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Affront to a God by Mainevent
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Affront to a God [Part One]
Date: 15 July 2004, 5:52 AM
Author's Note: Originally Planned to be my Fan Fiction Contest Entry, but since it was scrapped, I'm posting it here. Enjoy.
Foreword: Pirates loom menacingly throughout the galaxies, waging a constant struggle against the United Nations Space Command. But they're fighting a losing war. Out-manned, out-gunned, and out-classed, they struggle to survive anyway they can. Living on outdated, and normally stolen, UNSC ships, they wage their war for independence and survival when and where they can. But for the crew of the Black Knight, their battle has just begun; and will bring them closer to the UNSC than they would have ever thought, while being the very thing that began their reunion tour.
Affront to a God
May 13, 2494
UNSC Controlled Territory
Alapsa Colony World Orbit
Patrick Movinkov hustled through the shallow corridors of the pirate vessel Black Knight with surprising speed. The low bulkheads and high door frames normally restricted fast movements. But today was different. The entire pirate co-op living around Alapsa had been discovered by the UNSC. They were hopelessly outgunned, and grimly outclassed.
The UNSC arrived in-system, not with the normal single patrol cruiser, but a hunter-killer squad of six cruisers . By comparison, the entire pirate fleet consisted of the modified cruiser Patrick was on, and a handful of prowlers and corvettes. Klaxons roared to life as he stumbled over a beam. They were late, but did that really matter? They didn't really have a chance anyway.
They could jump; but where would they go? Enter a random vector and hope for the best? Anything would do for now, it was that or end up in some rat-infested prison. They could always jump again if they missed. But their options were limited, they weren't terraformers after all. There just weren't enough habitable worlds out there for them to risk all of that.
He was confident they'd find a suitable world soon, he had faith in his captain. But he still reserved a bit of his faith for luck. Pat always had been lucky, and that fueled him. He was one of the few pirates who still had hope. Foolish as it was, he still believed in the world his father had taught him, a free world. One not ruled by the militaristic UNSC and bound by its rules.
The old metal doors to the bridge glared red up ahead. Their glow wasn't a reflection of warning lights, but the build-up of years worth of rust. For all he knew, they didn't even work. Nothing on this ship worked anymore. Hell, he'd be surprised if the Black Knight would even be able to make a faster-than-light jump. The Shaw-Fukijawa engines hadn't been used in seven years, and the ship's reactor was in dire need of repair. It would probably blow them all up on activation; doing the UNSC's job for them. He laughed at how convenient that would be.
"Yes general, the operation was a success. We arrived in- system and they promptly blew up," he muttered to himself as he worked his way through the barrage of people littering the hallways. Old women, children, wives, sons; ordinary people. Not murderers. Just those tired of living the UNSC's way, and ready to live their own lives.
Captain Blackwell was issuing orders to everyone he could, but they couldn't move the ship any faster. The Black Knight just wasn't pulling enough steam. Their headway was half of what the new UNSC cruisers were. The ship shuddered violently as the MAC round sliced past the hull. That wasn't a miss, the on-board computers were too advanced to miss, it was a warning shot. They wouldn't get another one.
"How are the reactors?" He screamed over the cry of children and groaning bulkhead.
"Depends on how religious you are," Starsky replied.
"Cut the shit Starsky and answer me!"
"I'm telling you captain, you have enough here to jump, but it's risky."
"I don't think we have an option. Hit 'em."
"Where are we going?" she asked stupidly.
"Anywhere, insert a random jump vector and get us the hell out while we still can." He finished his sentence as a collision alert screamed to life. Archer missiles.
Patrick watched the ship's cameras as the ten small white flickers ignited. They wouldn't destroy the ship, not by a long-shot. They would, however, blow the engines straight to hell. An ominous hiss erupted as an overhead valve broke. The ship began to shake. Obviously the slip-space reactors had just activated. Hopefully they'd engage before the missiles did. Because if they weren't going to send everyone aboard the Black Knight straight to hell before, they would when the missiles arrived.
The rumble shuddered through the bulkheads, and the ship let out weary groans. The gigantic cruiser felt like a tin-can in a giant's hands. The giant was squeezing oh-so-slightly and shaking too. Not to kill the ants that had crawled inside, just to shake them up a bit. The rumble was a constant dull thump against the ship, and they could all feel it jerking upwards through their toes. UNSC or fate, which would get them first?
