Halo: Avenger's Quest/Part Three

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===Chapter Twenty-Two: Approach===
Aboard the bridge of the Chieftain's Pride, Mallunus surveyed the wall of holograms that sprang up around his elevated command platform. Massive hands clenched behind his back, he strode from one bank of data to the other, surveying each one with cold, impassive eyes. Clad in full armor and sporting his battle-scarred gravity hammer on his back for good measure, he was truly an intimidating sight, particularly to the multi-species command crew hard at work throughout the bridge stations below him.
"Has any data come in from the ships I dispatched to the mining sector?" he demanded, glaring down at the communications officer.
"No, not yet Chieftain," the Kig-Yar officer stammered. "They report no contact with any hostile forces. No ships other than our own have entered that area since the attacks."
With a dismissive snort, Mallunus turned back to his data. These attacks could not have come at a worse time. With the daughter of the most powerful criminal in the galaxy now conducting business in orbit around his planet, he needed to present the best impression possible, one of a secure planet that could serve as a staging grounds for all manner of criminal enterprises while remaining a safe place for all to do business. With the Syndicate serving as the middleman for nearly all of Famul's dealings within Interspecies Union space, the support of the Powells was not just beneficial--it was critical. And maintaining order on Famul was like keeping a fire going on top of a few dozen crates of high explosives and keeping the whole thing from going up in flames.
And Mallunus hated it.
He missed the old days back after the Covenant had dissolved, when he didn't own a planet and needed only a few ships crewed by a loyal, bloodthirsty pack eager to raid the humans and their Sangheili allies. Back then, he hadn't needed to curry favor with presumptuous human cubs or tolerate the glib words of Sangheili nationalists like the Fallen. All that had been required of him was a firm grasp of tactics and a willingness to lead his pack into battle after battle without any sign of fear. That had kept him young and alive.
But he had steadily gained more and more until finally he had almost been forced into settling Famul and cultivating the small empire he now dominated. And though the consequences of that achievement were draining him on a daily basis, he couldn't back away from the power he now wielded. Not without living the rest of his life swathed in regret. He had tasted wine from a cup that few of his kind ever lived to drink from, and once he had taken his first sip there had been no going back.
Were this a real battle he'd be assembling his ships now, barking orders to eager warriors and preparing to defend what was his in a savage battle of life and death against an enemy determined to utterly destroy him. But the enemy he faced now wished only to humiliate him, to make him look weak before his pack and those who depended on him to defend Famul from the long arm of the Interspecies Union. This enemy didn't need to kill him in order to win; they just needed to evade his grasp and his own followers would do the rest.
"Keep this entire system on high alert," he growled. "Get in contact with every shipyard in the sector and make sure that only scheduled arrivals are allowed in, and then only after a thorough background check."
"Shinsu 'Refum has returned to the ship," the communications officer reported. "He and his aide are within the quarters you set aside for them."
Mallunus waved a calloused hand. "I'll begin negotiations with them once I attend to this matter." If he was going to pull a profitable arrangement out of this, he would need to hold the strongest position possible. The Fallen might be weakened, but they weren't so far gone that they'd allow a weak chieftain to make demands of them.
"The Jade Princess has entered orbit around the planet," the communications officer continued. "It signals that it wishes to conduct business for several days here."
"Fine. But order the fleet to keep an eye on them." He wouldn't put it past the Syndicate to have arranged all this just so it could replace him with some younger, more malleable successor.
Of course, he wasn't sure what he could do if he did discover a Syndicate plot other than to simply survive it. If he started a war with that organization, it would starve him of resources of business, begin an unending string of assassination attempts, and if he continued to hold out it would use the political influence it had garnered through corrupt politicians in the IU to send waves of human and Sangheili warships descending on Famul like an avenging swarm. One way or another, he would be eliminated.
All this churned within Mallunus's head, but he kept his face impassive. Appearances had always been important for a chieftain, even before he had taken over Famul, and he couldn't let his crew see how worried he really was.
Where was the mighty chieftain now, he wondered distantly. That warrior who had once crushed his enemies with such impunity seemed lost, replaced instead by some aging bumbler who was merely a small cub in a massive galaxy.
Somehow, Mallunus felt a cold twinge inside him that he couldn't quite place, as if an invisible noose was slowly being tightened around his neck.
***
"Well, here we go," Diana noted, smoothing the folds of her transparent skirt. "One pirate world coming up in ten. Don't say I didn't warn you when they disembowel you meatbags and strangle you with your own intestines."
She swept an arched, holographic glance across the four "meatbags" gathered in the shuttle's cockpit. Simon was at the controls in the only seat, while Cassandra and Tuka had strategically positioned themselves between him and Fira. All four were decked out in full combat gear, which Simon had assured them was the dress norm on Famul's surface. Cassandra had both her armor and medical bag with her, along with a pistol and assault carbine strapped to her waist and back. Fira wore the dark, insignia-less combat suit he'd worn on Gamma-13 while Tuka had the same, light traveling skin he'd had since his journey began.
"We'll have to find something better for you," Simon had said earlier. "Something that doesn't collapse after one punch."
"I have better mobility in this," Tuka had protested.
"Believe me," Simon had replied. "When you're up against an angry chieftain and his hordes of followers, you'll want more than just mobility."
Now Tuka stroked the hilt of his energy sword anxiously, staring at the cockpit's blast shields as the shuttle shuddered and lurched its way out of Slipspace. Once they were on Famul, there truly was no turning back. He would either kill Mallunus or die trying.
Or, as a filthy, treacherous part of his mind noted, he could kill Mallunus and still die trying to escape. He wasn't sure which would be worse: to die at the hands of such a powerful chieftain after spending his entire life preparing for their encounter, or overcoming his mother's killer only to be brought down by some warrior's lucky shot with a spiker rifle.
The shuttle gave one last, bracing lurch that sent them all jerking forwards.
"And we're in," Diana noted, twiddling her fingers. "Resetting all nonessential systems and contacting orbital defense ships. Nice knowing you all."
She paused and tapped her chin. "Well, I wouldn't say it was nice spending the last days of my existence with you idiot meatbags, but I can't say it wasn't entertaining."
"Can it," Simon muttered as the blast shields began to rise. "Can't say that spending the past two years with you was a bed of roses either."
Tuka looked past the bickering partners, staring at the brown and green planet that floated before him in the viewport. He'd seen plenty of it in Simon's holograms, but to see it in person was something else entirely. It was big and growing bigger as the shuttle hurried towards it, but Tuka's attention was drawn to the hundreds of specks that floated around it. Famul was surrounded by ships and orbital stations, and as they drew even closer he could see that they were from all manner of the galaxy's civilizations. There were the battered Covenant warships of course, but there were also human vessels mixed into the teaming throng of trafficking space craft as well as Kig-Yar privateers and Lekgolo bond-ships. Several asteroids had been dragged into orbit around the planet and, from the looks of things, converted into orbital stations that were hives of moving ships unto themselves.
"It's incredible," he breathed. Never had he imagined that a lawless pirate world could be so vibrant, so full of life.
"Yeah, look at the cool spaceships," Simon muttered irritably. "Believe me, you guys'll have had enough real soon."
A light flashed on the cockpit's dashboard.
"Heads up," Diana called, pointing a glowing finger at the viewport. "We've got company."
"Just a security patrol," Simon explained, running a laconic system check on the dashboard. "Don't worry, they do it for everybody who comes in here. They know this ship, so this'll be quick."
"Hey, dumbass," Diana asked. "The last time we were here, didn't they send a couple Seraphs in to check us out?"
"Yeah," said Simon, still engrossed with the dashboard. "So?"
"So, this time they didn't send Seraphs."
"And? What's the deal?"
"This time they sent a corvette."
"What?" Simon jerked his head up and all four organics stared up at the viewport as the bulbous nose of a Covenant-made corvette swam into view directly in front of them. Tuka could see swarms of fighters darting around its hull and its forward plasma batteries looked both operational and ready to fire at any time.
"Well, this is new," Simon muttered. "Diana, warm up the Slipspace drive."
"And do what with it, blow up the ship?" she demanded. "It's pretty simple, you idiot, that hunk of junk you call a Slipspace drive can only fire once every four hours. I told you to upgrade the damn thing after that Aphrodite Nebula job, but as usual you didn't listen and now we're all gonna die, so you can't say I didn't try."
The corvette drew nearer, and its plasma turrets swiveled to aim in their direction.
Simon bristled, finding strange things to get angry at as the warship approached. "As if we could have afforded--"
The comms station crackled, putting an end to their bickering. They were being hailed.
"Attention, shuttle 34572-74," a rasping voice growled over the speaker. "This is Violent Usurpation. State your business on Famul."
Tuka felt his hand unclench from his energy sword and looked down, surprised. He hadn't realized how tightly his body had stiffened when the corvette had been bearing down on them. Cassandra wiped her brow and even Fira looked relieved.
"I'm just a merc looking for some job ops down there," Simon said into the speaker. "Got some passengers, too. Two squid-heads, one other human like me."
There was a pause on the other end, and Fira glowered at the back of Simon's head. "Squid-heads?" he asked coldly, perceptive of the insult even when it came in a human language.
"It's a Brute on the other end," Simon hissed back. "Saying stuff like that will butter him up. Do you really want to die over a stupid name?"
Before Fira could come up with a retort, the speaker crackled again.
"Our scans confirm your story," the Brute pirate said, almost sounding disappointed. "What about cargo?"
"Just a shitload of small arms," Simon said impatiently, his eyes darting up to look at the corvette's plasma weapons. "I don't plan on selling any of it down there."
Another interminable pause. Tuka fought to keep from clenching up again. Finally, the Brute's voice returned. "Proceed to the docking bay you are scheduled for on the surface," it rasped. "Do not deviate from the standard course or you will be fired upon."
The corvette banked; it was heading off, leaving the shuttle drifting in its wake.
Simon leaned back in his seat. "Shit," he muttered. "They usually couldn't care less what the hell I'm doing here. What's going on?"
"It doesn't matter," Fira snapped. "They let us through, so head for the surface before they get suspicious."
"Yeah, yeah," Simon grumbled. "I'm warning you guys now, though, this place doesn't get any better."
The shuttle rumbled to life as he guided it towards the planet. "If you thought Gamma-13 was bad, you won't be able to breathe on this world."
