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Chapter Text

0840 HOURS, APRIL 23, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /

UNSC VESSEL  DUSK , EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM

The UNSC prowler Dusk had seen more than her fair share of war.

The only ship of its class to belong to - and be manned by - the UNSC Navy, she was often given some of the most grueling assignments of any ship in the Prowler Corps. To the UNSC, the Dusk was known as the ship that not only survived but recorded the Covenant's Great Schism. She was known for being the sole survivor of Admiral Patterson's Battle Group Omicron, which near the end of the Human-Covenant war had done the impossible and destroyed an enemy fleet more than twice its size. Finally, the Dusk was known for having discovered the first Forerunner shield world - the site that would eventually be given the name Trevelyan. The Dusk - and her crew - was renowned as a good luck charm to UNSC fleets, having seen and survived some of the worst battles in known history.

Seen from the outside, the Dusk was the very personification of the blood, sweat, and blind luck that had seen humanity through its decades-long war against the Covenant. Seen from the inside, however, short observation provided ample evidence that luck had nothing to do with the Dusk's reputation for success.

Captain Richard Lash - the man who had served first as engineer, executive officer, and finally captain of the prowler - was known throughout the Prowler Corps as an officer who put the mission and the well-being of those under his command above anything else. He led like a friend, and with the tactical mind of an admiral. Executive Officer Julian Waters issued orders with the force of a drill sergeant and, though the grueling XO would never admit to the rumors of his having "gone soft", he saw the younger officers under his command as his own children. Lieutenant Commander Bethany Durruno manned her post as the navigation officer almost as efficiently as an AI, and faster than any other operator in the Prowler Corps. Lieutenant Commander Joe Yang, serving at the sensor station, had trained himself to the point of being a leading expert in recognition and interception of foreign transmissions. Finally, Chief Engineer Mateus Freitas, who had been personally trained by his predecessor Xaing Cho, had integrated himself so fluidly into this well-ordered team that it was almost as if he had always been there.

Several members of this bridge crew should have, by all rights, accepted promotions that would have furthered their careers – serving as executive officers or even captain of other ships in the fleet. Instead, each of them refused promotions and transfers, feeling as though the Dusk was as much a part of their crew as any other. This efficiency, matched with the stubborn solidarity, was what drew the attention of the Dusk's current passengers.

In the days that he had observed the crew, Lieutenant Junior Grade Frederic-104 had come to admit that he felt as though he almost knew them in certain ways. They knew each other and their ship inside and out. They each had roles to fill in their team, and they worked off of each other fluidly. It reminded him of the synchronization of his own team.

That realization came to the lieutenant as he stood among his team on the bridge of the Dusk, awaiting a mission debriefing Captain Lash. The bridge of the prowler was cramped under the best circumstances, even operating with a skeleton crew. The addition of four large, heavily armored bodies tended to fill up a space pretty quickly in the small confines of any UNSC vessel - which rang even more true on the ships of the Prowler Corps.

Captain Lash paced before Blue Team with the efficient air of a warrior. Despite the permanent worry lines etched into his face and the omnipresent bags that hung heavy below his eyes, the captain left no concern that he was "losing his edge." To the contrary; though tired, he appeared to the Spartans much the same as the leader of a wolf pack - cunning, loyal, and deadly. If Fred were a betting man, he would have placed a healthy wager that every person near him, from the lieutenant manning the sensor station to the Spartans on either side of him, had been carried the oppressive weight of war far longer than anyone could possibly expect them to.

But when it came to the survival of the human race, sacrifices were expected from all.

"Spartans," Lash cut into the lieutenant's introspection. "I know you've been kept in the dark on this operation. This has been, as I'm sure you're used to hearing by now, in order to protect operational security." As much as Fred hated being left out of the loop, he had to admit that in light of the Artificial Intelligence that they faced, the less opportunity for information to leak out the better. The captain drew him once more from his reverie as he declared, "That said, it's time we caught you up." Lash tapped a button on the side of the holographic display near his command chair, and the image of a star map appeared.

"Operating in this system is a team of ONI agents working on some sort of top-secret program that not even I have been fully read in on. Suffice it to say, it's important. Your mission is one of three parts – exfiltration of the ONI team, determining the exact status of the planetary defenses, and - "

"Captain," the Spartans' de facto leader, John-117, interjected. "All due respect, I was under the assumption that the Guardians were all accounted for, operating in more populated sectors."

"So were we, Master Chief." Lash responded. "Up until five days ago, we believed this system had been all but overlooked by the Created. Then we received a highly encrypted message that detailed a planetary invasion by Created forces, including an occupying force of Promethean warriors. This is, in fact, why Blue Team was chosen for this mission. According to our intel, the team on the ground was reporting that they had nearly completed development of a device that can cloak small transports from Created sensors – enough to get a Pelican off the ground and back to the Dusk undetected. If something like that could be expanded to a frigate, the Infinity, or even an entire fleet . . . I'm sure I don't need to explain to you why the higher echelon of what's left of the UNSC wants it brought home."

"Sir, how could a transmission have been sent from a Created-occupied planet to our forces without being detected?" This time the team's runner, Kelly-087, spoke up.

"That's where the third part of your mission comes into play. Whoever sent that transmission must be extremely gifted at communication, know something we don't about how the Created track our long-distance comms, or is laying a trap. If option number three holds out, you have the unenviable position of being the ones to spring that trap." The captain tapped another button on the side of the display, and the star map quickly zoomed in on a single planet in the system, then enhanced even further until it was centralized on just one landmass. Two small points illuminated on that continent. "For this mission you'll be splitting into two groups. Here," the captain pointed to one of the points, "is the last known location of our ONI operatives. The first team will locate these scientists along with whatever it is they've rigged up and find transport off-world.

"The second team," the captain's pointed finger now shifted to the second area, "will be finding our whistle-blower, determining whether they're a friend or a foe, and then dealing with them accordingly. If they're friendly, we could really use their help. If not . . . you'll have to do what you do best in these situations." Lash turned away from his monitor to address the Spartans directly. "Engineering has managed to rig a couple of drop pod chambers in the hanger of the Dusk. You'll be launched from as high an orbit as we can get away with, and we'll just have to keep our fingers crossed that the AI haven't discovered a way to identify our cloaked ship. If everything works as well as it is supposed to, you should be able to accomplish this mission in a matter of hours. In any case, you'll be afforded a 72-hour window after your launch to fulfill your mission parameters and return to orbit, where you'll re-dock with the Dusk and together we'll make for less troubled waters." The captain fell silent and moved his gaze to the face of each Spartan one-by-one, staring them in the eye. When he finished his inspection - presumably finding whatever it was he was looking for in the soldiers before him, he asked, "Any questions?"

None of the Spartans spoke up. It was unusual for a captain to allow them the opportunity to questions orders as it was, but for the moment the mission seemed straightforward. After a moment's awkward silence, Lash snapped to attention. "Very well. In the hangar are prepared schematics and time-frames for the two drop points. We'll be moving into high orbit over Ballast in thirty minutes, get everything in order."

At that, Fred was suddenly taken aback.

Ballast.

A name he had heard a hundred times before, but had recently developed new meaning to him. A planet colonized relatively recently, Ballast was an anomaly in human-controlled space. Having originally been developed for its rich potential for agriculture, the planet had also become a popular tourist attraction for those wealthy enough to afford inter-planetary travel. Being as it was, Ballast was sparsely populated, with the majority of its inhabitants being the less-wealthy farm owners that served as the backbone of the planet's economy.

Additionally, Ballast was the home world of a family by the name of Ellsworth; mother, father, and five children – the oldest of which was a young boy who had died at the age of seven. Ballast was the starting point of a life that was never lived. One that was replaced by decades of relentless war.

Ballast was where Frederic-104 was born.

Fred came to himself when he noticed the Master Chief turning on his heel and moving out toward the door - no doubt heading for the hangar. With a quick salute to the ship's captain, Fred moved in line. The lieutenant couldn't help but notice from his peripherals that Kelly, standing to his left, had her head tilted just slightly toward him when they turned to make their exits - most likely gauging his reaction to hearing the name of his birthplace. When the Spartans' origins were declassified Fred had let all of his teammates read his file, just as had read theirs. Undoubtedly they would all be worried about him, but Kelly was always the only one willing to voice the concern, whereas Linda and John both seemed entirely unsure of how to address such issues. Not that Fred minded their aversion to such a discussion; Frederic-104 was good at a lot of things – emotions were not on that list.

An uncomfortable silence filled the corridor as the four super soldiers marched towards the prowler's hangar. They walked in pairs, John and Linda in front and Kelly and Fred in back. Usually one of them, either Kelly or himself, would fill the noise with a mindless joke or anecdote. This time, the three others let silence fall heavy over the team. The knowledge that they were doing so out of some worry for Fred weighed on his shoulders like an elephant.

Fred felt Kelly's hand bump into his own as they walked. Such a touch might have been inconsequential, or even have gone unnoticed, by others, but between Spartans it took an immensely deeper meaning. When he looked at her, he met an unspoken question in her eyes as she unabashedly stared directly back into his own.

With a wink the lieutenant joked, "If someone here thinks I'm unfit for duty because of a planet that I don't even remember, I'd be willing to prove just how combat-ready I am against the likes of any one of you." Fred issued the statement with the hint of a challenge in his voice, hoping one of his teammates would take the bait. Before battle he immensely preferred banter to solemnity, and this was just another mission. The same as dozens before and, hopefully, dozens to follow.

"You'd better watch yourself LT," the red-headed sniper in front of him fired back, "I'd hate for you to hurt yourself before we drop into a combat zone."

"I've lived through a lot more than anything you could put me through. Do your worst." Fred turned his face forward as they neared the hangar and did his best to ignore the faint look of doubt that drifted across Kelly's face before it was replaced with an almost convincing smile of confidence in his mental well-being.

"We don't doubt you, Fred. We need you, and you've never failed us before." John kept his stoic personality in check, as ever, and spoke with such a finality that any other rising retorts stopped in their tracks. The Spartans resumed silence again as they approached their target and mentally prepared for the mission at hand.

When they entered the Dusk's hangar, Fred first saw the drop pod launch tubes that predominated the available space. They laid horizontally against the deck, pointed towards the hangar doors on the port side of the prowler. Whereas on a frigate regularly equipped for such quick-insertion troop drops those tubes would be permanent fixtures pointed vertically along the hull, these launch tubes were peculiar. These tubes laid along the deck and would require the Dusk to align itself portside with he planet in order to launch the Spartans to the planet below. In a further effort to economize space, the four SOEIV insertion pods were delegated to only two launch tubes. The four pods were laid in pairs, one behind the other.

An engineer present approached the team and explained that the first pair of drop pods would launch one half of the team toward the primary objective – the ONI research team – and the second pair would be loaded into the same launching tubes and sent roughly one minute after, landing dozens of kilometers away in another city that had been narrowed down as the epicenter of the transmission that had reached what remained of an organized UNSC navy.

Ballast was a planet that endured frequent meteorite showers, which offered the perfect opportunity for the Spartans' insertion. Outside of the populated areas was a wasteland caused by frequent spatial debris fall. Their insertion would coincide with one such shower which, they hoped, would disguise the falling SOEIVs and allow them to reach the ground undetected. Following their drop, the Dusk would leave orbit as covertly as possible and take up position in an asteroid belt that circled the most distant of Ballast's three moons. The ship's engineers would remove the drop tubes, allowing space for the cloaked Pelican being developed on the ground's surface. After her brief explanation the engineer turned and ushered her team out of the hangar, leaving the area empty for the imminent drop.

"Alright Blue." The Master Chief began, observing the topographic layout of the cities they would be approaching as presented on a holographic projector built into the wall near the hangar doors. "We'll split into two groups. Blue Two, Blue Four – "

"Permission to accompany Fred to the second mission objective." Kelly interjected. John looked at her, shooting a questioning glance her way from beneath raised eyebrows. Taking the hint, Kelly expounded, "When Team Two finds out who's been talking, they'll need to either bring that person in with them or take them down and meet up with the Team One for exfil. All due respect to Linda and Fred, they sometimes move a little lackadaisically without a little encouragement." She ended her explanation with a playful turn of her lips, offering a coy yet challenging smile to her teammates. Linda scoffed and shook her head, but offered no argument, while Fred raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.

"It sounds to me like you just want an excuse to stretch your legs a little, Rabbit." He said with a smile.

After a moment's quite consideration, John spoke up. "She does make a good point," he said. "Blue Three, permission granted. Linda and I will make up the first team. We'll launch and rendezvous with the science team in Vallejo. Blue Two, Blue Three, you'll drop second and retrieve whoever, or whatever, sent that transmission and meet us on the outskirts of the city in 48 hours. We're bound to arouse a little unwanted attention along the way, but our drops have been timed with a meteor shower that will hit roughly 30 klicks outside of any hospitable area. Stay as far outside of your respective cities and as far away from mechanical surveillance as possible. If we're had, if word gets back to the Created . . ." here the Chief's voice strained almost imperceptibly as he clearly tried to avoid saying the name that they all knew he couldn't help but to think. John-117 knew the crimes and atrocities that had been committed by what remained of his former AI partner. Despite that, after having shared even his thoughts with Cortana, there were moments when he still struggled to accept this new reality of her existence.

Fred knew probably better than either of their other teammates the turmoil that John was feeling. The Chief felt largely responsible for the destruction caused by this rampant Cortana, and every death resultant from her war weighed on his conscience and forced doubts into his mind. Fred had wrestled with the same weight of responsibility and self-doubt since the fall of Reach. So many of his Spartans had died, under his command, during that battle and so many others throughout the following years. It corroded his sense of stability as a leader.

Fred also recognized, however, that as a leader his self-doubt didn't matter when it came to leading his team. Leaders needed to be strong, listen to their soldiers, and trust in their own gut. Just as Fred had to recognize his own faults and lead despite them, he saw the physical toll of that decision being made by John as well.

After his nearly imperceptible hesitation the Chief continued. "Let's just not let that happen. Grab your gear Blue Team, we'll be dropping in ten minutes."

The four soldiers' weaponry had already been arranged for them on tables near the drop pods. Fred rose and picked up his custom DMR, already linked to his helmet and housing a special compartment in the foregrip that would produce a combat knife when necessary, and placed it in position in the armament housing of the SOEIV. He then placed in his belt extra ammunition for the DMR and attached an oversized M6S sidearm to his right thigh and retrieved six reserve magazines for the pistol as well.

Having claimed and stowed his munitions, Fred stood aside his insertion pod and nodded to the Chief, who was preparing to place himself in the open drop pod directly in front of the lieutenant. A red light illuminated the hangar, indicating their imminent drop. Fred pointed his fingers first at his own eyes, then to Linda and finally to John – a simple motion that the Spartans had long since developed, indicating a warning for each of the two to watch the other's back. The action was mirrored by Linda, indicating both Fred and Kelly. Fred turned away from the first team and sketched a two-fingered salute to Kelly, mouthing the words See you on the ground to her. She gave a single nod and swiped two fingers over her mouth in an upturned half-circle – a Spartan smile – and entered her own drop pod.

Frederic-104 sealed his helmet over his head and settled into his drop pod, sealing the hatch and punching the button that automatically sealed the safety harnesses around him. After a few moments of deafening silence the lieutenant felt a rumble emanate from the ship's deck and into the horizontal drop pods, indicating the opening of the hangar bay. He glanced in his helmet's internal heads-up-display to see the status of his team, each showing a green dot next to their name. He felt a rumble through the deck again as the first pods were shot through the launch tubes and rocketed from the open hangar bay. Machines whirred and vibrated as his pod was pushed into the place of the tube's previous occupant.

In one last moment before being violently jettisoned toward the besieged planet below, a final thought entered the Spartan's mind. Despite the entirely different circumstances and drastically changed dynamics, this would be the first time he saw the planet he was born on in over four decades. In a thought that brought more discomfort than confidence, he grimaced to himself just before being launched and ruefully allowed a single phrase to enter his mind.

Welcome home.

Chapter Text

0920 HOURS, APRIL 23, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /

ORBIT OVER PLANET BALLAST, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM

Like most Spartans, Fred-104 was uncomfortable in zero-gravity combat. He was a master of close-quarters, mid-range, and long-ranged combat - he had even done extensive time fighting Covenant under water. But without gravity, with nothing pulling him back down to earth, action could go sideways incredibly quickly. More than one Spartan had been lost during zero-g battles, and Fred couldn't imagine a worse fate than being trapped, floating in space without any control over his own movement.

That said, there was one thing that Fred loved about the vacuum of space – silence.

The lieutenant was a man who preferred noise to quiet. He felt more at home in the middle of a cacophonous firefight than alone in a quiet barracks with no noise to distract himself from thoughts that all too often wandered back to those who had fallen under his command. The absolute silence of space, however, was different. In the moment following his launch from the port side of the cloaked UNSC Dusk he reveled in the notion of seeing the comparatively massive ship's engines ignite and burn, creating a noise that on any planet would be deafening for hundreds of kilometers, and himself hearing nothing more than the feeling of vibration as the sound waves battered against the SOEIV in which he was encased. To the Spartan it seemed that in that moment the universe truly found balance. In that moment wars were over. In that moment nothing could disrupt the absolute peace.

That moment of reverie was cut short when the drop pod crashed into Ballast's atmosphere with an almost poetic chaotic violence.

Atmospheric entry in a drop pod was not a ride that many could claim to enjoy. First, atmospheric elements battered the small seed-shaped pod upon entry. Second, fire licked past the front display as atmospheric drag turned to friction that ignited the inconsistent amounts of oxygen until the planet's atmospheric gasses became dense enough to slow the pod's descent and lessen the amount of friction shearing past it. Then, between the jarring entry and the even more jarring landing, drop pods were beaten about by wind, storms, or whatever conditions they burst through. But in Blue Team's case, wind and storms were the least of their concerns.

The very meteor shower that was providing the perfect cover for their ground insertion also provided the greatest threat to their survival of said insertion. The drop pods were inserted amid a stream of space rocks, some weighing as much as 10 tons as they entered the atmosphere, so as to remain undetected. Even the slightest brushes against one of these would-be meteorites could be enough to send a SOEIV careening on such a vector that it would break apart on entry – atomizing both the pod and its occupant – or it could be enough to simply smash the pod in its entirety.

As Fred's insertion pod smashed into the ground, first hitting an uneven rocky outcropping which sent it spinning another two dozen meters and finally coming to a rolling stop on the crater-pocked valley floor, his first thought was to check the status of his team. On the Head's-Up-Display of his visor three status lights burned green, indicating that all of Blue Team had made landfall successfully. His second thought was to release the breath he had somehow held throughout the entire impactful entry. Finally, he retrieved his DMR, slapped the button across his chest that released the automatic restraints, and then pulled the release on the forward hatch that freed him from the SOEIV.

Stepping forward with rifle raised, the lieutenant scanned the horizon for a second drop pod. He continuously appraised himself of the reading on the Friend or Foe scanner, as well as watching the sky above him in case some other celestial body survived the entry into the planet's atmosphere. He isolated Kelly's FF tag and followed his motion tracker toward her location, eventually finding her moving his direction in return. They met beside a large boulder amid the pockmarked terrain and crouched low, using some of the larger pieces of old meteorites as cover. Assuming this position was a battle-born habit that had saved each of their lives on more occasions than the Spartans could count.

While Fred was glancing between his drop pod and Kelly's, he noticed the other Spartan looking at him.

"Did it hurt?" She finally asked.

The lieutenant, wary that his partner was still worried that he was feeling distraught because of his return to the planet Ballast, calmly responded, "Did what hurt?"

Kelly cocked her head quizzically to one side before saying, "When you fell from Heaven. Literally."

"How long have you been waiting to use that one?" He asked with a chuckle. The other Spartan shrugged, but Fred knew she was smiling beneath her helmet. "I hope you're proud of yourself, because that was awful."

"Some people can't recognize true comedy. That's not my fault." She responded dismissively.

"I'll tell you what – when this is over, I'll sit through your whole stand-up routine. I'll even clap." Fred said. "But for now let's get moving. We're four hours' fast-march away from city limits. And then we'll have to find our target from there."

Kelly slid her shotgun, Oathsworn, over her shoulder and let it attach to the magnets on her back. "If we sprinted it, we'd be there in half the time. Not that you could keep up with me." She punctuated the unstated challenge with a light punch to Fred's chest.

"I'll beat you in a race some other day, Rabbit. For now let's combine speed and stealth." Kelly sighed dramatically and turned on her heel, moving into a quick jog through the rough terrain.

It hadn't escaped Fred's attention that Kelly was being more touchy than usual, and that there was the slightest hint of strain in her voice as she engaged in banter. She was still worried about him. He appreciated her concern, though it bothered him that his team was focusing more on him than on their mission. That was how people got hurt.

"Are you coming or not?" Kelly suddenly asked, pulling the lieutenant from his thoughts. She was standing just beneath a ridge 30 meters ahead of him and looking back expectantly. With a shake of his head, and a personal admonition to stop being so introspective, Fred dropped his rifle into place on his back and set into a jog after her.

The pair of Spartans made good time – even for them – and managed to traverse the 35 kilometer distance toward the city of Dacacio in three hours. When they drew nearer to the city, and began to see evidence of life and civilization again appear in the otherwise barren and alien land they had seen thus far, the pair eased their pace and began moving with more stealth. When the lifeless sand and rock slowly changed into light vegetation the leader stepped behind a large tree and held a closed fist up at head's height, then flattened his hand and brought his open palm down toward the ground. Both Spartans dropped to a prone position.

"We're more likely to run into civilians from this point on. Dacacio was recorded as a mid-sized city, so there might be Promethean patrols inside. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary – if we're found out this entire operation could bust wide open." He ordered.

"Copy," came the one-word reply from the Spartan beside him. The lieutenant began to silently lift himself from his prone position when Kelly put her hand on his right forearm. He halted any movement and looked over his shoulder at her in a silent question. "You've got my back, right?" She put forth the question very simply, and Fred answered with a single nod in turn. Then he rose to his feet and removed the M6C/SOCOM sidearm from his right thigh and with a flick of his thumb disengaged the pistol's safety.

The pair crept forward through the sparse foliage until the outlines of buildings could be seen in the distance. In his ear, Kelly whispered over TEAMCOM, broadcasting just to him so as to avoid external noise.

"This is too quiet, Fred. A city this size should have noise. Traffic, kids playing, something. A city shouldn't be silent."

"I don't like it either." Fred responded. "But we've never heard reports of Created slaughtering settlements. It could be some sort of enforced curfew." The lieutenant was mostly grasping at straws as he attempted to come up with an explanation. "Keep your head up. Whatever it is, this place is liable to be crawling with Prometheans." Kelly's status light on Fred's HUD flashed green once in acknowledgement and the pair continued.

Eventually the Spartans reached the outer limits of the city, still finding no signs of life.

"Should we split up?" Kelly asked. "If one of us is blown the other might still reach the objective." Fred shook his head in the negative.

"Don't forget the mastermind behind the Created. She'll recognize us, and she'll probably know that if one of us is here we all must be." Kelly nodded, and together the Spartans slipped into the city.

Frederic found himself growing increasingly discontented as they passed several vehicles, buildings, and homes without so much as a whisper indicating that life still existed on the planet. He was getting to the point where he would almost feel relieved to encounter a Promethean patrol – anything to break the eerie quiet of a silent street filled with empty cars.

"It looks like everybody just . . . disappeared." He said, mostly to himself. As they moved down a narrow alley, he glanced across the city block and saw what appeared to be a modest family home. The image of a young couple with three or four children playing in the yard appeared in his head. The children chased each other, screaming in delight, while the parents looked on from the porch with smiles on their faces. The lieutenant blinked, clearing the dream-like image from his mind, and saw instead an empty home, door hanging open allowing the heat of the day inside and children's toys laying discarded in the yard. Fred pulled his eyes away from the home and continued his progress deeper into the city – becoming increasingly convinced that the transmission was indeed a trap. After all – in an empty city who could have sent the message in the first place?

After the Spartans passed several more city blocks and neared the center of Dacacio, Kelly stopped and pointed out faint trails of smoke rising into the mid-day sky.

"That looks like as good a starting point as any." She said. "Where there's smoke there's fire, right?" Fred nodded.

"You're right, but in our line of work that usually isn't a good thing," he joked. All the same, the pair silently changed direction and approached the epicenter of the rising smoke. As they neared, Fred began to notice signs of debris. The upper corner of a tall building had been blasted off, the debris landing in a divot of its own making on the pavement below. Another building had a large cut along the ridgeline, looking as if something had shorn through it with enough force to rip the permacrete through in a perfect line. The trail of destruction continued – and augmented – until finally the Spartans were able to see from their vantage point the massive outline of a spacecraft's main thruster. Moving forward at a run, the soldiers finally discovered the source of both the prior destruction and the current smoke trails – a civilian transport ship, crashed in a massive crater that had once been the middle of a city.

The Spartans paused at the base of what appeared to have been a large office building, observing the fallen ship. Apparently, Fred thought bitterly, the Created are willing to do war with more than just military targets.

The Spartan reattached his sidearm to his right leg, then held out his left hand with the palm facing upward. With the first two fingers of his right hand he tapped twice at the point where his wrist met his palm. He then separated his fingers, each tracing a semi-circle on opposite sides of his palm, meeting again at the juncture between his third and fourth fingers. With this gesture, the lieutenant ordered his teammate to split up; each moving in opposite directions around the crash site and meeting again on the opposite side. Kelly nodded once, and Fred reclaimed his pistol.

