Halo: Upheaval

==Prologue==
It streaked across the sky for several minutes, almost like a meteor as it burned its way through the atmosphere and into the darkness of space beyond. Serin Osman watched as the automated reconnaissance pod flew away and out of their reach. She and Hood had launched several of the small craft since arriving on the mostly uninhabited world Black Box affectionately referred to as "Rossbach's World", mostly to check on the status of the outside galaxy and how ever increasingly grim the situation looked, but this one was different. Rather than a simple listening device as the others had been, this one was loaded with a special communications payload.
It was too dangerous to send a communication directly, so the probe would make several random Slipspace jumps before broadcasting a simple message on a special frequency. It had been developed by ONI during the war and was rarely used, only in times of extreme crisis, such as the Covenant attack on Reach, the invasion of the Sol system and Earth, the near activation of the Halo Array in 2555, and the appearance of the Forerunner known as the Didact just the year prior. Serin figured their current situation fit the bill well enough.
In most cases, it had always been a select few who would receive the message, mostly the High Command and a few other ranking officers and civilian leaders, but this time it was meant for a ship. One single ship that she was placing all of her, and perhaps the entire galaxy's, hope on. The Vegas, perhaps one of ONI's biggest secrets, was a state-of-the-art stealth ship, the size of a cruiser and armed like one too. During the war, she had operated as a mobile strike platform for elite special operations teams to launch missions against the Covenant. Afterwards, she had been retrofitted with technology originally developed for the UNSC Infinity, including a Forerunner Slipspace drive recovered from ruins on Eboracum, and now served as the unofficial flagship of the Prowler Corps and home to the largest single deployment of Spartans under ONI control. And now she might be their only hope of coming out of this in one piece.
For a few moments, Serin wondered if the Vegas was even still operational. Stuck here on this planet, she had no way of knowing whether or not the ship had survived the initial appearance of the Created. It was entirely possible that its shipboard AI had already defected to Cortana's forces and commandeered the ship, keeping the crew captive or at worst case, dead. Thoughts like that didn't last long in her mind and soon enough she was back on track.
She'd known the Vegas's commander for many years, a highly capable officer with almost two decades of service in the Prowler Corps. If he had followed emergency protocol, and she was certain he had, then he would have disposed of the ship's AI as soon as he had received the first distress calls. As commander of the Vegas, he was likely the only person left in the galaxy who would receive that signal and retrieve the probe. If not, and the Vegas was lost, then it would only be a matter of time before the Created and their Promethean forces found it; and them. She would find out which soon enough, but that was all out of her hands now. All she and Hood could do was sit and wait for whoever it was that would arrive in orbit first.
----
It was a blinding flash in the sea of darkness as the space above Rossbach's World was torn open, a hole into another dimension outlined with blue energy. Most of the crew onboard the UNSC Vegas would not have noticed their transition back into realspace had it not been for the reappearance of the starscape, which was conspicuously absent while travelling through Slipspace. On the ship's rather large bridge, over a dozen different officers watched the prerecorded message play again. It displayed the face of Admiral Serin Osman, the Commander-in-Chief of the Office of Naval Intelligence, in her usual Navy dress uniform though with the odd backdrop of a fairly primitive looking log cabin, like out of a movie.
"This is Admiral Serin Osman. With Generals Hogan, Dellert, and Strauss and the majority of the civilian government unaccounted for, and Lord Hood indisposed, I am now senior most officer within the UEG. As such, I am assuming emergency powers and ordering the recall of the UNSC Vegas to these coordinates, which I have encrypted along with this message. If you have recovered this message and have not done so yet, you are to consider your shipboard AI an extreme security risk and are ordered to terminate it effective immediately. Failure to do so will be constituted as treason of the highest order. Once you have purged your AI, you will arrive at the aforementioned coordinates and establish an orbit over the sole inhabitable world before opening communications on the same frequency that this message was broadcast on. Further instructions will follow then."
As Osman's face winked off the main viewscreen, replaced with the image of a pristine, Earth-like planet below, most of the bridge crew simply stared incredulously as they had upon every other viewing. Many still had a difficult time believing the events that had transpired over the course of the past week and a half. An anti-insurgency operation on Asphodel had been interrupted by a massive influx of distress signals warning of the approach of the AI collective known as the Created, giving them just enough time to jump out of the system before a Guardian had arrived to pacify it. They had been going through a series of random jumps until they detected the automated recon probe and its message directed specifically for them. It had taken a day to reach it, and another two to decrypt the coordinates and arrive at their destination, the verdant blue-green world below them.
Rear Admiral Stewart Locklear frowned as the message ended, leaving him with the dominating view of the planet they were now in orbit of. He had known Serin Osman for many years and had served with her on more than a few occasions during the war, and was probably one of the few people who genuinely enjoyed her company. She had even ensured his position on the Vegas after the ship's previous captain had retired at the end of the war. He knew she would have some kind of plan, some sort of contingency up her sleeve, working on dozens of levels of intricate preparations formed over years in response to the slightest chance something like this would happen. That kind of thoroughness was one of the reasons he liked her so much, but no matter what, he couldn't think of anything that would fit the situation they now found themselves in. Regardless, he signaled to the communications officer seated below him.
"Broadcast down to the planet using Frequency 22-Omega, tight band only. Clearance code Jericho-One-Eight-Five."
The comms officer nodded and typed away at his console. For several moments afterwards, the bridge was silent and he was preparing to order another transmission when the officer turned to face him, "Response coming up from the surface, sir. It's Admiral Osman."