===Chapter Twenty-Three: A Pirate World===
It had been a stable world, Famul, one amongst millions of life-supporting planets throughout the galaxy. A breathable atmosphere, a small but vibrant population of non-sentient organisms, and a stable global ecosystem had blessed it with several million years of peaceful, unsettled savagery. It had floated amongst the stars, untouched by the wars and troubles that shook the galaxy beyond its distant sun, a veritable Eden sleeping amidst an ocean of fire and destruction. But the brief, troubled peace that followed the Human-Covenant War was to prove the sleeping planet's undoing.
Mallunus had been a young chieftain when he and his miniature fleet had discovered Famul, full of wildness and bloodlust and the vaunting ambition that made any warlord believe that the galaxy could be theirs if they simply drowned it in enough blood. He had taken one look at this planet, overflowing with life and potential, and claimed it as his own. The first of his conquering warriors had descended to plant their chieftain's flag on the surface and claim everything there as his and his alone. They had established the first base camps and the conquest of Famul began.
At first, Mallunus and the Jiralhanae who followed him wished to keep their private world a secret, a place that they could retreat to and strike from at their choosing. But such a secret gnawed at his mind, haunting him with the possibility of discovery until he could bear it no more and turned to a method of protection he remembered hearing of from the bloody lips of a dying human prisoner during interrogation.
That method was something the humans called "The Cole Protocol."
Armed with the procedures that had kept Earth safe for over two decades of unending war, Mallunus and his pirates resumed their raids until the space lanes were littered with the burning husks of their victims and the navies of the Interspecies Union were filled with the rumors of their exploits. It was all a red-blooded Jiralhanae chieftain could have asked for.
But the galaxy could not be held at bay forever.
Forces were on the move, forces that had no toleration for the independance-minded dregs who had crawled out of the rubble of the Great War. The Interspecies Union, with its combined military forces of humans, Sangheili, and their allies, stamped out the new generation of criminals and mercenaries wherever they were found. The Syndicate, beginning to truly flex its muscles as the galaxy's leader in organized crime, demanded the underworld to bend its knee or face extermination. Those unwilling to toe the line of intergalactic law or submit to the Syndicate were left adrift, desperate for life outside of the civilized galaxy.
And Famul would prove to be their salvation.
Mallunus now commanded a fleet that rivaled even the mighty battlegroups of the Interspecies Union. Whenever he encountered a rival chieftain, he slew him and seized the loyalty of the dead warrior's pack. Power was flooding to him, but with that power came the knowledge that he would not last long if he continued to fling himself in the face of the Interspecies Union. His dreams of conquest were not to be.
And so Mallunus did the unthinkable, humbled himself before the galaxy, and withdrew to the one place he held firmly in his grasp. He had turned Famul into a bastion of Jiralhanae power, complete with civilian settlements, a small shipyard, and orbital defenses. He now assumed full control of his planet and flung open its doors to the mob of independents--the scum of all species--who flocked to the system to conduct their dark business.
Famul held attractions for everyone the underworld had to offer: hard men like David Kahn, rebels like Redmond Venter, gleeful savages like Kenpachus, bitter creatures like Ro'nin, lost outcasts like Mordred. They all found their way into Mallunus's domain to find business or purpose, and the ill-gotten money poured through Famul in the billions.
Mallunus now had the power over the teeming throngs that came through his planet. He held the reigns of a pirate fleet with warships numbering in the hundreds and a pack of warriors numbering in the millions. His words could end the lives of hundreds in an instant. He had everything a power-hungry chieftain could want.
But the vultures were circling. Mallunus had fended off assassination attempts from without and within, had put down surface rebellions until Famul's forests and deserts ran with the blood of all species. And he was beginning to lose his edge.
Famul was a world of blood, money, and suffering. From the thousands murdered in the streets of its shanty towns every day to the millions of slaves who passed through its auction booths on their way to an eternity of servitude, the strong consumed the weak and each other in equal numbers. It was a powder keg of savage violence, containing the potential for enormous destruction if directed by the right person.
Mallunus was not that person.
But another warrior had laid his eyes on the prize that was Famul and was now moving to seize it for his own. Fresh from the killing fields of Sanghelios, from the loss of friends, home, and everything he had once believed, Shinsu 'Refum had set the gears in motion for what was to become the foundation of his own lofty plans. He had plotted his ascendency with the care of a grand master strategist, and now the pieces were falling into place with his deceptive arrival on Mallunus's own flagship.
Famul was ripe for change.
But now, four new pieces that neither Shinsu, Mallunus, nor any of their pawns could have predicted had arrived on Famul. And they were ready to turn the wretched hive on its head.
If they weren't killed by it first.
===Chapter Twenty-Four: Five Versus the World===
The chieftain bellowed, the shock of its roar slapping against Tuka like a gale-force wind. A hammer came up out of the darkness, an ornate killing machine that rose impossibly high before slamming down and crushing his world to dust...
He was surrounded now, encircled by a wall of human shapes garbed in shadowy armor. They all raised energy swords in a salute while a single mocking laugh echoed all around him. He spun frantically about, desperately searching for where the first attack would come...
And now he stumbled backwards as a taller Sangheili in dark armor slid out of the darkness to stand over him. It looked down on him and shook its head, a whisper sliding from under its helmet like a gust of wind. Though Tuka couldn't hear what it said, anger coursed through his veins and he drew his blade, charging at the distorted warrior with a cry of challenge...
Tuka's eyes snapped open and he darted upright, only to smack his head painfully on the low ceiling. He clenched a yell behind his mandibles and rubbed his aching skull, blinking slowly as he remembered where he was. The shuttle's common area was as cluttered as ever, the piles of weapons looking slightly sinister through his blurry eyes. He slid out from under the blanket he'd scavenged from the shuttle's survival gear and crawled away from the alcove he'd taken shelter in--and hurt himself on.
Across the room, Cassandra was sitting up against a wall, still wearing the armor Simon had given her. Her helmet was still on, but from the way her head was tilted off to one side Tuka could tell she was still asleep. Her medical bag rested on her outstretched legs and some of its contents--needles and canisters mostly--had spilled out onto the floor.
Climbing unsteadily to his feet, he saw that the door to the shuttle's medical bay was slightly ajar. Fira might have been back on his feet, but Cassandra had insisted he sleep on the more comfortable medical beds for at least one more day. After their tense arrival and landing, Fira had been too tired to argue even with a young human.
The door to the cockpit was also open, and as Tuka approached it he heard voices. But as he moved through the door, they fell silent. Moving up, he found Simon slumped in the pilot's chair, his armor strapped on only from the waist down. The rest of the suit lay in pieces around him, and he seemed to be performing some calibrations on his prosthetic arm.
He looked up as Tuka drew near.
"You the only one awake?" he asked, gesturing at a video display that showed security footage from the rest of the ship. "Guess Cassandra's gotten a bit shaky on that military discipline they drilled into us."
"Fira's injuries are probably forcing him to rest longer," Tuka said quickly, not wanting the same assumption to be made of his companion. An Ultra like Fira would be horrified to have it implied that they weren't keeping up with their discipline.
"Whatever." Simon looked back down at his arm. "I'm just glad he hasn't gotten all honorable on us about Cassandra treating him. We need him back in the game now if we have any shot at taking out Mallunus."
"Right," said Tuka, leaning forward eagerly. "Do you have a plan yet?"
"Me?" Simon laughed. "I'm just a mercenary, remember? You're getting the special Visag keep graduate's discount right now, but I'm still just hired muscle. Besides, won't your revenge be all that sweeter if you're the one who plans things out?"
Tuka sighed in disappointment. "I'm no good at plans," he admitted. "If I was, I'd have found out more about Mallunus and this place before I even left the keep."
"Well, you made it this far." Simon tightened a small knob on his arm, flexing it approvingly. "Gotta count for something."
He leaned back into the pilot's chair. "Thing about plans is that they always fall apart right where you need 'em to start working the most."
Diana's hologram flickered to live on the display. "Yeah, his plans always get screwed. That's why he couldn't go without me."
"Yeah, because you're plans always work out," Simon retorted before turning back to Tuka. "You're problem is that you're way too honest, Tuka."
"I've told lies before," Tuka protested, not quite sure why he felt he needed to justify himself in that regard to Simon. "Like the time we stole all that food back at the keep."
"And whose idea was that?" Simon asked.
"Well... yours."
"That's my point. You can lie to people, though to be honest, even a human like me can tell you're terrible at it. You aren't devious enough to really trick somebody big time. I can't see you stabbing anyone in the back."
"That would be dishonorable," Tuka protested. "It goes against everything Master 'Visag taught us as warriors."
Simon shrugged, lifting a pistol off of the control panel in front of him and examining it. "Well, sometimes it's your honor or your life," he said casually. "You Sangheili are always the last ones to learn that out here, and it usually costs you. Big time."
"I would never value my life over my honor," Tuka said automatically, his body stiffening as if at attention before some invisible officer.
"Hate to tell you this, but that's what they all say." Simon tapped the pistol's barrel against his chest, which was covered only by a sleeveless white top. Tuka could see his bandages through the loose fabric. "At first."
Tuka looked passed his friend and at Famul's gray morning sky. He hadn't seen much of the planet yet, just the sprawling shantytown they'd landed in, and so far he couldn't see much difference between it and Gamma-14. "Is it always like this out here?"
"Oh yeah," Simon said. "You can't trust anyone on the frontier."
"It must be lonely," Tuka murmured. It seemed awful to him, for someone to simply be adrift amidst an ocean of greed and savagery and betrayal. No keep, no comrades, no family to return to. And yet Simon chose this over returning to the Visag keep. What wasn't Tuka seeing here?
"Oh, I keep him plenty of company," Diana pitched in. "Don't you worry about that."
"So," Tuka said after an awkward pause. "We were discussing plans?"
****
"Let's cut right to the chase," Simon told Fira. "You aren't going to like this plan."
Sitting on an upended crate, the Sangheili officer gave him a level glance. "That doesn't surprise me."
Simon shrugged. "Hell, I don't like this plan. But right now, it's all I can come up with, especially since the whole game's changed completely down here."
Tuka looked up from the pile of his gear; Simon had given him several small weapons and utilities from the shuttle's stores. "What do you mean?"
"Some lunatics are hitting Mallunus's operations out near the edge of the system," Simon explained. "Word on the street is that they've taken out ten of his mining platforms and the pirates can't do a thing about it. If Mallunus had tight security before, it'll be damn near airtight now that he's trying to consolidate power."