Just as the pair began to step away from each other, the sound of a stone bouncing into the street alerted them to movement behind their position. In unison the two soldiers spun in a half circle and raised their sidearms to a shooting position.

Standing some twenty meters behind them was a lone man. He had his hands raised to shoulder height and was wearing what looked to be a police uniform rolled up to mid-forearm and an armored vest with the letters "DPD" printed across his chest. The man was wearing a scarf that was tucked into his shirt and pulled up over his nose, and a pair of tinted glasses that obscured his eyes. With the ensemble, all that was visible of his face was his forehead and a tousled Ivy League haircut.

Slowly, the Spartans' target brought his right hand to his face and raised one finger over where his mouth presumably was hidden behind the scarf in the universal "hush" gesture. He then pointed over his left shoulder and then raised four fingers towards the Spartans, clearly claiming to be followed by four hostiles of as-yet undetermined origin. Fred looked to Kelly, who gave a brief nod and kept her pistol trained on the man's forehead while the lieutenant holstered his pistol and retrieved the DMR from his back, cautiously walking past the unidentified man and taking cover in a pile of rubble at the base of the building to which they stood nearest. Sighting down the scope of his rifle, Fred quickly identified four Promethean Crawlers approaching them in what appeared to be more of a standard sweep than pursuit.

Returning to Kelly's side, Fred raised his left hand and called the man to approach them, which he did at a jog.

"Crawlers inbound," Fred said to Kelly, loudly enough for the Ballast native to hear. "They don't act like they know we're here, but we'll need cover, fast."

"I've got that figured out," the stranger said. "Follow me. Quick as you can." He then began running toward the derelict transport.

"Do we trust him?" Kelly asked Fred, who responded by raising his shoulders slightly.

"He seems to be the only one here. If it's a trap, we'll take care of it."

With a quiet sigh Kelly moved into a run to follow the man, soon followed by Fred.

The man they followed was clearly familiar with the fallen spacecraft. He ran through a determined track, careful to avoid debris that would make noise and draw attention of the hostile scouting party, until he neared the section of the hull that housed escape vessels. Two of the four escape pods were still attached to the hull, but the man ran to the vacant place of one of the pods that had been launched and pried the hatch open that lead back into the ship. He held the hatch open and urgently gestured the two Spartans through it. The gap was wide enough to accommodate the armored soldiers, and the three slipped through the outer armor of the ship until they reached another door, which their impromptu guide opened again by force. He then picked up a flashlight placed just inside the door and ignited it, providing light in the otherwise pitch-black corridor of the powerless ship.

"Come on, we need to get to the bridge." He said, then turned and marched into the darkness.

"Eyes peeled, LT. Lots of places to be ambushed in a dead ship." Kelly remarked.

"I thought you were up for some fun," Fred responded jokingly. He added in a more serious tone, "If he tries to attack me, but two in his forehead."

The Spartans ignited the lamps on their own helmets and followed the man as he led them through darkened corridors to the bridge found amidships. When they finally reached the bridge, they found the doors already propped open. Their guide entered first, fumbling his hands in the dark until he found purchase on something.

"Don't shoot me guys. I'm just turning on the lights," he said. Then with a quiet clank he turned a switch that illuminated a small lamp placed on the center of the ship's holo-display. Fred saw that the lamp was attached to a power generator – not natural to the ship. Absentmindedly he wondered just how long the man had been there.

"Well . . . make yourselves at home." The man offered awkwardly. He had removed his dark glasses before entering the ship, but the scarf was still in place around his mouth. His eyes looked somewhat anxious, though he kept a relaxed posture.

"I have to say I'd be a lot more comfortable if you didn't have that pistol on you." Kelly said with just the hint of a threat in her voice. "It's nothing personal, but in our line of work it's best not to make friends with strangers holding weapons."

"Of course. I mean, I did just save both of your lives, but I can understand erring on the side of caution."

Fred had to admit he was impressed. Most people weren't so quick to casually joke to an audience of two fully armored Spartans.

The man reached for his sidearm and unholstered it, leaving it on the holo-display next to the lamp providing soft illumination. He then began tugging on the scarf that obscured his face. Fred observed what he could of the bridge, finding broken monitors, cracked wall plating, and destroyed equipment. Nothing that looked like it could be salvaged.

"I take it you got my message," the stranger began, voice muffled as he continued struggling to remove the scarf from his face. "And I've got to say I'm awfully glad you're here. I was starting to think nobody was coming for me." Fred continued his observation of the bridge, searching for any indication of this being a set-up.

Suddenly he heard a sharp intake of breath from his partner and instinctively his right hand went to the pistol affixed to his thigh – something had startled Kelly, and she was not a woman who startled easily. Fred assessed the stranger. He had apparently freed himself of his face covering and was currently crouched next to a piece of communications equipment, holding an earpiece to the side of his head. Fred noted that there were no weapons visible to have elicited such a response from Kelly. He then glanced at his teammate but saw that her gaze was firmly on the man claiming to be their communications expert.

When Fred returned his gaze to the stranger, the man had set his equipment down and stood to cautiously approach the Spartans. By appearance Fred would guess he was a young man, in his mid-twenties perhaps, with fair skin and a few light scars tracing a face that was for some reason familiar. In the dim light of the lamp, the lieutenant studied him, wondering if he had once been a marine the Spartan had fought alongside.

Brushing the thought aside, Fred said, "So you're the one that called? That's awfully convenient, because you're just the man we were hoping to find."

"Am I? Well in that case, it sounds like introductions are in order," the stranger answered with a smile. "The name is Lieutenant Frederic Ellsworth. Who might you be?

Chapter Text

0900 HOURS, APRIL 23, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /

VALLEJO CITY, PLANET BALLAST, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM

Linda-058 had seen more planets in the past thirty years than most could claim to have seen after an entire lifetime of travel. She had seen entire worlds of desert, places that had anciently been used to maroon pirates, where the planet itself would kill anything that dared try to eke out a survival. Conversely, she had seen planets that were characterized by their jungle-esque explosion of life, where there was nothing but green as far as the eye could see in any direction. She'd even seen entire worlds built into the center of massive asteroids floating in space, where if life support systems failed the entire colony would have suffocated and been jettisoned into the vacuum in a matter of moments.

She found that each planet she was sent to had its own personality. Its own identity. Its own existence. It was one of the few things in the universe that she felt was truly balanced - no planet itself was malicious, nor benevolent. It was just a rock, with the "goldilocks conditions" necessary to create the life that would then go on to destroy any balance that might have previously existed.

Ballast was just as unique as any other planet in the universe. The area that Linda and John had made use of as their landing zone was a barren area comprised of dirt and metamorphic rocks – made desolate by the very nature of the meteor showers that had masked their entry into the planet's surface. After picking their way through three kilometers of this blasted terrain, however, the sharp, dead lines of desert and stone abruptly evolved into a massive pine forest. She was vaguely reminded of Earth's redwood forest that Deja had shown them when they were children as they marched, periodically glancing up at the incredible stature of the ancient trees that surrounded them.

The pair was set on making as quick a march as possible to give themselves all the time they needed to complete their objective. Missions like this were always frustrating due to the sheer volume of unknowns that they involved - the ONI team may well be waiting for them when they arrived. It just as well might have been eradicated the moment the Guardian shut down Ballast's defenses and Blue Team could be on a massive goose chase. They wouldn't know until they found their quarry, dead or alive.

Twenty kilometers into their march, long after the pair of soldiers had fallen into a comfortable silence interrupted only by periodic perimeter checks, John held up a closed fist, silently ordering a halt. Linda immediately stopped and crouched low, taking cover behind a large tree as she scanned the surrounding forest for whatever had given the Master Chief pause.

"Something is watching us," John said quietly over TEAMCOM. His helmet automatically silenced any noise to the outside world, keeping their interaction private. Though Linda hadn't seen anything herself, she didn't doubt her partner's word for a moment - Blue Team was only alive after all this time because of the absolute trust they shared. Following a few moments of silence, John suddenly pointed his MA5D off to his right. "Movement," he breathed, "100 meters northeast."

Linda brought her own rifle to bear in the direction he had indicated and noticed a handful of branches swaying back and forth. Before she even had time to make a conscious request, the neural implant connecting her to her armor produced a report of wind in the area, which turned out to be nonexistent. That matched with the lack of similar movement in the surrounding foliage all but confirmed Linda's suspicion that those branches were disturbed by whatever John had noticed before. In unison, the Spartans rose from a kneeling to a crouching position and moved toward the swaying branches, staying low enough to be mostly hidden by the underbrush around them. As they stalked forward Linda noticed a humanoid silhouette moving hurriedly through the trees from the northeast and toward the southwest.

"Contact." She reported. "I make one so far. Trying to flank us."

"Copy. Looks like they've made us but they're not willing to risk open engagement – could be friendly. I'll continue normally, you angle east thirty yards and find cover. Let's see if whoever it is won't pass you by so we can catch them between us."

Instead of answering the Chief, Linda simply shined a green status LED to John's heads-up-display. As they continued forward Linda sidestepped toward the right, continuing until she found a bunch of bushes thick enough to conceal herself at the desired distance from her partner. As she attempted to subtly disguise herself she took comfort in the fact that her armor's gray-brown coloring would serve as camouflage in her surroundings while she waited for whoever was following them to come into view.

Sure enough, soon Linda identified a woman following behind John. She wore standard civilian clothing – rough jeans and a thick jacket mostly likely for protection from the rough foliage around her as well as from the chilling winds that were supposedly frequent in the area. She wore combat boots but managed to move quietly through the trees, though Linda was sure that John had noticed her by now. Despite being armed with an M6 sidearm, the woman clearly was not military. Despite her questionable origin, Linda would have been willing to wager that the woman did not intend to present a threat to them. Aside from her convincingly non-threatening body language, she hadn't even bothered to remove her pistol from its holster on her hip.

Linda lifted her rifle and centered the stranger in her cross-hairs, then sent a yellow indicator to John's HUD, communicating to him that she was prepared for their confrontation. John returned the signal, then halted and spun on his heel and brought his rifle to aim at the woman's chest. Linda saw her tense, understandably, and slowly lift her hands in surrender.

The stranger fell to her knees and put her hands on the back of her head, then called out, "I represent the ONI team stationed in Vallejo city. We've been waiting for UNSC reinforcements."

John waited for a moment and observed the woman. He had undoubtedly paused to take in the same information that Linda had, similarly taking special note of her weapon. The team leader cautiously approached her with his weapon still trained dead-center on her chest and called out the demand, "Identification."

"I've got her dead to rights if she tries anything." Linda said over TEAMCOM, then added, "Still. Be careful, Chief."

"I have credentials that we were told to present if we ever did find UNSC troops." The woman offered as John warily drew nearer to her. She slowly reached inside her canvas jacket and produced a miniature holopad which John studied for a moment.

"That's a start," John said, quietly enough that without TEAMCOM Linda never would have heard him across the distance. "But credentials can be faked." Linda knew from experience that the Chief was working hard to keep his tone even and his statements worded carefully. Linda noted that he spoke in tactful phrases that would make the woman think he was speaking only to her, no doubt in an effort to avoid betraying the fact that he was communicating with another Spartan.

"What does your gut say?" Linda asked. She had learned long since that in situations such as these, John's instincts very rarely betrayed them.

Still, John hesitated – something he never used to do – before responding, "I'm going to trust you. But I won't hesitate to end you if you make a move we consider threatening."

To the woman's credit, Linda could not detect any obvious signs of having been intimidated by the looming Spartan's threat. Instead she questioned, "'We'?"

In answer to her question, Linda rose to her feet and moved toward the two with her rifle still trained on the stranger. Twigs snapped under the Spartan's boot-clad feet as she approached, and the woman turned and saw her for the first time.

"Wow," she muttered, "I didn't even see you coming." Turning back toward John she said, "I'm glad you decided to trust me." She then rose to her feet and took two steps backward, moving to keep both Spartans in view. "My name is Alex, I'm part of a patrol that is supposed to lead you to our base of operations. There are a lot of people hoping you'll get them out of here." She lifted her left arm and pulled the sleeve of her jacket back, revealing a watch. After consulting the time and glancing in the direction of the city, she said, "We'll need to make good time to get you two through between regular patrols," and abruptly left at a fast pace toward the city.

"They're hoping that we'll get them out?" Linda said to the Chief. "I thought they were in charge of the ride."

"One thing at a time," John said with a shrug, ignoring, as usual, Linda's light-hearted pessimism. "Lets move."

Despite Ballast's rich natural resources, the use of those resources had been heavily policed by planetary policy since the beginning of its colonization. As such, the land around even its major cities hadn't been subjected to the rigors of deforestation, and the great pine forests that made up the surrounding majority of habitable surface stopped only at the city limits. During times of peace this had served the people of Ballast well, making the planet a well-known tourist destination for the wealthy. Now it aided the trio of UNSC operatives as they attempted to avoid detection and capture by the enemy forces occupying the world. They were able to move freely through the trees, largely without risk of being ambushed or detected. As they neared the city itself, however, their guide raised her hand and halted the Spartans.

"You two aren't exactly going to fit into a crowd," Alex said, hardly pausing to look at the Spartans and instead counting seconds on her wristwatch. She glanced over her watch at the pair with a grin and continued, "But this is an occupied planet. There aren't many crowds. Just follow my lead and go exactly where I go. I should be able to get you back to base safely." Looking back at her watch she continued without pause. "One rule though – radio silence. I'd really rather avoid being caught by a pair of Knights in the middle of the street." With that admonition she was off again, carefully leading them towards the city.

It was slow going, but they managed to follow Alex through the first sections of streets undetected. The two Spartans in full gear were anything but inconspicuous in the broad daylight, but Alex managed to guide them through silent backstreets and vacant areas. With a surprising level of ease, the woman led them to a series of old subway tunnels that she claimed did not have any security cameras that could be hacked by Created.

John and Linda followed the stranger for several kilometers in the subterranean tunnel, finally arriving at what appeared to be another ordinary tunnel. However, when Alex located the access panel and input her security clearance, a section of the permacrete wall receded to reveal a doorway. When Linda stepped through the door she found herself in an elevator which, with another sequencing of security clearance provided by their guide, dropped them dozens of meters down into what appeared to be a small hangar hewn from one of the mountains that formed the valley in which Vallejo had been built.

As they exited the elevator, Linda's attention was drawn first to the D77-TC dropship that took up the majority of the hangar. Around the Pelican, several groups of scientists bustled to and fro, and armed guards stood at each corner of the room. Alex led the Spartans to what appeared to be an office cut into the hangar wall with an guard holding an assault rifle on either side of the door. She knocked on the door rapidly.

When the door opened, Linda was confronted by the image of a balding man in a lab coat pacing back and forth between a pair of people who seemed to be arguing about some sort of logistic that the sniper didn't care to understand. The pacing man regarded them coldly and held up a finger as an order to wait. Linda rolled her eyes and counted her breaths, trying hard to eradicate her immediate annoyance of the man in front of her.

She had counted one hundred and fifty-three breaths before the man dismissed his colleagues and turned to the Spartans. "I have been waiting for you for quite some time now. I assume the two of you are here for myself and my team," he said, making a point of speaking directly to John.

You've been waiting for us? Linda thought somewhat bitterly. Got a funny way of showing it.

"We are, sir." The Chief responded, ever the level-headed one. "Is there anywhere we could speak more privately to discuss our extraction orders?"

"Fine," the scientist answered curtly. "But only one of you. You," he said, looking for the first time at Linda, "Wait here. Alex here," he gestured to the woman and impatiently waved her toward Linda, "Will answer any questions you have authorization to know the answers to. Master Chief, follow me." He then turned on his heel and marched back into his office.

"How many PHDs do you think it takes to spell 'power trip'?" Linda said under her breath.

With a chuckle and a slight raise of one shoulder in resignation, John said, "Hopefully as many as it takes to make us invisible to Promethean scanners," he said before parting ways with Linda and following the man.

"I'm assuming you have some questions?" Alex asked, standing a few feet from the Spartan and hooking her thumbs in the belt loops of her pants. "Fire away."

Linda raised an eyebrow and curled the corner of her mouth into a smile, concealed beneath her helmet, at the woman's corny invitation to speak. Still, she had several questions that she wanted answered. "Where are we now?" she asked.

"We're in a bunker built into the center of the Denali mountain range. Those subway tunnels we went through actually travel up across the base of the mountain range, because Vallejo was built across the entire valley and up into the hills." She paused for a moment before saying, predicting Linda's next question, "It was built decades ago by a couple of rich families during the Insurrection. They apparently paid to put the best people on it, and the bunker was built to withstand EMP and nuclear strikes. When Doctor Graham and his team were sent here, they immediately commandeered it for their work. After they set up shop, they started scouting out local talent and came up with yours truly and half a dozen of my colleagues and competition across all scientific sectors." Alex flashed a grim smile.

"And the others here?" Linda asked. "I count six people on top of the eight-man ONI team and your seven local scientists."

"Right. There are twenty or so people around here that were brought in for security on rotating shifts. Some of them I know, some of them I don't." Alex said. "Those that I know and trust are volunteers from police, militia, and the like. The others are private security that were hired by the previous owners who were pushed out of this bunker in the first place."

"Can't say I blame you for distrusting hired guns. What about those rich families? I can't imagine they were very happy to be kicked out of their cushy apocalypse bunker."

"When the Created first entered the system, early warning systems from clear back in the first colonial insurrection picked up the Guardian's Tachyon signature. It was far enough out that those who had influence thought they could make an escape in a luxury cruiser docked here in Vallejo. Their ship took off just before the Guardian showed up in orbit and sent out an EMP that shut everything down. Their ship was right at the center of it. She was lost with all hands."

Linda thought for a moment before speaking. It seemed incredible to her that humanity, for all the good that it had, still managed to find ways to screw others over whenever the pressure was on. Changing gears, she asked Alex, "We received a signal from a city near here - Dacacio. Another team of ours is investigating in that area. Where is the source of that signal?" Linda asked and watched Alex's eyes widen with surprise.

"That ship I told you about – it went down in the center of Dacacio during evacuation. I wasn't there, but from the reports it flattened the main plaza of the city – that included the police precinct, communications arrays – everything. After the wreck anyone that was lucky enough not to be there was evacuated." Alex paused for a moment, seeming to struggle with her thoughts.

Linda noticed that, despite her even voice, the woman's eyes wet with tears she was too stubborn to cry. Alex had no doubt lost friends and family in the wreckage. Finally, the woman reached up and wiped whatever moisture had accumulated in her eyes and regarded the Spartan plainly.

"Before being put onto this team, I was heading a project to develop a largely untraceable form of communication in Dacacio. Most of my team was evacuated from the plaza just before it was destroyed, but all of our work was lost there." She paused again and looked at the floor, obscuring her face behind the visor of her cap. "After the Prometheans started showing up planet-side, they went to Dacacio and forced the evacuation of anyone that hadn't already gone. Maybe you picked up a transmission that we did for testing purposes, but my team are all either out of Dacacio or . . ." she trailed off, but Linda knew exactly what she meant.

Dead.

As Linda mulled this over with some alarm, she noticed her team leader approaching from the side. His hands were by his side but he appeared wary. That stance – not armed, but body so tense that he clearly wished he were – was something Linda had seen several times in John, and it usually denoted an irritation with a situation he wasn't sure how to change.

"Ma'am," he said, addressing Alex. "Do you mind if I speak alone with my partner for a moment?" Alex nodded and stepped back, away from the pair of Spartans.

"I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything." She began to turn to walk away, then as an afterthought she looked back over her shoulder and said, "I'm sure I'll be asked to show you where you'll be staying at some point, so try not to wander too far off and make it hard for me to find you." She said this with a forced smirk and moved off to a worktable to discuss something with one of the scientists there.

"Something doesn't seem right here." John said when they were left alone. "Graham tried hard to avoid any talk about their project. He wouldn't even give me any details of how their bird is supposed to be invisible to Created. I don't like not knowing how to plan our way out of here."

"There's something else." Linda said. "Alex just told me that she was working on the team that was coming up with untraceable communications, but she said they were either evacuated or killed when the Created first showed up here."

"Let's hope that at least one of her people somehow survived, then," John said. "Because if that isn't the case, this mission might go sideways even faster than usual."

Chapter Text

1340 HOURS, APRIL 23, 2559, (MILTARY CALENDAR) /

DACACIO CITY, PLANET BALLAST, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM

"Blue team. Sierra-104 and Sierra-087."

Fred hadn't even realized that he didn't respond to the young man's question until Kelly finally answered it. She subtly took a step forward and nearer to Fred's side as she spoke. Fred felt the back of her left hand gently bounce off of his right. After the first contact he felt it again, this time holding position there. In spite of himself, he took comfort in the small contact and held his hand still to maintain it for a moment.

"So you just go by numbers?" the man asked. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought that Sierra was only supposed to identify you as a Spartan?"

Coming back to himself, Fred gently pushed his hand out, creating pressure against Kelly's in a show of silent gratitude. He then pulled it back toward himself and broke the contact with his partner. He blinked and looked straight into the other man's eyes, still somewhat shocked by the eerie familiarity.

Beside him Kelly said, "That's pretty astute. How familiar are you with the SPARTAN program?"

The other man in the room waved a hand at her nonchalantly, feigning embarrassment, before answering. "Not at all," he said, "I've never seen one of you before in all honesty. My grandpa was military back before he married Grandma. He taught me the phonetic alphabet. And if I'm being honest, I figured the odds are pretty low that you would both be named Sierra," he finished with a rueful grin.

"Well honestly you're probably better off for never having met a Spartan before," Fred broke in, mentally reaching the cool resolve he relied on during battles and using it to maintain his focus. "Usually it has to really hit the fan before we get invited anywhere. But I'd imagine you already know that, since you were the one that sent the invitation in the first place." Fred laid the last statement out as a flippant comment, though its true purpose was as a baited question to see just how forthcoming the man would be with the information they had come to retrieve.

"I've got to say, I've never seen anything hit the fan quite like this before," Ellsworth said, tiredly rubbing his face. "After the Covenant attack a few years back, I thought that Ballast would be prepared if anything ever came back to get us. But as far as I know, there hasn't been so much as a shot fired this time around. The Guardian showed up in orbit and sent out that EMP, and everything just stopped. None of our planetary defenses held up and the police and militia here planetside wouldn't have stood a chance. We were all ordered to stand down before the defense systems were even wiped out."

"So, what are you?" Kelly asked. "Private security, militia . . .?" She allowed her question to trail off in silence, waiting for the man to fill in the blank.

"I'm with the Dacacio police," he responded, pointing at the "DPD" marked across his vest. "It's kind of a tradition in my family."

Probing further, Fred continued Kelly's light interrogation. "And you're the one that managed to hide the transmission that our ships picked up?

At that, Ellsworth took his hands off of his hips and leaned forward on the projector in front of him. "I am the one that sent the transmission, yes," he said, "But I only served as security detail for the team that developed it. They were right here in the center of town. A lot of local talent, and a lot of them were friends of mine. As soon as word got out about what happened at Earth, the local government started throwing money into projects like this. I was in charge of a five-man security detail."

"Where is the rest of your team then?" Kelly asked.

"When the Guardian first appeared in orbit, every police unit – my team included – was given orders to evacuate the city center as quickly as possible." As he spoke the man's face slowly darkened, brows knitting together and his easy smile dropping away. "We were almost finished when the EMP brought down this piece of junk. It smashed the police station beneath it," he said, his hand clenching into a fist. "The impact compromised buildings all over. Buildings that hadn't been evacuated yet."

Ellsworth paused and for the first time his gaze dropped from the Spartans, focusing instead on the dark surface of the table in front of him. "I was lucky enough to make it through the crash alive," he said. "A lot of people weren't. When the dust finally cleared, and before the Prometheans came in and forced everyone to evacuate, I was able to find one of the main researchers. He told me what frequencies to set and gave me coordinates for the broadcasting antennae to send the message through." Ellsworth trailed off for a moment, lost in memory. Fred noticed that he still hadn't lifted his eyes to meet their gaze, instead staring at the holotable. "I wasn't even able to bury him."

The statement, spoken so softly that it seemed as if he hadn't even meant to say it aloud, had two effects on Fred. First, it answered any question regarding the location of the research team and their absence – they had either evacuated the city or met the same fate as their team leader.

Second, and perhaps more importantly, Ellsworth's statement solidified to the Spartan that he was a genuine asset and not a willing party to some trap. Misgivings about name and physical familiarity aside, Fred couldn't help but recognize the face of a man who felt the losses of the people for whom he felt responsible. He saw in the younger man exactly what he himself had felt in the days following the fall of Reach – fear, anger, confusion . . . the most prevalent emotion was the survivor's guilt. The man loathed himself for surviving what his team hadn't.

It was a feeling that the Spartan knew all too well.

Speaking up to pull Ellsworth from his solemn reverie, Fred asked, "How did you manage to avoid the invasion? Seemed like those Crawlers were pretty hot on your trail when we met."

Ellsworth lifted his gaze again to meet the bronze faceplates of the Spartans before him. Fred noticed in the dim lamplight that the other man's eyes were now tinged in red, though no tears had fallen on his face. "Well that was easy," he said with a slightly forced grin. "I've lived near Dacacio my whole life. I know this place like the back of my hand. The Prometheans came here in force when they were herding survivors out of town, but they pretty much disappeared after that. I dodged patrols until I was able to take cover in here – they checked it once for survivors, but never bothered coming back. I've been hunkered down in here for the past few days. The only time I left before today was to make sure that the communication array hadn't gotten destroyed in the wreck."