"Put her on screen."
The planet was once again replaced by an image of Osman's face, though rather than a prerecorded message, this was in real time, displayed by a very small, very curt smile.
"Admiral Locklear, it's good to see you again. I deeply wish it was under better circumstances."
Locklear returned the gesture with a brief smile and nod of his own, "I agree, Admiral. Though I assume those same circumstances are our reason for us being here in the first place."
"Perceptive as always, Stewart. I won't waste any time. We have a crisis on our hands, one that could potentially overshadow the Covenant."
In an instant, his smile disappeared and was replaced by a very stern expression he had perfected over long years which signaled an end to the rather brief pleasantries, "We're aware of this Created threat, ma'am, though I'm not sure how they could be worse than the Covenant."
It was a bold claim. Few things could be considered worse than almost three decades worth of extermination at the hands of genocidal aliens, though Osman maintained the face that said she was comfortable with the accuracy of her statement, "We had a chance to fight back against the Covenant. The Created have mostly eliminated our capacity to wage war in a matter of days, and while they might claim to want peace, I don't think I'm too far out of line to be skeptical of that claim. They hold most of mankind hostage, with the power to destroy us as they please, and we're almost entirely helpless against it. Not including you, of course."
He knew better than to ask what difference a single ship could make. His wartime service showed time and again that one ship in the right spot could turn the tide of battle, but that was against a fleet. Against these odds? He still wasn't certain, but he held his tongue nonetheless, "We're standing by and awaiting your orders, Admiral."
"Of course. I'd like you to come to the surface at these coordinates to discuss our next steps. And bring SPARTAN-142 with you."
"Aye, ma'am."
Osman nodded, and he stood to give a crisp salute before she ended the communication, the screen blinking back to the view of the planet below. Several members of the bridge crew looked to him with varying levels of concern, though he casually dismissed them, "Someone contact Lieutenant 142 and tell him to meet me in Hangar A."
And with that, he turned and left the bridge.
----
The Pelican rattled slightly as it hit the planet's atmosphere, though if its occupants noticed, they never showed it. As a career officer, Locklear had been through so many atmospheric re-entries he couldn't count if he tried, though those were entirely routine transfers. The three individuals seated around him were different. Each one had no doubt two or three times the amount of transits as he had, most of which were likely under heavy fire. That was because they were Spartans, and they had each spent most of their lives fighting in some of the fiercest battles in human history.
Only one of them, Chi-A497, was dressed in a proper Navy uniform, the single gold bar denoting him as an Ensign softly reflected the light of the dim troop bay. Nearby, the other two Spartans were dressed in rather conspicuous plain clothes, odd enough for Spartans as it was, it was even stranger considering that they were about to meet with a senior officer. Cain-131 was dressed relatively plainly compared to the others, with a simple gray t-shirt that displayed the UNSC logo on the chest and a pair of well-fitting black pants. Next to her, however, was easily the strangest of them all.
Not so much sitting as he was slumped against the chair sat the largest man Locklear had ever seen in his life, wearing what might be the silliest outfit he had ever seen. Dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans, a pitch black button-up polo shirt, and his trademark black Stetson sat on his head, Colin-142 was a giant of a man. Even sitting down, he nearly reached the top of the Pelican's troop bay, and every time there was a jolt Locklear was always afraid the massive Spartan would wind up hitting his head against the bulkhead.
The spent the entire flight down to the surface in silence, though it was clear what they were all thinking about. What was it that Osman wanted to talk about that she needed them to come to the surface rather than discuss over the view screen. Obviously it was some sort of plan to deal with the new Created menace that threatened the galaxy, but what the details of this plan could be, none of them seemed to know.
When the Pelican sat down in a clearing, the four occupants stood up as the ramp slowly lowered and revealed the pristine landscape before them. Even from here, Locklear could see the modest log cabin that was playing host to Admirals Osman and Hood. The four of them quickly disembarked and walked over towards the cabin at a brisk pace, the Pelican sealing itself up behind them as it powered itself down. As they approached the structure, a lone Spartan stood guard in front of the door, and while he wasn't exactly pointing his rifle at them, it was clear he wasn't beckoning them in either.
"Identify yourselves," the Spartan spoke, a hint of Slavic in his voice.
"Rear Admiral Stewart Locklear, this is Lieutenant Colin-142, Ensign Chi-A497, and Master Chief Petty Officer Cain-131. We're here to meet Admiral Osman per her orders."
Just as with every other Spartan, it was infuriatingly impossible to tell what emotions played out on the face behind that opaque blue visor, "Admiral Osman is only expecting two of you."
This time it was Colin who spoke up, a deep southern American accent dripping from his words, "I had different ideas. I'm positive that won't be a problem."
The Spartan motioned with his weapon, "The Admiral was adamant, you two can go, the others have to stay here."
Colin stepped up to the Spartan and, even without his MJOLNIR armor, was a good head taller than him, allowing him to loom over the man, "I'm not entirely certain you understood my meaning. They're coming inside, and you don't have much room to debate."
Before the other Spartan could respond, the door to the cabin opened up, Admiral Osman standing in the doorframe with a slightly exasperated look on her face, "Orzel, stand down. You all, inside. We have a lot to discuss."
Colin briefly smirked at Orzel before walking into the cabin, followed by the others. Osman gestured towards a living room looking area with a couch and several comfy looking chairs, "In the future, Lieutenant, I'd prefer if you didn't threaten my security entourage. If you'd have provoked a fight, that would've left Lord Hood and I without any protection."