Fira nodded. "He can't lose face like this when he's running a planet full of Jiralhanae."
"Yep." Simon plucked at the shoulder straps of his dirty undershirt. "And these guys aren't too particular about who they follow. Long as they've got someone who'll give them targets and keep the money coming in, they'd turn on Mallunus for anyone."
"No honor amongst thieves, as you humans say."
Diana appeared beside Simon and flashed Fira a grin. "You better hope there is. We're with the thieves, after all."
Fira clicked his mandibles. "So tell us about this plan that I won't like."
"Well, it's simple enough and it makes me some money, so all I need is for Tuka to agree to do something crazy and dangerous. And if he's anything like he was at the Visag keep, that won't be tough at all."
"What is it?" Tuka asked. "What do you want me to do?"
"Well, you're not going to like this either," Simon told him. "But we're going to take a trip to the local slave market, and we need someone to sell."
Tuka blinked. "What?"
Simon raised his palms. "Okay, before either of you start tossing around honor and disgrace, you should know that this is about getting Tuka as close to Mallunus as possible."
Tuka hesitated.
"So," Fira said with deceptive calm. "You want him to go to the same creatures who used your back to sharpen their blades and become their slave?"
Simon flinched at the mention of his back, but didn't stop. "Look, they only did that to me because I kept trying to escape. Tuka won't do a thing like that until he's actually on the Chieftain's Pride."
"Oh? And what's to stop them from cutting him to pieces then?"
"Simple. We get Mallunus to hire us on as extra security. I hear he's been pulling mercs off the streets since these attacks started. Won't be too hard to get aboard the Pride once we're attached to one of his ships."
"And the reason you need Tuka aboard the Pride to begin with..."
Simon sighed. "They aren't going to hire us if we have an obvious amateur like him with us. No offense, Tuka, but I've got a little bit of a reputation out here and your friend'll fit the ex-military merc type to a T. Besides, if he's gonna take out Mallunus he'll need to know the lay of the ship first."
Tuka gulped. He'd always told himself that he'd go to any lengths to kill Mallunus, but this went beyond any lengths. To submit himself as a slave to creatures who'd needed very little reason to maim a human like Simon, who had a deep-seated hatred for him and all his kind...
"Alright." Simon didn't seem to notice Tuka's discomfort in the slightest, or if he did he was ignoring it in favor of Fira's more evident scorn. "You come up with a good way to get us on board without getting killed. Or we could go back to having Diana vent the ship. That works for me."
Fira gave Simon a look of contempt. Tuka felt his gut tightening. This was it, he realized. Here was the moment when his entire quest could succeed or fail based on his actions. No matter how much he disagreed with and feared it, Simon's plan was the best option they had. If they went with another one, a more dangerous one, then they would all be at risk. This way, only he would walk in fire on the way to his revenge.
"I'll do it," he announced as Fira took a breath to reply. "We will use Simon's plan."
Simon sighed and got to his feet. "Smart choice. Don't sweat it, I've got some tricks up my sleeve to keep them from cutting you up."
Tuka just closed his eyes. This was it. He'd made his decision, and now all he could do was throw himself into the plan and trust that his fate would bring him to Mallunus unharmed.
It seems I do quite a lot of that. Always relying on others to do the thinking, to take the risks. But this time, I will bear my burden alone. Just as it should have been from the beginning.
"Well," said Diana over the intercom. "Now that you meatbags have a plan all sorted out, things can finally get interesting. And we've got a strapping young squid-head for sale now, Simon. Make sure you squeeze every last credit you can get out of the dealers at the auction."
"Right," Simon said, idly waving his prosthetic hand at one of the security cameras. "Don't sweat it, Diana, I plan on getting as much money out of this gig as I possibly can."
"Ugh," she replied, her voice dripping with disdain. "Please remember that I don't sweat. Don't go projecting your meatbag habits on me, dumbass."
"Ah, whatever." Simon turned to the others. "Tuka, once you get back I'll give you a cut of whatever I can get for you."
Tuka looked away, not wanting to reject Simon entirely but also not wanting to annoy Fira either. "I won't need it," he said. His voice was tight, tighter than he'd expected. The reality of what was about to happen was sinking in.
"Suit yourself." Simon waved at Fira. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be helping him prepare for all this? A younger warrior's about to go into battle, don't you have things to do with him beforehand?"
"Indeed." Fira rose to his feet and beckoned to Tuka. "It seems you trained under a blademaster after all, human. Tuka, come with me. The cryo-bay will suit our purposes nicely."
As Tuka and Fira made their way over to the cryo-bay, Cassandra, who'd been silent the whole time, finally lifted her head. "Five of us against a whole planet full of pirates and criminals," she noted quietly. "And we're about to send one of us alone into the heart of all the trash."
Simon just passed a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Things are going to get interesting now."
She glanced over at him and managed a faint smile. "By interesting, you mean scary, right?"
"Yep. Screaming, running, shooting, brushing with death. That kind of interesting."
"Just like old times then, huh?"
Simon sighed and rubbed his gaunt face. "Yeah. Just like old times."
===Chapter Twenty-Five: The Syndicate===
"Once again, I'd like to thank you for your help in arranging all of this."
Shinsu felt the young human female's eyes boring into his skull, but he didn't turn to acknowledge her. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on the image of Famul spreading out below him through the viewport on the Jade Princess's observation deck. The contrasting green tinge of the planet's terraformed forests with the brown hues of its natural deserts reminded him of the ancient, abstractionist tapestries he'd studied as a child. It was a rare art form, the ability to derive meaning from stark differences, one that was mostly lost to Sangheili of the post-Covenant era.
Behind him, Helen Powell laughed. "You mean you want to thank the Syndicate. I'm just its agent in all of this."
It fascinated Shinsu that someone barely old enough to be considered an adult by her species could wield such power on such a galactic scale. Sangheili children were judged based on their capacity to fight, if they were male, and govern the daily affairs of the keep, if they were female. Those outside the elite keep system were expected to perform whatever task their lords within the keeps required. It was a solid system, one that had been maintained peacefully even as the Covenant's warriors waged their bloody crusade against the humans.
But I armed the serfs when I wasn't much older than this human, Shinsu noted, still staring down at Famul. I helped shatter millennia of tradition to try to save us from the humans, and in doing so made us more like them.
How strange it was, that he'd gone from fighting a brutal guerilla war on his own species' sacred homeworld in order to keep the humans away to striking backroom deals with human criminals to help further his plans to topple the Sangheili government.
How the wheel turns, doesn't it? And one day, it will turn again.
"Regardless," he said aloud. "You have been most generous in this whole affair, and I thank you for it."
Helen moved to stand beside him, and Shinsu noted out of the corner of his eye the satisfied smile the human female always seemed to be wearing.
"Mallunus has always been wary of us," she explained calmly. "With him gone, we'll be able to control the trade around this planet entirely."
She glanced at him, and Shinsu immediately saw the cold calculations running behind that vaguely innocent smile. "As we agreed, of course."
"Of course," Shinsu said with a nod. "My agents will take possession of the surface colonies, the orbital assets, and the resources Mallunus's fleet currently possessed. Once the planet is secure, my forces will ensure that every group currently trading with this system must go through the Syndicate."
"And we in turn will make sure that you receive sixty percent of all revenue finds its way into your pockets." Helen curled a strand of dark hair around a pale, slender finger. "You're about to become a very rich warlord, Shinsu 'Refum."
"So I am."
One day, once I've settled accounts back on Sanghelios, I'll come for you as well, Helen Powell. You, your Syndicate, this planet, and all the filth they've polluted this galaxy with, will burn along with the scum who let your poison take hold.
Shinsu realized that he didn't hate Helen, not like he hated the Vadams and the government they had built. She was just a byproduct of the systems that had corrupted the galaxy since the Great War, another vermin who thought herself far bigger than she actually was. No, he didn't hate her at all. He just regretted that such intelligence had been wasted on the criminal elements he was determined to bring down.
Fortune's wheel spins for all of us; it certainly has for me, time and time again. I submit to you and your Syndicate now, but a day will come when I help dismantle everything you've built piece by piece.
***
In spite of what its name implied, the Syndicate had been thrust from the ashes of the post-war galaxy by the will of a single man.
Thomas Powell had begun his career as just another local crime boss, one more high-end trafficker who'd managed to slip under his local government's radar. But the war had cost him much: his mistress and firstborn son, through his wife's jealousy, and his second child, a daughter, to the perils of rival criminals. And he'd gazed upon the ashes the Covenant had made of the UNSC's empire and seen opportunity in the chaos the war would leave behind it.
And so, mere weeks after the war's end, Powell had gathered up what remained of his criminal fortune and launched an all-out campaign to seize control of the new criminal underworld springing up in the wake of all the destruction. He'd moved quickly and ruthlessly against all potential rivals, cutting them to pieces and absorbing those pieces into his own rising organization. The war had left him with plenty of tools, and he'd used them all. Pirates, rebels, mercenaries, and even up and coming politicians had aided him in his rise to power. Within five years, Powell had achieved his dream of building a many-headed criminal empire that spanned all of human space and beyond; the Interspecies Union had been a useful tool in expanding the newly dubbed "Syndicate"'s operations to other, non-human, systems.
Now, the Syndicate had a hand in everything that happened on the far side of the Interspecies Union's laws. Weapon smuggling, drug trafficking, illegal mercenary contracting, and all manner of other illicit activities all wound their way back to the Syndicate in the end. Entire colonial governments resided within its deep pockets, and what remained of the insurrection owed its existence to the Syndicate's support.
And now it had set its sights on Famul.
Even now, as Shinsu 'Refum and the heir to the massive empire sealed their alliance, Syndicate agents were already coordinating with Shinsu's own operatives as they pulled all the pieces into place for a full-scale takeover of the last pirate stronghold outside its control. As Mallunus scaled up his patrols and waited for the attack to come, he failed to see the forces already assembled on the planet beneath him.
The attack would come quickly, and everything would go as Shinsu had planned.
The only thing he hadn't planned for was a certain slave transaction taking place in a small port on the target planet's surface.
===Chapter Twenty-Six: The Slave Market===
Tuka closed his eyes and tried his best to ignore the pit of misery he'd volunteered to be marched into.
"This," he muttered softly as the deluge of shouts from guards and cries from their victims washed over him. "Is disgusting."
"Better get used to it," Simon replied beside him. "You're up next on the auction block, pal."
