cruiser and from debris we hit coming out of the jump." "Thank you Kelly, we'll deal with that. Do you have reports on personnel casualties or ammunition?" Doctor Halsey asked. "Ma'am, according to my readouts and reports given just before we left Slipspace, we've got about one hundred Marines ready to fend off any possible boarding threat, and about five hundred security and staff are doing just fine – no significant casualties since before the jump. Our MAC ammunition is seventy-six percent depleted, Archer pods B9 to K4 are empty, the other pods are at eighty percent. Autocannon ammunition is at thirty-four percent."
"Damn," swore Halsey under her breath. The doctor wasn't sure how much more space travel she'd be able to handle, especially in such a bathtub. The Gettysburg was falling apart, having taken a severe beating during the UNSC's defeat over Reach. And the damn ship was practically unarmed. Once the pride of the UNSC Navy, the Gettysburg-class cruiser was aging and was poorly armed, especially for today's cruiser standards. Doctor Halsey was graying, at about sixty years old; she'd been around since way before the Human-Covenant War began. In addition, she'd played the lead role in developing the SPARTAN-II project.
Dr. Halsey approached Kelly's seat at the front of the bridge and looked out of the main window. A large gas planet was blocking most of the view. "Well, Kelly, any idea where the hell we are?" "No, ma'am," the Spartan replied. "This seems to be outside any area the UNSC's probes have mapped. I'm not getting any data from the UNSC's data servers, even though I've tried nearly every planet in this quadrant." Well, of course you wouldn't get a signal – the damn Covenant have destroyed all these planets, she though bitterly. "The ship's navigation systems have absolutely no data and Apollo has no idea what's going on," she continued, motioning to a hologram on a pedestal next to her. "Kelly is correct, Doctor. There's nothing that the UNSC knows about this region of space," Apollo concluded.
"Hang on, Doctor. The ship's equipment is picking up radio chatter. It doesn't seem to be UNSC, though; it's all garbled." Kelly began tapping furiously on her console, hoping to find the source of the odd messages. "There are at least sixty different signal strengths here; it's got to be a whole fleet, not a lone ship. The signals seem to be coming from around this planet."
"All right, then. Let's get ourselves around this planet and find out what's going on," Halsey ordered. "Apollo, warm up the MAC guns and arm half the available Archer pods – oh, and make sure we've got a Shiva ready to fly. I don't want any surprises." "Yes, Doctor. MAC reactors are charging – nine percent, fifteen percent, twenty-three percent… forty-seven seconds to full charge," the AI reported. "We'll be coming 'round this planet in about two minutes," Apollo added.
Two minutes later, all eyes on the bridge were on the windows, looking for what could be around this planet, which Kelly dubbed 'Urectum.' Doctor Halsey had left to check on the status of the Archer missile pods, some of which had somehow not armed – it was thought to be an electrical problem. The planet finally moved aside revealing inky black space. Suddenly a siren blared. "Proximity Alert!" read a screen in front of Kelly. "What the hell is going on here?" demanded the Spartan.
"Ma'am, our FOF transponder is picking up 'F' tags. And those 'F's don't stand for 'friendly.' We seem to have encountered a small Covenant fleet. Seventy-three ships, nine of those are capital." "Doctor Halsey, we've encountered a Covenant fleet. Should we attempt to engage?" asked Kelly, knowing the answer before the question even left her mouth. "NO. Do NOT engage. I'll be on the bridge shortly," came the quick reply.
Doctor Halsey arrived on the bridge in quick fashion and gasped for air as she told Apollo to prepare for a jump back to Reach. The AI complied and calculated the necessary vector. "Uhh, doctor, you should see this," whispered Kelly. "I don't believe it – is that what I think it is?" asked the doctor. "Yup," replied Kelly. "It's a ring-world, I believe John said something about one of these in our last contact. We should mark this location and jump immediately."
"Ma'am, one of those Covie frigates is heading our way," reported a bridge crew member. "Fire the MAC gun once, give 'em a scare," replied Halsey. "Apollo, fire once they're in range, launch a Shiva, and once you've verified contact, make the jump. Set that Shiva to detonate thirty seconds after we jump. And release a probe so we can see what happened to those bastards." "Yes, Doctor," the hologram said. "Oh, and Apollo, mark this location for UNSC mapping. Protocol P235J."
Six seconds later, the Gettysburg shuddered. "MAC round away!" announced the AI. "Shiva released, EMP should severely damage most of the enemy ships. Archer missiles away – probe away – we're jumping in five… four… three… two… one… now." Bluish-green spots appeared around the ship as it jumped away from the hail of fire.
Many crew members turned to one large monitor on the bridge control panel, which was showing grainy footage from the probe. A bright light appeared in the middle of the screen as the MAC round impacted against the Covenant frigate, whose shields had not yet been raised. The super-dense tungsten-ferrous rounds impacted the unshielded metal and tore through several decks – and the Archer missiles impacted on the ship's exposed plasma reactor, causing a large explosion. Another light, brighter now, appeared as the Shiva detonated. The screen went white and flickered, but did not die. The EMP-shielded probe had been placed just outside the blast radius and managed to avoid the worst effects of the nuclear explosion. The blast caught the Covenant ships off guard – many of them hadn't even raised their shields, not expecting an attack. When the screen finally went dark again, the crew onboard the Gettysburg could clearly see the burning wreckage of a large number of ships. "Seventeen enemy vessels destroyed, forty-three severely damaged, doctor," Apollo reported.
"Excellent. Well, all we have to do now is get back to Earth and let the UNSC know about our gift basket," Doctor Halsey told Kelly as the two headed for the cryo-room.
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