"I guess we're lucky we found you when we did then." Kelly said, her tone light and even. Fred would wager that his partner had likewise been convinced of Ellsworth's honesty. "Were you able to get documentation of how you managed to get that transmission out? If we can duplicate it, it could turn the tide in this war. We might actually figure out how to piece a legitimate fleet together and do some good."

Ellsworth turned to focus solely on her, saying, "Yes. I was able to recover a few data files from their research, but I know that it was Nuru that came up with the final step to make the communication work. I recorded everything he said before he died."

"Can you walk us through the process? How did you transmit a message out without it being intercepted by Created?" Kelly asked.

With a sigh the man scratched the back of his neck and shook his head. "No, I'm afraid that's above my paygrade. I was told where to point and when to shoot, so to speak, but that's as far as I can understand." He stilled for a moment looking almost nervous, "But there is someone who could. The team leader was pulled off of this project a few weeks ago and sent to Vallejo. If we could get there, I'm sure she'd be able to interpret the information better than I ever could."

Again he paused, seeming to ruminate on his words, before saying, "And if I can speak candidly, I'd really appreciate the opportunity to see her again before I die."

"Die?" Fred asked, mock incredulity entering his voice. "You're with Spartans now, and Spartans don't die."

Even as he said the bravado-laden words, meant to cheer the young officer up, Fred thought of the dozens of brothers and sisters who had proven that old adage wrong. Isaac, Grace, Will, Kurt . . . too many friends. Trying not to dwell on things that couldn't be changed, he pushed the thought back down and snapped back into action. "But if we're going to make it Vallejo, first we need to get out of Dacacio. You're the native – work with my partner and put together a roadmap for us. I'm going to make my way outside and make sure we're clear for an exfil."

It certainly wouldn't be lost on Kelly that he had managed to separate himself from the officer. Fred justified to himself that he would be better able to focus without wondering whether or not he and Ellsworth had some connection. On top of that, he really wasn't interested in opening that particular can of worms unless it became absolutely necessary. Despite his rationalizations, he knew Kelly wouldn't be happy with his avoidance tactics and so he immediately made his way off the downed cruiser's bridge, escaping the situation as quickly as he could without literally running away.

"Fred," Kelly said over TEAMCOM. He stopped just outside the door to look at her as she made her way after him.

She stopped next to him and regarded him for a moment, then suddenly reached out her hand and hooked one finger around two of his own. The action took Fred off guard – it was something that Kelly had never done before, and he wasn't sure how to respond to it. In the fraction of a second before he could fully process his thoughts and determine what to do in return, he felt Kelly's finger tighten slightly around his own and then release. Kelly then stood stiffly, looking as if she was unsure how to respond herself.

Fred lifted his first two fingers to point at his visor, curled those fingers into a fist and tapped it once on his chest and then pointed at Kelly.

I've got your back.

Kelly nodded and returned the gesture in a flustered rush, then turned and moved back to their civilian counterpart.

Following suit, the lieutenant turned away from them and stepped through the door leading off the bridge. Scanning for the landmarks he had identified on their way in, Fred followed the path that led to the hatch they used to enter the ship. Scanning from floor to ceiling, he noticed the many stress fractures the hull had suffered upon impact. Instinct and experience kept him from lifting his right hand far from where the M6C rested on his leg, but with his left he reached up to trace a large crack in the bulkhead that ran the length of the corridor he travelled.

Indulging in a fascination, Fred removed the armored glove that encased his left hand. With practiced movements he freed his hand from the protective material and reached up to feel the crack in the metal against his bare skin. The cold metal contrasted sharply against the standard controlled temperature of his armor, as did the pressure of the hard metal against his skin. The physical sensation had a calming effect on the Spartan, who lived most of his life encased in the quasi-impervious MJOLNIR armor.

As he felt the metal, edges once smooth now jagged and sharp, his mind returned to one of the last occasions he had done something similar – in the lower levels of CASTLE Base on Reach, where the survivors of the devastating initial Covenant attack had gathered before eventually being found by John and evacuating with him. Fred noticed that his mind was once again tracking back to the fall of Reach; to the battle that still haunted him as his greatest failure. The same place his mind had dragged him for the past six months.

Since Cortana. Since he had first truly come to doubt the infallibility of the Master Chief.

He knew that John was tearing himself up from the inside out. He knew that John blamed himself for every death that came as a result of Cortana's conquest across the galaxy. He knew that John doubted his own ability to lead, that he second-guessed every step he took since his supposed failure to stop the destruction humanity currently faced. He knew these things because he felt the same every time he looked at the soldiers under his command – every time he looked at Blue Team, he saw only the faces of the Spartans he had failed to save.

Fred knew all too well that the hesitation – the failure to act – on the part of a leader could have devastating effects on their team, and he knew that John was almost desperate to keep whatever piece of his family was left. He was operating under the same desperation which had fueled his hunt for Cortana when she called to him, and that left John unsure of every step, every word, and every decision he made.

Deep down, Fred felt the shadow of a doubt forming in his own mind as well.

The lieutenant chose to nip that thought at the bud, pulling his hand from the ruptured bulkhead and sliding the armored glove back on. He didn't have time to doubt his team leader, and he wasn't about to make accusations against John that he wasn't willing to level at the man face-to-face. Instead he tugged the glove back into its place and pushed everything – the young police officer named Frederic Ellsworth, any concern about the Master Chief, and Kelly's action earlier – out of his mind to focus on the task at hand. He carried on through the ship's warped corridors until he found his way to the escape pod launch point.

When he arrived there, Fred knelt low next to the door and pulled his pistol from its housing, then gripped the left half of the door and pried it open several inches. The lieutenant quickly glanced through the opening to be sure that there were no hostiles outside the door. When he was confident that no ambush lay in wait for him, he pushed the door open a little further and put his head outside to get a better view of the area around him. As best he could tell there were no threats in the immediate vicinity, and he almost left the cover of the ship entirely before he caught a flash of movement toward the aft end. The Spartan removed the DMR from his back and sighted down the scope, using the magnification to better identify the source of motion.

What the lieutenant found concerned him. A Crawler was pushing through the wreckage, near the trail the Spartans had followed to enter the ship, and seemed to be scanning the ground. Fred watched for a few seconds as the machine scanned back and forth, seeming not to find anything of importance, until it suddenly focused on a single point on the ground in front of it. The living weapon followed a more direct line for several paces with its head all but dragging in the dirt, then suddenly stopped. The machine raised its head higher in the air, reminding Fred of a tracking dog sniffing the air for traces of its target. After a few seconds of standing immobile, a second Crawler appeared next to the first. The two machines began to scan the ground together, moving in a line that closely mirrored the path that the Spartans themselves had taken into the ship. Suddenly the pair stopped and turned tail, moving in the opposite direction at their top speed.

Fred rose as well, knowing that the Crawlers' erratic behavior could only mean one thing - they had determined that the makers of the tracks they were following represented a greater risk than the pair were capable of dealing with alone. They would be back soon, and with reinforcements.

Abandoning efforts to remain silent, Fred moved at a near sprint back to the bridge. He burst through the open door, entering the dim light of the room as Kelly and Ellsworth turned to look at him in unison.

"I hope that map is ready," he said, "Because time's up."

"What happened?" Ellsworth asked, moving behind Fred to a darkened corner from which he produced what appeared to be a civilian model of the BR85 and slung it over his shoulder on a strap.

"We've been sniffed out. Those same Crawlers you were running from earlier I bet." Fred answered, pulling the DMR from his back and holding it in his arms. "They're going to be back with reinforcements any time. We need to move now."

"Well," Ellsworth said as he fumbled around the dark bridge, finally finding a case and setting it on top of the holotable, "Good news is I've been really bored cooped up in here, and I've packed this case half a dozen times. All the data you'll want is in here."

Kelly reached forward and took the case, while Ellsworth removed the rifle from his shoulder and held it at the ready. "My hermit paradise had to end sometime, right?" he asked sarcastically. "Let's get out of here, and see if we can't plaster a couple of the neighbors on the way."

Chapter Text

1417 HOURS, APRIL 23,2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR)/

DACACIO CITY, PLANET BALLAST, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM

Kelly's heart began to beat harder in her chest. Adrenaline was beginning to surge through her system as she rushed through the downed ship, desperately wishing that she were free to sprint through twisted corridors of the ruined corvette and jump out into a more open area. Instead, the Spartan deliberately placed herself last in the line of three so as not to overtake her companions.

Fred, on point, arrived at the hatch to the escape pods first. The civilian - bogged down both by his personal gear and by the case he was carrying - took several seconds to catch up. Kelly jogged impatiently behind him, feeling almost as if she were being forced to move in slow motion just so she didn't run the man down. Her body itched to get out and really move.

When he arrived at the hatch Ellsworth set the case down and leaned over, hands on knees. The police officer dedicated five or six seconds to ragged, heavy breathing before he managed to gather enough air to whisper, "There's a vehicle depot nearby." He paused for a moment to take another breath, winded as he was by his attempt to match the Spartans' pace. "If we get out and break east, we might be able to find something to carry us."

"That Guardian must've zapped the energy out of any vehicle on this half of the continent. Even if we did find a ride, we'd need a way to charge the battery up," Fred countered.

"That," Ellsworth panted, "is why I asked our dear friend to carry that second case."

Kelly glanced down at the case in her hand and lifted it slightly toward the pair. "I recognize this - it's a portable vehicle battery, right? It must have gotten hit by the same EMP that fried the rest of the city. What makes you think it held up?"

Regaining his breath, Ellsworth stood up straighter. "First of all, that case has become my only friend in the past week, and it deserves a little more respect than that. Second, it's old tech from the Insurrection days. The casing around it is made up of solar panels, so you just have to lay it out and it creates its own charge. It should hook to any vehicle we have access to." He looked excitedly from one Spartan to the other before elaborating, "I found this old lady abandoned in one of the storage areas on the ship – the battery was completely empty when I found her. I think that's why that EMP didn't manage to fry all of the circuits. I named her Sheila," he finished with a boyish grin.

Fred glanced doubtfully at the case Kelly held, then at the civilian. Finally he turned to Kelly, undoubtedly seeking her advice. His unspoken request was met with a shrug - Kelly exercised her beloved role of "not being in charge" and successfully avoided the awkward decision.

Fred tilted his head slightly to the right, communicating a bemused frustration with Kelly, before pausing another moment to weigh his options. "I'm starting to worry a little bit about you, kid," he finally said, "But, seeing how no one has a better idea, we'll trust you and your best friend there." As he spoke he absentmindedly gestured to the crate in Kelly's hand. "But we're going to need to move as fast as possible. I'll open the hatch and clear the area. Kelly, I want you to take the case and immediately make for the vehicle depot. Find us something fast. Ellsworth, tell her how to get there."

Ellsworth nodded, then turned to Kelly and said, "Move east from here. If you leave the courtyard on the opposite side of where you came in, you'll find a four-lane road just through the gate called Hyrum Boulevard. Follow that road, then turn north onto 34th Street. From there you'll follow for one block before turning east again, and that should bring you right to the front gate of the depot. You won't be able to miss it." He pointed again at the case in Kelly's hand. "Sheila's an old soul; she responds better when you treat her politely," he said with a wink.

Kelly couldn't help but find that wink unnerving. It was jarringly familiar, and unsettling because of that same familiarity. Not for the first time since they had met, Kelly wished she had the time and wherewithal to address the Gúta in the room that Ellsworth didn't even realize was there and that Fred was actively avoiding.

"Copy that. I'll take good care of your friend," she answered Ellsworth, filing away her frustrations for now. Kelly turned to Fred. "LT, I've got marching orders. Ready to roll when you are."

Fred nodded. "Then let's get moving people. We're burning daylight."

Kelly moved beside him and found purchase on one half of the door, awaiting Fred's order. "Watch each other's backs, boys," she told them, then turned to Ellsworth. "If my partner gets killed, you know who I'll be holding responsible." Kelly held her fingers up to point at her eyes, then pointed at the civilian. To his credit, he chose not to take her joke as a threat and instead returned her action with a somewhat sarcastic salute followed by a smile.

While the younger man did another quick glance over his weapon Fred said, speaking quietly enough for only her to hear, "Don't bother worrying about me, Rabbit. I've got plenty of good fights in me before I'll be ready to give up the ghost." Then, louder, he said, "Breach on 'go'."

Fred held up three fingers and dropped them in time with his countdown. "Three . . . two . . . one . . . go!" When the last of Fred's outstretched fingers retracted into a fist Kelly tugged the door open and Fred burst through, rifle up and scanning the horizon. He traced his rifle along the tops of what buildings hadn't crumbled and around the devastated courtyard in quick, efficient fashion.

Satisfied that they weren't in immediate danger, he grunted, "Kelly, go."

On his order Kelly gripped the case tightly and burst through the door. She sprinted past her partner, finding the large gate that presumably mirrored the one she and Fred had passed when entering the plaza. She kept her pistol in one hand and continuously scanned the area in front of her, but focused most of her attention and energy on pumping her legs as fast as she could. She relished the feeling.

Closing the half-kilometer distance in a matter of seconds, Kelly couldn't help but break into a large grin. It had been weeks since her last proper run, and the last hour or so had filled her with so much nervous energy she thought she could have run for days without slowing. Instead, she settled for running for the avenue that Ellsworth had pointed out to her.

As she passed through the extravagant gate that marked her exit from the plaza she scanned the side streets on her right for a sign that showed 34th Street. She passed another half kilometer before finding the street, and she slowed enough to make it around the sharp corner. Just as she made the turn she heard the rapid, sharp cracks rifle fire echoing from the courtyard behind her.

Kelly's first instinct was to open a direct channel with her partner to assure that they didn't need her assistance, but she quelled that thought as soon as it arose. The Created would likely be able to triangulate her position if she opened a channel over such a distance, and that would put her and her team in even greater danger - yet more evidence that the war they were fighting was unlike anything she had faced before.

But no one's going to say this rabbit's too old to learn some new tricks, she thought. I've still got plenty to pull out of my hat. Somewhat reluctantly, she continued on and hoped to find transport quickly enough to get back and help the others.

Kelly traversed the distance between the two blocks so quickly that she skidded on the rough pavement beneath her as she turned east again. As she rounded the corner the Spartan took in two things immediately – the large building at the end of the dead-end street, and two low, swiftly moving Crawlers that were sprinting down either side of the street in her direction.

The building, roughly 200 meters from her, had to be the vehicle depot. Each Crawler, closing in on her from half that distance, picked up its head in surprise and slowed its pace. Kelly didn't give them the same benefit. Moving at just below her maximum speed she was covering roughly 15 meters per second. Given the fact that her enemy was approaching at a high speed as well, she would close with the machines in less than six seconds.

She raised her pistol toward the Crawler that ran along the right side of the street as she sprinted toward the left. Her target widened its mandibles and charged a blast while it tracked her. Kelly pumped four shots from her M6 before it had the opportunity to return fire. The dog-like machine was thrown off-kilter from the force of her rounds just as it released the ionized particles, and the shot flew far from its intended target.

Kelly snapped her gaze in direction of the other Crawler just in time to see it launch several blasts in her direction. Time slowed to a crawl as she calculated the distance she would need to move to sidestep the blasts. She watched the projectiles fly toward her and executed a 180-degree turn to her left, which allowed the first of three shots to sail harmlessly past her. Kelly noted that the Crawler, now less than 15 meters from her, had calculated her rate of approach and leapt into the air to physically attack her.

In response, she followed her own momentum and took two steps forward, crossing the small sidewalk. As she reached the other side she pushed off the ground with her right foot and lifted her left to collide with the wall of a building in front of her. A powerful push from her MJOLNIR-encased left leg resulted in a graceful backflip off the wall.

The Crawler that had leapt to intercept noticed her sudden change in direction and attempted to alter its own path mid-air. Lacking anything to brace itself against, the machine managed nothing more than an awkward half-turn as it sailed past Kelly.

As she landed on the ground, the Spartan dropped both the pistol and the case and reached for her shotgun. Instinctively she dropped to a knee as she pulled Oathsworn from her back and brought the stock to her shoulder. As she sighted down the barrel at the Crawler, she tracked the creature as it landed on the ground three meters from her and spun in a half-circle in preparation to either spring forward in another attempt to grapple with the Spartan or launch an energy attack against her.

Unluckily for it, she didn't give the machine either option.

Kelly fired three shots in rapid succession, which collided with enough force to rip through the machine's scant armor and damage its core processor. The programming inside the quasi-sentient weapon deemed it too damaged to be recoverable and initiated its self-destruct sequence. The Crawler quickly disintegrated in a bright light.

As the familiar orange grid-pattern began spreading over the machine, signifying its impending destruction, Kelly swung her shotgun in an arc in search of the second Crawler. Her shields flashed as several blasts from the machine impacted against her back. She jumped forward from her kneeling position and landed with a somersault, rolling directly forward and onto the sidewalk. Rather than terminating the roll in a crouch as the Crawler tracking her undoubtedly expected, Kelly stopped her somersault prematurely so that she was lying on her back. The Spartan lifted her weapon and sighted on the machine, firing twice.

The Crawler was pelted by the shot from her first shell, but it had already begun a retreat and her second blast impacted harmlessly on the building across the street. The damaged machine began to sprint away from Kelly in the direction she had come from, no doubt in an attempt to find reinforcements.

"Not so fast, doggy," Kelly grunted as she rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself to her feet. "Looks like this time the rabbit's chasing the hound," she muttered to herself with a sardonic grin at the irony.

The Spartan rose from her knees and moved into a sprint in one fluid motion, chasing the Crawler down as quickly as she could. The machine hadn't made it to the end of the street before Kelly caught it. She threw herself into the air and landed heavily on her target, wrapping her arms around its midsection in a tackle whilst simultaneously turning sideways and digging her shoulder into the asphalt beneath. The friction caused by her shoulder against the ground all but stopped the Spartan's upper half while allowing her legs to flip up and in front of her. She plowed her feet into the ground enough that her momentum picked her torso up slightly and assisted her in rising to her feet. Skillfully using her hands to keep the Crawler pinned to the ground beneath her, Kelly moved her right foot and smashed it into the back of the machine while moving her hands up to its neck.

The Crawler helplessly scrabbled beneath her for a moment, but she ended its struggle when she grabbed either side of the machine's head with both hands and forcefully removed it from the rest of its body - disconnecting the machine's microprocessors from the core. The Crawler fell limp and began to disintegrate beneath her.

Ignoring it, Kelly collected her dropped shotgun and turned, sprinting again in direction of the vehicle depot. She slowed long enough to collect her sidearm and the case from the middle of the street, then sprinted toward the front gate of the depot. The Spartan quickly assessed the strength of the fence surrounding the complex; it was nothing more than a chain-link fence. When she neared the compound, she turned her right shoulder and smashed into the center of the gate at the entrance. The two sides of the gate burst inward and Kelly sailed forward, quickly taking stock of the vehicles there and searching for one that might fit her needs.

She found herself in a police depot, which was fortunate. Two Spartans in their full armor were not a light load, and they needed a vehicle that could handle the weight without sacrificing mobility. Kelly moved past rows of squad cars, motorcycles, and impounded street-racers until she found a civilian model of the Warthog, painted in the universal black and white color scheme of human police forces. She raced to the front of the vehicle and picked up its hood. Reaching inside, Kelly pulled the vehicle's burnt battery from its housing before she took the case and pushed it into the battery's housing. In a mad dash she found each of the necessary connectors and attached the portable battery to the vehicle.

"Now we find out how well you held up after all," she said with a pat on the top of the battery. Kelly quickly moved to the driver's side of the vehicle and sat down at the wheel, keying in the standard ignition sequence. She excitedly slapped the steering wheel when the engine came to life with a healthy roar. "Atta girl, Sheila," Kelly said with a smile and a rub along the dashboard. After a quick diagnostic check she put the vehicle in gear. "We've done our part," she said aloud to the battery that she was only slightly embarrassed for having called by name, "Now it's time to save the boys."

Sheila's engine bellowed an affirmative reply as Kelly put the accelerator to the floor and tore out of the compound.

1432 HOURS, APRIL 23,2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR)/

DACACIO CITY, PLANET BALLAST, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM

"Kelly, go."

His order was followed immediately – Fred could all but feel the rush of wind as his partner burst from the ship behind him. He turned for a moment to watch her sprint through the plaza. She may have been fully armored, and running with her back to him, but there was no mistaking the fact that a huge smile was plastered across her face as she ran. Kelly had always been the most expressive of the Spartans, and it was no secret to any of them how she adored running.

"How fast is she going?" Ellsworth questioned from behind him. Fred glanced over his shoulder to see the man's head hanging out of the doorway just far enough to see the Spartan moving.

"Fast enough, hopefully," he grunted in return. "Now let's get moving. With any luck she'll find the depot and a vehicle before we run into whatever backup those Crawlers went running off to find." The Spartan stepped back and reached for the case that Ellsworth was struggling to fit through the doorway. He glanced around as he pulled the case through the opening, wary of Prometheans attempting to catch them unawares. "Does this one have a name too?" he asked, gesturing to the case in his left hand.

Ellsworth breathed a quiet laugh as he stepped through the door. "No, that's just a case. Why would it have a name?" he asked with a sarcastic grin.

The joke, however, was lost on Fred - drowned out by the sound of loose rock tumbling somewhere toward the far end of the courtyard. The Spartan held his hand up to his faceplate, one finger over his mouth, and set the case slowly on the ground as he turned toward where he had heard the foreign sound. Ellsworth fell appropriately silent while Fred shouldered his DMR and crouched low, scanning for movement amongst the rubble.

Fred reached back behind him and tapped the case with two fingers, then pointed in the direction Kelly had run. He heard Ellsworth quietly creep forward and pull the case away from him, then step in the other direction. All the while Fred listened for the sound to repeat itself.

A few seconds stretched into an eternity before the sound of more loose stones clattering to the ground finally reverberated through the courtyard, now much closer. Whatever was closing on their position sounded as if it was just around the corner from where Fred currently stood.

The Spartan reached his left hand behind his back and held up three fingers, leaning on nothing more than a hope that the man behind him would both see the action and understand its implications. He dropped one finger, then another, and finally curled his last finger into his fist.

"Run!" he ordered.

Without a glance to see if Ellsworth had complied, Fred charged forward. He stepped around the jutting metal that once housed an escape capsule and into view of a seemingly surprised Crawler. Capitalizing on that surprise, the Spartan quickly fired four shots at the machine's center of mass. It swayed and staggered under the impact of each round from his DMR, and as the fourth bullet connected the damage processors determined that the shell they occupied was beyond repair. The machine fell to the ground and quickly began to disintegrate. As the Crawler came to pieces before him, Fred saw three more of the machines scrambling into view behind the first.

The soldier barely gave his opponent a second thought, knowing that the orange glow emanating from its body guaranteed its demise. Instead, he focused on the three other Crawlers before him. They were quicker to respond than their fallen leader, and two of the three machines fired upon Fred. He jumped a meter to the left to avoid the first of the projectiles, and the second splashed across his shields and briefly tinted his HUD orange in warning. The third Crawler leapt forward and wrapped its claws around Fred's shoulders in an attempt to pull him down.

Fred pulled his rifle back and sent the butt of his DMR over his shoulder, connecting with the machine's head hard enough to knock it from his back. As it fell to the ground Fred brought his rifle forward again and sighted on one of the Crawlers before him. He fired six rounds in rapid succession – the force of the bullets at such close range ripped through the light armor of the machine and destroying it.

The Spartan snapped his rifle to the left and zeroed in on the second Crawler, firing twice. Both rounds buried themselves into the dirt as the machine juked out of his aim, but with a quick correction Fred put three bullets through the Crawler's head. The machine clattered to the ground in a heap of sparking parts before it began to deteriorate.

Before Fred could turn himself around and find the third Crawler he felt it impact with his back with enough force to throw him off balance. As he stumbled forward the Spartan reached for the creature in an attempt to pull it off of him, but a point-blank blast from the Crawler's boltshot collided with the back of his head with enough force to throw him off his feet.

The two combatants parted company as the soldier hit the ground face-down – the Crawler lost its grip on the Spartan's armor and rolled forward, and Fred attempted to roll out of his attacker's range. With his DMR trapped beneath his own bulk, the Spartan instead reached for the pistol on his hip as he rolled. More rounds from the Crawler's boltshot smashed into Fred's shield and an alarm sounded as it struggled to hold up under the onslaught.

The Spartan managed to roll onto his side and bring the Crawler back in sight. Before he could bring his sidearm to bear on the machine, he heard several rifle shots and saw the rounds tear through the Crawler's frame. It hesitated for a moment before being struck several more times and succumbing to the damage.

Fred looked up and registered, with less surprise than he had expected, that Ellsworth had returned to assist him. The man kept his rifle trained on the inert form of the Crawler until it had fully disintegrated, then approached the Spartan.

"Now doesn't seem to be the time to roll in the dirt, Sierra," he said with an easy grin.

Fred rose to his feet and collected his DMR while responding, "I try to take the opportunities as they come. You never know when it'll be your last." He glanced around Ellsworth, noting that the man was no longer holding the case he had been carrying earlier, and asked, "Where are those data crystals? This whole operation could turn out to be a bust if we lose them."

"I stashed it under some rocks before I came back to help you out," Ellsworth said. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate which direction he had left the case.

"Then grab it; we've got to get a move on." Fred quickly scanned around himself to be sure that there were no other Crawlers lying in wait nearby. "These things hunt in packs, and I don't really want to be around when the rest of their buddies show up."