"Meditate on your ancestors," Fira, standing behind them, advised. "On your mission. It will keep you alive."
Simon snorted and pushed Tuka forward. "Just keep your head down and don't draw attention to yourself. You're supposed to be broken down already, remember? Selling that's the only way this will work."
Tuka obediently ducked his head, only to struck from behind. He fell flat on his back in a puddle of what he hoped was just mud and saw that Simon had hit him with his rifle butt.
"Move him over to the holding pens," Simon ordered loudly, faceless under his helmet. "I'll deal with the transaction."
"You have experience doing this sort of thing?" Fira demanded disgustedly, hauling Tuka roughly to his feet. The older Sangheili was clad in a battered amalgam of several different suits of armor that Simon had apparently scavenged off several dozen battlefields.
"Of course," came the cold reply. "I used to be merchandise myself, remember?"
***
"How confident are you in this plan?" Fira demanded upon finding Mordred finishing a conversation with one of the dozens of Kig-Yar that appeared to be the black core of the slave market. "He has no training for this sort of endeavor."
Mordred just shrugged, more interested in the credit chit he'd just received than Fira's questions. "He's tougher than he looks," he replied casually. Even though Fira had always found human expressions hard to interpret, but he found the faceless helmets of the Spartans even more disconcerting.
"If you have indeed spent time as a slave, then you know how savage the Jiralhanae are," Fira continued. "And their hatred of our kind exceeds even their enmity towards you humans."
"First off, I was thrown into a mine where scrawny humans like me weren't exactly hard to come by." Mordred slipped the credit chit into one of the pouches strapped to his armor. "With the recommendations I just made and the strings Diana just pulled in their computer system, he'll be heading into orbit on the next shuttle off-planet. The guards will be a little more gentle with the merchandise, at first."
"These apes have lousy security," Diana commented over the audio link in Fira's own helmet. "A baby could have hacked that network."
"And second?" Fira asked, ignoring the AI.
"Second, this was the best plan we could come up with that didn't involve getting our asses shot off by a bunch of pissed off pirate ships."
"Wonderful," Fira muttered. "So now we wait for Tuka to plan the rest by himself?"
"Yeah, pretty much." Mordred opened a channel to Cassandra. The second human was waiting at the edge of the market, added security in case the plan had gone awry. "Cassandra, job's done. We're heading out."
"Copy that. Is Tuka alright?"
"Well, he's locked up in a slave pen right now, so I wouldn't exactly go with alright, but at least he's not dead."
"I see."
Simon shot a glance over at the slave pens. "We're heading back now. The sooner I'm out of this shithole, the sooner I can forget it all over again."
He turned to Fira. "Let's get the hell out of here. Don't worry about Tuka. He'll be fine.
***
But Cassandra wasn't alone when they reached the spot where they'd left her. Fira dropped his hand down to his holstered needler when he saw the three armored Jiralhanae arranged in a semi-circle around her. He saw Simon lay his prosthetic hand on the but of his own pistol and together they cautiously approached the guards.
"Gentlemen," Simon said, raising his organic arm in a placating manner. "What's the problem here?"
As the lead Jiralhanae turned on them, Fira saw that Cassandra had her rifle trained on the hulking guards. Her medical bag was on the ground, and near that was a small, huddled human body garbed in what could graciously be called rags.
"Stay out of this, human," the leader snarled. "This is none of your concern."
"Well, seeing as she happens to be a member of my crew, it is my concern," Simon replied, stopping a few feet from the Jiralhanae. He had to crane his neck to look the leader in the eye. "If it's slaves you're after, she's not for sale."
"Your crew member attacked us!"
"Huh," Simon said, tapping a glove against his helmet. "Doesn't really sound like her."
Fira had insisted upon being included in all private communications channels, so he heard everything that transpired within his human companions' helmets.
"You attacked them?" Simon demanded, more surprised than angry. "Have you lost it?"
"Back me up, Simon." Fira was surprised by the iron will behind Cassandra's voice. The young human hadn't struck him as the type to pick fights like this. "I'm not letting them hurt her!"
Simon and Fira both glanced at the figure huddled at Cassandra's feet. Yes, Fira could now see that it was a young human female, small and bedraggled and evidently the prize that Cassandra and the Jiralhanae were at odds over.
Simon's shoulders slumped. "Seriously?" he complained over the radio.
The Jiralhanae leader stepped forward. "If this one is your subordinate, then you will call her off," he ordered, cutting an imposing figure as he towered over Simon. "And you will pay us a fine for the inconvenience she has caused us."
Without waiting for Simon to reply, he motioned to the two others. "Collect the slave."
The guards stepped towards the fallen girl, but hesitated when Cassandra didn't lower her rifle. The leader glared at Simon. "Did you not hear me the first time, human?"
Simon just sighed. "Yeah, I heard you. So how's this: you guys back off and my associate here won't have to cut you all into little pieces with his energy sword."
The leader blinked. "What?"
"Did you not here me the first time, Jiralhanae?" Simon said casually. "Do you want to die or what?"
The Jiralhanae shook his head slowly, but Fira noticed that he was being careful to size him up as well. "If you lay a finger on us, this whole market will be down on your heads."
"And you'll still be dead," Simon pointed out. "Still want to fight?"
"You're stealing Famul property, wretch!"
With another regretful sigh, Simon reached into a pouch and retrieved a credit chip--the payment he'd just received for Tuka. "Take it and get moving," he said, tossing it to the leader. "This is a waste of both our time."
The Jiralhanae examined the chip carefully, then shook his head in disgust. "Go on, fool. Take that useless thing if you must, but don't expect to get even a sub-standard price for her."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Simon said wearily. "Don't you have slaves to beat or something?"
The three guards headed off, one of them grumbling about a missed fight. Almost immediately, Simon managed to shrink about three sizes within his armor.
"Damn it, Cassandra, don't ever do that to me again," he snapped, whatever angry expression he might have been wearing lost under his helmet.
Cassandra's response was equally muted. "I didn't have a choice," she insisted. "They were going to kill her."
"That happens all the time out here," Simon retorted. "If we went around buying every slave about to be butchered out here we'd be broke in an hour."
"That's no reason not to help where we can."
"And that's not a good enough reason for me to have to talk down some pumped up Brute asshole! And don't get me started on the money..."
"You can lecture me later." Cassandra bent down to help the newly purchased slave to her feet. "Right now, we need to get back to the ship. She needed treatment for some of these wounds yesterday."
Fira and Simon could now see the extent of the young human's injuries. Sores and bruises were dotted across her arms and legs, one of which looked as if it had been broken and badly healed. Her flaxen hair was coming out in patches in several places.
"Can't argue with Doc here," Diana observed. "Better hop to it, dumbass."
Simon groaned. "I'm surrounded by idiots."
He rounded on Fira. "Carry her," he ordered, gesturing at the slave. "We need to move fast."
Fira bristled at being ordered about by Simon of all people, but decided that this was not the time to start an argument. He scooped the slave up into his arms as Cassandra retrieved her medical bag.
"Somehow, I see this all coming back to bite me in the ass," Simon muttered.
"If it hasn't already," came Diana's instant reply.
===Chapter Twenty-Seven: Discovery===
"The report is in, commander. The rest of our force will arrive shortly."
Shinsu folded his arms and leaned against the wall of their quarters on board the Chieftain's Pride. "When they arrive, transfer them onto the Flame immediately."
Umbra nodded. "Of course. Everything will be ready when the time comes to turn on Mallunus."
The trouble the human Venter had stirred up was working exactly as they had planned. Not only was Mallunus losing face every day he failed to capture the culprits behind the asteroid attacks, but his attempts to do so had made it easy to convince him that his negotiations with the Fallen ambassador could be postponed indefinitely.
"Have you made the necessary preparations aboard the Flame?"
"Yes. And our... alien compatriots report that they are moving to secure the planet and orbital stations as soon as Mallunus's successor has been installed. If all goes well, very little blood will be shed on the planet itself."
Shinsu just nodded, not looking at his second in command.
"Pula is making her way back to the Flame," Umbra added. "She is infiltrating a slave transport from the surface that should bring her directly to this ship."
"Very good," Shinsu said after a long pause. "In that case, I will signal our Jiralhanae allies personally."
In spite of his misgivings about this entire scheme, Umbra couldn't help but admire how calm his commander seemed as months of planning slid neatly into place. It was times like these that he remembered why he had abandoned the Fallen in favor of Shinsu in the first place.
It is warriors like him who will win this war. Everything he does brings us closer to our goal. Every move brings our people that much closer to revolution. And we have accomplished so much of this through dealings with aliens.
Yes, warriors like Shinsu would be the ones to lead the Sangheili into the future. Umbra was sure of it.
The only problem was that Shinsu always seemed to be the only one with any idea of what that future held.
***
Tuka ducked his head and slid a hand down his trembling leg.
Simon had been right: he had gotten used to the horrors that passed by his eyes on a moment by moment basis. The constant stench had dulled in his nostrils shortly after the slave ship had taken off, and he could even look the other way when the Jiralhanae guards hauled some poor Unggoy out from its collared brethren and tore its mask off, leaving it to suffocate on the corroded floor.
Surprisingly, the guards left most of the Sangheili slaves be. Perhaps they were too valuable for their strength or endurance.
Or perhaps they merely had more inventive tortures for their hated enemies up in orbit.
Crammed in the holding cell of what might at one point have been the renovated slave ship's brig, Tuka cast a glance at his fellow Sangheili captives. Either garbed in rags or completely naked, they all were in no mood to talk to each other, even when the guards weren't strutting by the pen. Sharing the cell with over a dozen other Sangheili, Tuka was pushed up against the laser barrier that had them all trapped like animals waiting to be slaughtered.
Tuka couldn't fathomed the cowed, stoic acceptance with which most of his fellow prisoners were meeting their fate. Even under the moderate tutelage of Roni 'Visag, Tuka had always been taught that to become a slave was the most horrific fate any Sangheili could endure. To be stripped of all freedoms and honor, to become a possession completely in the power of another being, went against everything a warrior believed in. He, at least, had slipped in voluntarily in his efforts to avenge his clan, but what excuse did these others have?
As a warrior, Tuka should have been disgusted with those around them, but right now he could only muster up pity.
