Call for Aid

The blast doors inside the Kerel hissed open with a violent suddenness and a sole Unggoy scrambled through, stumbling over himself. He sprinted until he reached the sealed bridge, where two Sangheili Evocati stopped him in place. 
“The war council is in session. You are not authorized to enter, whelp.” The first Evocatus grabbed the Grunt’s arm and wrenched him away. 
“Communications in intelligence center still damaged! Big leader sends me as messenger!” The Unggoy struggled to shake free from the Sangheili’s firm grasp.
“No one is to interrupt the council;” the second Evocatus hissed. “Return to your post.”  
“Is big, big news! Like Major news! He needs to hear!” The Grunt continued to struggle, as the bridge doors unsealed and an Elite in a polished and ornate gold-plated General’s harness emerged from within.
“Who or what disturbs the council?” the general growled. Now, both the Unggoy and the Evocati were shaking.
“This whelp demands an audience with the Shipmaster,” the first Evocati answered, shoving the Grunt to the floor. “He claims to have been sent from the Proselytization array.”
“What news, Unggoy?” the General spoke, craning his head down towards him.
“Information-boss Ryga said ‘tell only shipleader. . .’. Me tell only Shipleader.” His Methane tank began to rattle in its harness.  The fear was well-founded, as any of the three Elites surrounding him had grounds to kill him for withholding the message from them.
“Hm. Come then. The General turned, motioned for the Unggoy to follow, and waved at the Evocati to seal the door behind them. The Grunt scampered upright and scurried through the door before it could shut. He trailed the General across the carrier’s command deck towards the still-active holotable. His legs burned, struggling to keep pace with the enormous officer’s commanding, practiced strides. He joined the General and the other Sangheili—all adorned in important-looking armor—at the near end. The Carrier’s Shipmaster sat opposite them, leaning forward in his anti-gravity chair with an exasperation visible enough to make the Unggoy quake even harder in his harness.
“What news do you bring that necessitates I give pause to our strategy session?” the Shipmaster boomed, looming over the grunt.
“Boss Ryga tells me to tells you we got a help-call from a white computer lady to pick up some little birdies?” The Unggoy spoke as best it could in broken Sangheili. “I forget name, but she said that evil blue lady missing, and now this one planet has no boss no more.”
The Shipmaster leapt from his seat, placing his hands on the edge of the holotable, looming over the diminutive Unggoy with wide eyes “Are you certain?”
“Yes, sirs. Me not understand, but Boss Ryga says you would.” The Unggoy fidgeted in place, twiddling his thumbs and keeping his gaze low to avoid the ire of the giants surrounding him.
“I see. You have done well, Menial. You are dismissed.” His task complete, the General led the messenger back to the entrance. The Shipmaster turned his attention back to his officers. “Inform our subordinates; I want us repaired and underway as soon as possible. We have a new objective. In human territory.
A silence descended across the chamber.
“Shipmaster Gohom, is that wise?” a Zealot protested. “The crew is still recovering from the Banished assault. I fear they may not be able to keep pace with your orders.”
“Time is of the essence. The Unggoy spoke in a simpleton’s tongue, but his message was clear: an old ally needs our assistance, one who resides on one of Cortana’s most heavily-defended worlds.”
A second Zealot spoke up. “Engaging the Created directly is the errand of a suicidal fool, Shipmaster. Even our assault carrier cannot stand up to their Guardians.”
“Did you perhaps not listen to me? Our comrades need our help to retrieve this package; whether it is soldiers or weapons makes little difference. Cortana is dealt with. For how long remains to be seen, which is all the more reason to carry out our task post-haste. See the repairs completed quickly.”
“By your command, Shipmaster,” the council spoke in unison, before dispersing. The messenger’s escort approached the Shipmaster. 
“Shall I prepare our Warriors for ground assault?” the General asked.
The Shipmaster thought for a moment, sinking back down into his chair. “Prepare a small away team. A few Lances in dropships will suffice; no more. We will not be present for long.”
Lezo turned to the bridge crew. “Prepare the Borer for transit, and give word to the crew: as soon as critical repairs are complete, prepare for immediate departure. Standby weapon batteries.” 
The bridge crew obeyed, hurriedly tapping orders into the holographic control stations. 
One of the officers spoke up. “Shipmaster, our Navigators are requesting a destination.” 
“The Human homeworld, Earth”
Category:The Weekly
Category:The Open Spaces