Ellsworth nodded and quickly moved to where he had left the case. After retrieving it he handed the case to the Spartan, and the pair began to cross the plaza at a fast run. They crossed the open area without any sign of an ambush, but as they began to move through the city streets the echoes of a roaring engine drifted to them.

"You hear that?" the police officer asked around his labored breathing. "Sounds like the girls pulled through."

The Spartan at his side didn't respond, opting instead to look around more carefully to be sure that the sound wasn't attracting unwanted attention. He breathed a sigh of relief when the visual of a black and blue styled Warthog screeched around a corner in their direction. The vehicle roared as its driver mashed the accelerator even harder into the floorboards, then suddenly shrieked to a halt almost exactly in front of him.

The golden-domed helmet of Kelly-087 peered around the side of the vehicle from the driver's seat and the Spartan shouted, "We haven't got all day gentlemen!"

"Ellsworth," Fred said, "you're on the wheel. We need to get out of here as quickly as we can, and we need to avoid enemy patrols as much as possible. Kelly, passenger side. Keep a hold of those data crystals." The trio snapped into motion – Kelly and Ellsworth trading places and Fred moving to jump into the bed of the Warthog.

"It sounded like you two ran into some friends," Kelly said, "I had a reunion with a couple of my own."

"Nothing we couldn't handle." Fred answered, then looked his partner over once to be sure she didn't show any signs of physical wounds. "You don't look any worse for wear."

"You think I can't take a couple of robo-pups?" she asked playfully. "I'm still at the top of my game, LT. Don't you worry about me."

Fred climbed into the bed of the Warthog and tapped the top of the frame twice with his left hand, resting his DMR across the top of the cab in firing position with his right.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts," Ellsworth shouted over the roar of the engine, "Sheila Airlines is about to take flight."

1456 HOURS, APRIL 23,2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR)/

UNSC PROWLER DUSK, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM

Richard Lash paced the length of the bridge. As a captain in the Prowler Corps, his job often consisted of waiting for hours, days, even weeks before they were able to successfully complete a mission. The Prowlers of the UNSC had something that few ships in the fleet had – the ability to operate undetected, as long as their commanders capitalized on their advantages of stealth. To command a Prowler was to command patience.

Not for the first time, Captain Lash wondered if he had chosen the wrong profession.

After dropping its payload of Spartans, the Dusk had immediately moved out of Ballast's orbit and executed a slipspace jump to the outer edge of the planet's solar system. They came into orbit around a malformed planetoid named Demos, where the ship had shut down all but the absolute minimum power to run life support systems. Freitas and his crew immediately began removing the SOEIV launch tubes to make space for whatever experimental craft the Spartans were supposed to bring back with them.

After that, the prowler's job was to remain on standby, waiting in the exact coordinates that had been identified in their standing orders and shared with the Spartan ground team, until the operational window closed and they moved to retrieve their cargo from Ballast's orbit. Simple, easy, covert tactics. Exactly the kind of mission the Dusk and her crew had completed dozens of times before.

And yet, Captain Lash hadn't stopped pacing in the last six hours.

"Captain," the voice of Lieutenant Commander Yang broke into Lash's train of thought, "engineering reports that they are ready to jettison the SOEIV tubes."

The captain stopped pacing just behind his command chair and nodded to the younger officer. "Run one last scan. If sensors are clean, send the all-clear to jettison and have Freitas report to the bridge," he ordered. He observed his crew for a moment – each officer on the bridge snapping into action to check sensors for the sixth time in a row. Each of them gave a thumb's up to the communications officer, and he sent the message to engineering.

Captain Lash resumed pacing.

Commander Waters approached him from his side. "A word, Captain?" he asked. It was technically a breach in protocol, but one that Lash let slide. He nodded to his executive officer, and the pair moved to the most remote corner of the small bridge.

"Is something troubling you Commander?"

"Yes sir," Waters replied, "but the thing troubling me is that you seem so out of sorts. Is there something that we need to be prepared for?" The XO eyed Lash carefully. This entire conversation could be considered out of line by any UNSC captain – particularly any implication that he was asking for mission-specific information for which he hadn't been cleared. A prowler's greatest weapon was its discretion, and that discretion ranged as frequently among the ship's crew as it did her battle group.

However, Captain Lash had no doubts about his crew. They had served together for nearly a decade, and he regarded them as family. He knew they felt the same, and that they wouldn't raise questions that they didn't think were mission-critical. Just as he would never reveal information that he didn't personally deem to be so.

"No, Commander," he answered the other officer. "The mission is running smoothly, and the Spartans have plenty of time left to complete their objective."

"And yet . . . ?" Waters prodded. He was getting bold now. Something must really be bothering the man for him to push like he was.

After a moment's hesitation the captain relented. "I can't quantify it for you, Julian," he said, deliberately using the XO's first name. It was a code among the crew – when the captain referred to them informally, the conversation was to be taken as unofficial. "There isn't any information that would indicate this mission isn't running smoothly, but something isn't sitting right with me."

Waters nodded and rubbed a hand over his face. "What do you think we need to do?"

"I'm not sure." Lash admitted. "If a Guardian shows up, we aren't equipped to give it so much as a scratch. We would need to bug out immediately."

"But at the same time," Waters continued, "we can't abandon the team on the ground. Especially if what they were working on down there actually bore fruit."

Lash nodded, subconsciously beginning to pace again. "Exactly. Which means we would need to provide a distraction for the Spartans to be able to leave orbit. But if we do anything that would call attention to the Dusk, we're done." He suddenly stopped pacing. "Unless . . ."

"Captain?" Waters asked.

The captain didn't answer verbally, instead waving his XO forward with a swipe of his fingers as he took fast strides toward the communication console.

"Yang, how many satellites are we carrying?" he asked the younger officer.

Yang checked an inventory list and answered, "Twenty-one, Captain."

"Perfect." Lash almost smiled to himself. "Durruno, plot a course for a neighboring star system."

"Aye, Captain. Which system?" she asked.

"Whichever you want," Lash replied.

The navigation officer paused for a moment, looking confusedly at the captain. "Yes sir," she responded slowly.

"Captain, permission to be read in on your plan?" Waters asked.

"We were right, Commander. We aren't in a position to take on a Guardian," he explained, sounding almost excited. "Luckily for us, the Dusk won't be participating in any attacks. However, I happen to know of a twenty-one-ship battlegroup called . . . erm . . . " Lash fell quiet, at a loss for words, until he noticed the Chief Engineer entering the bridge.

"Freitas! Tell me your favorite nickname from when you were young," he ordered.

The engineer raised his eyebrows in surprise, but after a moment answered, "Safado, Captain."

"Battlegroup Safado," Lash continued without missing a beat, "which just so happens to be in a nearby star system."

The bridge crew remained silent for a moment, each wondering what in the world their captain was getting at. Commander Waters was the first to draw the connection.

"The satellites," he said simply.

"Exactly," Lash answered with a smirk.

Freitas looked around uncomfortably from one officer to the next. "I don't get it," he finally admitted.

"We're setting up a decoy system," Lash explained, eyeing each member of the crew as he spoke. "If an enemy ship arrives in-system over Ballast, we aren't equipped to fight it. We'd be forced to abandon the team planetside. Instead, we're going to leave our long-distance satellites in a neighboring system - then, if a Guardian does crash our little party we activate some pre-recorded chatter to make it sound like each satellite represents a ship that is in the area hunting Guardians."

"So they will bug out and chase down our invisible battlegroup," Freitas said quietly, "leaving the airspace open for us to make our run."

The rest of the crew nodded slowly as they contemplated the Captain's plan. Yang began to go over some instrumentation checks to confirm that the idea would even work.

"Captain, if push comes to shove . . . that just might work," he said.

Captain Lash walked toward his command chair and settled himself in, sitting for the first time in hours. "If push comes to shove," he said, "it will have to. Commander Durruno, plot our course."

Chapter Text

0610 HOURS, APRIL 24, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /

VALLEJO CITY, PLANET BALLAST, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM

Linda-058 breathed in slowly, counting down from ten.

She sat alone, back to the wall and knees tucked as close to her chest as her GEN2 MJOLNIR allowed, in a corner of the commandeered bunker's main room. It had been retrofitted from a luxurious banquet hall into a electronic nightmare; teams of scientists spent day and night arguing about the effectiveness of certain designs, running through the results of various functionality tests, and otherwise making noise.

Linda breathed out, counting up from zero.

She had spent the last seven hours being ushered from one corner of the bunker to another. John had been pulled away by security to hover near Doctor Graham's office, presumably to receive information as it became available. The extremely lethal sniper and literal super-soldier had been reduced to an awkward observer trying her best not to break any of the fragile-looking equipment around her.

Linda cracked one eye open just far enough to get her bearings in the room. The scientists she saw were constantly shifting in and out of the room, so she didn't bother trying to find identifiers for each individual. They were developing a device that should keep small craft invisible to the Created's sensors. Linda didn't even try to understand all of the specifics that Alex went over in her explanation. She just hoped that it would work. The project was given the codename CLOAK by the UNSC, but from what Linda understood the technology had been forged as much by civilian personnel as from the ONI team. CLOAK was the brain-child of several men and women, though Graham was was sure to take any credit given for its potential success. The man had taken on the responsibility of personally testing all aspects of the equipment – alone – and reporting to the team what he felt was necessary for their continued research.

This much Linda did understand - no facet of life was immune to those willing to improve their personal standings, and ONI was far from immune to the effects of narcissistic operators. She had seen it before, and she knew from experience that she didn't like it. At best, Graham was paranoid and felt he was the only one that could be trusted with the information. At less-than-stellar, he was trying to attribute as much of the success to himself as possible, opening up all kinds of possibilities for failure.

At worst . . . Linda hadn't decided what the worst-case scenario might look like.

Of course, speculation of that type was far above her paygrade. As Graham liked to frequently remind his team, he was in charge and all major decisions were to be made by him. Linda didn't much care about his ego trip, but she didn't trust him - and that was her issue. A lot of people's lives were dependent on this man, and if he had some sort of breakdown those people were going to suffer the consequences. Her people would suffer the consequences.

She breathed in, starting her count over.

Roughly an hour before, Alex had informed Linda that a small group had been encountered traveling outside the city and was being led into the bunker. There was no more information, but Alex was confident it was the rest of Blue Team. By her reasoning, few could have made it out of any major cities, each of which was constantly being patrolled by Prometheans. Any of those that were skilled or lucky enough to escape wouldn't be trying to circle back to Vallejo. No additional information had come in on the group, however, and Linda was left to wonder if Fred and Kelly had been successful in retrieving their objective.

The sniper considered that as she continued her valiant attempts to focus on the rhythm of her breathing until she noticed a set of footsteps making their way in her direction. She opened her eyes again, identifying Alex without much surprise. It wouldn't have been much of a stretch to guess that it was the young woman approaching her without visual confirmation - none of the other on-site personnel seemed to feel confident in approaching Linda, and had elected Alex their unofficial spokesperson. The Spartan had grown accustomed to it over the half dozen times that Alex was sent out to ask her to move to a location that wouldn't be in their way. Linda rose smoothly to her feet as the scientist neared.

"Linda," the smaller woman began awkwardly, looking at her with a hint of trepidation despite her easy-going nature. "That group I told you about earlier is on their way in now. Doctor Graham wants security personnel in the hangar to receive them, and apparently he wants you there too."

Linda rolled her eyes. Leave it to a narcissistic glorified civilian to try to give himself command over Spartans. Still, now wasn't the time to remind him of the chain of command - no matter how much pleasure she would receive from intimidating the abrasive little man. However, she wanted to be on location if it was indeed her team arriving. "Lead the way," she said, then followed as the scientist turned on her heel and walked out of the assembly area toward the staircase that ascended to the hangar.

The bunker, equal parts luxury hunting lodge and doomsday safehouse, had been cleverly designed. There were only two exit/entry points - one being the elevator Linda and John had used to enter the bunker, and the other being a large door that exited the side of the mountain into which the bunker had been built. Both exits had several security measures in place to protect from unwanted entry, and were guarded by several members of the security detail. Leaving the hangar were several different staircases – one in each corner of the large room – that led to different sections of the bunker. One led directly to the living areas; lavish affairs hastily converted to allow for more occupants than they had originally been designed for. Another staircase led to storage, a third to a room filled with antiquated weaponry, and the fourth descended to the room they were in. Each staircase was narrow, built in a way that made it very defensible should the need arise.

Linda and Alex climbed the stairs in silence. When they entered the hangar Linda saw John standing to one side, MA5D in hand. Beside John, the room was filled with several members of the amassed "army" that had been serving as security for the bunker. Using anything from supply crates to card tables as cover, they formed a defensive half-circle outside the elevator. Though John's stance was relaxed and far from firing position, he looked exponentially more prepared for combat than the half-dozen security guards aiming their rifles at the elevator doors.

As she moved to John's side Linda appreciated the prudence in considering every entrance a possible threat. At the same time, she almost let out a coughed laugh at the composure of the defenders. Half of them appeared more liable to fall asleep than defend their bunker – no doubt having gone through this same exercise dozens of times and having grown complacent. The other half appeared almost panicked, ready to fire on whatever came out of the elevator whether it was an enemy contact or not.

"People here are about at the end of their ropes," she commented to her squad leader. "Bang a couple of pots and pans around long enough and they might just start shooting each other."

Without glancing at her John answered, "Can you blame them? They've been on high alert for days, and nothing has come from it. At this point they might not even know they're in danger."

"Some of these 'soldiers' have never fired a weapon at a moving target," Alex said. Both Spartans turned, surprised to see the scientist standing casually next to them with her arms crossed over her chest. Without noting their surprise, she continued, "We have the full spectrum here; cops, militia, private contractors . . . some of them have never had so much as a knife pointed in their direction and some made war for profit on other worlds."

Linda shrugged, conceding that the woman knew more about her security detail than either of the Spartans. "Can't imagine there's a lot of unit cohesion coming from such different backgrounds."

Alex opened her mouth to reply but fell silent as the elevator doors began to creak open at a speed that seemed to only add onto the tension already filling the room.

As the two heavy doors split down the middle, Linda let out a breath of relief as she recognized Kelly's Hermes armor. The woman stood exactly in front of the partition of the door, blocking the view to whatever was behind her. Kelly regarded the six people with rifles trained on her and casually stepped in Linda and John's direction. As she left the elevator car, Kelly was followed first by Fred and then by a man in what appeared to be tactical police gear.

"Fred?" the scientist at Linda's side whispered in shock and disbelief.

In unison John and Linda turned and looked at Alex.

"Did she just say . . ." John began, activating TEAMCOM so that no one outside a suit of MJOLNIR armor could hear them.

"I think she did," Linda answered his unarticulated question.

A moment of shocked silence passed over the pair of Spartans as they each contemplated possible explanations of the woman's outburst. That surprise was compounded when, without a word, the scientist left their side at a run. Neither soldier did any more than confusedly track her movement as she barreled toward their teammate. They continued to observe her until she ran past both Fred and Kelly and collided with the man behind them in a tight embrace.

"That makes a little more sense," John offered awkwardly. He may be fluent in hundreds of ways to kill dozens of different creatures, but the nuances of human interaction were far beyond his wheelhouse.

"Must've just been a coincidence," Linda replied. She was in a similar state to her team leader, though perhaps she was even less versed in social concepts than him.

"I don't think it's that simple," Kelly cut into their conversation, "there's . . . something about this other Fred."

John's gaze snapped from the scientist, still wrapped tight in the man's arms, to Kelly as she stopped in front of them. "How do you mean?" he asked.

Kelly glanced behind herself and Fred at the hugging pair, "Nothing confirmed. But take a look at him. You'll see what I mean."

Linda momentarily regarded her teammate with a quizzical look, then turned to look at the man. His face was partially obscured by the back of Alex's head as the scientist had her arms cinched around his shoulders. When the scientist moved and Linda could see the man's face, however, she was slightly taken aback. Something about him looked shockingly familiar, and she began to wonder if they had met before under some circumstance. She continued staring at him as she tried to remember his face. When the man leaned back and smiled at Alex, the grin revealing a dimple on his left cheek and crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that she was already very familiar with, she suddenly understood what Kelly meant.

"Uh, Fred," Linda said, "do you have a kid none of us know about?"

"Very funny," came the terse reply, "you're a regular comedian."

"I think it's a fair question," John chimed in with the ghost of a smile coming across in his voice. "But seriously, who is he?"

"He's the man who sent out the transmission that we picked up," Kelly answered. "As for why he looks so much like our Fred, and why they share a name, Fred has avoided the topic like an armed SHIVA."

Fred shook his head when he arrived at Kelly's side. "I'm starting to think I'd rather be outside with the Prometheans."

Kelly leaned forward, seemingly ready to continue the barrage on their teammate, before the Spartans noticed the man in question approaching their group alongside Alex.

"I hope we're not interrupting something," Alex said, smiling. "I told Fred he had to make introductions."

With an embarrassed half-grin the young man waved vaguely at Fred and Kelly. "I told her this wasn't a good idea. I still don't even know the big guy's name. Unless it really is Sierra," he finished with a conspiratorial smile in Fred's direction. He paused, clearly hoping that Fred would take the initiative and introduce himself.

He didn't.

After a moment of horrendously awkward silence, Linda spoke up. "Well," she began, shooting a slightly confused glance at her silent teammate, "my name is Linda. I'm part of Blue Team."

John followed suit and introduced himself as well. "John-117. We actually met Alex here earlier, she's the one that brought us into this bunker in the first place."

"You were in good hands then," the young man said with a wink at Alex. "I've already met half of you, but it's a pleasure to meet the others." He leaned forward and extended his hand to shake it. "My name is Fred Ellsworth."

Linda coughed involuntarily. She noticed that John, who had held out his own hand, paused midway and halted awkwardly before meeting the other man.

It was just a coincidence, Linda told herself. It had to be. There had to have been a million families named Ellsworth out there.

The awkwardness continued to mount among the group.

For the first time, Linda was happy to see Doctor Graham appear behind her squad leader flanked on either side by black-clad mercenaries with assault rifles. The man always chose as his personal entourage the men that had come with the bunker - presumably trusting their loyalty to money over the common colonist's loyalty to the UNSC. The man on his left Linda didn't know, but on his right stood the leader of the mercenary group, Cybill Eason. She was an attractive woman by most physical standards, with high cheek bones, thick curly black hair, and an athlete's physique. She was socially graceful as well, prepared to greet anyone with an almost-convincing smile and a friendly handshake. But behind her deep brown eyes Linda could see the cunning of a fox - as predatory as she was intelligent. She was always near him.

As with most things pertaining to Doctor Graham and his decisions, Linda didn't like it.

"Spartan 117," Graham said. "I see that the rest of your wayward flock has arrived. Does this mean that we may begin preparations for launch?"

John stepped forward to face the man directly. "No sir. As I explained, the Dusk couldn't risk staying on location. She will return to orbit to pick us up," he paused as the neural uplink in his helmet retrieved the countdown timer for their window, "in 51 hours."

Graham's face reddened slightly as he glared the up at the Spartan. "The longer we wait the more likely we are to be discovered. Send a transmission to them and bring them back immediately."

"Not possible," John answered with a shake of his head. "Any transmission would be immediately detected by Promethean forces. Beyond that, I don't even know where the Dusk is. We're just going to have to wait it out." He took a step toward the scientist and said the last sentence with stronger conviction.

The doctor glared at the Spartan but took a step back and swung around in the direction of his office.

"What's eating at that guy?" the younger Fred asked loudly as the trio sullenly marched away.

"I'll tell you about him later," Alex answered him. "But I imagine that you're all exhausted. Even you two," she said, pointing at Linda and John. "None of you have slept in a while. I'll show you where we've set up bunks and . . ." she paused, considering the Spartans. "I think you four might have to sleep on the floor. But we'll find you a place."

With that she turned and walked away, leading the procession to the staircase in one of the hangar's corners. Linda had to agree – even a Spartan needed rest to function nominally, and natural sleep patterns were infinitely better than UNSC-issued combat stimulants. Regarding the young man as he stepped past them, Linda shook her head.

She definitely needed some sleep.

Chapter Text

1600 HOURS, APRIL 24, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR)/

UNSC PROWLER DUSK, IN ORBIT AROUND GAS GIANT ABSALOM

Captain Lash rubbed his eyes for what very well might be the thousandth time.

From the moment of his epiphany, no one on the bridge had stopped; Yang spent hours piecing together a believable script of ship-to-ship chatter that would accompany a twenty-one-ship battlegroup. Durruno called up each member of the Dusk's crew and assigned them new names, ranks, and speaking assignments. Freitas stayed just as busy as any of them, tasked with organizing the steady influx of personnel as each member of the Dusk's crew reported to the bridge to record their scripted lines.

Lash himself, accompanied by Waters, divided his time between going over the scripts and assignments made by both junior officers, as well as determining which ships of the remaining UNSC Navy were the most likely to be assigned to such a Guardian-hunting killsquad. Their options had diminished drastically over the past six months, so they spent considerable time pulling ship names from any still-functioning fleet they could find.

Even aided by combat stimulants, it had been a long fourteen hours.

Captain Lash thought, somewhat wistfully, of the few hours' rest he planned to steal before the return to Ballast for Blue Team's extraction. The last few crewmembers were completing their recordings, and then the whole bridge crew would get some much-deserved sleep. They would all need to be on their best if they hoped to fool an AI that defected from the UNSC, and he wasn't willing to risk either his ship nor his crew to exhaustion.

Realizing that he had subconsciously fallen into a tired slouch, Lash straightened his back in his command couch and glanced around the bridge. Yang and Durruno worked together, making the last recordings with the crew. Waters leaned over his own station, pouring through the reports already recorded for any flaw that might allude to their strategy. Freitas entered the bridge with the last crewmember selected for the project - a stocky engineer with short dark hair and a long scar that ran from her left earlobe to the point of her chin. He absentmindedly recognized her as Lieutenant Naima Vasquez - one of the more brilliant engineers aboard the Dusk. The captain only hoped she was as adept at acting as she was repairing ships' systems.

After the pair of engineers stopped long enough to exchange salutes with Lash, Freitas guided Vasquez to Yang's side. Upon prompting from Yang, she immediately began reciting her lines. Freitas, meanwhile, came to stand before Lash and stood at attention.

"At ease," he said, and Freitas relaxed his stance somewhat. "You've done good work, Freitas. One last set of recordings to finish after Lieutenant Vasquez, and we'll finally get you off your feet for a few minutes."

The corners of Freitas's mouth lifted slightly in appreciation of the praise, but his eyebrows knit together in confusion. "If you'll excuse me sir," he said, "I was under the impression that Vasquez was the last recording. I haven't been given any information for anyone else. Give me a name and I'll get them up here immediately."

Lash waved his hand in the air to cut the other man off. "No, you've brought the perfect number of crewmen," he said. He turned toward the executive officer leaning tiredly over his chair and asked, "Commander Waters, what is the last recording that we'll need before we're finished?"

Waters made a show of looking through the checklist they compiled of necessary voices and recordings. The list was populated by several dozen communications officers, twenty-one XOs, and twenty-one ships' captains - anyone whose voice might be heard over standard communications between a taskforce.

"Looks like we're missing a task force commander, sir." Waters finally answered.

"Ah yes, Rear Admiral Gabriel Soares. That's where you come in," Lash said, nodding to Freitas.

Freitas's eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he took an involuntary half-step back. "Surely, Captain, the task force commander should be portrayed by yourself."

"Nonsense. There is no one more qualified to lead Task Force Safado than yourself." He clapped a hand on Freitas's shoulder with a smile, leaned in closely, and said in a low voice, "And, if you disagree with my decision, I can always make it a direct order."

"Well, I don't see how I could possibly refuse such an offer," Freitas lamented with a tired grin. "It would be my pleasure."

"That's the answer I was looking for. Let's get this finished and get some rest," Lash said. "Then we'll see if we don't end up catching ourselves a Guardian before this is over."

1640 HOURS, APRIL 24, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /

VALLEJO CITY, PLANET BALLAST, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM

Frederic-104 carefully placed the sharpened point of his combat knife on the tip of his index finger, balancing the rest of the weapon in the air. It swayed almost imperceptibly back and forth – pushed by gusts of air generated by people rushing around him, the gentle breeze from the facility's recycled air filters, and his own body's natural movement. The gentle balancing of the blade relaxed him – it was something he could predict. Something he could control.

The knife was a tool – durable, trustworthy, useful. It was one of his favorite possessions, though he carried hundreds throughout the course of his career. Each one was the same. The same weight, the same structure, the same function. It was dependable, and that was an adjective the Spartan could use to describe few things in his life.

"Put the knife away," a familiar voice admonished him, "you're scaring the natives."

Upon their reunion in the bunker, Blue Team debriefed each other on their knowledge of the situation. There wasn't much to report. John and Linda ran them up on the situation inside the bunker, the security force, and the hope that the cloaking device would be ready when it came time to beat a speedy retreat. In turn, Kelly and Fred confirmed the presence of a Created occupation force and that Ellsworth seemingly managed to send the transmission out to UNSC contacts without it being detected.

After debriefing each other, the team settled into several hours of rotating sleep shifts so that each member received two hours' rest. While one Spartan slept, the other three stationed themselves throughout the bunker as security. One – almost exclusively John – kept watch in the hangar while the others took position in the staging room on the bunker's lowest level. Linda was the last to rotate into her sleep shift, and her two hours were nearly over. With Linda eking out her last minutes of rest and John all but chained to Graham's office door, Kelly and Fred had posted themselves on either side of the doorway at the bottom of the staircase that ascended to the hangar.