A guard meandered by again, and Tuka was jolted back into remembering his task. The Jiralhanae hadn't done more than a cursory check for weapons before throwing him in the cell, which meant they hadn't noticed a small, fresh cut in his leg. A cut Cassandra had made with her medical scalpel just before they'd taken him to the slave marked. A cut that Simon had slipped a small capsule into before Cassandra had sewn it back up.
His leg ached, but Tuka ignored the pain and thought only of his goal. He just needed to wait for the right moment.
***
From her vantage point in the corner of the room, Pula weighed her options carefully.
The enhanced active camouflage offered by the cloak draped over her armor had allowed her to slip aboard this ship unnoticed. She had chosen the slave quarters because should anything go wrong, she could engineer a slave breakout to cover her disappearance.
Of course, whether or not they deserved even the chance at freedom was debatable.
From the time when Master Shinsu had strode into her life so many years ago, emerging from the smoke and death of her old life to take her into the new, he had taught her that there were very few things truly contemptible in the galaxy. Treachery, manipulation, and even cowardice all had their place in the corrupt way of things that they sought to destroy. All of this was acceptable, though all would be swept away in the fires of renewal.
No, the only thing Shinsu 'Refum truly despised was weakness.
Weakness was not the frailty of the physical body. Master Shinsu had taught Pula that every time he had forced her through sword drills even male Sangheili found challenging, refusing to let her stop until she had completed them perfectly. No, weakness came from the mind. It was the willingness to submit to indignity, to bow one's head meekly before fate and let the winds blow one where they may. Not to take up arms against ill-fate was to become less than even the lowliest Unggoy.
Those with such a weakness, Shinsu had taught her, were hardly worth the effort of killing.
It was, in short, exactly what every one of these slaves was demonstrating.
Pula had sat amidst the ruins of her entire world, her parents' corpses smoking beside her. She had been just as pathetic as these slaves until the moment her master had stepped from the smoke and given her strength to journey on. If she, a mere child at the time, could be pulled out of the depths of despair, why couldn't these slaves?
She had seen more than enough of their kind as she flitted from one end of Famul to the other, delivering Shinsu's ultimatums to the chieftains and pirate lords whom he would help topple Mallunus. Shinsu had taught her to remain distant and unbiased when dealing with other species, but even so she found the Jiralhanae more repugnant than any other race, including the Kig-Yar. The way they killed and dominated others with no thought towards anything other than their own primal instincts disgusted her on a personal level. They truly were beasts who had learned to talk.
But they would be the key to Shinsu's ascension, and for that she could tolerate as many of them as necessary.
One of the five guards posted throughout the holding area sidled past her; Pula quickly checked to make sure her armor and robes were powering her active camouflage system. The armor would have been enough for basic active camouflage, but the cloak was what perfected it, disguising even the distinctive blurring left by the stealth system. It had been that system, coupled with her own propensity for slipping into places unnoticed, that had allowed her to act as Shinsu's ambassador across Famul's surface.
Now that she had looked down on the slaves in their wretchedness, Pula felt urged to slip over and get a closer look at them. Perhaps there were some amongst them who actually might try to save themselves from disgrace, given half a chance...
...Which was exactly why she shouldn't approach them. If she saw even one who looked desperate to fight against the guards, she might not be able to restrain herself from stepping in and being revealed. Shinsu's plans could not afford strange Sangheili agents appearing on Mallunus's ships, not when so much effort had been made to make the chieftain look outwards rather than inwards.
But even as her better sense fought against it, Pula edged across the room, staying close to the wall and away from the guards. Just one look. That was all she would allow herself, and then she would leave the slaves to their misery.
She dodged past yet another guard just as he passed by the cell’s barrier. Ducking low, Pula made sure no other Jiralhanae were moving towards her and eyed the slaves within the cell.
 
Almost immediately, she decided she did not need to worry about being urged to free any of them. Most of their heads were ducked low, as if they were trying to lose themselves in a world of their own. Those whose faces she could see looked utterly resigned, not angry or desperate like Pula or any of her comrades would have been in their position. Pula felt her stomach turn as she realized that, naked and broken as they were, most of the slaves seemed completely identical.
 
The final curse of slavery, she realized with disgust, turning to check on the guards across the room. They have lost everything, even their souls.
 
It had been a mistake to indulge herself here. All she had accomplished was to remind herself why the Sangheili so desperately needed the reformation her master planned to bring about.
 
We once strove to be masters of the galaxy. Now a few kaidons cooperate with aliens, scrabbling like vermin for their empty promises of peace.
 
Once her master’s goals were accomplished, Pula swore to herself that she would use every resource at her disposal to crush barbaric machines like the one that made Famul so lucrative for the Jiralhanae pirates. As things were now, she would barely be able to tolerate the cooperative savages who would aid them once Mallunus was dead.
 
But just as she began to creep back to her hiding place, a flicker of motion caught her eye and made her turn back. One of the slaves, pushed up against the energy barrier by the sheer volume of captives crammed within the cell, was rubbing his bare leg. It didn’t seem to be amounting to anything more than nervous energy, but he was doing it with a vigor that didn’t match the air of defeat that hung over the overcrowded cell. Pula inched back for one last look, and what she saw stunned her.
 
The anxious slave was Shinsu ‘Refum.
 
Pula suppressed a gasp, but realized her foolishness immediately. Her master was an adult Sangheili, while this slave could still be considered a youth, perhaps even younger than Pula. Besides, Shinsu’s body bore the scars marked on him by years of battle and the brutal treatment of government interrogators, while this naked youth was unblemished save for a few mild cuts and bruises here or there.
 
Nevertheless, the resemblance was unmistakable.
Pula shot another glance at the guards. They were all near the cell block's door, obviously not at all concerned with their docile crop of slaves. She turned back to the strange prisoner, who was still rubbing his leg.
What she was about to do was reckless and impulsive, something that could ruin everything in one fell swoop. But she had to know.
And in this one instance, she had a feeling Master Shinsu would forgive her.
Leaning forward until her mandibles were mere inches from the slave's bowed head, separated from him only by the energy field, she hissed, "Your name. What is your name?"
The slave froze, clearly spooked out of his mind. But luckily, he did not shout out. None of the others seemed to notice, too involved in their own misery to catch the sudden voice.
"Tell me your name," Pula insisted. The slave stared up at where her face was, unable to see her through the active camouflage.
"My name," the slave stuttered, answering a demand from someone he could not see. "My name is Tuka 'Refum."
So it was no accident. Her master had been wrong: he was not the last of the 'Refums. What she had just discovered could change everything.
And in that instant Pula knew exactly what she needed to do.
She would not be leaving this ship by herself.
===Chapter Twenty-Eight: Unwelcome Guest===
Simon was pacing up and down the shuttle's common room. The only piece of his armor he'd removed was his helmet, which lay in a corner next to a pile of assault rifles. His armored boots pounded against the bleak metal floor as he spun and began a new circuit around the room.
"He hasn't signed in yet," he muttered. Fira couldn't tell if he was talking to anyone in particular or just venting his thoughts. "He should have signed in by now. Something's gone wrong. We need to find out what's gone wrong."
Unfortunately for him, it really didn't matter who he was talking to. The consequence was the same.
"Of course he hasn't signed in, dumbass," Diana snapped over the intercom. "It's been two hours since they loaded him and all the other meatbags onto a ship. You told him not to activate that thing until he got on the Pride."
"I know what I said," Simon snapped back. "How long does it take to get some slaves up into orbit anyway?"
"Long enough. Just sit down and take it easy, you idiot. We'll know when he activates the beacon."
"Or when a few dozen dropships come down on us." Simon kept moving, scooping up an assault rifle and checking its sights. "I'm not relaxing until this thing's done."
"You know what your problem is?" Diana commented as he discarded the rifle and bent to get another one. "You're just wound up way to tight. You never relax about anything."
"And seeing as that's what's kept me alive all my life, I could give a shit about fixing it."
"Oh, please. Half the time you screw up is because you get too tense about everything. Lighten up for once."
Simon just shook his head, strands of black hair tumbling over his head. "I just dumped all the money we made off that sale to buy some half-dead slave that wasn't worth the table scraps they were feeding her. Don't expect me to get all sunny all of a sudden."
"Well, Doc's still working her over. You meatbags sure have tough bodies, I'll give you that." Diana sounded more curious than mocking, though with human constructs it was hard to tell. "I didn't even think she'd make it back to the ship."
"Don't even get me started on her," Simon muttered darkly. "You know how tight the budget is around here."
"Uh, I've been telling you that for the past three months," Diana retorted. "I know junk and clutter are all part of your natural environment, but you might consider selling all this crap you're always picking up."
"Yeah, yeah." Simon finally stopped pacing and lowered himself wearily onto one of the metal couches. "After this job, we clean house."
"So you still consider this one of your 'jobs'," Fira noted, leaning against the door to the cockpit. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever understand this strange, unpleasant human. "I thought you were doing this for Tuka."
"Of course I'm doing this for Tuka." Simon didn't even bother to look at Fira. "He's the client, isn't he? I'm just giving him a discount, for old time's sake."
"Ah. And how much do you plan on making him pay you?"
Simon shrugged. "I'll figure something out. The one sure thing in all of this is that I'll be making money somehow."
Fira shook his head in disbelief. "Do the depths of your greed know any bounds at all?"
"If by 'greed' you mean 'survival', then none. In case you haven't noticed, money runs just about everything out here on the margins. Those high-minded ideals you idiots back on the civilized planets fight for are just hot air where must of us mercs are concerned."
"Oh, I have noticed. These past few days have made me wonder if vermin like you aren't even more dangerous than the Fallen."
Simon let out a dry laugh. "You're so predictable, you know that? Typical Sangheili arrogance, always looking down on everyone who doesn't fall in line."
"Hate to break up this constructive species debate, but it looks like Doc's finished with our new friend," Diana cut in.
"Great," Simon replied, standing up. "Now we can see what this little fiasco was all about."
***
"Be gentle with her," Cassandra advised. "She's still wiped out by all she's been through."
The ex-slave was propped up on the same cot Fira had been treated on. Bandages and gel packs concealed the worst of her injuries. Her flaxen hair had been pulled back to reveal a forehead that was marred by small cuts and bruises.
"Can she walk?" Simon asked. "Because if there isn't any more you can do, I want her off my ship."
"She's probably been through weeks of hell." Cassandra folded her arms across her chest, as if daring Simon to try evicting the girl by force. "She stays here."
