Halo: Trial By Fire (AU Fanfiction)

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1

Disclaimer: Microsoft owns the rights to Halo, I do not. This piece of fiction is purely fan-made and in no way endorsed by Microsoft or 343 Industries. I, the author of this story, am gaining no monetary advantage from posting this story on any website on the internet.

Author’s Note: Due to the 7500 character limit posts on Waypoint have, I will have to post each chapter in multiple segments.

Summary: For 180 years, humanity has spread across the stars, colonising with fervent abandon, but now, stretched thin by their own hubris, civil war is erupting across the outer-colonies of the United Earth Government. Threatening to destroy civilisation in one fell swoop, humanity must endure. This is a disaster of their own doing, and shall act as their Trial by Fire.

Prologue – PRIORITY TRANSMISSIONS

Prioritisation: QUANTUM-LOCK
Classification: META-SOL
To: Codename: MATILDA
From: Codename: HAGGIS
Intermediary: EMPIRICAL
Date: 2492.6.28
Subject: Operation: NIMBUS

Artifacts recovered from [REDACTED] have cooperated as [REDACTED] said they would. The [REDACTED] discovered by Codename: CRISIS is not responding to previously used methods. Recommend sending CRISIS’ discoveries to Codename: AGATE for more in-depth study. Decryption of [REDACTED] is still moving slowly. No further progress has been made.

Prioritisation: QUANTUM-ENTAGLEMENT
Classification: OMEGA-SOL
To: Codename: GREAT LORD
From: Codename: SLENDER
Intermediary: TROJAN HORSE
Date: 2492.9.17
Subject: Operation: OORT CLOUD (COALS)

Distrust has expanded across capital. Codename: REP is garnering a larger following. [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] have attempted appeals to Codename: CHANCELLOR. Terminate REP?

Prioritisation: QUANTUM-ENTAGLEMENT
Classification: OMEGA-SOL
To: Codename: SLENDER
From: Codename: GREAT LORD
Intermediary: TROJAN HORSE
Date: 2492.9.18
Subject: Operation: OORT CLOUD (COALS)

Negative. Codename: MATILDA requires status-quo to remain until theorised escalations by [REDACTED] have occurred. Continue current operations.

Prioritisation: QUANTUM-ENTAGLEMENT
Classification: OMEGA-SOL
To: Codename: GREAT LORD
From: Codename: SLENDER
Intermediary: TROJAN HORSE
Date: 2492.10.21
Subject: Operation: OORT CLOUD (COALS)

Have great reason to believe Codename: REP is preparing for OMEGA REFORMATION. Discovered plans of eliminating UNSC personnel and colonial representatives. Highly recommend immediate termination. REP is moving forward faster than anticipated, suspect OMEGA REFORMATION in less than 60 days.

Prioritisation: QUANTUM-ENTAGLEMENT
Classification: OMEGA-SOL
To: Codename: SLENDER
From: Codename: GREAT LORD
Intermediary: TROJAN HORSE
Date: 2492.10.22
Subject: Operation OORT CLOUD (COALS)

Negative. Codename: REP’s recent developments have earned significant attention. Codename: MATILDA wants REP alive. Reason to believe REP is coordinating OMEGA REFORMATION on Codenames: PETTY, EXUBERANCE and ADRIATIC. UNSC frigates Stonehenge and Grand Canyon are being sent for pick-up and clean-up. New orders: sabotage space-capable vessels and long-range communications. Stay low to the ground until Stonehenge’s and Grand Canyon’s arrival.

Prioritisation: QUANTUM-ENTAGLEMENT
Classification: OMEGA-SOL
To: Codename: GREAT LORD
From: Codename: SLENDER
Intermediary: TROJAN HORSE
Date: 2492.10.29
Subject: Operation: OORT CLOUD (COALS)

ALIAS HAS BEEN DISPOSSESSED. OMEGA REFORMATION COMMENCED.

Sabotage of space-capable vessels and long-range interstellar communications successful. Detainment of Codename: REP unsuccessful. Require immediate evac.

Prioritisation: QUANTUM-ENTAGLEMENT
Classification: OMEGA-SOL
To: Codename: SLENDER
From: TROJAN HORSE
Intermediary: HAWKING
Date: 2492.11.1
Subject: Operation: OORT CLOUD (Evacuation)

Stonehenge and Grand Canyon will arrive in system at 2492.11.1 1143. Evac will land at 2492.11.2 0400, at coordinates 34oS 9’ 42.545”, 18oE 24’ 47.109”.

2

Chapter 1 (Part 1) – Nearly According to Plan

Ayers, Far Isle – 2492.11.2 0329 (Military Calendar)

CRACK.