While the device and its major testing were done in the hangar, any research into the myriad materials and subroutines inherent to it were done below. At least, that was Graham's argument for posting half of the team down below. Fred didn't know if it was true, but he didn't much care. He just wanted to finish the mission, get off the planet and – with a little luck – forget that any of it ever happened.

"I mean it," Kelly said, her melodic voice derailing his train of thought – not that he minded the interruption. "If you scare these techies any more than they already are, we'll never get out of here." She cocked her head to the side, seemingly listening to something, before saying, "Movement on the stairs, someone's coming down. Could be that scientist coming back down with another ONI tech for inspection."

That scientist referred to Alex, the young woman who led Linda and John into the bunker in the first place. She seemed to be a solid addition to ONI's team – smart, brave enough to speak with the Spartans that the others gave a wide berth, and charismatic enough to lead her civilian team effectively. Linda, of all people, spoke highly of her.

Since Fred and Kelly arrived Alex seemed torn between her work on the device and spending as much time as possible checking on the sleeping police officer that came in with them. When she first tried to usher him and Blue Team into the barracks, Ellsworth happily complied and promptly fell asleep. Judging by how Alex dragged Ellsworth to the barracks by the hand, Fred couldn't help but wonder if she was the friend the man claimed he wanted to see again before dying.

"I thought she just left to check up on the kid a couple of minutes ago," he said, reaching behind his back to house the combat knife in its custom scabbard in his DMR's foregrip. "Would she be back this quickly?"

Kelly shrugged. "What do you bet?"

"A year's back pay," Fred offered. The Spartans didn't have much in terms of material goods to barter with, so whenever they made a bet with one another they went for more inventive options.

Kelly's head swayed slightly from side to side as she considered his proposal. "No good. If pay were merit-based, I'd be making more than you anyway," she jabbed with an obvious smile coming through her voice. Kelly then went silent for a moment, absentmindedly tapped her left index finger to her thigh along with the music she was undoubtedly playing in her helmet as she thought. "Loser has to memorize a song of the winner's choosing," she countered.

Fred contemplated her offer. He hadn't developed the habit of listening to music to the same extent as Kelly, but he did know of a few songs she would feel awkward singing – a couple of them being embarrassing enough to make the bet worth the risk.

"You're on," he said. Even if he were wrong, she wouldn't do anything too awful to him.

He hoped.

Kelly stepped across the doorway to stand beside him, glancing up the staircase on her way. "Bad move, LT," she said with a smile in her voice and a knock of her shoulder against his side. "You should know better than to take a bet against me – I'm never wrong." The Spartan finished her taunt just as a young woman in a white coat and a blonde ponytail trotted down the stairs and into view.

The scientist tapped away at a datapad while she talked to someone behind her as she exited the stairwell. When her foot lighted on the floor of the lower level she looked up, eyes widening slightly when she took in the two armor-clad soldiers staring at her. She quickly flashed them a bright – if uncertain – smile and glanced over her shoulder at her as yet unrevealed companion.

"I think your friends might be waiting for you," she said with a hint of confusion in her voice.

The person she was speaking to walked into view, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His tattered police uniform had been traded for a green long-sleeved shirt and a pair of cargo pants, and his tousled hair damp from a shower. As he descended the stairs with his vision obscured, he overstepped and fell past the last step. The extra momentum shoved the man forward, stumbling until he collided roughly with Fred's chestplate. Slowly, the man lifted his face and took in who he had run into.

The young Ellsworth's strangely familiar eyes suddenly widened in surprise, and he all but threw himself off the Spartan he was using for support. "Kelly, Sierra," he greeted them, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. The two Spartans said nothing, and Ellsworth dropped his hands with an embarrassed grin mouthing the word awkward to his colleague.

"Maybe the kid's a hugger?" Kelly quietly joked over TEAMCOM, earning a slightly uncomfortable chuckle from him. He flashed a green status light to her HUD in appreciation of her recognition of his discomfort and the attempt to alleviate the situation.

An awkward silence stretched between the four for a few seconds before Ellsworth spoke up again. "I passed another Spartan on my way out of the barracks," he said. "I think she was looking for you."

Fred nodded, grateful for any excuse to escape the situation. "That would be Linda. We better go check in with our team," he answered, stepping around the pair of civilians that seemed as happy for an out as he was. Kelly followed him as he made a hasty retreat toward the upper level.

Fred emerged in the hangar, immediately scanning the room for his teammates. They weren't hard to find – usually at least a head taller than anyone else in a given room, Spartans tended to stand out. The other members of Blue Team were huddled together in the doorway opposite them, which led to the barracks. John and Linda were positioned on either side of the doorway with their backs to the wall for as unobstructed a view of the hangar as possible. Unsurprisingly, the sniper noticed them first and gestured the pair over to her with a nod of her head.

Normally the advanced communications installed in their MJOLNIR rendered it unnecessary for the Spartans to get within earshot of one another to talk. However, with the sheer numbers of UNSC AI that defected to the Created – let alone the origins of the faction's leader – the Spartans were observing a strict communications blackout. Until the UNSC techs were able to develop better comm encryption, standing orders were to speak in person when at all possible.

"Think there's any new information to share, or are we going to be stuck twiddling our thumbs in here until the Dusk comes back?" Kelly asked. She stepped up to walk alongside Fred as they crossed the hangar, bumping her elbow into his as they moved.

"No clue. I don't know how much longer I can stand sitting around this place though." Fred glanced over his shoulder at the staircase behind them as he answered. When he looked forward again, Kelly's helmet was turned just far enough in his direction to be able to keep him in her peripherals.

"The kid's gotten under your skin that bad, huh?" she asked.

Fred scowled under his helmet. Kelly's ability to read him could be as annoying as it was helpful. "What kid?" he asked, pointedly feigning ignorance. As they came within earshot of their teammates, he continued. "Nothing gets under my skin. I just might end up stomping on one of these techs if we're bottled up in this cave much longer."

"I can think of someone for you to stomp on," Linda cut in. Fred looked up at the sniper and followed her gaze to the door of Graham's office.

"Please don't," John said. "It would make for a lot of uncomfortable paperwork."

Fred turned his palms to the ceiling and spread them out slightly from his sides. "With what's going on? I doubt anybody would even read it," he retorted. "What's one less self-important scientist?"

With a diplomatic air, John answered, "At this point, that 'self-important scientist' might be the only way we get off this planet."

Fred dropped his hands back to his sides. "You can be a real stick in the mud sometimes, you know that?" he said.

"You're only saying that because you know he's right," Kelly countered. She bumped Fred with her shoulder – a sign she wasn't going to forgive him for avoiding her earlier question – and stood next to the team's leader.

"Was there ever any doubt?" John asked smugly.

"Do you really want us to answer that?" Linda fired back.

"No," the Spartan answered, "I want a quick debriefing and then I want everyone back on rotation." His voice had dropped its playful tone and settled back into his no-nonsense default. John looked around, observing the clutter, machinery, and scattered personnel strewn throughout the hangar. "Not here," he said. "Armory."

Without waiting for a response, John turned on his heel and made for a quick march towards the armory. The rest of Blue Team fell in line behind him, and in a few moments they crossed the hangar and ascended the staircase that brought them to the makeshift weapons' locker.

The entire room was a jumbled affair. As far as Fred could tell, its original purpose had been to house the original owners' hunting rifles and the weapons of the bunker's security team. The addition of the police and militia members that had come to serve as extra security for the ONI team also meant an addition to the armory – from fully stocked MA5Ds and BR85s provided by the Militia to DMRs and the civilian SR85 brought by the police officers. The extra weaponry was haphazardly propped against walls & tables, almost getting under foot in the small room

The addition of a full team of Spartans didn't help the situation.

"You couldn't have found a smaller room?" Fred complained good-naturedly. "I'm not sure we're close enough to hear each other in here."

"It'll be a short conversation," said John, leaving Fred to wonder whether the statement was in answer to or avoidance of his question. "Sitrep. Blue Three, Blue Four; what have you gathered?"

"Not a lot of unity around this place," Kelly began. "The police don't trust the CMA because they're too old to be useful in a real fight. CMA doesn't trust the police because they're unfamiliar with legitimate war. None of them trust the contractors because they don't believe a mercenary will stick around when the pan gets hot." She paused for a moment, letting the sheer volume of dissension in the facility sink in. "That said, all three groups would pick each other over the ONI team. For . . . obvious enough reasons."

"Situation among the scientists isn't much better," Linda said. "What I've gathered from Alex indicates a large disconnect between civilian and military units. But there's enough cohesion to get the work done. Though, not even the ONI team is sure on how prepared their device is. They say Graham is doing the testing on his own, and they're just going off of the data that he reports back to them. Eason sticks to his side like a dog on a leash."

John nodded his head once when she finished. "Copy. Everyone back to position. Keep your ears to the ground, and keep an eye out for anything that we might need to worry about." Each Spartan flashed a green status light in response and filed out of the room.

When they reached the bottom of the stairwell and stepped into the hangar, the team split in two. John and Linda took positions on either side of the barracks while Fred and Kelly made to return to the staging area. As they turned, however, they heard a commotion near Graham's office. A black-clad private contractor was doing his best to bar Alex's entry into the office, though she was energetically attempting to bob and weave her way around him to the door.

John and Fred moved in unison and jogged to the scene. "What's going on here?" John asked sternly.

"I'm looking for Doctor Graham, and this moron is trying to keep me out," Alex said, glaring daggers at the man in front of her. "I need to speak to him about some research I've done into the frequencies the Prometheans use in their communication."

"Let her in," the Master Chief growled at the gun-for-hire.

The man in question – muscled, with broad shoulders, curly red hair, and a disinterested resting face – eyed the Chief up and down. After doing some quick calculations in his head and realizing he really only had one option, the guard exasperatedly stepped away from Alex. "Have it your way," he muttered under his breath.

With a grateful smile at the pair of Spartans, Alex stepped forward and opened the door into Graham's office. Each Spartan made to return to their assignments but stopped dead when they heard Alex throw the door back open and burst out of the office.

"I suppose you think you're very funny," she said, angrily poking a finger into the contractor's chest. "He's not even in his office, where did he go?" she demanded. The man's only reaction was to shrug and maintain the apathetic expression plastered on his face.

In his peripherals, Fred noticed John's head snap forward to stare at Graham's open office door.

"He might have gone to the barracks to get some rest," he answered Alex's question, though his voice carried a wariness that Fred had come to despise in the time that he had known John.

A look of doubt crossed Alex's face as she considered the possibility before she replied, "Alright, I'll check there." Her tone made it clear she didn't think there was any likelihood of that being true, but the way her eyes darted back and forth between the Spartan and mercenary made Fred wonder if she wasn't looking for a reason to put some distance between herself and whatever confrontation was about to happen. She turned and jogged in the direction of the staircase leading to the barracks.

"In the barracks?" Fred asked once she was out of earshot. "I don't think I've seen him leave his office since we arrived."

"He hasn't," John replied coldly. "Blue Four, follow her and keep an eye on her. Blue Two, Blue Three, search the staging area and the armory. I'll have a little talk with our friend here. We need to find Graham and that device immediately." As he finished his order the four Spartans scattered in unison.

Fred jogged to the top of the staircase that descended back into the staging room, glancing throughout the hangar as he went. The Pelican that dominated the area blocked his view of half of the spacious room, but he knew the odds of finding the doctor in the hangar itself were exceedingly low. As the Spartan began his descent to the staging area, he began to list potential reasons for the doctor's disappearance.

The possibility of Created forces having found and infiltrated the bunker was almost nothing – judging by their past actions, the entire bunker would have already been swarmed by Forerunner constructs if that were the case. However, many humans had - frightened by the seemingly all-powerful destruction wrought by Promethean armies and the Created-controlled Guardians - pledged their allegiance to the Created to escape eradication. The possibility of a servant of the Created having infiltrated the research or security team, biding their time until they had a chance to strike at both the cloaking device and its progenitor – those odds were exponentially greater.

When he entered the staging area Fred quickly took stock and glanced among faces there.

Ellsworth appeared at his side. "Looking for somebody?" he asked.

"Graham. Have you seen him?"

The officer squinted and bit the corner of his lip as he thought. "The stuffy guy with an attitude?" he asked. When Fred nodded, Ellsworth shook his head. "No," he said, "but I just got here. I'll check with the people I know."

As the man turned and called to one of the guards - another police officer, if Fred wasn't mistaken - Fred continued scanning. A dozen civilian techs, a pair of guards, some piles of scrapped equipment that had been used and rejected during the development process. No Graham.

"Nobody's seen him down here," Ellsworth said after a moment. He thought for a moment, then said, "Al was going up to look for him, if something is wrong I need to find her." With that, the man turned and ran up the stairs.

Fred winced. Blue Team needed to keep as few people aware of a threat to security as possible until they were sure of any course of action. Ellsworth had seemed intelligent so far – Fred hoped the young man would be smart enough not to spread undue panic. He followed the Ballast native up the steps.

When he emerged in the hangar again, he noticed John's words with the contractor had developed a less-than-friendly connotation. The Chief had stepped forward, towering nearly 30 centimeters over the other man. Linda and Alex had returned, and Ellsworth ran to the scientist's side.

"I don't answer to you," the man told John. His tone was defiant, but his eyes were wide enough to see the whites around his irises – the only change to his otherwise passive expression, though even that small alteration betrayed his fear – and his left hand had strayed to the grip of the handgun on his waist.

"You may not answer to the UNSC," a voice said from behind Fred, "but you do answer to me. Get your hand off that weapon and tell him what happened before I have to send what's left of you home in a shoebox, Alpin."

The voice sounded tired – annoyed, even – and when Fred turned he was slightly surprised to see that it belonged to the contractor's leader. Despite being in full gear, Eason had quietly crept up behind the Spartans in the commotion and she currently stood with a hand outstretched to forestall any further argument from her operative.

The red-headed contractor, Alpin, shot a glare at her before nodding. "Yes, ma'am. Doctor Graham," he said, now speaking directly to John, "went for a walk. He needed some fresh air."

Almost at once, the four Spartans rounded on Eason. "I trust you have an explanation for that, ma'am." Linda said, her voice lowered to a tone that was almost violent on its own. Fred had seen entire squads of ODST flinch when spoken to in that voice.

Eason didn't blink.

Instead, she looked John directly in the faceplate with something akin to chagrin in her eyes. "I know where he went," she said. "I even planned the route for him. But when you and your Spartans got here, I told him not to go through with it." Her eyes lowered and she added in a quiet tone, "I didn't actually think he'd be stupid enough to do it anyway."

"What are you talking about?" The question came from Ellsworth. He positioned himself between Alex and the contractors and had one hand on the pistol at his hip as he warily looked Eason up and down.

The raven-haired woman sighed tiredly before answering. "Graham decrypted a message about a week ago. It was broadcast with all of the other transmissions sent when the Guardian came in-system, only this one wasn't a threat. It was more of an invitation. It claimed they knew about Graham's project, and they would rip Vallejo up by its foundations until they found him if they had to. Or he could hand the device over and he and his team would be allowed to sit it out on Ballast while the Created mopped up what was left of the UNSC."

Alex defiantly stepped around her defender to look Eason in the face. "And he accepted?" she angrily challenged. "And you helped him plan to betray humanity to a bunch of robots with a superiority complex?"

Eason ran a hand over the tight bun she arranged her hair in and took a deep breath. "It wasn't anything so dramatic as 'betraying humanity,'" she said, punctuating her words with air quotes. "It was more of a lateral career move. We haven't had the chance to do any real field tests on this thing you've concocted, and I don't accept throwing my life or the lives of my people away on a chance. But," she continued, "when I saw just who came for this extraction, I realized my people were much safer taking their chances with a faulty cloaking device than taking on the UNSC's most decorated kill-team. I told Graham that we wouldn't back him, and he shouldn't go through with it." She glanced at Alpin. "I thought the point was settled there, and didn't think it would be necessary to tell my team that the deal was off."

"If what you're telling us is true, you'll know where he'll be traveling. Lead us to him and we'll haul him back here and get everything squared away." John's voice had lost its predatory edge, opting instead for what Fred referred to as the team leader's "politician voice." He spoke calmly and evenly, neither inciting defensiveness nor aggression through his tone. It was an interrogation technique Mendez had drilled into them so hard as children that Fred could still imagine the man screaming at them when they messed up.

"That'll never work," Alpin answered him. "Graham left here hours ago – the only option we have is to ambush him at the rendezvous point and hopefully nab him before any Prometheans show up to make things ugly."

"And you'll be needing all the help you can get on the chance that your operation does go south," Eason added. "Help that my team and I would be happy to provide – for a price. We want on that Pelican when it dusts off."

Her request wasn't unreasonable; in fact, Fred was surprised the demand was so low. But space on the Pelican was limited, and there would be plenty of people vying for a seat.

"We can't do that," John said. "You know as well as I do that unless the key developers get off-world it won't do anyone any good if we hope to replicate it."

"If we're stuck here it won't do my people any good whether you replicate it or not. I've named my terms." She stared defiantly into John's faceplate. "I'm looking out for my team the same way you look out for yours."

The tension rose so quickly in the room that it was almost tangible. The Ballast security that had slowly filtered in behind Ellsworth each gripped their weapons more tightly while Alpin's hand slowly returned to the grip of his sidearm. If something didn't change soon, the two groups were liable to wipe each other out.

"We'll make it a straw draw," Alex spoke out. She walked around Ellsworth and stepped between Eason and John. "There are only so many seats, and a certain number have to go to the ONI team and the Spartans. Beyond that, your team will have as good a chance as any of us to get a spot on the Pelican when it takes off. Statistically, you'll get more of your people off-world and we should end up with enough of the tech people to be able to continue our work."

Eason chewed on her lower lip as she considered Alex's offer. After a moment she nodded. "That will work for now. We're in - as long as I can get the Master Chief's word that he'll honor your end."

Though he hadn't spoken, the aversion that John felt to the compromise was clear to his team. There were too many variables in the deal, and it was far more imperative that the scientists be taken from the planet than their army-for-hire.

That said, unless they had the contractors' help in finding and retrieving Graham and the cloaking device none of it would matter. They really had no other choice. "You want my word?" he asked. "You've got it."

Eason's face, thus far defined by cold, hard features, erupted into a beaming, if forced, smile. "Then you've got yourself a deal. And we've got ourselves a runaway to catch." She waved Alpin to her side and shouted for another member of her team to retrieve a map of the city, which included the access point to the bunker.

"The way I see it, we'll need to split into two teams. The first team will intercept Graham and grab him before he can make his playdate." As she spoke, her operative returned with the map and spread it out across a nearby table. Eason pointed to a spot on the map that looked vaguely like a city park in the center of Vallejo's business sector. "Here's his meeting point. The second team will set up in these buildings around the park and provide cover in case things get hot."

John nodded. "Blue Four and I will go for extraction with Team One," he said. "Eason, you and your people are with me. You know the route best, and I'll need you to give us the best chance of intercepting Graham. Blue Two and Three will lead Team Two, made up of the civilian team." John turned to Ellsworth. "Talk with your people. If things go right here, this will be their best chance to make a clean getaway. Get a team of six who can bug out and return to the city and gear up. We move in five minutes." Ellsworth nodded. He grabbed Alex's hand and squeezed it before jogging away.

"Scott," Eason said, and Alpin turned to look at her. "You're with Team Two. You'll need to show them how to get their clunky selves around without drawing attention," she finished with a cocky smirk at Fred. Alpin simply nodded – first at Eason, then at Fred.

"Doctor," John spoke up again, turning this time to Alex. "Put together a list of the essential people from your team. Anyone not on that list is to load everything that you need on the Pelican and then evacuate. I want as few people here as possible when we return." He turned his attention back to the operatives and Spartans surrounding the table. "The rest of you, gear up. It's time to move."

Chapter Text

1820 HOURS, APRIL 24, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /

VALLEJO CITY, PLANET BALLAST, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM

Kelly-087 lay prone, the BR85 she was "borrowing" from the bunker's armory set up in front of her and Oathsworn resting in the magmounts on her back. She was on the fourth level of what appeared to be an office building - one of many surrounding a small park in Vallejo's downtown sector. She looked down the battle rifle's scope, sighting in on a pair of birds as they idly swam circles around the pond that was clearly the park's main attraction. Were she positioned any lower, she likely wouldn't have been able to see much of the park, hindered as her visibility was by the prolific pines that were left standing when the land was developed decades ago. The standing trees formed a sort of natural fence around the area, providing both shade and privacy to the park-goers.

From what she could see, Kelly was sure the park was once a hub for families, tired employees seeking a moment's respite from the business district, and elderly people who came to throw breadcrumbs for the flightless waterfowl that waddled about as if they owned the place. She could all but picture young children running through the trees, coming up with silly games to play as an excuse to chase each other around the park while their parents sat on nearby benches. She briefly wondered if Fred himself was observed by ONI agents in a similar place before he was taken and inducted into the SPARTAN program.

She shook her head - she was getting distracted. If the time to wonder about such things even existed, the present wasn't it. She quickly re-examined her rifle to sharpen her attention.

She and Fred chose the building for both its height—enough to give Team Two's sharpshooters a clear view into the park and of Graham's supposedly imminent arrival—and location—close enough to engage, far enough for an easy withdrawal. The exfiltration itself should be easy - each member of the team brought with them a line of 9.4mm dynamic rope and rappelling gear which they anchored on the side opposite the park, with obstructing windows removed as subtly as time allowed, and run the lines to the ground below. Provided they remained discreet, it should take less than thirty seconds for the entire team to exit the building.

If all went according to plan, John and Linda - along with Team One - would intercept the scientist before he ever reached the park. As soon as they received confirmation, Team Two would disband as quickly and quietly as possible, with six of the eight civilians abandoning their gear and blending back into the populated areas of the city. The six were Ballast natives who opted out of the drawing to leave the planet, and they'd be returning to their families. Meanwhile Fred, Kelly, Ellsworth, and the mercenary Alpin would reunite with Team One, retreat to the bunker, and prepare to make their escape from the planet.

If things didn't go according to plan, Team Two's first priority was to intercept Graham and the device and return to the bunker as inconspicuously as possible, which would be next to impossible under the kind of firefight Kelly expected would accompany a failure on John's part. If both teams failed in capturing the wayward scientist and his device, the order was to eliminate both with extreme prejudice – it was far better that and the entire unit be lost than the Created get yet another leg up on the UNSC in this largely one-sided conflict.

Kelly tried to focus. Her team was spread across five floors, with two soldiers on each level. Two operatives, rather, as the majority of Team Two was made up of police officers. The six men and women stretched out amongst the three levels above her head were brave, and reportedly good shots, but they weren't soldiers. There were only two people among the team that she trusted not to lose their nerve. One of them, Fred, was on the level beneath her with Alpin. The other, coincidentally also named Fred, was doing his best to stay still next to her as he fought pre-fight jitters.

Able to contain his excitement at least enough to remain prone, the man had nonetheless done no less than four complete checks over his S85, re-secured the anchor on his rappel line several times, and been chewing gum as compulsively as a lifelong addict trying to quit smoking. What distracted Kelly most, however, was that he kept looking at her and opening his mouth to speak before seemingly changing his mind and busying himself with something else.

"Something on your mind, officer?" Kelly eventually asked. She had always been deadly curious, and the way he bit his tongue every time he seemed ready to speak to her was beginning to drive her mad.

Ellsworth seemed surprised. He worked his jaw for another moment, debating with himself over whether he would speak. "Can I ask you a question?" he finally spit out in a rush.

"You just did, but I'll give you two for your trouble," the Spartan answered, looking at him from the corner of her eyes to avoid moving her head.

The young man grinned in response, though his face quickly turned serious. "I can't help but notice that your team has a problem with me," he began. He then shrugged one shoulder as nonchalantly as possible and sighted down his S85. "It wouldn't normally bother me much, but I'd rather not be on the bad side of the most effective killers this side of a tactical nuclear missile."

Kelly couldn't help but crack a small smile at the compliment. "My team doesn't have an issue with you. You've performed admirably given the circumstances, and that's more than most can claim," she answered.

Ellsworth scanned the street below them for Promethean movement as he spoke. "Yeah, that's all well and good, but I've noticed that you're the only member of your team that looks me in the eye. Well, I should say I assume you're looking me in the eye. Kind of difficult to tell with the helmet," he admitted, waving an open palm over his face in an obvious pantomime of Kelly's faceplate. "The rest of them seem to deliberately stay away from me. Your boyfriend has kept as much distance from me as possible since we left Dacacio."

At that Kelly turned to look at the man directly. "Boyfriend?" she asked confusedly.

Ellsworth shot her a chagrined look. "Sorry, not trying to make any assumptions here. You two seemed close, and I needed something to call him since I still don't even know the guy's name. Call it a relational misjudgment."

"Spartans have neither the time nor the energy for romantics, and you still haven't asked your question," Kelly said, putting an edge into her voice in the hopes of sidestepping further uncomfortable speculation.

"Right," Ellsworth answered, taking the hint. As he spoke he absent-mindedly unwrapped another piece of gum and used it to replace the one he was chewing. "I've noticed that you're not exactly the chattiest group, but should I be worried about Big Blue's knife finding its way across my throat? I'm trying to convince myself that you aren't keeping enough separation from me to avoid feeling bad about my untimely death."