Simon sighed. The odd thing about him, Fira had noticed, was that he never seemed willing to actively oppose Cassandra. Everyone else--Fira himself, Diana, and even Tuka--were subject to his barbs, but his veneer of icy callousness wavered when confronted by her defiance.
"We're about to rescue Tuka from a carrier filled with angry Brutes," Simon reminded her. "I wouldn't exactly call this place a restful environment."
"She'll be safer here than anywhere on this planet. It's the only way she's going to have a chance at surviving."
"Whatever." Simon pushed past Fira and headed back for the common room. "Just don't use up any more of my medical supplies than you already have."
Fira watched him go. "Such an inconsistent one," he noted. "Every time I think I can predict his actions, he does something unpredictable."
Cassandra just sighed. "He's always been like that," she said, turning back to her patient. "It takes some getting used to."
"Try living with him around the clock," Diana put in. "Let me tell you, sister, it's not pretty."
Fira indicated the sleeping human. "What will you do about her? It won't be wise to keep her with ups, not if you want her to stay alive."
"Cutting her loose in the middle of Famul isn't any better," Cassandra argued stubbornly. "Right now, this is probably the safest place she could be."
"For now," Diana agreed. "That'll be a different story once we come knocking on Mallunus's door though."
Fira sighed. At the end of the day, problems like this didn't concern him. He was here to make sure Tuka survived; this was a matter best left to the humans. "I'll take no part in this either way," he announced. "Discuss it with Mordred and do as you see fit."
He headed back out to the common room, where he found Simon frowning over a disassembled assault rifle.
===Chapter Twenty-Nine: An Exchange of Hats===
"Your cooperation in all of this has been most welcome," Shinsu told the holographic image of Helen Powell. "Rest assured that once they are in power, Famul's new masters will be much more willing to cooperate with the Syndicate's interests."
The young human smiled up at him. "You are a credit to your race, Shinsu 'Refum." Unlike before, when they had met on her ship, she spoke in a nearly flawless Sangheili dialect, an impressive feat for any being without mandibles. "We look forward to future dealings with you."
"As do I," he assured her. "There will be many opportunities for them in the future."
"Our agents report that the targets you specified are ready to be eliminated. As we agreed, the attack will begin at your signal."
"Once again, I thank you." Shinsu gave a small bow.
The Syndicate agent smiled again and then flickered into nothingness.
Umbra stepped forward from the corner of the room. He and Shinsu were both clad in the combat harnesses worn by special operations warriors; Umbra's was pale red while Shinsu's was jet black.
"Pula just reported in. She snuck in on the latest shipment of slaves from the surface."
Shinsu nodded, draping a short, tattered cloak over his armor. Behind him, his lieutenant hesitated before speaking again.
"There was one odd thing about her transmission," he admitted. "She said that she wouldn't be alone. Did you order her to bring back one of the chieftains with her?"
"No," Shinsu said calmly. "I did not."
"Then who will be with her?"
"If Pula believes that this person is important enough to bring with her, then I am quite interested to see who it is," Shinsu replied. "Have you transmitted my orders to the Flame?"
"Yes. All the specified crew are being assembled now."
"Then we leave for it now. Before the attacks begin elsewhere, we will return here to deal with Mallunus."
He brushed past Umbra and strolled from the room. The time for waiting was over. Now the pieces would fall into place and control of Famul would slip from Chieftain Mallunus's broad paws and into the thin palm of Shinsu 'Refum.
***
"Stay behind me," the strange Sangheili ordered Tuka. "Move when I move."
Tuka was still having a hard time coming to terms with all that was happening. First this odd female had appeared out of nowhere in the prison block, and now she had slipped him away from the rest of the slaves as they were marched off the ship and dragged him through endless corridors and passageways within what had to be Mallunus's flagship. He hadn't bothered to argue with her at any step of the way. She hadn't left him any room to as she'd hurried him away from the hangar and through the ship's inner workings.
He clenched his palm tightly around the activated beacon ship. His unexpected benefactor had bandaged the self-inflicted wound to his leg that had worked it out into the open, but he had decided not to tell her where it had come from. Right now the others would be racing through Famul's atmosphere, making fast progress towards the Chieftain's Pride. From there, he wasn't sure what Simon had planned, but right now it didn't really matter. His job was to find and kill Mallunus, just as he had set out to do from the beginning.
The only problem would be finding weapons and armor.
If this female didn't turn on him first.
***
The main hangar on the Cleansing Flame was packed with warriors, all of them in the varied colors of the Fallen movement. They milled about, casually conversing with each other though clearly confused about why they had been ordered away from their posts to report here.
Umbra watched it all from the shadows, his hearts pounding with anticipation. For all his doubts and fears, he knew that here he was about to see the beginning of a new revolution. A new age was about to begin here, one that would sweep aside the diseased remnants of the old Covenant and herald an era of Sangheili dominance.
Shinsu 'Refum, I have entrusted everything to you. You will lead us on the path to glory.
He saw movement up on one of the hangar's upper platforms. The dark armored Shinsu 'Refum, flanked by two similarly clad warriors, strode into sight and gazed down upon the assembled warriors.
Umbra opened a communications channel in his helmet. "Be ready when I give the signal."
Most of the warriors had noticed Shinsu now and were looking up at him, puzzled by his strange armor.
Shinsu raised a hand, and the room fell silent.
"Warriors of the Fallen," he began. "You have spent many years fighting against the corrupt vermin who have dishonored our people in the face of our lost Covenant. Many of you here have been fighting even longer than I have, and I can assure you that you have done it with bravery that is befitting of only the best warriors our species has to offer."
There were rumbles of approval throughout the crowd, but Shinsu gestured for quiet once again.
"Yes, we have all fought valiantly in our struggle. We have all lost comrades, friends, even family, to this cause. We all dream of the day when our enemies are punished for the many disgraces they have heaped upon the Sangheili."
He shook his head, and Umbra braced himself. He knew all too well what was coming next.
"And so, it is with heavy hearts that I, the Black Knight of Sanghelios, declare that I am departing the Fallen movement entirely."
Another rumble, this one of surprise, shot through the crowd. Shinsu blazed on, gaining momentum by the second.
"The end has come, warriors. The Fallen have lost sight of the true cause, so caught up in their obsession with the past that they cannot see a true future for the Sangheili. Their leadership is stagnant and corrupt, and even as they wage this war against the Interspecies Union I can foresee that it is only a matter of time before they collapse. My fight will continue, but their fight--your fight--is coming to an end."
Still standing in the shadows, apart from the stunned crowd, Umbra smiled. Yes, this was it. The beginning of a new chapter of Sangheili history, even if most of their race didn't realize it. The wouldn't realize it, not until many years from now when all was said and done.
"From this day forward," Shinsu continued. "I will forge a path for the Sangheili that brings us not to isolation, but to utter dominance over the rest of the galaxy. I will cleanse this galaxy of all the filth that has accumulated since the end of the Schism. It will not be an easy task, and I am willing to stoop to unspeakable depths to accomplish that goal. But unlike the Fallen, I will not cloak my actions in bright robes and call them honorable. Those who stand with me must be willing to do the same."
This is the end of your fight, warriors. The Cleansing Flame no longer sails at the Fallen's command. You may either stand with me and escape the lie you have been wasting your lives on, or you can die here for your decadent masters. The choice is yours."
A furious silence descended over the hangar bay as Shinsu finished. He was usually not one for long, grand speeches like that, but Umbra had to admit he could be quite a mesmerizing speaker when he wanted to.
But even the most arresting of speeches could only hold the audience for so long. He could see hatred and loathing burning in the eyes of the assembled warriors. They don't understand, Umbra thought, opening his communications link with a small sigh. They have no idea how right he is.
"Now," he ordered aloud. "Take your positions."
He felt a slight twinge of regret as doors throughout the hangar flew open and dozens of new warriors stormed out. Like Shinsu and Umbra, they had discarded their Fallen armor in favor of an amalgam of dark, face-concealing special operations combat harnesses. Each warrior carried a plasma repeater and was armed to the teeth with additional plasma rifles, grenades, and energy swords strapped to their armor.
They fanned out, surrounding the startled Fallen in a loose semi-circle. Even more appeared on the platforms around Shinsu, their weapons trained on the gathered warriors below.
Umbra remained in the shadows. He was not needed here; there was no need to step into the firestorm about to erupt before him.
One Fallen in the colors of a major stepped forward and bellowed up at Shinsu. "Traitor!" he roared as those around him repeated his snarl of defiance.
Shinsu merely gave the major a polite nod and turned to leave. He paused beside one of the new warriors and said, almost as an afterthought, "Fire."
The Fallen never had a chance. Sheets of plasma cascaded into their assembled ranks, felling several dozen before they even had a chance to power on their energy shields. Those quick enough to do so merely staggered into each other, weighed down by the bodies of their dead brethren and the sheer enormity of the plasma concentrated on them. Umbra saw several catch fire from the heat being poured into their fast-dwindling gathering. Their cries were lost amidst the heavy whine of the plasma repeaters.
Then, as quickly as it had began, the plasma fire stopped. Most of the repeaters had overheated, but it didn't matter. The Fallen warriors--over a hundred of them--were nothing but smoking corpses on the hangar floor. A few wounded groaned feebly from beneath the bodies of their comrades, but a handful of carbine shots from the upper platforms quickly silenced them. The sickly-sweet smell of burning flesh rose in the air amongst the smoke and steam from the overheating plasma weapons.
Umbra felt another pang of regret as he looked upon the slaughtered Fallen, but it was a very mild one. This was only the beginning, not only of Shinsu's rebellion against the Fallen but of their new crusade to cleanse the Sangheili race and reshape the galaxy.
The new warriors--battle-hardened fighters assembled over the years for their loyalty to Shinsu and their unwavering belief in his cause--stepped forward to remove the bodies. These would be a new breed of Sangheili warriors, ones who would not let old notions of outdated chivalry hamper their ability to destroy their enemies.
Umbra stepped from the shadows and onto the hangar floor. Purple blood shined on the violet floor, and he carefully avoided getting any on his armored feet. Heads turned to face him as he headed for the nearest door.
"Hurry up and clear this mess up," he ordered. "Report to your battle stations and prepare to assault your targets."
Shinsu would give the signal soon, and Umbra planned to be at his side for every moment of this takeover. He could only anticipate the day when their erstwhile Jiralhanae and Syndicate allies met the same fate as the Fallen he was leaving on the deck behind him.