The recoil from Codename: SLENDER’s high-powered SRS99-AM gauss rifle was absorbed by both the systems inside his brand new Mk. II Proserpine power armour and his variety of genetic augmentations that all ONI field agents were administered. His shot had pierced through the dark of Far Isle’s cold, early morning and the helmeted head of one of the close to 700 000 insurrectionists on the isolated outer-colony, currently monitoring a checkpoint station. Ayers, Far Isle’s capital had, by far, the largest concentration of rebels on the entire planet.

As SLENDER looked away from the now motionless body of the Insurrectionist manning the checkpoint proper, once framed a bright red by his armour’s VISR system, he moved his scope towards the second target in the gunner seat of a long obsolete Warthog, blocking a small street just on the outskirts of the city. The armoured figure was looking around frantically with the turret, searching for whoever had brutally ended the life of his comrade. However, he would be unsuccessful in his endeavour as a second round founds its way through his cranium, splattering blood over the Warthog’s back bumper like a careless artist throwing paint over a canvas.

At over five kilometres away, SLENDER, thanks to his innate skill and training in combination with the photo-reflective panels of his armour meant that the only way the inexperienced insurrectionists could see him was if he allowed them.

“Malcolm! Edward and Peter just got shot! -Yoinking!- hell, where are you guys?”

That was the voice of the last target at the checkpoint, crackling through both his own radio and SLENDER’s armour, his old MA2B visibly shaking in his hands as he mimicked the recently deceased. SLENDER put the reticule just above the visor of the bumbling young man and pulled the trigger. The ONI agent didn’t have to wait long to see a sizeable chunk of his target’s head fly off in a spectacular fashion.

With the three insurrectionists at the checkpoint dead, SLENDER shot up from his spot and started moving again. When his cover as a Far Isle colonist deeply involved in the insurrection movement on the planet was somehow blown the same day Harry Rajh overthrew the colony’s planetary government, it nearly turned into the first lynching in over five hundred and fifty years. Luckily, he managed to evade the swarming mass of secessionist maniacs and got out of sight, and now, he was making his way out of Ayers to get picked up by the sister ships Stonehenge and Grand Canyon.

As SLENDER moved from the top of the small building he was residing on onto the ground, he started running silently, being aided immensely by his own suit of armour. As he fell into autopilot traversing the outer sections of the capital, he began thinking how everything on the colony went to hell.

His regular messaging with his superior, Codename: GREAT LORD, director of Operation: OORT CLOUD, had made sure that the higher echelons of ONI had up to date information on the situation on Far Isle, and, along with a net of other agents on a number of outer-colonies all under GREAT LORD’s jurisdiction, ensured that those colonies suspected of insurrectionist activities were under constant surveillance.

When he received his second set of orders, he was frustrated. Harry Rajh posed a very real threat to the stability of human government and civilisation if put in a position of power. He’d exhibited serious psychopathic behaviour and a high, even prodigal intelligence level. ONI, at the behest of one of the powerful representatives of Gaia, had leisurely been monitoring the man ever since he had journeyed to Far Isle eighteen months ago, after being released from the Prison of New Alexandria on Reach; but when general displeasure with the UEG across many of the outer-colonies multiplied on Far Isle seemingly without warning, ONI increased surveillance operations and discovered that Rajh was masterminding the entire upheaval.

That discovery had led to the creation of Operation: OORT CLOUD, and with the express permission and a blank cheque from CINCONI, it spearheaded a war of subterfuge against insurrection movements across UEG space. However, ONI’s dangerous underestimation of Rajh had allowed the violent insurrection on Far Isle to occur in the first place. If it wasn’t for SLENDER’s superior to order him to cut the insurrectionists’ ability to both leave the planet and utilise long-range communications, Rajh’s plan for open rebellion would have most likely spread to other outer-colonies.

In the here and now, SLENDER’s plan was to draw enough insurrectionist forces from the least defended path out of Ayers so he could get out of the city without trouble. Vaulting through the open window of a cheap, portable building and out the other end in just a few seconds, SLENDER headed into an open alley, the wind biting at his armour as he ran as quietly as he could through his hopefully final, tense night on Far Isle.

After about two more minutes in a constant run, the ONI operative found himself perilously close to the checkpoint he had decided to leave Ayers through. As SLENDER waited, near still behind the corner of a building, his VISR automatically labelled eight out of the usual fifteen targets, with one of them in a warthog, sitting next to the turret, lazily swinging his legs on the machine that was blocking the small gap that lead out of the city. Some held themselves in a lackadaisical manner, while others stood vigilant and strong. He could make an educated guess that the ones that seemed to be taking themselves seriously realised that an ONI agent in their midst was actually something to be concerned about, and were on the lookout more so than they would have usually been.