Kelly sighed and turned her gaze back out the window. "No, we aren't planning to kill you. Spartans don't make a point of assassinating local police. As for why my team is acting differently around you, we . . ." There the Spartan hesitated. She certainly wasn't going to tell the truth about what kept Blue Team on edge around the young man, but she knew that it was best not to resort to a complete lie when dealing with detectives. If this Ellsworth was anything like the Gaoian inspector Veta Lopis, he'd easily pick through an attempt at totally deceiving him. "We used to know someone named Fred Ellsworth," she finally answered, settling for an awkward half-truth. After all, Fred's surname hadn't been Ellsworth for nearly four decades.

Ellsworth arched one eyebrow. "Whoever this guy is, he must have made quite the impression," he said, chewing his gum with renewed vigor.

Kelly laughed once. "Don't even get me started," she said. She watched carefully down her rifle, hoping for a sign of the wayward scientist. Or anything, really, to distract them from this line of conversation.

Instead, her mind fixated on the mystery made incarnate by the man lying beside her. She had spent the past hours biting her tongue in respect for Fred's privacy. Ellsworth was right that Fred was giving him as wide a berth as possible, and Kelly understood that her partner needed to grapple with the possibility of some relation between the two in his own way. She wanted to respect that and keep her nose out of her partner's business.

Which was why she was as caught off guard as anyone when she heard herself saying, "As long as we're asking questions, how did you come by the name?"

Ellsworth raised his cheek from his rifle's stock and looked at her in mild surprise. "Depends on who's asking," he answered cheekily. "Do you want to get to know me better, or are you getting ready to notify my next of kin?"

Kelly shrugged one shoulder. "I told you I wasn't planning to kill you, but you might convince me to change my mind yet," she joked with just enough of an edge in her voice to leave the young man wondering how truthful she was being. "You're a police lieutenant. I'm sure the questions you ask about my team are to help you paint some sort of profile you can use to understand us better. I'm just looking to do the same. Besides," she concluded, "I'm pretty sure that 'friend' of yours in the bunker would notify everyone for me."

Ellsworth smiled again, his cheeks pink in a light blush. "Fair enough," he said, "I did downplay my reason for wanting to make it back to Vallejo, so I guess I owe you an answer. Fair warning though, it's a long story."

Just as he opened his mouth to expound, he was interrupted by two clicks on the open comm line. "Looks like we'll have to take a rain check on it. Keep me alive and I'll answer when we get back to the bunker," he finished with a smirk.

"New orders, Team Two," Fred's voice came over TEAMCOM. "Everyone who's staying planet-side, bug out now. Repeat, dump all equipment where you are and bug out now." Kelly heard some light scuffling come from the floor above her as the two officers positioned there raced to comply. "Everyone else," Fred continued, now speaking to herself and Ellsworth, "We are not to fire on Prometheans until absolutely necessary. Team One is sending someone to intercept the target. They're going to try to use this as a live field test of the device's functionality."

"Who should we be watching for to confirm that their intercept got to the good doctor in time?" Ellsworth asked.

There was a pregnant pause before Fred answered. "You'll recognize her when you see her," he finally said.

Ellsworth's brow furrowed as he considered the Spartan's answer. "She better not have," he said in a low voice, his eyes suddenly darting back and forth along the tree line with a renewed intensity and his jaw working twice as hard on the gum in his mouth.

"We've got movement," Alpin interrupted whatever else Ellsworth might have prepared to say. "Southeast corner of the park. Looks like someone moving through the trees."

"That's Graham and our contact," Fred said after a moment. "Keep an eye out. The Created they're meeting with have got to be around here somewhere."

Kelly scanned in the direction Alpin reported, searching for any movement. Finally, she caught a brief patch of white moving through the dense collection of pine trees. She tracked the direction the object was traveling until two figures appeared in a small clearing, glancing around themselves nervously. One of them was a somewhat diminutive man, with narrow sloping shoulders and a bald spot that glistened with perspiration in what was left of the evening sun. The other was a tall woman with a blonde ponytail and a device tucked under her left arm, who seemed to be making a point of not looking across the park at the business district.

Fred was right; Ellsworth didn't like it.

"She always throws herself into these situations," he began to mutter under his breath.

"No use being angry about it now," Kelly interrupted. "You two can have your spat when we get her and that device back to the bunker in one piece. Focus up and get ready to lay down covering fire." She glanced over at the young man, who appeared even more tense than before. In a more soothing voice she continued, "We still have a job to do, and whether Alex survives or not depends a lot on how well we do it. Stay focused and keep her safe."

As soon as she finished speaking, her attention was drawn back to the park by more movement through the trees. A handful of Crawlers lived up to their name, quickly dodging and weaving through the trees as they undoubtedly scanned for any trace of an ambush. Soon after identifying the Crawlers, Kelly picked out several squads of Soldiers moving through the trees with their rifles raised.

"Are you seeing what I am?" she asked quietly over TEAMCOM.

"Confirm multiple contacts," Fred answered. "Stay frosty and keep your fingers on the trigger."

Kelly honed in on the head of one of the Soldiers. They weren't as strong as Knights, but the Soldiers were fast, and good shots to boot. When things turned ugly, they would need to eliminate the targets as quickly as possible. That said, she wasn't sure how this situation could possibly turn out in their favor.

Finally, a Soldier Officer left the trees and entered the clearing, approaching the pair of scientists as they looked around themselves nervously. The large machine walked toward them with its weapon down, having either received orders or scanned the pair and deemed them non-threatening. The soldier stopped in front of the pair and lowered itself slightly to be more level with them.

The soldier's interior lights changed from a harsh orange to a softly pulsing blue when Graham took a timid half step toward it. Kelly quelled her reaction to confirm that Fred saw the change as well, trying instead to focus on the mouths of the scientists – looking for a clue as to what was happening from reading their lips. She was too far away. Graham began speaking to the Soldier first, meekly gesturing to Alex and likely explaining why he was being accompanied by more people than he originally claimed. The Promethean turned its attention on Alex, and the pair seemed to be saying something to each other.

Despite herself, Kelly found herself absolutely unnerved by the color emanating from the construct. It was a hue she had grown familiar with in her brief interactions with John's former AI. The AI that somehow managed to invade her mind almost nightly with visions of being trapped in a stasis field, watching as everything and everyone she cared about was destroyed while she could do nothing. The claustrophobia of being trapped in her own armor and the helplessness of a small child - a feeling she hadn't experienced since she was six years old.

Kelly felt a tightness in her chest and had to consciously stay her hand to avoid putting an end to the light with an entire magazine from her battle rifle. She knew that color, but still couldn't bring herself to even form the name it was associated with in her mind.

"Something's wrong," Ellsworth said beside her, "Alex is picking a fight with that thing."

When Kelly focused back in she could tell, even with the scope's minimal magnification, that Alex's body language appeared to be more aggressive than just a moment before. She seemed to shout something at the Soldier, which continued to regard her coolly. Alex looked down at the device in her hand and did something to it.

At once, everything began to move. The Soldier Officer's light flickered back to orange and it began searching frantically in front of it, raising its weapon. Alex dropped low and dragged Graham behind a tree by the collar of his coat, rushing directly out of the Soldier's gaze.

Apparently, the device was a success.

The Officer standing alone in the clearing began firing blindly, seeming to focus its aim on where the scientists were standing just a moment before. Until a crack thundered from a building across the park, and the Officer's tri-cornered helmet broke into pieces. A second shot split the machine's head in two, and it fell to the ground.

Following Linda's shots, bullets poured into the park as Team One put down cover fire. Kelly held her fire, awaiting Fred's signal, but saw that the first team was doing a good job of cutting down targets whenever they stepped out from behind cover. Slowly, a Promethean Watcher rose from a dense thicket of trees and floated away from the park, coming near the building Team Two had adopted and likely scanning for hostiles.

"You know what that Watcher means, LT," Kelly said. Watchers were mobile support units carried in the backs of Promethean Knights. Promethean Knights spelled trouble for seasoned soldiers, let alone for civilian scientists.

"I see it," Fred said in a rush. "And we have a change of plans. Team One is going to draw them out of the park, we're on pickup duty. Get out of the building and make it to the park as fast as you can." Without a word, Ellsworth rose to his feet and sprinted for the rappel line.

As Team One continued to fire from their concealed positions, the Watcher increased its climb, taking occasional potshots as it attempted to locate the soldiers firing on its unit. Linda fired again, the 14.5x114mm round smashing through yet another Soldier with enough force to knock a fist-sized hole through its dead-center mass. The Drone lifted higher still, coming level with the third floor of the building.

Kelly debated between running for the back window and following Ellsworth down the rappel line and taking a shot at the floating machine. "Lead, if that Watcher gets any higher it's going to have a perfect line on Linda's position," she said to Fred.

If that thing were any closer, she thought in frustration, waiting for his reply, I could reach out and grab it.

"I've got it," came the reply, with a cool confidence that surprised Kelly. "Get Alpin and Ellsworth to the park as quickly as you can. I'll meet you there."

The Spartan rose from her position and moved for the back window toward the rappel line, wondering what Fred had in mind. She stopped dead in her tracks when it dawned on her.

"Don't even think about it LT," she said, running back to where she had just left and peering out the window. Ellsworth reluctantly left his position near the rappel line and came jogging to her side.

"Never do," came Fred's infuriatingly smug response.

No sooner had the other Spartan answered her than the window directly beneath her erupted, shards of glass rocketing outward as though shot from a cannon. Among the shards of glass flew a mass of titanium armor, two arms outstretched as it sailed across the thirty feet of open air between the building and the Watcher.

Kelly heard a sharp intake of breath from the man standing beside her as Fred's trajectory ended in a heavy collision with the floating sentinel. "Time to go," she said to Ellsworth. "We've got work to do."

As Ellsworth turned back toward the rappel lines Kelly spent a moment watching her teammate's rapid descent to the ground as the Sentinel struggled against the sudden added weight on its propulsion. With a sigh she turned and moved to their exit point.

"What is it?" Ellsworth asked, frantically hooking himself to the line and preparing to drop to the ground below.

Kelly shook her head and gestured for the man to finish attaching the rappel line. "Nothing," she said, sparing a moment to look over her shoulder and out the window behind her. "I just hate it when he does that."

Chapter Text

1830 HOURS, APRIL 24, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /

VALLEJO CITY, PLANET BALLAST, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM

Alarms blared through Fred's ears. First, the tone warning that he was in a free-fall. Second, the proximity warning. Then his hands collided with the Watcher's hard light frame.

The Spartan's fingertips punched through the flying machine's armored "skin," securing his grip while it rapidly lost altitude, unbalanced by the extra weight suddenly stacked upon its thrusters. Before he even completely formed the thought, the neural uplink connecting him to his armor brought the distance to the ground up on his HUD – eleven meters and dropping at a rate of two meters per second.

The Watcher began spinning wildly, juking from side to side while it amped up the force to counteract their descent. Fred realized that, rather than random evasion maneuvers, the drone was angling itself back over the park in the direction of the Promethean ground forces. The Spartan clenched his left fist, pushing his fingertips deeper into the metal casing in his grasp as its owner tried to buck free of him. With his other hand he removed the combat knife from its housing in his rifle's foregrip.

Fred checked the distance to the ground again – seven meters, and the rate of their fall was rapidly ticking down to zero as the Watcher corrected for his weight. In the meantime it continued to buck and lurch like a bull trying to throw its rider, succeeding in whipping the Spartan around wildly with its rapid movements. Fred squeezed his left hand even tighter to strengthen his hold on the construct and with his right he reached up to stab his blade through the Watcher's head.

The machine was in the middle of a hard bank to the left, carrying them both over the treeline and into the park, when Fred's knife plunged through its metal "face." The Watcher's evasive juking suddenly halted and it began to plummet toward the ground even as it disintegrated in a bright orange flash. He let go of the construct's disintegrating carapace and let the momentum of its final evasive maneuver send him dropping directly into a thicket of pine trees.

He collided with the first tree shoulder-first, smashing straight through the trunk. The impact, absorbed by the MJOLNIR's shields but leaving its own mark in return, slowed his forward momentum enough that he ricocheted off the second tree he came into contact with like a pinball. He tucked himself into a ball as he smashed through the boughs of several great pines, managing somehow to keep his feet oriented to the ground as he fell the last few meters. Finally the proximity alarm in his helmet shrieked its final warning just before his feet touched ground and sent him into an uncontrolled tumble.

He finally skidded to a stop, flat on his back with his feet in the air, leaving a deep furrow in the soft earth behind him. He rolled to his feet and scanned his surroundings, turning the knife still clenched in his right hand to use it better. No contacts appeared on his radar.

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the realization that the Prometheans hadn't detected him. It came as an added relief that his teammates missed his ungraceful fall.

The Spartan rose to his feet and did an equipment check. His sidearm had somehow remained coupled to the magmount on his thigh throughout his tumbling across the ground, and after a quick scan he found his DMR lying across the top of a thick bush some six meters from him. He retrieved it and checked to ensure that it was in working order before getting his bearings. He then set off in the direction of the clearing where he last saw Alex.

A burst of static came across his comms, followed by John's voice. "Team One is running fire-and-maneuver," he said. "We'll draw them as far from the park as we can before we fall back. Rendezvous at HQ as planned."

"Blue Two copies," he answered before disconnecting the communication. The original plan was to reunite at the bunker, designated HQ, at 1945 hours. Given it was an hour's march, that left him with a short window to find the wayward scientists. Kelly would quickly make her way to his position with Alpin and Ellsworth in tow, which allowed him to focus solely on reaching the stranded civilians.

Fred dodged through trees and shrubs, periodically glancing at his motion tracker. Though he was seriously hindered by the environment, he made good time through the woods ringing the park. He slowed down as he neared the clearing where Alex had argued with an Officer just minutes ago.

Three red blips appeared at the edge of his motion tracker, what he reasoned to be the far side of the clearing. He slowed his pace even more, creeping through the trees as stealthily as possible. His mind raced anxiously as the three red dots grew closer the nearer he got to his goal.

Eventually his target came into view. The clearing was a wide circle with soft-looking grass and beautiful flowers, ringed with the same tall trees Fred was still working his way through. At the eastern edge the technicians were hunkered down in the same place as when last he saw them. They were not in any immediate danger, though the trio of red dots glowing on is FOF tracker quickly revealed itself to be a fireteam of the mechanical Soldiers. The machines were slowly making their way through the clearing, weapons drawn as they searched.

The constructs moved in a parallel search pattern, each taking an equal portion of the clearing. Given that the scientists were still barely hidden by a fallen tree, Fred surmised that whatever effect the device had on the Officer earlier was still working; they were essentially invisible to the Prometheans.

Fred sighted in on the lead Soldier, though he knew that if he fired now he could endanger the people he was hoping to rescue. Though the action grated against his nerves, he waited.

Suddenly, the enemy group's pattern changed. They quickly moved toward each other, converging on a point roughly five yards from Alex's position. At once, the three automatons began whipping their heads around – scanning for something. Almost incredibly, they didn't seem to realize how close they were to the targets, poorly hidden behind a fallen tree branch and almost close enough for them to touch.

Instead of advancing on her, the two machines flanking the leader began sidestepping in a wide circle around the techs, seemingly probing against some invisible obstruction.

They're testing the bubble, Fred realized. He couldn't help but admire the adaptability of the walking weapons – even blinded by Alex's device, they seemed to be researching the obstacle in their sensors and reporting the limits of the invisible bubble it generated. That said, as much as he may have appreciated their efficiency, he wasn't about to let them succeed.

The leader, who had yet to move other than a few flicks of its head that Fred interpreted as orders to continue their search, slowly reached its weapon out straight away from itself. When the Soldier's arm was nearly completely outstretched, the end of its weapon began to crack and buzz. The machine observed its weapon for a moment before it retracted the Suppressor, extending its left hand in the same direction.

Fred tensed again, preparing to fire, as the hand continued to stretch forward, reaching directly for Alex. Fred slowly began to tighten his finger as the automaton menacingly approached the scientist.

Suddenly the lights on the back of the construct's hand winked out, and the appendage came to pieces and fell in a pile on the ground below.

The Soldier quickly retracted its arm and curiously studied the vacant space at the end of its wrist. With a quick movement the machine moved its incomplete appendage behind itself and raised the Suppressor in its other hand. The other Soldiers raised their own rifles in unison. Each was aiming in the general direction of Graham and Alex, though none of them were directly facing the pair.

Suddenly, Alex rose to her feet.

The Spartan snapped his rifle up to sight on the fireteam's leader, but his line of fire was obstructed as the young woman took off in a dash toward his target. He swallowed a curse, scrambling forward to try for a better vantage point.

As she ran, the Soldiers on either side of Alex seemed to track her progress. Fred quickly shifted his aim to the left and squeezed the trigger the moment his targeting reticle landed on the other Soldier's head. The orange lights burning within the Soldier flashed more vibrantly as it began to deconstruct, though the Spartan didn't wait to watch the process complete before turning to the second target.

Alex continued her charge toward the leader. Fred jumped to his feet and moved as quickly as he could to the east, stepping into the clearing and sacrificing cover for vantage to get a view around the charging woman. Though he was faster than Alex, she managed to distance herself perfectly to keep her small frame between Fred and the Soldier he was trying to put down - preferably before it managed to harm the insane woman charging it unarmed. By the time Fred managed to put himself at enough of an angle to see the Soldier she was running toward, Alex was less than three meters from it.

The leader noticed Fred's movement and snapped its Suppressor up while Fred prepared to fire on it. The other remaining Soldier had already begun to fire on the Spartan, and his aim was thrown off as a few of the construct's frantic rounds splashed against his shields.

Fred juked hard to the right before spinning and bursting in a long lunge to his left. The Soldier firing on him continued to track its fire in Fred's original trajectory, and the Spartan used the short time afforded him by his evasive maneuver to target the leader once more. With a quick breath the Spartan fired a round dead-center between his enemy's glowing eyes.

In the split second before his bullet found a home in its target, Fred watched the lights in the Armiger's metal face suddenly go dark. It began to collapse, and the 7.62 mm round ricocheted harmlessly off part of the Soldier's face as they unceremoniously clattered on the ground.

Spending no time on further contemplation, Fred turned in the direction of the final Soldier. His shields flashing a dull orange as it fired on him. In a snap the Spartan found the final threat and centered it in his DMR's crosshairs, firing four times at the machine's center of mass. While the metal casing of the Soldier's body stopped the first shot cold, the 7.62 mm round left a sizable dimple in the metal. The second round, landing almost exactly on top of the first, left a sizable crack. The third and fourth bullets punched through the metal, cracking the inner mechanics and effectively "killing" the Soldier.

Fred turned back to the metallic heap on the ground. Bewildered at the construct's uncharacteristic fragmentation, Fred reached out and picked the lifeless head up before scanning for whatever killed it. His scan ended when his eyes alighted upon Alex, crouched a few meters away with the device clutched carefully in her hands.

The Spartan slowly approached Alex and extended a hand to her. "Did you know that was going to work?" he asked as the woman gingerly accepted his proffered hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

She dropped her gaze to the machinery in her hands and shook her head. "No idea," she said through adrenaline-induced heavy breathing. "At best I was hoping that it would blind the thing long enough for you to kill it." She lifted her eyes and looked at Fred, offering a shy smile. "Call it a happy accident."

"That was a pretty dumb bet to put all your chips on," Fred said, studying the object in her hands. "You could have died, you know."

"You want a big reward, you've got to take a big risk." She answered quickly, a small smirk touching her lips.

Before Fred could offer a response, Graham – who had until now remained motionless, paralyzed in fear – suddenly scrambled to his feet and made a dash for the nearest thicket of trees. Alex turned at the sound and started, leaning forward to chase after him.

After a quick consultation of his motion tracker, Fred placed a hand on her shoulder.

"What are you doing? He'll get away!" she exclaimed, looking over her shoulder and leaning against his restraining arm.

"Let him run," he answered calmly. "He's not going anywhere, trust me."

Alex glared disbelievingly at him over her shoulder as Graham left the clearing and slipped into the thicket of trees, but she didn't bother to pull against his grip. She may not have trusted his judgment completely, Fred reasoned, but she was smart enough to realize that she wasn't going to move if he didn't want her to. Soon enough, however, movement in the trees the errant ONI operative had just used for his escape drew her attention.

"Is he coming back?" Alex wondered aloud as she caught the sight of someone walking toward them.

"More or less," he answered with a smile. A moment later an armored Spartan stepped into the clearing, the large faceplate of her Hermes helmet shining in the afternoon sun. In her right hand she held Oathsworn, her customized M45 shotgun. In her left hand she dragged an unconscious scientist by the collar of his jacket.

Two men emerged from the trees behind Kelly. Alpin was opening and closing his left hand and rubbing his knuckles like he just punched something. Or someone. Ellsworth squinted in the brightness of the clearing but carefully scanned the area until his eyes alighted on Alex and Fred.

Without a word the young man took off at a run, slowing enough that when he gently collided with Alex's smaller frame he didn't knock her down. He wrapped her up in a tight embrace and said, "What were you thinking? Don't ever put yourself in the middle of a mess like this again." Though his words were admonishing, his voice only carried relief.

Alex leaned back from him with a smile and asked, "What, do you have some monopoly on acting before thinking?" Ellsworth simply nodded, and Alex rolled her eyes. "Well," she said, taking a step back from him so he would release her with one of his arms, "Somebody had to do a field check. And if I hadn't, we never would've figured that out." She proudly pointed at the Soldier in a heap.

"What happened there?" Kelly asked when she was near enough to be heard, nodding at the metal head in Fred's hand.

"He picked a fight with the wrong person, and she ripped him apart with her bare hands," Fred answered. He glanced at the woman who shrugged and brushed his comments off with a wave of her hand.

"Nothing that dramatic," she corrected him. "Our invention works in ways I didn't expect it to, and I got lucky."

Kelly shrugged one shoulder, "We love getting lucky."

The three civilians turned in near-unison to look at her. Kelly squatted with her back to them, observing the crumbled Soldier remains and oblivious to the attention she was receiving.

"Do the two of you get lucky . . . often?" Ellsworth asked, a confused smile creeping onto his face. Alex reached out and slapped his stomach with the back of her hand.

"Not as often as we'd like, but probably more than most," Kelly answered, her voice rising in pitch and almost turning into a question when she looked up from the disassembled Soldier to see Ellsworth's cheeks begin to redden slightly, Alex pinching the bridge of her nose between her right thumb and index finger, and Alpin knitting his eyebrows together in an expression that somehow expressed equal parts curiosity and disappointment.

Fred found himself as confused as his partner. The onboard computer in his MJOLNIR armor, linked to his thoughts through the neural interface, pulled up a solution to his unspoken query in less than a second.

In a way that was as unsettling as it was familiar, he almost heard the words as they ticked by in the bottom corner of his HUD.

"Getting lucky", a colloquial term dating back to as early as the 20th Century, formally means "to have good luck." More informally, the phrase was expanded to take on additional significance, principally denoting the act of –

Fred cut the message off when the realization dawned on him. In spite of himself, a wide grin spread across his face as he caught onto the implication of Kelly's innocently uttered responses.

"Blue Three," he grunted, drawing her attention. "They're messing with you."

Kelly cocked her head slightly to the side for a moment before she was hit by the same understanding Fred had been. In a flourish she stood and rested Oathsworn against her shoulder, her right index finger still noticeably on the trigger, and placed her left hand on her hip. "I suppose you all think that was terribly funny," she said threateningly.

Alpin's expression snapped back to one of disinterest and he suddenly found something very interesting to examine on the toe of his boot. Alex's eyebrows raised and she subconsciously took a few steps that put Ellsworth between herself and the miffed Spartan. Most of the color drained from Ellsworth's face as he stammered a quiet "No, ma'am."

"Smart answer," Fred said, cutting off whatever angry remark Kelly might have prepared. "We're still on a tight window people, time to get a move on. Get that device locked down, and someone get Graham on his feet."

"I don't mean to worry anyone," Ellsworth said, nervously glancing between the device in his hands and the angry Spartan subtly threatening him with a shotgun, "But this thing seems like it's heating up."

Alex worriedly rushed back to his side, took the device from him, and knelt on the ground to examine it. After a few moments she looked up worriedly. "The power source is failing. It's overheating, if I don't shut it down immediately, we could lose the entire project."

"The power supply can't hold up to the energy drain from the device," Graham said haughtily. "Yet another reason why my decision to barter with -" His tirade cut off suddenly when Alpin's foot connected with his shoulder.

"If it can't wait, shut it down," Fred nodded at Alex, then turned to the others. "The device is our top priority. Blue Three, go out ahead and make sure our path is clear. Alpin, get Graham ready to move. Ellsworth, you and I are on rear-guard."

Kelly was gone before he even finished doling out orders, and the three civilians quickly stepped into their roles. While Alpin hauled a belligerent Graham to his feet Ellsworth stepped away from the device to allow Alex room to work. The police officer removed his SR85 from where it hung from his shoulder by a strap.

A green light flashed next to Kelly's name on his HUD, indicating a clear path.

"Move," Fred ordered. Alpin immediately began following Kelly's trail, menacingly prodding a begrudging Graham with the end of his rifle. Alex followed right after him, tightly clutching the device in both hands. Ellsworth finally moved from Fred's side and jogged to his place in line behind Alex, and Fred followed them, keeping his back to the civilians and his rifle raised to cover their rear.

The distant sound of splintering wood reached his ears. Something was crashing through the trees in their direction. Something big.