***
"Who are you?" Tuka demanded, hastily adjusting the loose robes he'd stolen from a passing work table. He couldn't tell if they were for a Sangheili or a small Jiralhanae, and they stank terribly, but at least he wasn't naked anymore.
"Just follow me," the female shot back, vanishing around another corner. Tuka nearly tripped over himself trying to follow her. He sincerely hoped the signal capsule had worked, though he was already seeing flaws in Simon's plan. Which hangar was he supposed to meet the others in? How would they get into the hangar in the first place without alerting the entire crew? How would he even know when they arrived?
He found the female crouched behind a small canister, watching as a patrol of Jiralhanae ran past. "Stay low," she ordered as he crawled over to her.
Tuka wondered what was going on. The only guards they'd seen so far had all looked extremely agitated. There had to be something he wasn't seeing here, something incredibly important.
"How can I trust you?" he hissed. "You won't event tell me your name."
"I saved you," came the curt reply. "Isn't that enough?"
And then the alarms began to blaze throughout the ship.
***
Mallunus stepped over the body of his former communications officer, glaring at anyone else stupid enough to be slow in giving him reports.
"Where else are the attacks happening?" he demanded. "Give me some answers!"
The other members of his pack scrambled to obey as alerts continued to pour through from locations all across Famul. In some sectors, his own ships had begun firing on each other and launching boarding parties to attack space stations in the planet's orbit. Local chieftains were reporting uprisings from mercenary bands and even their own packs. His entire empire was coming apart at the seams in a matter of minutes.
He was just about to kill another bridge officer when the newly promoted communications officer flagged him down.
"Chieftain!" he barked, either braver or even stupider than his predecessor. "Incoming transmission. A shuttle is requesting permission to land in the main hangar!"
Mallunus's eyes narrowed. "Shoot them down."
"Chieftain, they are demanding to speak with you personally."
Something about such suicidal bravado peaked Mallunus's interest, even in this time of crisis. "Patch it into my personal communicator."
He raised the device to his lips. "This is High Chieftain Mallunus. I hope you have a good reason for disturbing me right now."
"Oh, don't worry," said the silky voice of a human female. "It's a good reason. In fact, we're here to save your life."
"What?" Mallunus demanded. This whole thing was almost laughable.
"There's an assassin on board your ship," the voice continued. "He's a pro at slipping past all sorts of defenses. But we can take him down. For a price..."
===Chapter Thirty: Soldiers of Fortune===
Simon slid a clip into his assault rifle, locking it in place with a nervous tap.
"Alright, meatbags, this is it," Diana crooned over the intercom. "That transmitter is up and running and I have full access to their systems."
Fira paused from across the room, where he was busy re-donning his pale Ultra armor. There was no longer any need for subtlety here; they would be going in weapons blazing. "What about failsafes? Countermeasures?"
"Zip," she replied smugly. "These idiots don't even know I'm in the system. You know, I could still vent parts of the ship..."
"What's the plan?" Cassandra asked quickly before the A.I. and Fira could get into another ethical argument. "We can track Tuka, right?"
"Yeah." Simon tapped his helmet. "As long as he keeps that tracker on him, we can find him."
He slipped a handful of small orbs into the pouches around his waist. Aside from his rifle, he sported his two miniature energy swords, a pistol, and plenty of small pouches on various parts of his armor. His mechanical arm looked even more skeletal beside the additional armaments.
"We'll support him while he kills this Mallunus asshole, then we get the hell out of here as fast as possible."
Fira nodded and slipped his own helmet on. It felt good to be back in his own armor and not the filthy scavenged rubbish he'd been wearing before. He strapped a plasma repeater--retrieved from the shuttle's scattered arsenal--to his back and made sure the needle rifle he'd acquired was in working order.
"I'll lock down the hangar we land in," Diana reported. "I can navigate for you idiots once you're inside and monitor just about everything else that goes on in the carrier."
"Good to know." Simon leaned against the wall. "Cassandra, stay with the ship. We'll need some insurance in case they break through to the ship."
The medic started. Though faceless under her helmet, she had clearly not expected to be relegated to guard duty. "But--"
"No arguments," Simon cut her off. "Not this time."
Fira eyed them both. The shuttle's rumbling seemed to drown out everything else as Cassandra struggled with her former comrade's orders. Finally, her shoulders slumped.
"Fine. You know this stuff better than I do."
"If you meatbags are done bickering, we've got about five minutes till we land," Diana called in. "I suggest you all find a corner to cry in or whatever it is you do before things get violent."
"Dear God, shut up," Simon muttered, bracing himself against the wall.
Fira raised his needle rifle and edged towards the landing ramp. He emptied his mind of any doubts or fears. If Diana was wrong and she wasn't able to keep the carrier from firing on them, they'd be dead before they even knew something was wrong.
That was comforting... to an extent.
***
Tuka pressed himself against the wall. He could hear the sound of plasma and spiker rifles down the hallway; something was definitely wrong on this carrier.
His escort was a few feet away. She still wouldn't tell him who she was or where she was taking him, and he was getting impatient. There wasn't any call to do something rash, especially not now when he was so close to his goal, but he wouldn't be able to take much more of this endless creeping around.
"The fighting will be around the control room," the female said finally. "That is where Mallunus is. As long as we stay in the corridors far from that area, we should be able to avoid confrontation."
Tuka edged closer to her. Normally he would be almost paralyzed by fear, but right now all he felt was an insatiable purpose. He needed to get to Mallunus. He needed to get to him quickly.
"How far is the control room from here?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice calm.
The female wasn't even looking at him. "Just down this corridor here," she noted. "But it will be long--"
Her hand shot to her side as Tuka's arm flashed out and seized one of the energy sword handles at her side. But her fingers snapped on air; Tuka was already dashing away down the corridor, putting every ounce of energy he had into getting as far from her as possible.
There would be no more waiting. He would make his way to the control center and confront the monster who had killed his family.
And for once, he wouldn't let anything stand in his way.
***
Pula cursed herself as her companion vanished down the corridor. She had let her guard down, not expecting someone so pliable to actually steal one of her weapons. She considered going after him, but she had already received three transmissions from Umbra demanding that she rendezvous with Master Refum's contingent as they advanced on the control room by a different route.
Master Refum's second in command could worm his way under her skin like no other, but instructions were instructions. If this Tuka 'Refum was so anxious to get to the control room, she would meet him again soon enough, if he survived long enough to get there.
If he didn't, Pula really couldn't see that there would have been any reason for him to meet her master in the first place.
***
The shuttle rumbled as it set down, and all three of its occupants took up positions at the top of the boarding ramp.
"Only three guards by the door," Diana reported. "Move quick; those idiots look like we just gave them heart attacks."
The ramp slid open, and Fira sprinted ahead. His feet rang against the metal hangar floor and he swept his needle rifle up. He put one round through the exposed throat of one Jiralhanae, then overloaded a second's armor with a trio of well-placed shots. The guard jerked and stuttered as Fira, aided by a burst from Cassandra, finished him off.
The third guard, a Kig-Yar, collapsed under a hail of bullets from Simon's assault rifle.
"Inefficient, as usual," Diana sighed as he edged down the ramp. "Sometimes a burst is better than half a clip, dumbass."
"Whatever." Simon turned to Cassandra. "Stay at the ramp and watch that door. I'm moving ahead to find an input terminal."
Fira paused as he advanced on the door. "A terminal for what?"
Simon tapped his arm. "For Diana. I've got her with me."
"Oh, thank God..." Cassandra muttered, the most acid comment Fira had heard from her since she'd stumbled into his life back on Cordial Harmony.
"Don't get too thankful, sister, I'll still be giving you updates," Diana told her. "Now, Mordred here is going to earn his keep around here by getting me to the nearest console."
"Do you have a lock on Tuka yet?" Simon demanded impatiently.
"Yeah, he's on the move. Going pretty fast by the looks of things."
"Can we intercept him?"
"We'll cut him off, just like we planned," Diana reported, giving Fira a start.
"That was part of the plan?" he asked, but Simon was already running. He had sprinted halfway to the door before Fira could even begin to follow him, and then he slid through the open portal and vanished.
Fira didn't even wait for Cassandra's go ahead. He dashed after Simon and made it through the door in time to see the human disappear through another door.
"Wait for me, you fool!" he snarled into his transmitter. All he got in reply was a burst of static--Simon was talking to someone else.
"What... hell... you two... assholes..."
"What was that?" Fira demanded. "Repeat!"
A final burst from Simon: "Fira, if you want to live, get the hell back to the ship!"
"What are you talking about?"
He passed through the next door and nearly tripped over his feet. The hallway was gone, replaced with a wide catwalk that passed over what appeared to be a large storage room. He could see crates scattered about below him, but no sign of any guards. Simon had vanished completely.
But Fira was not alone.
At the center of the bridge loomed a massive figure, as large as any Huragok weapons platform. Clad in scuffed battered armor, its enormous arms folded across its chest, stood the biggest Jiralhanae warrior Fira had ever seen.
No, that wasn't right. He had seen one this big before. And the huge metal sword on its back...
Kenpachus, the mercenary Jiralhanae, grinned at him.
"So we meet again, Fira 'Demal."
Fira never saw it coming. Just as he raised his needle rifle, something fast and hot struck him in the back. His shields dropped immediately; he had been hit by an overcharged plasma blast. Someone hit his legs from behind and he collapsed, stunned, to the hard floor. He struggled to roll over, but strong arms pinned him where he lay.
Twisting his neck to look above him, Fira saw the Jiralhanae's partner. Ro'nin glowered down at him.
"About damn time we caught up to you," he growled. Still keeping Fira down, he kicked the fallen needle rifle off the bridge before tearing the plasma repeater from his back with one powerful stroke. With that appropriated, he methodically relieved Fira of the rest of his weapons, snatching away his plasma grenades last.
Fira glared up at the sell-sword with loathing. If he was going to die here, he would not die begging to trash like this. "You left me my energy blade, scum. Aren't you going to take that too before you butcher me?"
"Believe me, I'd like nothing better than to slit your throat right here," Ro'nin said with equal contempt. "But there are some prices even I have to pay."
He stood up and backed away. "Have your fun," he called over to his partner. "But make it fast. I want his head and the credits that go with it."
Kenpachus's smile only widened. He reached up and pulled the blade off his back, bringing it to rest on his shoulder. "You'll get your money, Ro'nin. But if this one's anything like I've been hoping he is, it won't be over quickly."