As SLENDER moved inwards, keeping his back firmly planted on the surprisingly dilapidated wall, he checked his own inventory. His SRS99-AM and gauss M6D had more than enough clips to spare, and he quickly reattached the suppressor to his magnum silently after he had taken it off when he was leading the colony on a wild goose chase, he still had three out of his five C12 blocks, as the first one he had used to blow the colony’s long-range communications network sky-high, and the second was used to wipe out a good chunk of insurrectionists to lead them off his trail, and the Proserpine armour itself had only taken cosmetic injuries to its sleek, onyx look, surviving the shots of the antiquated rifles a few of the insurrectionists managed to use.

Removing his suppressed M6D from its magnetic clamps on his right thigh, SLENDER activated the photo-reflective panels on his armour and crept, crouched and slowly moving forward past the wall he was stationed behind and moved upwards towards the checkpoint, remaining on their right flank. Eventually, he crouched behind a totalled civilian car, pushed off to the left side of the road, adjacent to his way out.

Easily compromising the insurrectionists’ communications, SLENDER listened in to the semi-constant chatter between the members of the group, with his VISR automatically highlighting the guards talking in white on both sides of the checkpoint, but when one of the guards mentioned something odd, he listened in, “Why… why do we need to needlessly hang out this far away from the rest of the city? I mean, all the hostages we have are locked up tight right at the centre.”

3

Chapter 1 (Part 2)

The operative frowned beneath his helmet at the man’s statement. He didn’t realise just how far Rajh and a select few others had manipulated the colony. All the UNSC personnel were dead; SLENDER had participated in the private executions himself.

A British female, standing next to the German man answered his question with sizeable incredulity, “Are you daft? Why the -Yoink- do you think Malcolm took seven people to go to the checkpoint further into the city? They’re trying to catch that ONI -Yoink- and lay him down, that’s why, you bloody idiot.”

The German responded with a simple and disheartened “Oh, right… yeah.” SLENDER inwardly chuckled at the exchange.

“And besides,” the woman continued, “would you rather be sitting around, doing absolutely nothing, or out here, and helping?”

German responded with a more invigorated, “Fine, fine!”

Moving from his spot of cover, SLENDER moved up, staying low, and moving slowly, his armour masking any sound he would have made as he came within ten metres of the checkpoint entrance, virtually next to one of the guards that wasn’t taking part in conversation and leaning lethargically with his MA2B hanging at his side on the imposing five metre high wall that surrounded this entire section of the city, and was quickly being expanded across the rest of Ayers.

Holstering his magnum, SLENDER retrieved his combat knife, holding it in his hands with a natural skill as he stood up on the right of the careless checkpoint guard. With surgical precision, he stabbed the knife through the less-protected under suit that covered his target’s neck, pulling it across the length of it, immediately transforming whatever sound the guard might have made to a bubbling gurgle that emanated from within the armour’s helmet. As blood shot out of the corpse’s neck, SLENDER grabbed the body before it could hit the ground and pulled it back to his cover behind the car. Laying the dead guard down softly, he peeked back over his cover in slight trepidation: everything was as it was.

The entire ordeal had happened in just a moment.

The night-vision that came with the VISR system allowed SLENDER to fully take note of the surrounding environment, interrupted only by the vibrant and clarifying red that outlined the insurrectionists, that unknowingly, and annoyingly, blocked his path to freedom. There were now six guards left: one on the warthog, three on the far side, and two on his side. He couldn’t deal with them one by one, it was too open, and they were densely packed together. He couldn’t sneak past them, the warthog blocked the exit well, and he couldn’t just go over the wall, it was simply too tall for his near two metre height, and he couldn’t jump over it from a building, as any building remotely close to it had been removed. He needed to create a distraction before the other insurrectionists returned from checking up on their dead friends.

Yet it seemed, to SLENDER, that lady luck had smiled upon him as the voice of a Canadian man, Malcolm, he presumed blasted onto the radio, “Élise, bring Walpert, Osiris and Xander, we have a problem.”

“Got it.” The slightly French and slightly Italian accent of the woman called Élise was quick and sharp.

Besides the complaining from one of the guards as the four started walking away from the checkpoint, there was silence beyond the usual chatter. SLENDER had been given an ample way out, and he wasn’t willing to look a gift horse in the mouth. Moving from his cover behind the car once again, the nearly invisible operative found that both of the guards directly in front of him, and two other on the far side had gone with the second call. With only a single insurrectionist and the gunner between him and getting off of Far Isle, SLENDER had a plan.

Pulling his suppressed, yet still high-powered M6D from its magnetic clamps, SLENDER moved up, back along the same portion of wall he had killed a man just over a minute ago. As he inched closer and closer towards the towering bulk of the warthog, with his VISR perfectly outlining his targets, he aimed the pistol directly at the head of the leg-swinging insurrectionist on the warthog.

SLENDER pulled the trigger, the round instantaneously embedding into the skull of the man, the force of the shot pushing him onto the bed of the back of the warthog. Before the other guard could react to the noise of her comrade’s death, SLENDER turned towards her, pulled the trigger once, heard a silent shot, and watched his target drop, and all the while, he remained completely silent, and virtually invisible to the world.