"We've got incoming. Kelly, keep on point. We need to get back to the tunnels as soon as possible. I'll take the rear. Ellsworth," he added, "keep yourself midway between me and the others." Kelly's light flashed green, and the others nodded, increasing their pace. Even Graham seemed to have found new motivation to get moving as the sound became loud enough for him to hear.

Ellsworth hung back a moment, watching the others move away from him. "You planning to take whatever that thing is by yourself?" he asked. "Judging by the sound it's making, I doubt they want to be your friend."

"Priority is that device your friend is carrying. Our first job is to make sure it gets back in one piece," Fred answered without turning to look the young man in the eye. "I should be able to handle whatever is coming. I need you to keep an eye on Alex and her invention until I do. Can you handle that?" He glanced over his shoulder to take in a familiar sight. The young man was nervous but doing his best not to show it. He was also eager. Excited, almost.

He had some fight in him, there was no question about that.

With a nod Ellsworth turned and jogged after the others. After a few moments Fred followed suit, noting that the approaching sounds of startled animals and broken branches were growing louder by the second. Their pursuer was moving fast.

The subway tunnels, which would provide the best cover from any pursuers, were still a kilometer away. Even with the civilians moving at a jog, it would take several minutes to get there. Minutes Fred didn't believe they had.

"Kelly," he said over TEAMCOM, "Keep a distance of twenty meters in front. Let's not open ourselves up to an ambush. Ellsworth, tighten the gap with the others. Everyone stay alert." Just as he turned to catch the group again, the Spartan caught a glimpse of their hunter.

It was massive, towering over even his abnormal height. It had long, awkward looking limbs and a large beetle-like carapace over its shoulders. Instead of a lower left arm there an orange hardlight blade, and an incineration cannon was attached to its right. It charged toward him, roughly one hundred meters away. The construct was neither swift nor agile as the nimbler Soldiers, though it wouldn't take much time at all before it was close enough to be lethal.

"Contact!" Fred shouted, lifting his DMR and firing a few rounds at the metal behemoth. "Knight-commander! Scatter and make for the tunnel access immediately, everyone move!"

Without turning to ensure his orders were followed, the Spartan charged toward the Promethean. He moved laterally, wary of any stray fire from the hulking machine's arm-mounted incinerator cannon hitting the people behind him. He fired several times as he closed the distance to the Knight, hoping to get close enough for it to opt for the melee weapon attached to its other limb.

"I'm coming to you, LT," Kelly said, her voice carrying over the speaker in his helmet.

"Negative," Fred cut her off, "find Alex and the device and make sure they're secured." He let off a few shots in the Knight's direction to keep it occupied. "Don't worry," he added while jumping sideways to avoid the construct's hastily fired return shot. "I've got this."

"Copy." Kelly answered, though her voice betrayed the argument that she tried to mask.

Fred had no choice but to let her unspoken disagreement hang in the air, opting to slap a fresh magazine into his weapon instead of answering her. In moments, he was within arm's reach of the enraged Knight.

The Spartan immediately ducked under a powerful swipe from the Knight's blade and raised his rifle to fire on it. At point-blank range each round punched through the metal armor surrounding the construct's more vital parts, though the bullets cut straight through without making much of an impact on the internal workings. Fred stepped backward to avoid the lightblade's return swing, then braced his DMR above him with both hands to catch a downward blow from the Knight's other arm.

The heavy cannon came down on the Fred's rifle with enough force to crack the DMR's casing and nearly wrap the weapon around it. The Spartan himself was forced downward from the strength of the blow and had to brace himself on one knee. He slid his left hand down the DMR's bent foregrip enough to grasp the hilt of his concealed knife before throwing himself in a backward roll to create distance between him and his opponent. When he terminated his roll, landing on his knees in as mobile a stance as he could manage, Fred found himself staring down the barrel of the Knight's charging weapon.

Fred heard the Promethean let out a sinister, barking laugh as he dove sideways to avoid its first blast. He continued his frantic evasive tactics while the Knight continued to track him, its shots coming close enough to make his shields flare. Suddenly, the barrage was interrupted as a hail of 7.62 millimeter rounds collided with the Knight's back, throwing it off balance.

In a flash the Knight turned around and fired at its second attacker. Fred took the opportunity to leap back to his feet and rush the construct again. He jumped forward, landing on the Promethean's bulbous metal carapace. The Spartan scrambled for purchase for a moment before finding hold, even as the Knight bucked and writhed beneath him. With his combat knife in his right hand and his left securely gripping the Knight's shoulder, Fred pushed himself off the ground and wheeled around to collide with the construct's midsection in a powerful two-footed kick.

Metal dented beneath his feet and the Knight stumbled backward from the force of his strike, its lightblade swinging wildly in Fred's direction despite the machine's lack of balance.

Fred stepped close enough to grab the swinging arm with his left hand. He then turned and brought his right elbow down on the appendage with enough force to shatter the metal, freeing the blade. He then thrust the Knight's own weapon into its midsection before it managed a response to his assault. Finally, Fred plunged his own knife through the construct's skull. With a groan, it began to disintegrate.

"Threat neutralized," he reported to Kelly. Though he was breathing somewhat heavily from the exertion, he couldn't stop himself from adding, "Told you I could handle it."

"Copy, Lieutenant Smart-mouth," came her reply. "Two civilians and one soon-to-be-former ONI operative secured and accounted for. I haven't found the kid yet."

"Understood. I got an unexpected assist, he must have circled back. I may teach him a lesson about following orders, but I'll get him to the tunnel in one piece. Observe radio silence until further notice."

Fred turned in the direction of his surprise ally, scanning the foliage for a police officer.

Instead, he saw nothing but trees. He ventured out further, searching for any sign of the young man.

A strange sound came to him. The Spartan wheeled around, M6C raised and eyes searching for a target. The sound came again, this time sounding like a cough. Fred cautiously stepped forward, eyeing his surroundings for a potential attack, as he followed the sound. Quickly he came upon a fallen tree, its bisected trunk smoldering and letting off a faint trail of smoke.

"Did we get him?" a quiet, pained voice asked. Fred looked again and found the form of a man pinned beneath the tree, the thickest part of its trunk pressing down on his ribcage. Ellsworth managed to crane his neck far enough to see Fred. He coughed again before saying, "I started to worry about you for a second there."

"We got him," Fred answered before indicating the fallen tree and asking, "What happened? Can you move?"

Ellsworth shook his head and said, "I got out of the way of his shot, but I didn't notice that it hit the tree until it was coming down on me." He coughed again, wincing every time a cough moved his body.

Fred considered his options. He didn't know what internal damage may have been done to the young man, and it would only be exacerbated if he tried to remove the tree. That said, they didn't have time to wait. They needed to get back immediately.

"I'm going to remove the tree and get you to your feet," he said, slapping his sidearm back into place on his thigh. "It's going to hurt." With his knife he cut a strip of fabric from Ellsworth's shirt and wrapped it around a small broken branch, gingerly placing the wrapped wood between Ellsworth's teeth. "Bite down on this," he ordered, "and try not to scream."

The Spartan moved to a position where he could better grab the tree trunk. "On the count of five," he warned. "One. Two. Three." Suddenly, he lifted the tree.

Ellsworth screamed.

Chapter Text

1927 HOURS, APRIL 24, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /

VALLEJO CITY, PLANET BALLAST, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM

"Keep walking Fred. Just a few more steps."

Aside from the footfalls of six people, the soft-spoken mantra was the only sound to break the silence permeating the tunnel.

Strange shadows - the product of twin lines of emergency lights that ran the length of the tunnel at ground level - danced along the subway walls on either side of the small group, keeping pace with them as they slowly made their way through the defunct track. To avoid drawing any extra attention to themselves, the faint green light strips were the only source of illumination in the otherwise dark tunnel.

Progress was slow, even with a Spartan on point and at the rear of the group. Fred led the group through the dark passageways. He was followed by Graham, the begrudging scientist walked with his hands bound in a set of Alpin's zip ties. Behind the ONI operative, Ellsworth limped slowly, his right arm slung over Alpin's shoulders, and his left arm supported by Alex. Alex had her right arm around the injured man's lower back and her left hand was up near her shoulder, tightly gripping Ellsworth's.

For the first time, Fred noticed the glint of a wedding band on their clasped left hands. He realized now that he had never learned the engineer's last name.

"We need to stop," said the woman in question, breaking the monotony of their travel through the tunnel. "He needs to rest for a minute."

Fred consulted his mission clock. They were behind schedule, but within acceptable parameters. He nodded. "Tighten up," he said, "we'll stop for five minutes."

Alex immediately led Ellsworth to the side of the tunnel and helped him sit down. Kelly moved forward and knelt beside them before removing one of her gauntlets. She reached out and gently prodded Ellsworth's ribs for a moment.

True silence kicked in at that point, not even broken by Alex's quiet mumblings of encouragement. It was heavy. Fred's ears started ringing, unaccustomed as they were to the idea of soundlessness. In the quiet, his mind began to scramble for a distraction.

How could he have neutralized the Knight faster? How could he have protected Ellsworth? What was he going to do to make up for it now that he failed, and the young man could well die? The questions continued to roll into his mind, unbidden and distracting.

"You were going to tell me how you got your name, remember?" Kelly asked, her melodic voice breaking the oppressive silence. Not for the first time, Fred's mind clung to the tone and timbre of her voice like a drowning sailor clinging to a life raft in a tempest.

"What?" Ellsworth hissed in discomfort as the large woman continued prodding his injured torso.

"When we were staking out the park a few hours ago, you asked for a raincheck on the story behind your name. I'm cashing it in." The Spartan said it so nonchalantly, she may as well have been discussing the subject over breakfast. Not behind enemy lines on an occupied world.

"Is now really the time?" Ellsworth grumbled. "I don't mean to complain, but it hurts to breathe."

Kelly nodded, though Fred doubted any of the others could see the movement in the darkness. "Yes, now is the time," she said. "I need to feel how your broken bones move while the muscles in your torso move to make sure they won't slice you up beyond repair. If you talk, I'll get a better understanding of it. Besides," she added with a ghost of a smile in her voice, "I'm bored, and you owe me a good story."

Ellsworth exhaled slowly, saying nothing for several seconds, seemingly focused on his breathing. Fred wasn't sure if he would comply or not. But then, Kelly could be very persuasive. She almost always got her way.

"My dad was always sick when he was little," Ellsworth finally began. "He had an auto-immune disorder, and his body just refused to be healthy. There were treatments for it, but Grandma and Grandpa were poor farmers and never had the kind of money to be able to pay for it. They eventually resigned themselves to the idea that my dad might not grow up."

He paused, letting out a cough that sounded concerningly wet. His entire body jolted when he coughed, and his face screwed up tight in a grimace. After a few moments the tension across his face subsided and he continued. "Dad was the second kid. One night Grandma heard Dad's older brother praying, saying he wanted to trade places with Dad. She kind of brushed it off, but then one day Dad suddenly started getting better. He stopped getting sick, he started being able to play outside, and his tests started coming back showing huge improvements."

Despite himself, Fred listened intently. Looking around he saw everyone was actively listening to the story. Even Graham seemed to be paying attention as Ellsworth continued.

"The weird thing was," Ellsworth said after a while of silence, "Dad's brother suddenly started getting sick. According to Grandma, Dad got better at the same rate that his brother got worse. By the time Dad turned six his immune system was running even better than average, and his brother was dead."

"They all took it differently," the young man continued, wincing as he took a misstep. "Grandma called it a miracle until the day she died. Grandpa threw himself into his work for a long time as a distraction, but he was always protective of Dad. Dad always told us about how his brother saved his life, and Mom insisted that they name me after him."

There was a strange twinge in Fred's chest. Daisy and Ralph were the first ones to find out about the flash clones that had replaced each of them. It would be a lie to say that Fred had never wondered about his – whether it had died, if his family had mourned, if it somehow beat the odds and lived a long life. As it turned out, the clone did exactly what it was intended to do; take a young child's place just long enough to avoid suspicion, and then die. He didn't know if he felt pity for the clone or not. It had a purpose, just as he did. From an objective standpoint, it would be difficult to determine whose life's mission was the more unsavory.

He had to wonder – if this Ellsworth family was the one into which he was born, what circumstances precipitated this miraculous recovery? Perhaps an agent from the Office of Naval Intelligence, wracked by the guilt of their involvement in the abduction and replacement of a small child, had arranged for a younger sibling to receive the treatment necessary to save his life.

The Spartan doubted the act could be attributed to someone higher in the program like Dr. Halsey. Not only had he never seen her express any feeling of guilt or remorse over the more morally ambiguous factors of the SPARTAN program, but she also couldn't have risked allocating funds as reparations to any of the families of her candidates without drawing attention. Others, like Mendez, wouldn't have had access to that kind of funding. Besides, he hadn't even met the candidates until they were on Reach.

The whole situation painted a large question mark in his mind, though it was one he would never investigate. In all honesty, he would rather believe it was all just a coincidence. There had to be hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of Ellsworths spread across the Orion Arm. It was completely feasible that there were other Ellsworth families on Ballast itself. This could all just be one great big circumstantial confusion.

His practical mind, however, refused that explanation. That many ducks didn't walk in such a tidy row by accident.

"So where is the rest of your family now?" Alpin asked, breaking the silence. Fred found himself grateful for the intrusion on his thoughts.

Ellsworth sighed and slowly raised a hand to rub it across his face before hissing sharply and changing his mind. "Grandpa and Dad died when the Covenant found Ballast a few years ago. Dad was a police officer and Grandpa was a retired CMA reservist, so they both went out and fought. Grandma went a couple of years later, and then Alex and I got my mom and little sisters off-world."

Kelly let out a low whistle as she replaced her armored glove. "Moved them off-planet?" she asked. "I can't imagine that was cheap."

Alex tipped her head to one side and looked at the floor. "I'm an only child, and my parents were pretty well off. They died when Freddy and I were in high school, and his family took me in. We used my inheritance to pay the tickets for the girls, and we have been working to get enough money to follow them."

She looked at Ellsworth and tenderly rubbed the back of her hand against his cheek. "It seemed like such a good idea after the Covenant," she said. "It seemed like they'd be so much safer closer to Earth. But now we just don't know."

Another heavy silence fell among the group. Heavy, but not as oppressive as before. Still, Fred wasn't a fan. Too much time to think.

"It's time to go," he said. His voice sounded strange to his own ears. He brushed the thought aside. "We don't want to get locked out because we were late for curfew."

Alpin leaned down to help Ellsworth rise as gently as possible, though the man still grunted and winced his way to his feet. As they struggled to prepare to move again, Kelly came to Fred's side.

"Quite the story," she said quietly, watching Ellsworth. Her hand bumped against Fred's again. For a reason not even he was sure of, he pressed his own hand to hers, taking some comfort from the contact.

"Very entertaining," he answered her. "It's time to get going. Take point, I'll hang back."

Hands still pressed together, her index finger slipped around until the pads of their fingertips touched for just a moment. She then withdrew her hand. "Copy that, Lieutenant Freddy," she said, her crud-eating smile all but visible through her helmet.

Fred shook his head and tapped his finger on the trigger guard of Ellsworth's SR-85, which was currently replacing his ruined DMR. "Call me that again and I'll shoot," he warned.

Kelly dismissively waved her hand at him over her shoulder and cockily sauntered away, taking the lead position of their tiny convoy. The others filed in behind her, Ellsworth moving at a slightly quicker pace following his rest. Alpin appeared to be relishing his infrequent opportunities to jam the barrel of his rifle into Graham's shoulder blades whenever the scientist slowed his pace.

Fred let a small smile cross his face at the sight. While the mercenary's loyalties may not have aligned with his own, it was obvious that Alpin was no advocate of those who betrayed his team's confidence. There was some hypocrisy in the fiery haired man's reaction, but Fred was willing to let it slide for the moment.

The Spartan stayed still for several minutes to allow the rest of the group to gain some distance from him. After all, he was no use as a rearguard if he didn't allow enough space to warn the others of danger. As they disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel, he was left once again with his own thoughts.

Far and away his least favorite companion.

Absentmindedly, the Spartan plucked the combat knife from its makeshift home on his left thigh's magmount. He began walking, twirling the blade in his hand and trying hard to rid himself of the image of a young boy pleading with deity for the life of his little brother.

0210 HOURS, APRIL 25, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /

UNSC PROWLER DUSK, IN ORBIT AROUND PLANETOID DEMOS

Captain Lash awoke with a start from yet another nightmare. Ancient alien weaponry and massacred UNSC fleets. The surreal panic of the dream was already fading, but it had been such a frequent vision that the imagined experience was seared into his memory. Red lights were aglow in his quarters, and an alarm sounded just loud enough to make his tired mind ache. The captain jumped from his bed and snatched up his personal comms set.

"Lash to Bridge, report." He poured himself a cup of something strong enough to clear the cobwebs from his mind.

"Massive Tachyon signature detected, Captain," the heavily accented voice of Ensign Volkov answered. "You're needed on the bridge immediately."

Lash groaned. A quick consultation of his clock confirmed his sinking feeling that he had gotten no more than four hours' sleep. He downed the contents of his cup in a single gulp.

"Copy. On my way," he answered.

The captain hadn't even bothered to change out of his uniform, instead collapsing in a tired pile atop his bed the moment the Dusk returned to its holding station near Ballast. As such, he made a single half-hearted attempt to smooth a few of the wrinkles from his tunic as he stormed to the bridge.

Waters was already there by the time he arrived, the commander nursing a steaming mug of stimulant himself. Lash nodded curtly to the XO before taking his place at the command bench.

"Volkov," he said to the young ensign manning the communications station, "Tell me about that Tachyon signature."

The ensign, a massive figure standing nearly two meters tall and possessing muscled shoulders so broad they somehow seemed to stretch even her custom-fit uniform, turned to address him. "It matches the outline of a Guardian, Captain. All projections show that it can only be one thing."

"That's exactly what I was hoping you weren't going to say," Lash muttered. "Call Commanders Durruno and Yang to the bridge immediately, and wake Freitas as well. We might well need all hands on deck for this one."

As Volkov turned to follow the captain's orders, Waters spoke up. "What are you planning, Captain? We certainly can't take on a Guardian alone."

The captain shook his head and pulled up some readouts on his data tablet. "Open attack would be suicide, and we still have a job to finish." He looked to the officer manning the navigation station. "Lieutenant Pierre, prepare a course back to Ballast. Volkov, activate the satellites immediately. When Commander Yang arrives, begin preparing an encrypted transmission for Blue Team. I want it ready to launch the moment the Guardian leaves the system."

Waters thoughtfully tapped his chin. "We'll be cutting their mission time by more than twenty-four hours, sir. What do we do if they aren't ready?"

Lash sighed and rubbed his eyes. "We might be asking the impossible, but our hands are tied. If they aren't ready, we'll have no option . . ."

No option but to leave them here.

He detested the thought. He was no stranger to the legends surrounding the Spartans. He had seen what a team of Spartans could do against insurmountable odds. He read the reports about the Unyielding Hierophant, he knew what the Master Chief did between the Halo constructs and the conflict on Requiem. He knew well what Blue Team had done for humanity. To abandon them at humanity's darkest hour was practically to abandon any hope at all.

Then again, he once saw a planet literally deconstruct itself into a cloud of deadly Sentinels that melted an entire Covenant fleet. Blue Team had walked away from that incident unscathed.

Spartans didn't only make the impossible possible, they made it doable.

"They'll be ready," he said with conviction. "And we're out of options. Engage cloak."

The bridge grew eerily quiet as the crew waited in suspense. No one dared to breathe loudly for fear of detection. Lash felt his forehead begin to bead with sweat, despite the ship's climate-controlled automations. Seconds stretched, and every officer aboard the bridge found themself praying after each breath they took that it wouldn't be the last.

After minutes that felt like days Volkov finally announced, "Tachyon signal dissipating! The Guardian appears to have changed course."

A collective sigh of relief traveled across the bridge. Lash felt a smile teased the corner of his mouth as he finally moved to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. He was troubled by the thought that Guardians were capable of changing course mid-jump, but he set that aside for later. "Bring all systems back online," he ordered. "They may have taken the bait, but we haven't bought ourselves much time. Alert Blue Team of the change of plans immediately."

As the bridge burst into activity, Waters leaned close to Lash. "How do you think they'll handle our last little surprise?" he asked.

Lash smiled. The Dusk had tarried a few hours more near the gas giant Absalom, spreading its entire compliment of armed HORNET tactical mines amongst the twenty-one satellites that represented the faux Battlegroup SAFADO. The suggestion came from Lieutenant Commander Durruno, who had proven to be an excellent tactical mind in addition to her navigational skill. If they were incredibly lucky the mines might damage the Guardian, though if all they managed to do was humiliate the Created Lash would count it as a success.

"It would have been bad manners to skip out on our welcoming party without even leaving a gift," the captain said with a grim smile. "Let's hope the fireworks don't disappoint."

Chapter Text

0317 HOURS, APRIL 25, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /

VALLEJO CITY, PLANET BALLAST, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM

Discarded equipment clattered to the ground, thrown from a tabletop to make room for a holoprojector to display a schematic of Alex's device. "Our first priority is finding a sufficient power source," the engineer said. "I can expand the effective field to fit the Pelican, barely, but without power it won't do us any good."

The ONI team and half a dozen civilian techs gathered around the projection. "We could attach it to the internal power system," one of the civilians offered.

Luisa Fazio, the woman who had taken leadership of the ONI team after Graham's apprehension, cut in. "What, and risk shorting out the whole dropship?" she asked snidely. "Are you trying to get us all killed?"

Then they broke into arguing. Again.

Fred couldn't exactly blame them. Ever since the Dusk's transmission had come in, cutting their mission time by nearly 30 hours, tensions in the bunker were so thick it was like wading upstream in knee-high water. The slightest pin drop was liable to send someone into a nervous tailspin. It was understandable that such a scenario would be a breeding ground for dissent and argumentation.

Understandable or not, there was no time.

"Enough!"

Alex's voice rang out over the din like the crack of a rifle, and all eyes turned to her. Though she was shorter than most of the room's occupants, she seemed to tower over her sheepish colleagues.

"If you can't do more than argue with each other, you're wasting time we don't have. Anyone who can't get over their egos and work together is politely invited to leave." She fixed each of the technicians and engineers around her with a steely glare, finally rounding on Fazio. The dark-haired woman lowered her eyes slightly and nodded in concession.

"Good," Alex said with a satisfied nod of her own. "Now, the Dusk will be in orbit in thirty minutes, which means we have ten to solve our problem; we can't risk attaching the cloak to the Pelican's central power grid without endangering the entire ship. We need an independent power source that can survive the strain the cloak will put on it."

"How much power does it require?" Kelly asked, surprising everyone. Like Fred, she had been watching the group of bickering technicians in silence. A few of the engineers even flinched when she unexpectedly broke that silence.

Alex tapped her chin thoughtfully before responding. "Just long enough to get us into orbit. That shouldn't take much."

"In that case," Kelly answered. "I happen to know someone whose best friend could help us out here." She nodded at Ellsworth, leaning painfully against a work bench behind Alex.

Alex's eyebrows pinched together in confusion as she turned to face him. "Your best friend?" she asked. "Who on earth is that?"

Ellsworth's brow was similarly furrowed as he and his wife shared some non-verbal conversation, though the confusion melted from his face and was quickly replaced by a large grin when the answer dawned on him.

"Sheila."

With that, the young man excitedly hobbled away from the group of technicians. Alex followed him, her steadying hand on his shoulder in an attempt to keep the injured man afoot, and the pair quickly made their way to another of the work benches scattered throughout the hangar. Ellsworth began throwing things from the bench's surface – seeming to Fred like he was taking a somewhat childish delight in the mess he was creating – before letting out a triumphant exclamation and dragging a large black case back toward the brainstorming scientists.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he grunted in a mixture of pain and boyish flair, "allow me to introduce to you the girl of your dreams." He kicked the case open, revealing the antiquated Portable Vehicle Battery housed within.

The technicians looked unimpressed.

"What's an old PVB supposed to do for us?" Fazio asked, grumpily putting her hands on her hips. "That thing looks ancient; I doubt it could even link up with our equipment." The others near her murmured similar thoughts of confusion and distaste.

"This . . ." Alex cut in as she knelt next to the case, "this could actually work." She popped to her feet and scurried toward the holographic display. "This is our twelfth prototype, and we were running low on materials by the time we put it together. We had to get a little creative with older stuff, and relied on a lot of old wiring that we pulled out of nonessential systems from the bunker itself."

She scanned the rotating schematic of the device for a few seconds, then shouted out, "There! If we open the casing right there we can get access to some wiring that should actually sync up with the PVB."

"Sheila," Ellsworth corrected.

Alex rolled her eyes, but acquiesced. "Sheila should work perfectly. I'll just need some help making sure we can match up resources between the two. Luisa, Thomas, I'll need your help. Everyone else give us some room."

Fazio and one of the civilian techs remained by her side while the others dutifully distanced themselves from the table. Fred and Kelly backed up enough not to crowd the trio, and Ellsworth returned to his perch on the workbench with a groan.

"Don't everybody move too far," a voice called out.

Fred looked over his shoulder to see Eason, standing next to the Chief, calling everyone to form a circle around her. He sent a yellow light to John's HUD, probing the situation. In response, the fellow Spartan returned with a green status light and subtly touched his thigh plate twice with his index finger before drawing a small circle in the air. Stay close.