Fira staggered to his feet, drawing his energy sword as his shields recharged. "You want to fight me?" he demanded. This whole scenario was ridiculous. He needed to get to Tuka as fast as possible, and now these two mercenaries were barring his path.
"I want a duel, yes," Kenpachus replied. "And I will have one. You and me. No guns, no grenades, just our blades."
Fira shook his head. "You are insane."
And Kenpachus actually laughed. "Sanity?" he chuckled. "What use would I ever have for something as useless as that?"
***
Tuka passed through yet another door and paused to catch his breath. He had dashed through several hallways filled with fighting Jiralhanae. The entire ship had suddenly turned into a massive firefight; he had come close to being caught in the crossfire more times than he liked.
He was starting to wonder if the female warrior had been lying to him. Had he taken a wrong turn? Impossible; he hadn't taken any turns at all. How much further was there to go?
His hearts were racing, and not just from the running. His goal--Mallunus, the butcher of his clan--was so close, and yet every step he took seemed to take him further from that target.
He was just about to double back and take his chances with the fighting when he heard footsteps in the shadowy hallway before him. He activated his energy sword, ready for a fight, but lowered it when a familiar armored figure emerged from the darkness.
"Simon," he said, relieved. "I was beginning to think you couldn't track me."
"Oh, it was easy enough," Simon remarked. "Good thing you kept that transmitter on you."
Tuka nodded. "A good thing you came along. I thought I knew where the control center was, but now I think I'm lost."
"Don't worry, we've got a good idea where it is."
"Good." Tuka peered into the shadows behind Simon. "Where are Fira and Cassandra?"
But Simon merely shook his head again. "They won't be joining us."
Tuka's hearts skipped a beat and he froze in dread. "Why? Did something happen?"
"No, but there's been a change of plans."
Something was wrong with Simon's tone. It sounded wistful, almost regretful. Tuka blinked in confusion as his friend's legs widened into what looked like a stance.
"What do you mean, a change of plans?"
And then Simon brought his assault rifle up and trained it on Tuka. "Sorry buddy, but I'm always too short on funds..."
And he opened fire.
===Chapter Thirty-One: Darkness of the Fringe===
Tuka's instincts saved him. He dove to the side as Simon's bullets roared past him.
"What are you doing?" he cried, unable to comprehend what was going on.
"Oh, come on," Simon said in a tone Tuka remembered all too well from back at the Visag keep. It was the tone Simon used when he decided everyone else wasn't living up to his intellectual expectations. "Even you should be able to figure something this obvious."
He swiveled the assault rifle and fired again, aiming low. Tuka leapt out of the way again, bringing his sword back up to bear. "Are you insane?"
"Not really. Mallunus just happens to have quite a bit of cash and I just happen to need some of it."
This time Tuka had no choice but to fully register what Simon was doing. "You... you're with him?"
"Yep," Simon replied without hesitation. "Now just come quietly and don't make this hard on me. Please."
"But why? Why would you do that?"
The human Tuka had thought of as his friend shrugged. "Because I'm a mercenary. It's what I do."
Tuka blinked.
All his skill, all his determination, all of the fire that had pushed him to embark on this quest, to dash off into the unknown with nothing but a robe and an energy sword, flooded out of him. A curtain had been lifted from his eyes, one that he had willfully held in place throughout everything he had experienced since leaving the Visag keep. The slums of Cordial Harmony, the blood-soaked mercenary battlefield, the horrors of Famul and its wicked inhabitants--he had seen them all, and yet learned nothing of how the galaxy worked beyond the tranquility of Sangheilos.
And most of all, he had ignored Simon.
Everyone had tried to warn him. Cassandra, Fira, Diana, and even Simon himself had told him exactly what kind of person the ragged human youth was. Time upon time he had been confronted with the truth, and time and time again he had ignored it.
He had been worse than deluded. He had been a fool.
His shoulders slumped and he lowered his energy sword.
"Oh good." Simon took a step forward. "I was beginning to think I'd have to fight you."
And then Tuka lunged forward and slashed his sword through Simon's neck.
***
Fira staggered backwards, barely keeping his blade up as Kenpachus struck again and again and again. Every blow sent shockwaves through his arms, and he knew that just one of such hits would tear through his shields in an instant.
"Solid defense," Kenpachus said, still sporting that wild grin. "Very few of your kind can stand against my blade directly."
In answer, Fira ducked and slashed at Kenpachus's trunk like legs. The Jiralhanae merely sidestepped and struck a downwards blow. Fira rolled away and scrambled to his feet, bringing his blade back up to defend.
"Come on," Kenpachus chided. "You must be better than this. Don't disappoint me, not after all this time."
Fira dove in, sending a whirlwind of blows cascading towards the Jiralhanae's midriff. Kenpachus backstopped, blocking each strike with startling agility. He conducted his massive metal blade as if it were an energy sword in the hands of a Sangheili master, sweeping it in and up and around to knock Fira's attacks away.
Fira disengaged, leaping away to land back in the center of the bridge. His mind was racing. This was a foe unlike any he'd ever encountered: immensely strong, swift, and skilled in the art of swordplay. Not a single one of his attacks had slipped through, and Kenpachus looked as if it would take dozens of wounds to fell him.
I will have to be swift, Fira realized. This foe would outlast him in a war of stamina, and every attack he allowed Kenpachus to make was a chance that it would slip through and deliver a mortal blow.
Go for the throat. The belly. The heart. Just kill him now and be done with it.
He came on again, this time dodging and ducking past Kenpachus's blows rather than blocking them outright. He kept his blade back, poised to strike, waiting for the right opening. The first chance he had might be his last.
"Good, good!" Kenpachus bellowed. "Now you're getting into it. Now this is getting fun!"
Fira didn't even dignify his foe's ramblings with a reply. He saw that pitted metal blade swing up, and there lay his chance.
Every muscle in his body sprang forward. He slipped under Kenpachus's raised guard and buried his blade in Kenpachus's abdomen. Ready for an instinctive, brutal response he tore his sword out and ducked away.
Kenpachus towered above him, silent and motionless as a stone monument. Blood flowed from the hole in his abdomen, leaking over his armor and dripping into a gory pool at his feet. The Jiralhanae warrior's blade dipped and hung limply at his side.
Fira shot a disgusted look over his shoulder at Ro'nin, who remained standing by the door. "Well?" he demanded. "This little game is finished, and it cost your partner dearly. Are you satisfied?"
Ro'nin merely folded his arms and snorted. "Believe me, if it weren't for the bounty on your head I wouldn't give you the time of day, you arrogant fool."
The mercenary's mandibles parted in a cold, predatory smile. "And you're jumping to conclusions about Kenpachus. He'll never lose to the likes of you."
Fira blinked. "What?"
He turned back to Kenpachus just as a rumble passed through the warrior's body. It spread up from the blood-soaked abdomen and rushed up the hulking Jiralhanae's body until it sprang from his mouth as a roar of laughter that echoed around the room, a dull, grating cry of amusement.
Fira looked on in amazement as the battered, wounded Kenpachus stood in a pool of his own blood and bellowed with great shouts of shoulder-heaving laughter. The Sangheili officer stepped away as the laughter subsided and Kenpachus fixed his wide, gleeful eyes on him.
"Now we're talking!" Kenpachus roared, and Fira could hear the insane, perverse joy even in the foreign Jiralhanae voice. "This is wonderful! We're having some fun now, aren't we?"
Fira raised his sword in a defensive stance, still too amazed to speak. In spite of the abdomen wound, Kenpachus was still moving as if he were completely unharmed. The Jiralhanae whipped his sword into an attack posture.
"You think this fight is over?" he demanded gleefully, indicating his wound. "How can it be over when I just got this nice hole in my gut? Now we're a bit more evenly matched!"
He raised his blade. "Now, where were we?"
***
Tuka blinked as Simon rubbed his neck--the neck his blade had just passed through a moment before.
"Wow," Simon said after a moment. "You were really playing for keeps there, weren't you? All this time and you finally get pissed off, huh?"
His armored form flickered, and then vanished completely. Tuka's eyes widened as a small, glowing hologram ball shot away into the darkness.
"Good thing I'm not that dumb," Simon said from behind Tuka.
The young Sangheili whirled, looking on in astonishment as Simon appeared out of another patch of shadow. "You--"
"Holograms," Simon confirmed. "I never could beat you, Tuka, or at least, not in one of those chummy, refereed matches we'd have back at the keep."
"So that's all Master Visag's teachings were to you then," Tuka said, rage making his voice low and dull. "Nothing more than sparring matches."
Simon shrugged. "Hey, I owe the old guy for all he did, don't get me wrong, but that doesn't mean I don't have other worries. This little business is going to solve quite a few of my debt problems."
With a snarl, Tuka lunged again. This time Simon dodged, slipping easily around Tuka and drawing his own energy sword. Tuka spun and launched a pattern of attacks, all aiming to bring his former friend down. Simon stepped back, dodging all of them with an agility Tuka had never expected from him.
"Come on, Tuka," Simon taunted. "Make me work at this. Just a little is fine."
"You bastard!" Tuka howled. There was a pain in his gut, one that he had never felt before, not even when his mother had died. So this was what betrayal felt like. It was as if one of his hearts had stopped beating. "Don't mock me!"
He hurtled forward and speared Simon through the chest... only to feel nothing as another hologram dissipated, it's generator humming away into the darkness.
Three more of Simon emerged now. Two drew their energy swords and charged while the third hung back, immobile.
Tuka saw through the cheap trick immediately. The third was a hologram, while the real Simon was mixed in with the first two. He charged forward, slashing at both of the advancing Simons as he passed. But his blade didn't touch anything. They were both holograms.
The third Simon stepped back to avoid Tuka's blow, but the second cut through... nothing. All three had been holograms, just cheap, transparent fakes.
Something darted out of the shadows Tuka had just stepped into, and then his entire body went numb. His energy sword slid out of nerveless fingers and he fell, unable to move anything. All he could do was look up weakly as the real Simon deactivated the low-powered energy sword and brought a hand up to his helmet.
"I got him," he said to someone. "The assassin's down. Get a security team over here; I'll need an escort to get him through this shitstorm in one piece. And make sure that cash gets wired to my accounts pronto."
Tuka slumped, not even trying to move any more. It was over. He had been so close, only to be thwarted by the very person he had thought would help him achieve his revenge. There was no point in struggling against this cruel fate anymore.
It was over.
Category:Actene