The space around the ship began to boil, and the view-screens went black. No stars, no light. Subspace was pitch black. The side-effect of faster-than-light travel was that there was no light. The vast void of space was even more boring without it's sole attraction. But the pirates didn't do what they did because it was fun. They did it because it was their life. As boring and devoid of scenery as it may be, it was their home. At least for now. Patrick hoped that one day they could find a place to settle down, where no one would ever bother them. It didn't seem likely though.
*****
Patrick had been busy doing nothing for three weeks; half the time expected until the final destination. Their random vector had to be far enough out of UNSC patrolled space that they knew the cruisers wouldn't follow them. If they could find them, that was. As far as Human understanding of subspace went, they could see the hole the reactors ripped in normal space a mile away, but in subspace itself they were blind. Point the ship, estimate how long it took to arrive, and traverse subspace until they arrived. This method was sloppy and ineffective at best, and often required ships to traverse normally before arriving.
The Black Knight had been straining as her engines struggled against time and a lack of mechanical attention. Captain Blackwell was wise enough to take them off-line for a bit, and make repairs. They'd been shit-out-of-luck with the timing though. The aging cruiser exited amid an asteroid field in a system not too dissimilar with Earth's. There were twelve planets, all revolving around a medium G2 star. It was a beautiful but deadly galactic scene, all played out on view-screens as the crew watched in anticipation. Pat was awed by the celestial scene; finally something beautiful for them.
The entire command deck struggled to pull the ship out of the asteroid's paths, but the energy used to force an exit-hole had taken up too much to get the normal engines up in time. Collision alarms were activated in a vain attempt at doing something productive, but they were useless. It just told all of those onboard they were probably about to die. Their last minutes couldn't be peaceful ignorance before a relatively quick death in the fireball or vacuum, but nervously panicking and wondering.
The impact shuddered through the hull, tearing through layer after layer of titanium plating. Decks buckled as it plowed through vital systems and finally came to a stop. Plumes of fire shot out of the ship, and the icy-hot vacuum of space engulfed hundreds of people. The gasses in their bodies tore through their flesh as it attempted to balance the pressure, but it was useless. The corpses of friends and family imploded in the doldrums and floated helplessly away. The tiny thumps of their bodies banging against the ship could be heard even on the command deck, and many were crying.
Blackwell didn't have time to cry, he only had time to get his ship out of the way. If he didn't, they'd all end up like the others. Luckily the asteroid hadn't severed the generators or main engines, and they were finally warming up enough to move the ship out of harm's way.
Sensors bleeped to life as they all saw what floated ahead. The computers seemed to be having as hard a time figuring out what it was as they did. Patrick had never seen or heard of anything like it before. He huddled over Stocklear as he checked the initial scans. Ten thousand kilometers in diameter, and roughly twenty-two point three kilometers thick, it was entirely unnatural in itself. The outer, artificial rim was made of an unknown metal alloy.
"I don't know what the hell that thing is, but we're landing on it," Blackwell said in his deep, masculine tone.
"Is that such a good idea?" Starsky asked with the same amount of paranoid fear they all had.
"We don't really have a choice," Makinnley added sourly, "the other planets are uninhabitable. This is the only one with a suitable environment."
"That and the fact that this piece of shit is about to fall apart on us. Hull integrity at fifty-six percent and declining. That asteroid did us in sir. Even if we wanted to, we wouldn't last long enough to make it to another planet. It's the closest thing we can land on, we'll have to take it." Stocklear figured he'd throw his two cents in as well.
Nobody, least of all Captain Blackwell, liked being out of options. It wasn't Human nature. But it was their only chance of surviving. The ship felt ready to break apart, and the eerie straining sounds as metal ground against metal wasn't a relief. Everyone was knocked harshly to the side as another asteroid impacted.
It had been undetected by the sensors; not surprising considering how old they were. Too many objects to track at once, and the computer did seem to be focusing all of it's attention on the massive object ahead. There were enough anomalies to keep the system busy for a week. Any more missed asteroids and the system would be gone. So would the ship.
"Hull at twenty-two percent. This thing can't land even under remotely safe conditions. We'd burn up in that thing's atmosphere." Stocklear interrupted.