As the zealous red highlighting the corpses dissipated to nothing as SLENDER became the only living thing, he slithered his magnum back onto his right thigh and jumped over the now harmless warthog, landing outside the walls of Ayers. Checking the planet’s local time, he realised he had less than ten minutes to make it to the evac point outside the city. The place the pelican was picking him up was landing twenty kilometres north-north-east of the isolating, city-wide wall, hidden in an outcropping surrounded by a severely rocky environment, blocking the view of the landing zone from the city.

For the first few kilometres outside Ayers, it was flat and dry; there were very little living things in the orange desert reminiscent of the Australian outback. SLENDER started running across it, making an iota of noise as he kicked up the dirt underneath his boots, coating his armoured soles with a fine orange finish. Running slightly slower than an Olympic sprinter, he set a waypoint at the exact coordinates he’d been given by Trojan, the blue marker slowly counting down as he continued to run, eventually coming upon the jutting rocks familiar to most of Far Isle.

Slowing down and disabling his photo reflective panelling, SLENDER began snaking meticulously between the rocks, staying low and watching his step as his waypoint grew ever closer to gifting him his freedom. He checked the time once again: 0355.

Speeding up as he jumped across a large swath of sharp rock that looked like the top of a demonic hedgehog, he contacted the Grand Canyon for the first time since leaving Ayers, “Grand Canyon, this is SLENDER, I’m currently thirteen kilometres from the evac point. Behind schedule, copy?”

“SLENDER, this is Tsar, message received. Pickup cannot land any later than 0405. Magnes is being prepared.”

Magnes, SLENDER noted dimly, was UNSC code for a MAC strike against a planetary-based target: the second part of ‘pick-up and clean-up’. Orbital bombardment of enemy targets was far less costly in terms of both money and manpower compared to attempting the apprehension and conviction of nearly three-quarter of a million people. The MAC strikes were used to wipe out the majority of enemy forces, and depending on the initial size of the enemy force, either small groups of ODST squads were sent to surgically remove the problem, or marine battalions backed by heavy armour to blitz the still dazed and confused target. In this case, the blitz was what was being used.

“Affirmative.” SLENDER’s Irish accent stayed mostly emotionless as he responded to Grand Canyon’s shipboard A.I, which he imagined was currently commandeered by ONI.

As SLENDER continued to vault across the dangerous stone of Far Isle’s untamed, dead wilderness, his waypoint read a tantalising ‘8km’.

Not far now until I get off this rock.

4

Chapter 1 (Part 3)

When SLENDER came across the outcropping that was housing his evac, it had already turned past the five minute mark, and the pelican was there, most likely impatiently waiting for his footfall on the metallic floor of the mechanical beast that was the drop ship. Before he left the relative safety of the rocks, he activated his panelling once again, putting it to full power as he began striding towards the pelican’s expansive bay. He called it a precautionary measure.

The second SLENDER put his boot on the flexible lip of the pelican bay, a large bang charged through the thoroughly silent night and ripped through his left leg, brutally punishing the armour plating and mutilating the tendons and muscle of the leg inside of it, veritably pummelling out the other side while splintering and cracking the bone with explosive force.

Immediately reacting, SLENDER screamed in excruciating and white hot pain as he fell to the floor of the pelican, shouting to the pilot in a near incoherent fashion, “Close the bay doors! Now!”

The pilot didn’t need to be told by SLENDER - as soon as the shot rang out, he activated the emergency override, temporarily allocating the drop ship’s dumb A.I. to the back burner and manually closed the bay doors far faster than normal, putting extraneous pressure on the ship’s mechanical systems as it groaned in frustration. Yet before they fully closed, another figure, clad in a full suit of Anhur power armour stepped in.

Flipping around, SLENDER, fuelled by adrenaline and pain killers administered by his Proserpine armour, with incredible speed removed his magnum from its magnetic clamp and began firing directly at the figure’s centre mass, going for the kill.

The man that SLENDER assumed had shot him wasn’t expecting such a quick reaction, even then, as soon as SLENDER began shooting, he charged the prone man, only being shot in the stomach once. Hitting the pistol out of his grip, he balled his right hand into a fist and slammed it down onto the visor of SLENDER’s armour, creating a hairline crack.

Augmented.

As the man went in for another, hard punch, SLENDER grabbed his arm and twisted. Even in the armour, SLENDER’S superior Proserpine and augmentations overpowered the other man, and as he heard the sharp crack of the man’s arm and an involuntary whimper of pain, he brought his one good leg up and slammed it into the stomach wound, pushing him forcefully back into the now closed bay doors of the pelican.

As the armour-clad man slowly stood up, clutching his stinging wound, the pilot of the pelican stepped out of the cockpit with a shotgun in hand, aimed directly at the head of SLENDER’s attacker.