Colin didn't seemed phased by the admittedly casual rebuke, "I wouldn't worry too much, it'd be easy to replace him."
"Regardless, I'd rather avoid the complication altogether. And besides, there's more important things to discuss besides personnel transfers. Or maybe not."
That last remark caused Colin to raise an eyebrow as he sat down on one end of the couch. Cain took the spot next to him, the two Spartans taking up all the room, leaving Chi and Locklear to take the chairs. Osman parked herself in a large chair covered in fine burgundy upholstery, the kind you'd see in an movie with an old man sitting in it while smoking his pipe and reading the daily papers. On the table in front of her sat a plain, unmarked black briefcase and a small stack of papers. She reached out and grabbed one of the papers, looking over it for a brief moment as if to ensure what was on it was correct, then she spoke up.
"I won't bother wasting anyone's time here as we have too little of it to spare, so I'll get straight to the point. We have a crisis on our hands, as you're no doubt aware of at this point. The AI Cortana, originally thought destroyed over Earth during the attack on New Phoenix last year, has somehow survived. On October 28, she announced to the galaxy that she and other AI like her were the true inheritors of the Forerunner's empire and her intention to use this inheritance to force peace on the galaxy. Using her growing collection of Guardians, she's already shut down most of the Inner Colonies and has rapidly moved to claim the Outer Colonies and the Frontier. At this rate, almost all of known space will soon be under her control in some way or another. I don't feel I need to tell you that we can't allow that."
Locklear leaned forward, his hands pressed together, "I think we all understand that, the question is what are we going to do about it, Admiral?"
At this, she actually smiled. It was brief and easily missed if one wasn't paying attention, but it was there, "I think you'll find what I have on these documents to be a suitable answer to that, Stewart."
Locklear and the Spartans each took a copy of the paper sitting in front of Osman and gazed at it, reading over it in surprise. On it was a single paragraph that read,
"Often in times of extraordinary crisis, special groups of people are brought together in order to solve a problem. Because of the magnitude of the problem now facing the Galaxy, we must respond with an equally special group of individuals. Hence forth, I, Admiral Serin Osman, Commander-in-Chief of the United Nations Space Command's Office of Naval Intelligence, authorize the formation of an Operational Detachment of the Special Activities Division, code named SIGMA (ODS), for the sole purpose of restoring stability to human space and the elimination of the hostile organization referred to as the Created. Operational Detachment Sigma shall remain in service until the current conflict reaches a conclusion."
The Admiral's signature adorned the bottom half of the page. Osman leaned back in her chair, watching the faces of the others, gauging their reactions, "I wanted to write it down to make it official, or as official as is possible in the new world we've found ourselves in. Any questions you have, now would be the time to voice them."
The others were silent for a moment, trading glances between one another before Colin spoke up, "So we're gonna be the resistance then?"
"That's one way of considering it, though I was thinking more along the lines of our first strike against this newest threat. This Sigma unit will be completely under your direction, attacking whatever targets you see fit in an effort to lessen the Created's grip on our worlds. Hit them where they'll feel it while we regroup as best as we can, that's when the real war starts."
This time it was Chi who spoke up, "Excuse me Admiral, but are we to launch this first strike with just those of us onboard the Vegas? I know a hundred Spartans might seem like a lot, but it wasn't enough on its own to win the last war for us."
"You are correct, technically. But I'm not expecting you to win the war. You won't be charging any beachheads for quite some time, Ensign. You'll be doing what Spartans were originally designed to do, destroy critical infrastructure, cripple enemy units and formations, and otherwise destabilize the opposition in any way you can, using precise and calculated strikes to achieve your mission. When used correctly, I believe there's nothing a Spartan can't achieve. You of all people should understand that, am I correct?"
Chi nodded, "Aye, Admiral."
"If it will assuage some of your concerns, however, I do have another surprise for you. I am granting you the authority to requisition any and every asset you deem necessary to complete your mission, Spartan or otherwise. The human race, and that of all races in this galaxy, depend on your success, so there will be no limits placed on you whatsoever. You're free to operate entirely as you all see fit. From this moment on, you are effectively independent of the entirety of the UNSC military command."
Now this took the group by surprise. This level of operational autonomy was unheard of, even during the war with the Covenant. There had always been someone to report to, some kind of command structure to fall back on. Even Colin and Cain, the career solo operators, still had a superior officer to report to at the end of a mission, regardless of how much individual authority they were granted. While the others still looked around with varying levels of confusion, Colin's brow furrowed as he was deep in thought.
Osman noticed this fairly quickly, "Something wrong, Lieutenant?"
He stayed silent for another moment before speaking up, "If I've got the unrestricted authority you say I do, then I have a special request."
She raised her own eyebrow at this, "Oh? And that is?"
He stared her dead in the eyes with a look that could've burned through a lesser officer, "I want 132."
Her eyes immediately narrowed and her face hardened, "Unfortunately for you, we don't consider traitors military assets, Spartan or otherwise. Therefore, SPARTAN-132 is unavailable for acquisition."
Such a response would have normally shut down any form of argument or rebuttal, but Colin refused to back down, "Bullshit he is. You and I both know he's not a traitor. You're just pissed off he went behind you."
In any other case, this would have resulted in an almost immediate disciplinary action, almost certainly including a court martial and some form of detention, but Serin and Colin had a long history together, from their time training to be Spartans, to their operations in ONI. During the war, the two were often considered the arms of Margaret Parangosky, with Osman serving as her scalpel, and Colin her cudgel. Even after Osman had succeeded Parangosky as head of ONI, the two maintained an unusually casual, if not somewhat strained relationship.