"How do we do it then? Float it out? Because you know as well as I do that there aren't enough ships for everyone aboard to make it off alive," Blackwell bellowed angrily.
"Yes sir, I know full well there aren't enough ships to make it off of the Black Knight alive." A pang of regret and remorse shot through Stocklear's mind, and eyes.
"You're suggesting that we leave no telling how many people behind to die?" Starsky interjected hostilely.
"I'm not gung-ho for it either! You guys know me better than that. But honestly, what other choice do we have? This bird can't make it through the atmosphere, it can't wait for us to come back on multiple runs, and there aren't enough ships for everyone to get off at once. At least this way, some do get off. And some is better than none," he replied downtrodden.
Silence was golden for several minutes as they drifted nearer to the object, but deeper in thought.
"So how do we choose who lives and who dies?" Blackwell asked under his breath, almost shallow enough not to be heard.
"I can't believe you're even thinking about this plan captain! Starsky screamed. This, this is ludicrous. You'll all burn in hell for this." She stood up at her station, stared at the two men while shaking her head, and stormed off of the command deck and out of the bridge. The tension was so thick you could cut it. Patrick had a hard time believing they were probably actually going to go along with this plan. But what other choice did they really have?
"Well the selection is obvious. We need as many children as possible, and the smartest adults. Doctors, teachers, engineers, and whatever we have in the way of farmers." Pat spoke up with the courage no one else had.
"Alright then, do it. No equipment other than medicine and the few weapons we have are allowed on the ships. I want as many people as we can get to make it to that planet. Get moving. I'll stay here and try to hold her together as long as possible, and then I'll manually pilot her into the atmosphere."
"As glorifying as that would be sir, you can't do that." Makinnley said.
The logic of the situation was simple, but clouded.
"You're the only one anybody here sees fit to lead us, especially if we have to live on this thing for God knows how long. If we spend time fighting over a leader, or arguing about who gets elected to the governing council, nothing will ever get done." Stocklear said as he realized the situation.
"We can say that the ships will be setting up a base while we land, but that can only get us so far if everyone knows the captain isn't actually on the ship. Mayhem will ensue. People can't know that you're gone." Patrick added the death touch to the situation.
The single bit of truth that always reared its ugly head. If Blackwell stayed, the survivors were doomed planet side. If Blackwell left, the remaining passengers would tear the ship apart in endless leadership struggles, and there's a very real possibility that nobody would ever leave. But on a ship full of friends and neighbors, how did you get the captain off unnoticed? The answer was simple; you didn't.
The captain put the ship on lockdown, and headed with a contingent of four armed men to the only operable docking bay still onboard. Six retrofit TS-90 Clemson Aerodyne "Planet Hawks" were waiting beside four Cougars . The existence of everyone still alive rested solely on those ten ships, and the two hundred or so people who would ride them to the surface. Patrick was glad the ship was full of religious people, because they'd need their God more than ever today.
Patrick entered the large hangar with a hurried pace. The massive six story room was covered with columns and parapets from which all sorts of mechanical equipment hung. Three gigantic yellow and black striped cranes were dangling overhead. The metal here was much more worn than in other places, but devoid of rust and other obtrusions.
Six of the men, each leading a small group, entered the bay. Blackwell had already slipped into one of the Cougars, and it was Patrick's turn. That was, if he was invited. He'd naturally, arrogantly, assumed he would be. After all, half of this was his idea. But Stocklear had stayed, and it was just as much his idea as Patrick's. Stocklear was a man who believed in duty above all. He'd remained for two reasons: he'd been given the authority to run the ship when Blackwell left, and more importantly his wife and son were aboard.
Movinkov. He couldn't get far on that name. He'd have to use his clout with Blackwell to garner a ride to the planet. After all, the two men had known each other for years. They'd practically started their pirate lives at the same time, and had been in the same barracks on the Rabble Rouser. The two weren't best-friends by any means, but they were closer than many who were going. Though he wasn't sure how far that stone would bounce before sinking.