“Grab your pistol.” The pilot’s voice was young, yet tense, for good reason.

Doing as the pilot said, the seriously injured SLENDER grabbed his pistol and stood up. His armour had systems in place that administered pain killers and temporary field medication to any wounds the wearer suffered, and now, he could put weight on his mutilated left leg without passing out from the sheer pain of it all.

With the weaponry of the fully armoured ONI personnel trained on the head of their intruder, he didn’t dare make a move. All three were trapped in the relatively small confines of the pelican’s drop bay. If he tried anything, his head would cease to exist in the span of a single second.

“Who are you?” SLENDER’s voice was strained, but tried his best to make it keep its edge.

“Someone who ONI’s a fan of, to say the least.” SLENDER knew who it was immediately. The Indian accent, with a slight sting of South-East Asian was utterly familiar.

Harry Rajh, a psychopath from New Carthage stood in front of the two ONI personnel, clutching his stomach as a steady river of blood flowed out of the cracks of his fingers right to the ground. Without pause, SLENDER began shooting Rajh in the left knee, decimating the plating as four shots in quick succession burrowed through and decimated the flesh and bone inside.

Comeuppance.

As Rajh crumpled to the floor, shambling to suppress the brutal wound, the pilot moved up and smacked him across the visor, nearly shattering it from the force, rattling his head inside the helmet, and plunging the rebel into unconsciousness. With the threat promptly, though temporarily removed, SLENDER grabbed an aid kit from below the pelican’s bolted down seats and opened it, pulling out the biofoam canister and slipping it deep into the visceral wound in his leg. The biofoam helped secure and seal the injury, but without the proper medical facilities available on top-of-the-line ships like the Grand Canyon and Stonehenge, the sheer severity of his wound would eventually claim his life.

As SLENDER set about repairing himself, the pilot of the pelican secured Rajh on a seat opposite the ONI operative, locking his hands and feet to it then placing the combat harness over him. With the insurrectionist fully imprisoned, the pilot removed the man’s helmet, revealing a surprisingly soft face that did well to show off his Indian ancestry, yet was now slumped against his chest plate as he floated throughout unconsciousness.

With that done, the pilot grabbed the first aid kit underneath the seat, removed the biofoam, and, without a modicum of finesse, slammed it into the bloody pulp that was once Harry Rajh’s knee, making sure that it placated the blood loss, yet at the same time causing more than an iota of pain. SLENDER marvelled at the exchange.

With that done, the pilot stood up and strode quickly back to the cockpit of the pelican, opening the door and sitting down in the pilot’s seat, “Keep an eye on the -Yoink-. Make sure he doesn’t-“

Another boom rang out; this time muffled by the metallic confines of the pelican. SLENDER looked towards the cockpit of the drop ship, and found that the head of the pilot was splattered across the entirety of one side of the compartment, his body slumped down on the main console, crimson blood vandalising the pristine, holographic blue.

SLENDER was befuddled – that was the sound of a rifle, no doubt, but to have the ability to penetrate military-grade, vacuum-approved glass used on the observation decks of starships? The only infantry weapon that even came close to doing such a thing was his own Anti-Materiel gauss rifle, but even then, it wasn’t made to go through the kind of material it just did, for obvious reasons. So, as SLENDER crouched down and took out his rifle, one thought ran through his mind.

This just got a lot more interesting.

Proserpine Power Armour: http://imgur.com/KV0kis3

Anhur Power Armour: http://imgur.com/vRlcYLZ

5

Overly harsh review time!

I actually kinda liked this. Fairly well written, about something that hadn’t really been covered that much. Sole complaint is that Slender’s reaction to someone getting their brain splattered against the wall is, “Huh, things just interesting.” Like, the guy just saved his life twice in two minutes, not even an, “Unfortunate.”? I guess it’s meant to show his character; cynical and jaded, but it just makes him come off as a bit of an -Yoink-. Other than that? Pretty good. Well written, gets straight into the narrative. Looking forward to part 4.

6

> 2533274875814858;5:
> Overly harsh review time!
>
> I actually kinda liked this. Fairly well written, about something that hadn’t really been covered that much. Sole complaint is that Slender’s reaction to someone getting their brain splattered against the wall is, “Huh, things just interesting.” Like, the guy just saved his life twice in two minutes, not even an, “Unfortunate.”? I guess it’s meant to show his character; cynical and jaded, but it just makes him come off as a bit of an -Yoink-. Other than that? Pretty good. Well written, gets straight into the narrative. Looking forward to part 4.

My explanation for Slender’s detachment to the pilot’s death is because he’s still in the middle of a combat situation, severely injured, and virtually in the line of sight of a sniper he has yet to identify the location of yet - he can’t take the time to dwell on the death of his comrade, he actively suppresses his remorse in order to still effectively perform in the field.