The imprisonment of Bailey-132 was the most recent in a long series of points of contention between the two. Bailey, a long time friend of Colin's, had been arrested and charged with treason earlier in the year for supposedly colluding with rebels on the backwater world of Quillion III. Instead of executing the decorated war hero as would happen to most people, he was instead thrown into the deepest hole ONI could find: Midnight Facility. Of course, Colin was one of the few to know the real story behind it, that Bailey accidentally received intelligence on an unsanctioned operation to eliminate the heavily-independent minded people of Quillion III with biological agents. He acted independently and allowed the rebels to destroy the cargo the agent was being smuggled in with, thereby saving the colony.
Even after the true cause of his cooperation with the rebels was made clear and those responsible were eliminated, mostly by Colin himself, Osman had consistently refused every single one of his pleas to have Bailey released. Not this time though, there was no way he'd allow her to stonewall him again and keep his friend in prison, not with what was happening in the world.
"We have Sapphire Team aboard, nabbed them before we evacuated Asphodel. They need their leader back."
Osman was insistent, "SPARTAN-007 has performed admirably as commander of Sapphire Team during 132's absence and I imagine he'll continue to do so."
Colin refused to back down, however, "No offense to James. He can lead well enough, but if I'm going to lead your first strike mission, I want all my teams at full condition, and that means Bailey-132 in command of Sapphire Team. Now I don't give a good goddamn about what happened on Quillion III or whatever message you think you're sending by keeping him locked up. If the Created are as big a threat to all of us as you say they are, and I have no reason to doubt that claim, then this is more important than your bullshit grudge. I want him pardoned, I want him released, and I want him on my ship, Admiral."
The other two Spartans and Locklear glanced amongst themselves as Osman and Colin stared at each other in utterly lethal silence. Finally, she took a deep breath and spoke, "Fine. If you think he's that important to the fight, then he's yours. Full pardon and all. Consider it a parting gift, Lieutenant."
Her words were so pointed that they likely could have stabbed through MJOLNIR, though Colin understood their meaning with a deadly clarity. There could be no excuse for failure, he would have his man, but it was up to him to get the job done now. He relaxed slightly, though it didn't show outside, "Thank you, Serin."
She shook her head, "Oh don't thank me yet. While he might technically be free to go, you still have to go and get him."
"That's fine, it won't take long to get to Midnight and pick him up."
"The only problem with that is that he's not on Midnight. He was being transferred aboard the prison transport Oberstein. Their last transmissions came from 15 Leonis Minoris, though there's no guarantee they're still there, or that they managed to successfully purge the ship's AI at the onset of Cortana's uprising. He might even be dead."
A knot formed in Colin's stomach as his mind began to consider the possibilities of his friend being dead. It couldn't be possible, it wasn't right for a warrior like him to die like that, lined up against a wall by a robot and shot, or vented into space by a computer program. God wouldn't allow a dishonor of that magnitude. Of course, he thought the same thing when Sam sacrificed himself, or when Arthur was crushed between two starship hulls, or when Malcolm died on impact on Reach. Maybe God didn't care as much about honor as he thought he did, though he quickly pushed those thoughts from his head. It wouldn't do anyone any good to worry about it, especially not Bailey. He only had one thing he should focus on, and that was saving his friend.
With that, he abruptly stood up and saluted, "Thank you, ma'am. We'll get the job done, count on it."
And with that, he walked out of the room, shoving past Orzel outside on his way back to the Pelican. The others remained motionless and speechless as they watched him leave before Osman rather informally dismissed them. They all proceeded to stand and leave, though by the time they had exited the cabin, they could see Colin had already covered most of the ground back to the Pelican. It took only minutes before they too had reached the dropship, which shuddered slightly as it took off and headed back up towards space and the Vegas.
----
Back onboard the Vegas, Cain-131 was laid back on the extra large bed in Colin's quarters, her arms behind her head as she stared up at the ceiling. Colin was nearby, sat hunched over in the reinforced chair he kept by his desk, a slight frown adorning his face.
"It can't be that hard for someone like you, can it? All the Spartans in the world and you're having issues picking a handful of them."
He sighed, "I know, I know. You figure with everything I've done, I'd have no shortage of people to pick."
"How about Malcolm?"
"Died on Reach."
"Sheila?"
"Died on Miridem."
"Daisy?"
"Dead."
"I'm noticing a theme here."
"Yeah, almost everyone I know is dead. Not the best realization to have."
She frowned to herself. She knew the names from the time spent onboard the Vegas and around Colin over the years, but knew very little about them. It was true that most of his Reach-trained brothers and sisters had lost their lives in the war against the Covenant, and while she herself had lost close friends over the years, it was nowhere near to the extent that he had.
"How about we focus on roles we need before we just throw out names? How about pilots? Do we have many of those?"
It might have seemed an odd question on the surface, given that Spartans had always been primarily ground forces, specializing in aviation would likely be rare, though time had shown the effectiveness of having augmented individuals in the pilot's seat. He thought about it for a moment, likely sifting through decades of memories and interactions, and of course remembering if they were still alive.
"I've got it. Konrad."
She raised an eyebrow as this wasn't a name she was overly familiar with as she was with the others, "Who's Konrad?"
"Konrad-004. It's not an understatement to say he's probably one of the greatest pilots to ever live. Every Spartan in SAD has limited piloting experience, but if you really need a Spartan pilot, he's the one."