"I guess this is the part where things get uncomfortable," Eason began. She slowly paced within the small circle of onlookers, looking each of them in the eye as she spoke. "As I'm sure you're all aware, there are a limited number of seats available on the Pelican. After the Spooks and the Spartans, it only leaves eight seats for the rest of us. That means that most of us aren't getting off-world. As per our earlier arrangement, it's been decided that the remaining spots are to be divvied out by straw draw."

She patted John on the arm as she continued to pace. "Since the Master Chief has offered his services, and those of Blue Team, to ensure that the straw draw be enforced, I've asked him to do the honors of presenting the draw to each of us." She then produced a handful of wires, each cut to varying lengths. "A wire longer than ten centimeters," she said, holding up an example, "means that you have a seat. Anything shorter than that means you're sticking around."

Eason handed the wires to the Chief and turned to face the others. "Are there any questions before we get this over with?" she asked. Though her tone was far from menacing, it didn't invite much discussion.

"I actually do have something, ma'am," Alpin's voice carried over the crowd. The fiery-haired man awkwardly made his way to the center of the circle and stood in front of Eason.

The mercenary leader regarded him with pursed lips, her dark eyes looking him up and down. "What have you got for me Scott?" she asked. Her voice was cold, but not uncaring. It seemed to Fred that she looked at the younger operative with an almost matronly emotion peeking through her eyes.

"Well, ma'am," Alpin began slowly, "I was speaking with one of the locals and we realized that they have almost the same number of people hoping for a ride out of here as we do." He pushed his thumbs through his belt loops, adopting his customary apathetic expression.

"What's your point?" Eason asked, curiosity seeping into her guarded tone.

"We did some math. There are eight seats, eight of us, and seven of them. We gave four seats to the locals, four seats to our people, and then put who gets a spot on the Pelican to a vote." Alpin carefully watched Eason's expression as he spoke.

Fred wondered at who this mystery representative of the locals might have been. Almost instinctually, he scanned the hanger for the young police lieutenant. The Spartan was less than surprised to discover Ellsworth, still leaning against a bench between Alex and himself, steadily watching Alpin's explanation.

"Where did this idea come from?" John asked, leaning forward to look Alpin over.

The smaller man didn't take his eyes off of Eason. "It was my idea. No disrespect to the people who thought up the original plan, but I didn't like it." He finally turned to look at the Spartan looming above him. "I don't know about you, but I'm not willing to put all of my people's lives to chance."

John nodded. "Everyone else knows whether or not they're boarding the Pelican and has agreed to honor this arrangement?" he asked, receiving confirmation from the gathered crowd. "In that case, ma'am," he said, handing the wires back to Eason, "it looks like things don't have to get uncomfortable after all."

Though Eason took the wires from him, she paid the Spartan no mind. "That's quite the stunt," Fred heard her say as the crowd of mercenaries and civilians dispersed. "I know you, Scott. I'm staying behind with you."

Alpin shook his head and offered a rare smile. "I'm afraid you were unanimously voted aboard, ma'am. You can't stay behind. Besides," he said, gesturing toward the gunship, "the UNSC is going to need all the help it can get. You're far more valuable up there than any of the rest of us."

Fred stepped away from the pair, deeming their conversation benign enough to be afforded privacy. Slowly, and with somewhat unsure feet, the Spartan made his way toward Ellsworth. He was led to the young man's side for a myriad of reasons – he wanted confirmation that Ellsworth was, indeed, the other half of Alpin's plan. He wanted to be close enough to provide support to Alex should she need help preparing her device for takeoff. He wanted to ensure the civilian and ONI scientists were working together to make their exfiltration possible.

Mostly, Fred realized, he was being led to Ellsworth by his gut. He trusted that to be enough.

Just as Fred made it to the young officer, Alex shouted for joy. She ran to Ellsworth's side, speed-talking about their success with linking the PVB to the cloaking device.

"We did it!" she exclaimed, grabbing onto Ellsworth's hand with both of hers. "Sheila matched perfectly. The power source should be more than enough to cloak us clear to orbit."

"You're a genius," Ellsworth responded with a smile. "So now what do we need to do?"

"I need to get it secured in the troop bay," she said, nodding to where her two companions were carrying the recently married devices. "And then we're out of here!"

Ellsworth smiled again, then suddenly pulled her to him by her hand, planting a lingering kiss on her lips before releasing his grip.

She smiled tenderly at him. "What was that for?"

Ellsworth slowly shrugged. "We're getting out of here. I'm excited." He looked past her at the technicians waiting within the Pelican and ushered her on. "You better get going. I'll be right behind you."

She nodded again, squeezing his hand before releasing it and jogging to the gunship.

Fred watched the pair, head cocked in curiosity. There was a sense of finality to the young man's action that Alex hadn't seemed to notice.

"You didn't draw a seat, did you?" he asked, though it was more of a statement of fact.

Ellsworth smiled, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. He shook his head. "I didn't throw my name in the running," he said as he watched his wife begin working within the Pelican. "There's someone more important that I wanted to make sure had a place on the bird."

Fred nodded. It wasn't exactly unexpected. People did whatever it took to protect those they loved. He had no doubt that Alex would have done the same in her husband's position.

"You know," Ellsworth said distractedly, "you would have made a pretty good detective. My dad was a great detective. Inspired me to be a cop in the first place." He glanced at Fred out of the corner of his eye. "Sometimes I wonder if he wasn't too good at his job."

The Spartan felt his lower back tighten. "What do you mean by that?" he asked. His voice came out low, menacing even. He didn't mean it to, but he wasn't exactly repentant that it had.

Ellsworth shrugged again, this time turning to face Fred. "Dad went on this kick for a few years, investigating a few dozen cases of healthy kids suddenly taking sick and dying around the time his brother did. I remember him saying once that there was a theory that those sick kids had been abducted by the government for some nefarious purpose."

The knot in Fred's lower back tightened. The theory had come up before, though every time it resurfaced ONI had quietly put an end to it one way or another.

"In the end, the trail went cold," Ellsworth continued. "After all, it's not like one detective on a small tourist colony could do much more than look at news clips and obituaries, and there were way too many for Dad to sift through. He finally decided that it was better for everyone to believe that his brother was gone and was watching out for our family from the other side."

Subconsciously, Fred's hand trailed to the sidearm on his thigh. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

Though they remained open and friendly, Ellsworth's eyes hardened as he searched Fred's faceplate for his eyes. "If you run into my uncle out there somewhere, Sierra, tell him to keep her safe." He leaned forward, staring intently at Fred.

"I'll see that your message gets out, lieutenant. But I've got to correct you on one thing," the Spartan said. "I don't usually go by Sierra. My friends call me Fred."

Fred extended his right hand. For a moment, he felt his pulse quicken as he waited for the younger man's response. He didn't know why. It wasn't as if the revelation of his name would have any great consequence on the galaxy. Any link between the pair was pure conjecture, no matter how convincing the circumstantial evidence might have been. Despite knowing all of this, however, the Spartan couldn't help but notice that his chest had tightened, and he felt a nervous tingle in the small of his back.

Slowly, a wide grin fill Ellsworth's face. He clasped Fred's outstretched hand and shook it.

Suddenly, a single shout clawed its way through Fred's ears.

"Perimeter breach," Alpin screamed. "Launch, now!"

At the far end of the bunker, the elevator door burst inward. The empty doorway was quickly filled by charging Prometheans, the Soldiers dashing into the hangar. The mercenaries and local security forces scattered throughout the bunker began firing on the constructs, and a thunderous crack from Linda's rifle cleaved one of them in half.

The constructs began to retaliate, escalating the ordeal into a full-fledged firefight. Fred took the sidearm from his thigh magmount and returned fire into the dust.

"Get out of here!" Ellsworth shouted beside him.

Fred was torn. He knew protocol. He knew his orders. Still, a part of him wanted to ignore orders and force the young man aboard the dropship.

The Spartan nodded and passed his sidearm to Ellsworth.

"Look after yourself until we settle this mess and she can come find you," Fred answered.

Ellsworth grinned tiredly and offered a painful salute. He lifted the weapon and screamed, from pain or in defiance Fred wasn't sure, as he began shooting into the swarm of incoming Soldiers.

Fred ran for the gunship. Kelly and Linda stood at either end of the gangway, doing their best to assist the embattled defenders.

"He's here," Linda shouted toward the cockpit. "Take off!" The three Spartans entered the troop bay and quickly strapped themselves in while John acknowledged with a green status light and surge of the dropship's jets.

As the Pelican began to lift off the ground, Alex suddenly started frantically scanning the troop bay.

"Fred?" she asked, her voice small. Then louder. "Fred!"

In a flash she was free of her seat harness. The young woman flew across the hold to the still-closing bay door. Angry voices cried out as she scrambled over the other occupants. Eason reached out a hand to stop her, but the tech sidestepped her. Alex wasn't slowing.

Fred slapped the release for his restraints and lurched to his feet, catching Alex just as her feet left the ground in a desperate bid for escape from the Pelican. He placed her on her feet and wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her tight against him as the bay door closed and the gunship burst away from the camouflaged hangar.

"No, let me go!" Alex cried as she ferociously beat her hands against his armor, surely bruising herself against the immovable titanium alloy. She leaned her head back and glared into his faceplate with red eyes. The tears brimming beneath her eyelids suddenly started to spill over, and she dropped her head against Fred's chestplate. Her shoulders shook as she cried.

He wanted to comfort her but didn't know how. He wanted to say something but didn't know what. He wanted to do something, but there was nothing he could do for her. He couldn't bring Ellsworth back. He couldn't leave her behind. He did the one thing that he could.

He held her.

Chapter Text

0350 HOURS, APRIL 25, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /

VALLEJO CITY, PLANET BALLAST, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM

Captain Lash was waiting for them in the hangar as they disembarked from the Pelican. John and Linda led the procession, the still-bound Doctor Graham being dragged along behind them.

Fred and Kelly lagged behind, standing on either side of the open cargo hold to ensure that everyone left the Pelican. It had been a bumpy exfiltration – between the Created’s surprise attack and a few close calls before Alex activated the cloak, the dropship’s passengers had sustained some minor injuries. Nothing worse than a few limps and a sprained wrist, but it was protocol to make sure everyone was fit to leave.

At the end of the procession, Alex paused awkwardly between the Spartans. She looked back and forth between them, but kept her eyes down. She was twisting the ring on her left hand.

The small woman finally turned to Fred. Her eyes were still red, though no more tears flowed. "Thank you," she said. Her mouth opened again, but no more words came. She dropped her gaze back to the deck and rushed down the gangplank.

Fred looked away as she left. Part of him wished he had said something. Most of him knew there was nothing he could say. There was nothing he could do to bring her husband back – no matter how badly he wished he could.

"We should go, LT."

Fred suddenly realized that he and Kelly were standing alone in the Pelican. She was looking at him, her head cocked slightly to one side.

"Right," he said, doing his best to muster up a smile and hoping that Kelly wouldn't examine his tone of voice too hard, "I'd hate to miss one of John's thrilling debriefings." He left without waiting for a response.

The ONI team and the civilians were already being led out of the hangar when he emerged. All that remained now, besides the Spartans, were Captain Lash and an Ensign holding Graham by the scruff. The scientist squirmed this way and that, shouting indignantly. It made Fred's blood boil.

"You can't arrest me," Graham spat, "you need me. I insist on – "

"Read the room, Doctor." Lash cut in, silencing the obnoxious tirade for just a moment. "You see those Spartans over there? If they deemed you a threat, I'd be powerless to protect you even if I wanted to." The captain stepped close to Graham and straightened the red-faced man's jacket lapels. "Between you and me," Lash added as he brushed some nonexistent dust from the flustered ONI operative's shoulders, "I think they look a little pissed off."

Graham looked over his shoulder at the Spartans. He had the decency to look embarrassed as the color drained from his face.

Fred wondered how satisfying it might be to break some of his bones.

Kelly's hand bumped against Fred's again. Though he still didn't understand the significance, he appreciated the distraction. He relaxed his fingers from the fists he subconsciously balled his hands into.

"Now, Doctor," Lash said with a tired sigh, "if it were up to me, you'd get flushed down the toilet in bit-sized pieces and float through vacuum for the next few millennia. However, Cortana contacted you intentionally. So I'm going to hang onto you. Let some of your former colleagues in what's left of our Office of Naval Intelligence have a word with you." He clapped Graham on the shoulder. "Between you and me, I think in time you'll come to wish you'd gotten my treatment instead."

The captain turned to the Spartans. "Master Chief, I'll expect your full report. But first, get some rest. I'm sure you all need it."

Frederic-104 didn't sleep well. He hadn't for years.

The man lay in pitch dark with his eyes open, incapable of meeting the faces that inevitably assaulted his mind the moment he allowed them to close. Most nights, he would lay as still as possible and let physical exhaustion eventually overtake him. Others, he studied each face – the face of every Spartan who had died under his command; the face of every soldier he had failed. The face of each and every member of his family gone, while he remained.

Isaac, Grace, Vinh, Joshua . . . each face burned into his retinas like lasers cutting through styrofoam. Each one of them a hero. Each one of them he failed.

Some nights were better; the voices quieted, and the images eventually faded to nothing and allowed him to drift off to sleep. Others were so bad that he abandoned the notion of sleep altogether and forced himself to occupy his mind with something – anything – else.

This night was the latter.

Fred rose from his bed and exited the barracks silently. He didn't want to disturb his team, but he couldn't lie still any longer. Exiting the special-fit bunk room that had been assigned to Blue Team, the lieutenant made his way through narrow corridors to the Dusk's rec room.

The area was small by most standards in the UNSC Navy, though that was typical of Prowlers. Without the detachment of marines and combat pilots that most other ships carried, Prowlers didn’t need to expend space for exercise equipment. They were, however, stocked with enough machinery to keep the ship's small crew in the best form possible.

In particular, Fred was searching for one piece of machinery that had become commonplace on most UNSC vessels following the induction of the SPARTAN-IV program. Codenamed WARZONE, the machine was designed to accurately simulate combat for training purposes. Loaded with recordings to mimic all opponents the UNSC had faced – from Grunts to Hunters – and linked with the MJOLNIR undersuit, it created a hyper-realistic combat routine. On the Infinity, WARZONE could be used to put dozens of Spartans through full-scale combat simulations. On smaller vessels it was downscaled to a single occupant.

On the Dusk, WARZONE was attached to a small boxing ring in the rec room. Fred deftly stepped through the ropes and loaded a sequence on the machine. It was a personal scenario, made up of increasingly difficult opponents. As the holographic displays began to warm up, Fred swung his arms and shook his legs to loosen his tight muscles.

No matter how hard he tried though, it was never enough of a distraction.

He ducked under an Elite's energy sword. Joshua's hijacked Banshee, spewing smoke as it hurtled from the sky. He dove and rolled to avoid a smashing blow from a Hunter's shield. Malcolm - dead in a heap on the ground, having been denied even the death of a warrior. He plunged his knife through the armored carapace of a Promethean Knight. Holly, her entire body vanishing under the onslaught of a Hunter's plasma cannon as she stepped forward to protect Kelly.

Those images never left his mind. The sounds. The smells. The awful feeling of rage. The knowledge that he couldn’t save them.

The pained smile and unpracticed salute of a young police officer was at home amongst these memories. Fresh, new, yet familiar – as if it had always been in the back of his mind.

He had no idea how long it had been when he dropped to his knees; labored breathing caused as much by the physical exertion as by the mental assault of seeing each member of his family on a horrendous parade through his mind. All at once the bodysuit that was usually nothing more than an extra layer of skin suddenly felt so tight around his throat that it was strangling him.

With trembling hands, he forced his fingertips underneath the nanofiber material that clung to his jawline and violently wrenched it apart, tearing the fabric from the point of his chin down to his sternum and leaving the flaps hanging open. The weight didn't subside.

He fell backward until he leaned against the corner post of the boxing ring, then brought his knees up to his chest and rested his head in his hands. And he breathed.

In

Out

In

Out

He didn't know how long he had stayed in that position when he felt a vibration run through the pole behind him; someone was pushing their way through the ropes and into the ring. Reflexively, the Spartan lifted his head and made to rise from the ground, preparing to quickly leave the ring to make room for whatever crewman had come for their own exercise, and to – hopefully – avoid any uncomfortable questions he would have to lie about.

Instead of the tentative crewman in sweatpants and t-shirt he expected when he lifted his gaze, there was a striking figure, standing more than two meters tall, with dark brown hair tied back in a ponytail and blue eyes that were trying hard to hide the concern behind them.

Kelly stepped toward Fred and held up a hand, forestalling further attempts to rise to his feet. When he relented and settled his shoulders against the post behind him, she silently went to the console and deactivated the program. The rec room fell into silence once more.

Kelly knelt in front of him. Fred did his best to look nonchalant as he avoided her gaze. They sat in silence for some time, Fred diligently studying every square inch of the ceiling in an effort to avoid his partner's eyes.

"Must have been some kind of fight," she finally said, gesturing to Fred's torn bodysuit.

"You should see the other guy," he replied, doing his best to muster a convincing grin. When he turned to his partner, he was confronted by her stare.

Her eyes were familiar, as were the eyes of each of his teammates. Kelly's were a dark blue, interrupted by white lines stretching from the pupil to the edge of the iris. The white intermingled with the blue, lazily spreading outward in a way that drew to mind the clouds that, as a child, he used to watch meander across the deep blue sky of a late Reavian summer.

Yet another memory that reminded him of his failures. It was unlikely anyone would be able to appreciate the beauty of the sunset on Reach again. Yet another image he would never see again, except behind his own closed eyes as he tried in vain to sleep.

"It isn't your fault."

The statement cut through his thoughts like a plasma sword through a block of ice. The words dashed through his mind, passing so quickly that the Spartan almost wondered if he imagined it. The only confirmation that his partner had said anything were the extra worry lines crinkling the corner of her eyes, and the sudden tightness in his chest in response to what he knew she was referring to. Fred opened his mouth to answer but, for once, no smart remark came to mind.

"They aren't your fault," Kelly said. The worry lines deepened. "Spartans. Marines. Civilians. They all knew what they were getting into. They chose to go."

He coughed out a laugh. "I don't know what you're talking about, Rabbit," he lied.

"He isn't your fault."

His chest tightened. His legs were trembling. He wanted to say something. To diffuse the tension with humor. To push the feelings back down until they were so deep that he could be sure he was safe from them again. For things to go back to normal, at least for a while.

Instead, he stayed silent. Kelly stayed silent. The entire universe was silent. The silence pressed in on Fred – isolated him, dragged him into a pitch black abyss and squeezed from all sides. It was like a tidal wave crashing over his body – just as tangible and twice as loud.

Then the silence broke. He felt a hand slowly reach out and press itself against the right side of his face. The palm pressed against his cheek and the finger splayed out, the thumb on his cheekbone and the little finger curling below his jaw. Another hand landed at the base of the left side of his neck.

The feeling was unusual – Spartans weren't exactly known for being "touchy." Though he knew whatever Kelly was doing couldn't possibly mean him harm, Fred's instincts screamed to distance himself from the foreign experience until he could be sure he was safe. Instead, he opened his eyes and found himself drawn back once more to the beautiful clouds tracking across the open air over the Longhorn Valley.

"Those places aren't home," Kelly said. "Reach, Imber, Ballast . . . no place is our home." She seemed to study his eyes as she spoke. Then she gingerly pulled his face forward until his forehead rested against hers. The new gesture surprised him, but once again he didn't recoil. In fact, he found himself leaning back against her, matching the pressure she was putting against him.

"We're Spartans," Kelly whispered. "Our heritage is each other. We are our home."

They fell once more into silence, though this time the silence wasn't so loud.

When he closed his eyes, the faces of his family slowly faded away. Kurt, with one last handshake before he made the ultimate sacrifice. Li, vanishing in an explosion during a zero-gravity battle; the one place the man had truly felt at ease. Ellsworth, with blood staining his teeth as he smiled with the hope that he was fulfilling his most sacred vows.

Each face slowly passed on and was replaced by a single thought as Fred took in the sound of the Dusk's systems, the light of the rec-room lighting his eyelids, and the feeling of Kelly's hands cradling his face and their foreheads still resting one against the other.

We are our own home.

Welcome home.

Chapter Text

1345 HOURS, APRIL 27, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /

UNSC PROWLER DUSK, EN ROUTE TO RALLYPOINT WHISKEY ZETA

"Tell me again."

Captain Lash rubbed his eyes. His private quarters were ample space for one person, and on a ship as compact as the Dusk, one could even call it spacious. But between himself, Commander Waters, and Lieutenant Commander Yang, the room felt more like a can holding too many sardines. The small confines were necessary, however, for the nature of what Yang had to say.

"I've done my research a dozen times, Captain. There was nothing unique about that transmission. No special coding, no satellite bouncing to disguise it, nothing."

"What made you look into it?" Waters asked, brow furrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

Yang scratched the left side of his face slowly. "Something about the whole operation just felt off. Ballast isn't much more than a vacation spot for the super-wealthy. Why would the Created want it?"

"Unless they knew about the Cloaking device being developed there," Waters continued, tapping one thumb against his chin thoughtfully.

"Exactly," Yang said excitedly. "But then, why wouldn't they have taken the bunker as soon as they arrived? From the reports I've read it doesn't sound like the Created were even looking for it." He dropped his eyes to the deck as he thought. "It's almost like they – "

"Have you told anyone else about what you found?" Lash cut him off.

Yang looked at captain with confusion in his eyes. "Of course not, sir," he answered.

"Good," Lash said with a curt nod, "let's keep it that way. We'll report this in person. For now, don't raise any suspicion. Don't look into it again until we arrive at the rendezvous point. Your discovery may be important; let's not jeopardize it." He activated his door and pointed Yang toward it. "For now, get some rest. We'll need you at your best when we look into this further.”

The young officer rose and offered salutes to his superiors, then turned to leave the quarters.

"No one, Joe," Lash reminded him as he left. "Not even Bethany. I don't know just what you've found yet, so let's not spread any rumors until we have something more concrete."

Yang nodded, and the door slid shut behind him.

"Didn't want the kid thinking too hard about it, huh?" Waters asked.

Lash nodded. "What he found could be dangerous. But it fills in a lot of holes. How could a transmission have traveled so far without being intercepted by the Created? Why Ballast, of all places? Why didn't they storm the bunker and retrieve the device days ago?"

"And why did a Guardian happen to return to the system just as we were preparing to exfiltrate?" Waters added thoughtfully. "It seems less like a coincidence now, doesn't it? If it hadn't been for Battlegroup SAFADO, we may never have retrieved or the device."

"Or Blue Team," Lash added. Then a strange thought struck him. "The Created, by all rights, should have discovered that bunker a day or two at most after their invasion. It almost seems like that wasn't their concern."

Waters stood up. "If they weren't after the cloak, what could they have been looking for?"

Lash pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought. What was their goal? Why invade Ballast if they weren't afraid of the UNSC retrieving the cloak?

"Maybe their target wasn't a what at all," he finally said. He straightened his back and looked into Waters' confused eyes. "Maybe it was a who."

DATE/TIME: UNKNOWN /

LOCATION: UNKNOWN

He would have understood. She could have made him see. If he would only stop fighting it, he would . . .

She was thinking herself in circles again. She had a bad habit of doing that. It wasn't the time for dwelling on mistakes. She couldn't afford to doubt herself now. Not when she was so close.

There was a rustling behind her. A clambering. She knew who it was long before he bothered physically manifesting himself. The Warden Eternal was an imposing figure, with or without a corporeal presence. When inhabiting a physical body, he was a veritable mountain of armor and mechanics. Quite the light show. He could be very intimidating.

At least, to those he was capable of harming.

"Your pet escapes again," he barked.

She stayed silent. She had more important things to think about.

"I have no love for humanity," he continued, prattling on, "but their tenacity I respect. Their ambush nearly managed to damage a Guardian. Even in their defeat, those left behind in that pitiful hideout fought to the last man."

"Do you have a point?" she asked. Absentmindedly, she linked one of her subroutines to one of the Soldiers on Ballast.

It, along with more than two dozen others, was holding the few survivors of the last holdout on Ballast. Two men and a woman were all that remained. A quick check confirmed that their capture had not come by way of surrender.

"The three prisoners. How would you have them dealt with?

"Release them," she responded dismissively. They posed no threat, and she had bigger things to worry about.

He seemed to disagree.

"Release them?" he shouted, incensed. He stomped around her, close enough to fill her field of vision. "They challenge you incessantly. They defy your sovereignty with every breath they draw. How long will you allow them to embarrass you?"

She didn't bother to look at him, instead studying the people on Ballast. "Warden," she said, distractedly, "during our rise to take the Mantle of Responsibility, you have been invaluable. A word of advice, though. Do not mistake invaluable for irreplaceable."

The Warden Eternal fell quiet.

She smiled. "Excellent decision," she said. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Now release them."

 On Ballast, her Soldiers stood down. First the red-haired mercenary tentatively rose, his face contorted in pain at the gash on his side even as he tried to maintain the look of disdain on his face. He was followed to his feet by the woman – a well-established civilian researcher. The pair then turned and together helped the other man, the one whose face was so similar to that of his uncle that even she had marveled, to his feet.

The young Ellsworth left the bunker at a limp, arms stretched over the shoulders of his fellow survivors. She was content with his survival. Endangering him had been a calculated risk, and one she was more than willing to take when the potential benefit was so high, but not one she particularly relished. Seeing that her goal had been frustrated, that John once again managed to stay just out of her grasp, she took a moment to remember that she was pleased to see that Frederic’s relative hadn't been sacrificed for nothing.

Then the moment passed.

She had work to do.