For added clarity, Slender is one of ONI’s top field agents: he knows what he’s doing.

7

Chapter 2.1 – Haley Reed

Gregarin, Theresa – 2492.10.22 0633 (Military Calendar)

Theresa was a beautiful planet, a utopia if one were to ever exist. Deep in the heart of humanity’s corner of the Milky Way, it stood at fourteen billion people, growing every year since its conception nearly 180 years ago. Today was a Wednesday, and the bustling businesses of the multi-trillion Sol corporations were constantly flooded with a sea of suits that made a comfortable living working in the gigantic machine that was the interstellar economy.

The monolithic Laika Space Elevator that towered above all others stood directly in the centre of Theresa’s capital of Gregarin, shuffling both cargo and personnel to the Sputnik Orbital Station in geostationary orbit that ferried between civilian and military ships that constantly jumped to and fro across the inner and outer-colonies. Theresa was forever in a state of efficient schizophrenia – shifting between amalgamations of leisure and business, and a lot of the times, in between.

Now, in the early hours of the morning in the gargantuan planetary capital, Haley Reed, an ODST holding the rank of 1st lieutenant was making her way to the Laika elevator, where her ticket off world was waiting. Her leave was over, and she had been requested to command an ODST platoon aboard the UNSC Stonehenge, one half of the flexible Taskforce Neptune. She hadn’t been told what job Neptune had been commissioned for, and the security of the whole operation was tight – ONI tight; but, orders were orders, and she couldn’t exactly refuse without being heavily reprimanded for insubordination.

Having woken up at 0600, and having packed the night before, she was already on her way to the space elevator, sitting quietly amongst the rest of the rabble in one of the many grav-trains that weaved through the imposing skyscrapers that dominated the city centre of Gregarin. Haley sat straight in the packed carriage, gazing out at the conglomerated horizon, the sun rising in a calm contrast to the rest of the planet.

She ran her fingers through her raven-coloured hair that danced in a pixie cut, ruffling it slightly as sharp rays of light, speeding to her from a million miles away played off it, giving it a golden gleam, not dissimilar to the petals of a healthy sunflower. Haley’s eyes were, at first glance, a semi-muted grey, but upon closer inspection, one would find that specks of blue floated at the outskirts of the iris, and a shade of blue-green shadowed the grey at the centre. A small outcropping of light freckles tickled the edges of her cheeks and forehead, pronounced by her slightly pale skin, a sign of her mixed Irish and Swedish heritage.

As the train came to its next stop outside the base of the Laika space elevator, Haley stood up, coming to her full height just above two metres tall, towering above the rest of the passengers that dawdled out with her – her height revealed her military background – augmentations, both genetic and technologic were given to all military personnel, and for an ODST such as herself, her augmentations were more extreme than others. While her muscles couldn’t be called lightly defined, they still betrayed the true strength they allowed her.

Haley walked quickly, unencumbered by the light luggage of valuables she had deigned to take with her out to the darkness of space – they had already been packed into the cargo area that would ascend with the tram carrying her and however many other’s finding their travels taking them off Theresa. The Laika space elevator, being the best of its kind meant that it had features many of its siblings envied it for: a twin tram system, speeds unrivalled by even Reach’s and a myriad of other advantages it proudly displayed. While the space elevator was a quick way to leave the planet, the many spaceports dotted around the outskirts of Gregarin and all of Theresa allowed for people to enjoy a more lavish experience – it was true that the space elevator was faster, due to its efficiency, but, in comparison to the spaceports, it had minuscule amounts of space available. Therefore, it was almost exclusively used by the UNSC, transporting a multitude of valuable materials and personnel.

As Haley entered Laika’s expansive foyer, a thrush of skittering ants, masquerading as human beings in a variance of colours worked in tandem with one another, operating tirelessly in the name of their queen. Ones with emblems of an eagle standing atop the earth mixed and matched with each other, running through their own tunnels, performing their duties with a meticulous precision, and others with emblems of a pyramid, framing a circle of shadowed blackness. Haley walked amongst the hivemind, making her way to the back of the colony, flashing her credentials to the automated system, headed by the dumb A.I. that did its duty much like the rest of the workers.

“Credentials confirmed. Welcome to the Laika space elevator 1st Lieutenant Haley Reed.” The synthesised and slightly camp voice of Stardust resonated outwards from the station that Haley stood in front of, patiently.

With her identity confirmed, Haley found her way through a cramped hallway, pushing passed those carrying however many Sols worth of goods back and forth between the endlessness of space and the finite plane of Theresa. Finally making it out with her life intact, she listened to her boots thumping against the polished tiles of the well-kept Laika, observing the large military crowds standing in tiring queues, lounging in comfortable hard seats, socialising without a care and jumping from spot to spot, doing their best to keep the efficiency Laika was known for. She joined the seated.