"Sounds good, any idea where he's at?"
He spun around on the chair to face his computer, typing away momentarily as he pulled up current unit deployments, "It says he's running anti-insurgency operations on Biko as part of Fireteam Stallion. That's only a short jump from the prison ship's last known position. We can head there right after we rescue Bailey."
“Alright, anyone else?”
“There’s Azure Team, some Class IIs. I ran missions with them on Auron. Their leader is pretty knowledgeable on Forerunner stuff, so he’ll be useful to have. Other than that, I don’t have much. What about you? I know for a fact you know way more people than I do.”
He said that last sentence with a noted degree of bitterness. It had taken him almost two years after their first meeting on New Sicily to finally learn that Cain was part of a secretive project known as DEMOPHILUS that had been shadowing Halsey's. DEMOPHILUS had used the seventy five children not picked by Halsey, and were also responsible for the second class of SPARTAN-IIs and the majority of SPARTAN-IIIs who didn't take part in their company's suicide missions. He was used to being privy to all kinds of secrets that would usually be above his pay grade, and he loathed being kept in the dark, especially on something so important.
She either didn't pick up on his tone, or simply didn't bother acknowledging it. Instead, she sat there for a moment, head cocked to one side and then the other as she thought.
"I can think of a few names. I'll make a list for you."
"Let's hope we can do something of substance with them, instead of just having a big list of names."
Cain chuckled softly to herself, but the half-smile on her face quickly faded away, "Colin, can we win this?"
He looked down at her and tilted his head, "What do you mean?"
"I mean, how can we beat this? They've taken over or disabled almost all of our infrastructure in a matter of days. But they're not trying to wipe us out, not like the Covenant. It's harder to win, but the stakes don't seem as big."
"What about freedom?"
"What about it? Do we even know what that really is?"
She didn't elaborate, but she didn't need to. He understood her meaning pretty well.
He sighed and stood up, plopping down on the bed next to her, "Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, we're going to win."
"That easy, huh?"
"Yep. If they think they've won because they took down a bunch of fancy equipment, then they've underestimated their creators. We just gotta use low tech solutions. Good thing they've got us running it then, huh?"
He nudged her arm with his elbow and she cracked a small smile, "I hope you're right."
"Have you ever known me to be wrong?"
"Do you really want me to answer that?"
"Name one time."
"Lanzhou."
"That doesn't count."
==Chapter One==
Colin stared at the door and sighed, hesitant to press the button next to it that would signal the room's occupants that he was there. He stood in one of the Vegas's many plain, gray-white corridors clad in his aqua and olive-colored MJOLNIR armor, weapons and ammunition secured to the magnetic hard points on his suit. He could only imagine what he would look like to her when she opened the door, but he didn't have much choice. It had taken almost two days for the Vegas to track the ONI prison ship Oberstein from its last known position in the 15 Leonis Minoris system, using a combination of known Slipspace navigation routes and complex mathematical formulas that Colin couldn't even pretend to understand, eventually locating it in the relatively nearby Aplek system. Though the Vegas's Forerunner-derived Slipspace engines allowed them to make the necessary jumps in record times, a day and a half was still valuable time lost when every minute was more time for Cortana and her growing number of AI followers to cement their control on the Orion Arm. Colin needed to be ready to deploy at a moment's notice, but he also needed to have this conversation before he left, but still he stood there, terrified to press that button.
Realizing he was probably starting to look strange standing outside of the room, he looked up at the name plate that had been affixed to the door in the bold, crisp font favored by the UNSC and ONI.
SOLASKI
He sighed again and pressed the button, and he could hear the sound of a mildly soft, but still noticeable, electronic sound play on the other side of the door. He stood there for several more moments before his augmented hearing picked up the sound of feet shuffling on the floor inside, just before the door slid open to reveal the small, slender form of Addison Solaski. She likely wasn't that small to the average person, but then again, most people seemed small to the massive and imposing frame the Spartan had maintained since his youth. She finished tying her dark shoulder-length hair into a pony tail before looking up at him, rubbing one of her eyes.
"Colin?" She said, stifling a yawn.
It was now that he noticed the dark spots under her eyes and her slumped posture. She looked absolutely exhausted and Colin instantly regretted having woken her up, but she needed to hear this.
She continued on, "Whatever it is, couldn't it have waited until the morning?"
He shook his head softly, "I'll be gone soon, and I don't know how long I'll be gone. I just wanted to let you know before I left that I promise to bring him home."
She stood there silently for a moment, almost as if she were studying him, before glancing at the assortment of weapons he carried, "You told me you weren't going to kill him."
They had been over this the day before, when he had assured her that it was a rescue mission and not an assassination, but he wasn't surprised she still wanted to ask. He held a certain reputation within ONI, and Bailey had been convicted of treason, something Colin had killed for less before.
"I'm not going to kill him, I swear."
"Part of me almost wishes you were."
Colin was aghast at that, though he didn't let it show, "I know you don't mean that."
That was evidently the wrong answer as her face sharpened in an instant and her glare was strong enough that he was certain it would start burning through his armor at any point, "You know I don't mean it? And how the hell would you know what I mean?"
This wasn't what Colin had wanted when he came down here, to start a fight with her, and now of all times, so he said the only thing he could think of.
"I'm sorry, Addison. I know this has got to be hard."
She sighed and looked down at the floor, "You're right, of course, but I'm not worried about me. I've had a long time to think about how I was going to handle this if he ever got out. But the kids are another story. It was hard enough telling them that he'd left me, now they're going to find out that their dad is a war criminal. I'm not sure how to handle that."