To his surprise though, nobody checked to see if everyone who was on the ship was actually supposed to be on the ship. They must have figured that if you knew the ships were leaving then you were supposed to be on them. That would work just fine for him. He rested his head on the soft support attached to the wall. The normally exquisite personal craft had been totally reconstructed by the pirates to serve solely as a transport. The six person occupancy it once had was now tripled to eighteen. Which meant that the seats were as uncomfortable and cramped as possible. But Pat didn't mind, not today. Today he was going to be one of the few that survived. If not because of fate, because of his own volition.
His eyes slowly etched closed as he fell asleep. The constant shaking of the vehicle didn't hamper his attempts, but in fact helped pacify him. It'd been a long day. He'd get as much sleep as possible. In several hours, he and nearly three hundred others would be taking their first steps on this new world. They wouldn't be giant leaps for mankind, not by a long shot. But they'd be baby steps for the piracy. Infantile jolts to keep her alive and kicking, and as much a thorn in the UNSC's ass as ever.
June 8, 2494
Uncharted Territory
Unknown Ring Construct
All of the ships had been lucky enough to make it to the planet intact. Headcounts came up to two hundred fifty-two people. Not a lot, but it would have to do. They'd all spent the last two days in mourning over their fallen crew. Their friends. The Black Knight attempted valiantly to enter the ring's orbit, but it had failed. She broke up into thousands of tiny pieces and scattered across the arid desert landscape on the other side of the ring. They had all watched as it split violently down the middle, and then floated into two separate areas. So many innocents dead; such a tragic waste of life. For what? For their beliefs that didn't mesh exactly with those on Earth.
Well, this was their home now. This was their revenge. It was here that they would steadily grow forth from the ashes of their fallen compatriots. It was here that they would build there homes, their families, their very lives. No more running; they couldn't run. So it would be here, that they would fight to the death for their freedoms. And may God have mercy on whoever tried to take those away. Because for those who lose it all, there's nothing left at stake.
Luckily though, the groups had managed to sit down in a lush plains region on the south side of the ring. Well, they called it south. It was "down" to them from the vector they had entered this region, and so they designated it south. The long sloping plains were dotted with lush forests. Several large lakes and rivers teeming with local fish life were also scattered across the terrain.
But first things first when it comes to survival, and that's shelter. Blackwell had come up with the idea to use the large concrete-looking structures as temporary havens. Strangely hypnotic blue beams shot up from them like plasmid-geysers every few minutes. They provided a beacon to the many who would get lost in the first days, a light source at night, and a copious amount of heat. Animals also didn't seem to come near the buildings, and for that they were all grateful. Nobody had had enough time to fashion any sort of weapons, and they were under strict orders not to use the thirty guns they had mustered unless absolutely necessary.
Patrick returned from a day in the woods. He had assigned himself to a hunting party the first day, but he had never hunted a day in his life. From the amount of food they'd returned with, it appeared he wasn't the only one. But he wasn't half bad with the spears they had made from tree branches and the hundred or so machetes and combat knives brought with them. So he stuck with it. On the second day he'd managed to find and kill a wild boar-like animal, but this animal wasn't as naturally aggressive as the Earth version.
He stretched out on a long grass mat one of the women had made. In the beautiful pink of dusk he couldn't help but laugh as the irony caught up with him. They'd all just gone from the most technologically advanced species in the known universe, save whatever built this installation, to primitive creatures. What did he have now? Nothing. A grass mat and a spear.
Only days earlier he could have had the ship's cook prepare him anything he could think of to eat, but today he was completely dependant on the meager pieces of food that the group managed to rake in. Disheartening and amusing at the same time. His eyes blinked heavily as he watched the sunset on the ring. Sunset here at least. The object had been perfectly positioned so that each portion only got sixteen hours of sunlight, and eight hours of darkness. Nearly identical to the Human internal clock, and somewhat fascinating.
But there was something far more fascinating than that at that moment. It was the lavender purple of the distant planet that danced in the light. The majestic strawberry, cream swirls of an ancient thunderstorm on the nearby gas giant. Flares of white as meteors dashed across atmospheres for mere seconds before dying just as quickly. The aurora borealis of the smaller of the two planets they were wedged between, rippled across the magenta skies like waves. He smiled as he counted the stars that winked at him, secretly telling him that he'd be safe; and that he was, at least for tonight, free to dream.