As Haley sat, she peeked at the time – it read ten to seven. That meant ten minutes of waiting. She looked to her left wrist, where the holographic interface of her holopad suddenly appeared, glowing a light blue and awaiting her prompt. She smiled slightly at the background picture of her and her half-brother, Samson. Looking towards the icon titled ‘news’, it opened, and the main story from last week appeared in big, block letters.

New Protests across Outer-Colonies Snowballing.

Quickly stopping a refresh of the page, Haley’s brow creased as she read it – from the news snippets she had seen over the past few months, the outer-colonies were becoming placated as the UNSC directed more resources and money from the inner-colonies; after all, that’s why the protests had begun in the first place: they simply weren’t getting what was necessary to survive. Interested by what had changed, she opened the article.

Today, protests across a select few outer-colonies, the most prominent being Far Isle, have re-emerged in an immense fashion. However, these protests haven’t been following the same line as the ones before it. Mass callings for a full secession from the UEG are swaying the residents of a number of outer-colonies.

A full secession… Haley thought, why?

On Far Isle, Harry Rajh, an ex-convict from New Carthage, the leader of these protests has said that, “The UEG has shown that they are too incompetent of leaders to successfully guide humanity in the galaxy. Their forgetting of those in the outer-colonies is proof of this and their re-allocation of resources is irrelevant. Much like how the human body must drink water to stay hydrated, when you get thirsty, you have already failed. We want responsibility for ourselves because it is obvious that the UEG can’t be responsible for us.”

8

(Part 2)

Haley found herself incredulous; the hypocrisy of this Harry Rajh was blindingly obvious, but she read on, regardless.

UEG representatives across many of the outer-colonies have publicly criticised Rajh for this statement. His criminal background and childhood spent living on an inner-colony has meant that the majority of the outer-colonies have rejected Rajh’s call for a peaceful, secessionist movement. Vincent Freeman, one of the representatives of Bradman said in a press conference two days ago that “Rajh’s movement is nothing but a selfish ploy for power. He has already been convicted on charges of fraud and extortion in the past, and, during his time in prison, showed numerous symptoms of psychopathy. He is a dangerous man.”

The UEG representatives of Far Isle, Armin Bauer and Ulrika Colak, have not been available for questioning.

There was a link to the rest of the story, but Haley rejected the idea. Closing the tab with a blink of her eyes, she shut down her ‘pad and leant her head back over the seat, letting her eyelids slide and block the world from her view. She was calm as she waited, drifting over armchair philosophy about the universe before settling in to comfortable thoughts about her enlistment.

She was 32 now, still young in the eyes of most, and had been part of the UNSC Defence Force for thirteen years. Her initial augmentation procedures were still very clear in her mind’s eye – an hour of lying down on a hard and impersonal slab of metal as meticulous and molecularly precise machines altered her body. She had performed above the interstellar average in nearly all fields at the military academy of Mohács, and, after spending time in the quite large defence garrison on Reach, had passed the field and academic tests necessary to join the ODST program. Now, after the augmentations she received as part of joining the ODST’s, she could beat down a civilian heavy-weight champion boxer in three seconds flat. Of course, that wasn’t anything new, there was a reason the categorisation of civilian and military sporting and academic competitions came about in the first place.

“The 0700 personnel and cargo departure to Sputnik is ready for boarding.” Haley checked synthesised and camp off her list as Stardust’s voice resonated across the antechamber to boarding proper.

Opening her eyes and standing up, Haley made her way to the now fast moving queue, having to wait no longer than thirty seconds until she flashed her credentials, appearing on her ‘pad for a split second as Stardust authenticated the holographic identification in a timeframe far shorter than what she could perceive, even with her own augmentations.

Going with the herd, Haley found her way into the tram car of the space elevator as she followed the word of those who worked the systems. Finding her seat and smiling lightly at the fact it was much more luxurious than the previous one, she deposited herself down and looked out the window in front of her seat, gazing out at metallic constructs, darkened by the over-compensating shadow of Laika. The tram was set up in a column pattern: four columns of double sided seats in perfect symmetry with one another sat there, immaculate as the squishy bodies of human beings deigned to ruin their pristine look.

“The 0700 personnel and cargo departure to Sputnik is beginning its ascent.”

As Stardust made the announcement, a deep yet wholly unthreatening rumbling made its way through the base of the elevator, signalling the activation of its ascension relay. The few still not in their seats did as they were told, and the tram began its initially slow climb upwards into Theresa’s orbit. As the curvature of the planet became apparent, and the signal for staying in the seats dinged off, a man, who Haley guessed was at least 70 years old, judging by the modest amount of wrinkles that adorned his facial features, sat next to the vacant seat on her right. As he turned to her, she took note of the rough, grey stubble that framed his jaw and coalesced with the remaining hairs around his mouth. His eyes were a flaky gold that reminded her of stars she had looked upon in ships, and his hair was sculpted in an inconspicuous manner with black and grey battling for supremacy. His clothing was much the same as hers: the standard, onyx UNSC fatigues.