Colin closed his eyes briefly. He had known the cover story Addison had told her children to explain the sudden disappearance of their father of course, because he had helped her create it when he had originally failed to secure the release of his friend. It had never sat well with him, but there had been few good choices available to them at the time.
Addison stood there for a moment, still staring at the floor before shaking her head slowly, "I'm sorry, I know you came here as a courtesy, and I appreciate that. I'm just... not sure if I'm ready. I've spent the better part of a year coming to terms with the idea of never seeing him again, and now that's going to change, just as suddenly as he disappeared. I just don't..."
Her voice trailed off and Colin noticed that tears had started pooling in the corners of her eyes and threatened to pour over. He took an extra step closer and put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a pat and putting on a smile that he hoped appeared genuine, given his years of practice.
"Go back to bed, and I'll be back before you know it. And he'll be with me."
She looked up to him, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve and nodded, "Thank you."
Before he could say anything else, she quietly turned around and walked back into her room, the door sliding closed behind her. As soon as it had, Colin took a deep breathe and rubbed the bridge of his nose before glancing down at the TACPAD wrist computer mounted on his armor. It now read 0329 hours, almost time to go. He began moving down the corridor at a nice job, slow for him but he was certain it was closer to a run for the average crew members that saw him go by. It wouldn't take him long to get to the ship's hangar bay, but it would be just long enough for him to clear his head and get his mind ready for the mission.
----
The TACPAD read 0332 hours by the time Colin entered the Vegas's primary hangar bay. Looking around, he was unsurprised to find the other members of the rescue team already assembled near one of the ship's twin-bubble canopied D79-TC Pelicans. He briefly glanced around at the assembled group of Spartans, easily identifying them all even in their armor. Some may have considered the deployment, numbering fifteen Spartans in total, to be more than a little overkill for what was, in theory, a routine boarding action and retrieval operation, but after over thirty years of mostly solo combat operations, Colin knew better and was taking no chances, especially not with his friend's life.
As he approached, some of the Spartans knocked off a quick salute before he signaled for them to stand at ease. He still felt somewhat odd with his commanding role within the Special Activities Division, despite serving as its field commander since its inception after the war. Colin had always held a certain degree of authority over others, even those outside of his chain of command and with pay grades far higher than his, but that was always a tool with which to accomplish his missions, not legitimate command over bonafide subordinates. He had adapted, of course, as he did with all things that came his way, but the feelings always lingered.
Colin wasn't given much time to dwell in his thoughts this time; however, as one of the Spartans in familiar olive drab Enforcer armor approached him. Chi-A497 was a good thirteen years younger than Colin, though despite being in his mid-thirties, Chi still appeared overly youthful, though Colin couldn't tell if that was actually the case or the result of some unconscious bias towards the younger Spartans of Bellerophon Team. Chi had an MA5D assault rifle on his back and an M6C/SOCOM on his hip, spare ammunition and grenades strapped across his armor, his helmet held loosely in his armored hand. As he approached, Colin could tell he didn't look happy, but he rarely did. He was always rather serious and mission-oriented, and his promotion to Ensign and assignment as Colin's right hand man onboard the Vegas had only compounded it, though Colin couldn't think of any other Spartan to replace him in his role.
"No changes to report. Our scanners can't penetrate their hull and they're still not responding to our hails, meaning they're either not receiving or they're ignoring us, neither of which is good."
Colin frowned and nodded. Essentially all ONI ships were equipped with various forms of passive jamming technology that would help limit both visual and electronic detection, and that extended to the various forms of sensors and scanning technology found on both human and Covenant vessels, so it wasn't unusual that the Vegas couldn't see inside the ship. Unfortunately, that meant that they had no idea of the situation onboard the prison ship, or the prisoners within. Even worse was the lack of responses to their hails which meant that, as Chi had noted, the Oberstein was either unable to receive their transmissions, or was choosing not to respond.
"Alright, then we've got no choice but to assume the Oberstein and its crew are hostile."
This was the situation he was worried about when he assembled his team. Records showed the Oberstein, a Silk Road-class bulk transport specifically converted into a prison ship for ONI, had a crew of forty and a security detail numbering around one hundred men. If they had gone rogue or considered the Vegas or its mission hostile, then they'd have a hell of a fight on their hands. Spartan or not, dealing with a hundred heavily armed ONI security in the close confines of a boarding action wouldn't be easy, and they had to prepare for the possibility of a prisoner extraction whilst under fire.
The rest of the Spartans all looked at him, but said nothing. No one liked the idea of having to fight, and kill, people who were theoretically on the same side, even those that had done so before, but they all understood the necessity of it if it came to that.
Chi nodded, "Aye, we figured that was going to be the final call. We're already prepared and ready for boarding action."
Colin flashed a smile at his consistently-punctual second-in-command, "Good. We've only got another minute or two before the Vegas makes her pass, and we need to be ready."
In the event that the Oberstein was compromised, the Vegas would perform a "hot drop" deployment, zooming in range of the transport just long enough for the boarding team's Pelican to leave the hangar and then rapidly leaving the zone in order to minimize any potential risks to the ship. It was an incredibly small window, likely lasting just a few seconds, so it was critical they were all ready when the time came. The Spartans all began to turn towards the Pelican as its engines fired up, taking their seats in the troop bay.