Affront to a God [Part 2]
Date: 17 July 2004, 6:36 PM
November 17, 2524
Little Slice of Heaven Territory
Eden
Things had gone very well for the colonists. That's what they called themselves now. Piracy had died a ways back, and somehow they had rejoined the Human species. The struggle to survive encouraged people into seeing past their once trivial differences, and into the greater being. They'd renamed the anonymous territory they'd arrived in to something more symbolical, and soothing. But why stop there? They'd also renamed the ring too. Eden. It fit well for what they'd encountered so far. A veritable cornucopia of resources and materials at their disposal.
Gary Movinkov rolled off of his heavy, burura-down bed with a groan. He was twenty, and didn't feel like working today. There was no point. The city boasted a population of over a thousand now. There were plenty of others who could take his spot as hunter-gatherer, at least for today. But no, his old man had to wake him from his peaceful slumber; a job in itself.
Patrick, now in his late fifties, smiled at his son from the doorway. Everything he could have hoped for in the universe, and so much more. If only Ariel was still alive to see the perfect specimen they had borne into the world. He reminisced over the years he'd spent with her; the best years of his life. Then, like that, she was gone. Complications during child-birth. Rare, but still an unavoidable risk. Especially outside of normal hospital conditions. Sure, there were midwives and a clinic, but there was nothing they could have done to save her.
At least Gary had survived. He saw so much of Ariel in him; the nose, the small feet, and his hair. The long, flowing strands of coarse, oily black hair. It grew like a weed, and it seemed to constantly need trimming. But Patrick never forced that. He wouldn't force the boy to get rid of one of the few things that reminded him of her. There had been so much change in the last thirty years on Eden, but that's the advantage you have when you don't have to start from scratch. Everybody already knew what a wheel was.
A government had been somewhat established on the planet, though it wasn't really a planet. Blackwell was elected to be the first president, but died only ten years after arriving. A miniscule army had been formed, but for what reason. There wasn't even a police force, so what could they possibly need an army for? Everybody had just assumed that they'd need one, in case the UNSC ever arrived. But that was a farce in itself, because if the UNSC did arrive, the thirty soldiers they had wouldn't be able to do a damned thing.
The time everyone had spent on the topside hadn't been all primitive; two years after landing they'd found a series of underground structures in a nearby swamp land. But Blackwell had given strict orders not to enter them for any reason. It was obviously full of the mechanisms that controlled and operated the machine they lived on, and he wasn't going to take any risks in having some careless interloper or teen screwing with some vital system.
After his death, that order remained. To a degree. The self-proclaimed science community that had come, changed the rule so that only they were allowed inside of the facility. As though they mysteriously knew what they were doing, while everyone else didn't. It was ludicrous, the scientists could no more understand the symbols of the ring's creators than any of the others. But they said they did, and everyone else was too busy to disagree. Strangely, none of the first expedition inside of the dark, musty tunnels ever returned. So the underground portions of the facility were strictly forbidden.
But Gary didn't have time to worry about that, he had a job to do. The community was much larger than it originally had been, but it was still quite small. So all of the members of society who could work, did work. That was that. He picked his knit pants off the floor and pulled them on quickly. Two shoes and a shirt later and he was out the door of the building.
The structure was somewhat odd looking from the outside. The temporary plan of using the blue-beam towers for shelter had slowly turned into a permanent residence. The architects constructed the new apartments around the buildings, and used their heat, light, and energy output to run their equipment. It also didn't hurt that the towers themselves provided an excellent foundation for the buildings to be situated on. So all of the Human buildings were constructed over the beam towers. There seemed to be enough for their needs now, and over time they may expand farther. But for now, the beam towers were home.
He patted his father on the back and stormed out the door. Three floors later and he was in the sunlight of Baxis, the resident star. It was a warm, bright day. He hated those. Long hours in the scorching heat made hunting more irritable than ever. It didn't help that he hated hunting too. Why'd it have to be his father who was one of the first hunters?
He brushed past the citizens in the market, and made his way to the hut that contained the hunters' equipment. Spears, bows and arrows, and axes. Gary was a spearman, and very good at what he did. He still held the planet record of the largest kill, a minotaur bull. The beasts weren't usually overtly aggressive, but they weighed over six hundred pounds and were the deadliest creatures the Humans had encountered.