“Hey, Imran Bonkoski.” His accent was western European, Polish, she thought, and it held a gravelly undertone to it as he jutted his hand towards her.

“Haley Reed.” She responded with her predominately Irish accent with slight whispers of Swedish here and there that carried a lighter tone in comparison, and took the proffered hand in a firm grip.

“You’re headed off to the Stonehenge?”

“Aye, that I am. I’m ah 1st lieutenant, headin’ one of the ODST platoons under the command of Captain Takashi.” Haley placed her right arm over the back of her seat and got comfortable as she moved more of her body towards Imran. He looked welcoming, the wrinkles, she realised, were from smiling, and she decided on a positive first impression of the man.

“Sergeant myself, part of the 19th Marine Division. Our battalion, the 7th, will be stationed on the Stonehenge for whatever we’ve been assigned for. Say, do you know what’s going on with this deployment?”

Haley shook her head, “No idea. I was told only ah few days ago that I was joining the Stonehenge’s crew. But, I’m familiar with ONI operations, and this is definitely something of their doin’.”

Imran placed his elbows on his knees and dug his hands into his stubble as he leant forward, wandering through his own mind for just a moment before looking back to Haley, who had moved herself back in line with her seat and was looking through her 'pad, “So, if this is ONI, what kind of operation would need two frigates worth of soldiers and heavy armour?”

Looking up from her 'pad, an inquisitive look came over Haley’s face as she creased her brow in thought, “I honestly don’t know, it might be that ah colony’s thrown a tantrum, might be an alien invasion,” she said that part with obvious sarcasm, “but other than that, I really couldn’t say.”

Imran let out a deep ‘hmm’ as he sat back in his chair, letting Haley return to her 'pad. By now, space had long since welcomed the tram, and its speed had become an impressive number as it accelerated up the elevator. Sputnik wasn’t far off, and if one were to look out the window, they would find that this particular region of Theresa’s orbit was nearly filled to the brim by a very real mirage of ships of all different shapes and sizes. The UNSC Superior dominated all others, standing at a vast two-and-a-half kilometres in length, but even then, Sputnik, with its ten kilometre diameter shadowed even it - ‘supercarrier’ was the Superior’s official designation, and it, and its brethren were only beaten from the top spot by the UNSC Sol’s Infinite Flame, the five-kilometre flagship of the UNSC itself.

9

(Part 3)

As the tram slowed to a stop, and the inside of the Sputnik orbital station appeared, Haley stood up, nodded to Imran and began walking for the tram door, while the Polish man took his time, stretching to his full two-metre and fifteen-centimetre height for a few seconds, and letting out a small sigh as he caught back up with the half Scandinavian, both walking out the tram door and onto the smooth floor of Sputnik together.

The twin soldiers knew where the boarding station for the Stonehenge was, and after going through security to head into Sputnik proper, they journeyed together towards the relatively small bay, 7C, used only for pelican and albatross transits. The huge, main atrium of Sputnik, with a kilometre long digital view of Gaia, Theresa’s star on the ceiling was a testament to humanity’s advancement into the galaxy.

As the two walked amongst the bustling hall, Imran struck up conversation, “So, where’re we from, then?”

Haley looked to the taller man and responded, “Mars, family moved there about ah century ago, bloody great place, if I do say so mahself. You?”

“Reach, born and raised. We lived in Manassas; parents weren’t military, though. Moved to Quezon after I left home, joined the UNSC Defence Force soon after… I was bored, I guess.” Imran shrugged nonchalantly as the pair found their way out of the constantly shape-shifting crowd of Sputnik and into bay 7C, where unmanned heavy-lifter cyclops mechs, painted gunmetal grey carried tens of tonnes of equipment, used on both Sputnik and a myriad of ships.

Among the five metre tall mechs, pelicans and albatross’ flowed in and out of the station, taking personnel to both the Stonehenge and the Grand Canyon, in preparation for their slipspace journey. Being directed by an indifferent Sputnik worker, Haley and Imran took their place inside the bay of a pelican along with thirteen other marines and crewmen.

As the fifteen augmented men and women began chatting with one another, their pelican activated its thrusters and flew out of 7C, accelerating to hypersonic speeds in the cold vacuum of space. Sooner, rather than later, the pelican, ultimately dwarfed by the 490 metre long Charon-class light frigate that was the Stonehenge landed softly in its distended hangar, opening its back doors, and allowing its sentient cargo to leave its confines and pour into the belly of its much larger counterpart.

As Haley walked out of the hangar towards the crew quarters, she turned to Imran and smiled, “Time to get to work.”