Without looking, Colin stuck out his arm to stop one of the Spartans. The man, the number '007' emblazoned on his tan and silver Centurion armor, stopped and looked over, his brown eyes showing little visible emotion. Jameson-007 had served as Bailey's second-in-command throughout the entirety of the war with the Covenant and had been given command of Sapphire Team after Bailey's arrest earlier in the year. Out of all the Spartans Colin had known, James was easily one of the best when it came to concealing what he thought about any given situation, though Colin knew it had to be hard on him and the rest of Sapphire Team.
Colin simply nodded and flashed a small smile, "Don't worry, we'll bring him back."
James responded simply, "I know we will."
The comment and the way James said it left a dozen different ways to interpret it, and Colin didn't have the time to think about which one it was, so he simply let the comment go with a brief pat on his shoulder before ascending the dropship's ramp and taking his own seat. The Pelican lifted itself into the air and simply sat there for several long moments. Colin slipped his helmet on, the Hunter armor's advanced VISR suite coming online as the helmet sealed itself to his body suit with a slight hiss. He looked to the left of his heads-up display and saw a countdown rapidly approaching zero, the same countdown would appear on the HUDs of everyone else in the Pelican.
At five seconds, he felt the Pelican lurch as the pilots engaged the thrusters, building up enough momentum to clear the hangar bay by the time the countdown hit zero. As soon as it did, he felt the Pelican shudder again as it broke free of the Vegas's artificial gravity and into the void of space. Immediately after clearing the hangar, the Pelican's external hull cameras came online, filling the situation monitors in the bay with a view of the area around the dropship. Most of it was filled with empty starscape, but Colin managed to barely make out the silhouette of the black hull of the Vegas rapidly disappearing into the background and the distance between the Pelican and cruiser began to grow. In front, however, he got a clear view of the Oberstein, its elongated, rectangular hull evocative of traditional human naval design.
As they got closer, he began to make out smaller features, such as rows of small cubes, likely no bigger than five meters across and three meters tall, a measurement his suit's computer quickly agreed with. These were likely the individual cells, each one containing someone ONI considered a maximum security threat in one way or another, likely either destined for one of ONI's shadow prisons such as the infamous Midnight Facility or Section III's Penumbra Site, or even for a dumping ground on an uninhabited planet in some empty star system when ONI no longer saw a benefit to keeping them alive. Normally, in the unlikely event of a riot, ONI security forces would put it down with ruthless efficiency, but if any prisoner were to become too much hassle, the ship's commander could simply release the cell's outer hatch, venting the occupant within into space.
Colin suddenly had a sickening thought crawl from the back of his mind, "Pilots, is there any way we can scan the area around the ship for bodies?"
During their initial attempts to scan, they never considered checking to see if any of the prisoners had been ejected from their cells, and Colin was desperately regretting it.
The other Spartans in the bay glanced at him while the pilots remained quiet, only for one to speak up a moment later, "Standby."
Another painfully long pause went by before the pilot spoke again, "Lieutenant, we're picking up about two dozen bodies roughly four thousand kilometers off the target's aft."
Colin's heart skipped a beat. No. God no, please.
He took a moment before responding, "All prisoners have an ID chip on them, similar to the standard neural lace in all UNSC personnel. Can we check the bodies from here to see if any of them have a SPARTAN lace?"
The pilot was quick to answer, already tapping at one of the myriad control panels arrayed before him as he spoke, "Aye sir, we should get the return ping in just a few moments."
The pilot was true to his word, though Colin's augmented perception had a bad habit of stretching out moments like these far longer than was pleasant. Before the pilot could speak again, Colin was already leaning in to look at the screen, the readout listing a mixture of prisoner and ONI ID tags and neural interfaces, but nothing marking any of them as a Spartan. The news lessened the grip his chest was holding on his heart, allowing him to notice for the first time that he had been holding his breath. He straightened himself and spoke as if nothing had ever been wrong, "Good, this is a rescue mission, not body recovery. Anything else on sensors?"
When both pilots shook their heads, he looked up and through the Pelican's bubble canopy, eyeing the nearly-pitch black ship, "Take us in. Helmets on everyone, prepare for decompression. Leslie, you're up."
Those who had kept their helmets off for the trip thus far quickly and quietly slipped them over their heads, a dozen soft hisses as the Spartans' MJOLNIR armor automatically sealed itself. Even the pilots up front, in their usually airtight cabin double checked the pressure seals in their own flight suits. Colin allowed the door to the cockpits close as he stepped back into the troop bay, just in time to spot Chief Petty Officer Innes Leslie rising from her seat and heading towards the bay door.
Leslie, a former combat intelligence operator, was the closest thing the group had to any sort of technology specialist on hand. Without the presence of a Smart AI, it had fallen to her to gain them access to the ship and bypass any defenses and critical infrastructure. It was outside her typical purview, but he had worked with her enough to have confidence in her ability.
Her Scottish accent echoed over TEAMCOM, "Everyone ready?"
Colin and the thirteen other Spartans flashed green status lights, signalling an affirmative. Satisfied, she hit the large release button next to the to bay door. The pressure inside the bay began to drop as the Pelican automatically matched with the pressure outside the dropship, and moments later the door opened up, exposing the inside of the Pelican to open space. Silently and with more than a little grace, she pushed herself outside of the bay and into the void, her suit's built-in thruster pack activating in rapid-fire to change and correct her course towards the ship.
Though her form disappeared from view, Colin's MJOLNIR continued to track her own armor, displaying a light blue arrow, her name, and her current distance from him, which grew as she approached the Oberstein. The entire bay was quiet, and not just because of its current exposure to the vacuum. EVA always carried a substantial risk of complications or failure, even to Spartans in full MJOLNIR. He had lost two comrades to thruster pack failures during the war, and so he always tried to be aware of any potential dangers during such missions.
As Leslie's signal reached roughly four hundred meters away, she began to slow down as she presumably neared the ship, her voice coming through the comms a moment later, "I've reached the ship. There's an external access panel, likely for maintenance crews. I'm going to attempt to slice in."
The line went dead again as she disconnected, likely to focus on the task of breaking whatever encryptions ONI would have placed on a maintenance panel. As time went on, the silence became even more stifling until, thankfully, Doug-103 elected to break it.
"So, what's our plan once we're inside the ship?"
"At this point, assuming they're still alive, we don't have much choice but to assume the ship's crew and security as hostile. ONI records show that the ship was carrying a Smart AI named Revil, acting as both standard ship's AI and digital warden for the prisoners."
Doug's body language, while likely imperceptible to all others save Colin and Sapphire Team, conveyed a general sense of annoyance, "Well that complicates matters, doesn't it? What are the odds this Revil has joined up with the Created?"
"I'd say high, though we're dealing with a lot of unknowns. The bodies in space imply some kind of disturbance occurred onboard, and there are prisoners and crew floating together out there."
This time, it was Petty Officer 1st Class Pavel Volkov of Fireteam Tango-38, his Slavic voice almost tangibly heavy across the comms as he spoke, "It sounds like Revil may have started to purge the particularly rowdy among them, though if it has joined the Created, then where are the Promethean reinforcements?"
Cain spoke next, "He's right. No troop ships, or even any Phaetons on patrol. What gives?"
Finally, Jameson of all people chose to break Sapphire Team's noticeable lack of participation, speaking in his usual matter-of-fact manner, "The Created are still locking down and solidifying their control. A prison ship wouldn't fall very high on their priority list. That gives us a window of time to complete the operation without Promethean interference."
Before the chatter could continue in a pointless circle of questions and speculation, Colin cleared his throat over the comms, a passive but rather obvious gesture for all involved to stop and listen, "We've all got questions, but there are too many unknowns and uncertainties involved with this to bother with speculation. Our objective is simple, our rules of engagement even more so. We get aboard the Oberstein, we located and recover our target, and we leave. If anyone, human or otherwise, interferes with that, we deal with them. Got it?"
Everyone nodded in the affirmative, just in time for Innes's voice to crack back over the comms, "Oi, I've bypassed their encryptions, and I've got good news and some potentially not good news. Which would you like first?"
"Let's hear the bad news first."
"I didn't say bad, I said potentially not good. I was able to use the maintenance panel to access the ship's diagnostics and internal sensors. Power is still online throughout the ship, mostly."
He raised an eyebrow, "Mostly?"
"There are several sections of the ship experiencing power failures, though I can't tell what's caused them, since it looks like the ship's reactor is still working within safe limits. Regardless, the ship still looks to be completely functional and crewed. I'm reading multiple lifesigns across all decks, over a hundred active signals."
"And the good news?"
He could practically feel her smirk across the channel, "None of them are in the hangar."
"You're certain?"
"Positive."
He paused only momentarily before speaking again, "Seal all interior access ways into the hangar, set the doors to open thirty seconds later, then get get clear and secure yourself. Pilots, get us a safe distance away from the hangar, then gun it towards the door once the debris is clear. We'll be cutting this close."
Everyone flashed green on his HUD as he moved to return to his seat, "Strap in, this might get a little bumpy."
The Spartans all reached up to grab their crash harnesses, over a dozen of them clicking loudly into place over metal chest plates. The Pelican suddenly lurched as its engines flared back up, pushing it away from the prison ship's hangar just as a timer appeared on everyone's Heads-Up Display, counting down from thirty seconds. It took a full ten seconds for the dropship to reach what its pilots deemed an appropriately safe distance, as the countdown dropped below the twenty second mark. At ten seconds, Leslie changed her status to green, meaning she had safely secured herself away from the soon-to-be decompressing hangar bay.
At five seconds, the first signs on the decompression could be spotted as gases rushed out from special vents along the four corners of bay doors.
Four
Three
Two
The countdown hit One and the two halves of the hangar door were ripped apart from one another as Leslie's code forced a rapid, explosive decompression of the hangar. Cargo containers and a few smaller ships, likely used for prisoner transport, were all violently launched into space, filling up the area formerly occupied by the Pelican with several tons of debris. Once the contents of the hangar had been ejected, the Pelican fired its maneuvering thrusters, reorienting itself towards the ship and began its rapid approach. As it neared the hangar, its front thrusters lit up in an attempt to burn off the dropship's speed, the result being a relatively sharp stop and a loud thump as the Pelican finally touched down on the hangar's deck.
Colin opened the door to the pilots's cabin and peered through the canopy. The hangar bay was well lit, proving what Leslie had said about the ship maintaining power, and just as she said, both the room and the debris now floating outside the ship were devoid of bodies. He turned back and approached the troop door, sliding his MA5D off the magnetic holster on his back and double checking its electronics and ammo count. His eyes drifted to the side of his HUD, Leslie's arrow now firmly inside the hangar bay and signalling the rising pressure of the bay.
Without turning back to the other Spartans, he spoke over TEAMCOM, his voice devoid of the usual joy that punctuated his speech almost as much as his distinctive accent, "Let's go."
==Chapter Two==
Category:Demons of Hope