Something wasn't right though, as he exited the building. His palm covered his eyes as he stared up to the massive bulbous ship. It was incredibly close to the planet, and surrounded by several smaller ships. They must have just arrived, because no one had seen them enter orbit. If this was the UNSC, they had adopted a radically different ship design. These mammoth warships were an eerie luminescent purple, and sparkled along their mid-rift.
Alarm bells were heard in the distance, and their echoes caught his ear. The militia was being called up for this. But from what he saw, the thirty poorly trained husbands and fathers might as well have just kept farming. They'd never have a chance against a single ship, much less this super-cruiser and it's entourage.
"Everyone to the underground facilities immediately. Don't take anything you can't carry. Move now!" one of the troops said as he brushed through the stunned crowds.
Even the birds seemed awed at the sight, as they had stopped crowing. Everything was silent. Or was it just Gary? He turned and looked at everything around him. Men, women, and children were all frantically running for the facilities. But their cries seemed so muffled. His eyes glanced back at the ships. He'd better move too.
Gary's legs felt light; he couldn't feel his spear. He really hadn't noticed he was running until he was forty paces from where he'd been standing a second ago. The facilities weren't far, a half mile or so. He could easily run that gauntlet. It was what he'd do after that which bothered him. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing any of them could do. Sit and hide in the dark. Hope the boogie man was scared of the dark. In other words, watch everything they'd been building crash to the ground if these intruders felt like destroying it, and be absolutely helpless to stop it.
CCS Light of Truth
Orbiting Great One Artifact
The Great Prophet of Light sat high on his hovering metallic dais. His draping robes hung near to the floor, but didn't dare touch. His ornate headpiece glittered in the lights ornamenting the dimly lit room. His four hundred Imperial Elite Guard stood at attention on both sides of his walkway. Approaching slowly, with his head lowered, was Field Master 'Zuka Salelmee. He would be heading up the mission to scour the artifact for relics, but requested a meeting with the Great Prophet of Light beforehand. Unusual, unless he had something of importance to discuss. But what could possibly be this important before the landing party had even arrived?
"Your glorious and holy majesty, we have encountered a rather strange occurrence on the artifact's surface."
"Which would be?"
"Our probes uncovered the remains of a ship." 'Zuka said with a halt as he tried to find the proper way to word what he would undoubtedly have to say.
"The probes uncovered a relic ship?"
"That is the problem your holiness, it is not a relic at all."
"Impossible! So there are other...less holy creatures on the artifact?"
"That is the second subject I wish to speak with you about your majesty. The probes have also discovered an unknown species of what appears to be an intelligent species. Perhaps the ship belongs to them." A hologram of the probes' video hovered before the Prophet.
They were the size of pennies on the screen, and all scattering. They appeared to be heading for one of the ring's facilities. Unacceptable. These unworthy creatures were defiling the Great Ones' ring. They would have to be removed, immediately. His bony hand rose up from beneath the folds of his robes, and the great hall was deathly silent.
"You will eradicate this vermin from the Great Ones' artifact immediately. But you are in no way to harm the artifact while doing this. That surely wasn't worthy mentioning, but I want crystal clarity on this."
"Your majesty, if I may. I don't believe we must so quickly kill these beings bef-"
The hand rose again, cutting 'Zuka off mid-syllable.
"You will do this immediately, or face the council. Now leave my sight. That is all." The Prophet turned in his chair and disappeared through the beautiful cloth that covered his personal hallway.
'Zuka wasn't pleased at all by what had just occurred. He didn't want to needlessly kill these beings. It was obvious that they had simply crashed on the ring. But that was for some reason unholy. But there was no more he could do for them. He had his orders. They were all to die.
The architecture here was cold and overbearing. The mysterious thrum of ancient machines echoed through the hall. It was unwelcoming, and probably on purpose. He didn't like that at all. Nobody makes a building unwelcoming unless they don't want people to stay. Gary walked nervously around the hallway. The hallway was huge, why were they so close to the exit? Whoever it was that would come to find them, they wouldn't have a hard time.
He wandered slightly out of sight, and into a small alcove. Nothing but wall. His head peeked out, and when he was sure that the sentry wasn't watching, he jetted to the next inlet.
They may be too afraid to move down here, but I'm not. I'll just search around and prove that there's nothing to worry about, he thought.
He moved to the next alcove. The next. Another. One more. He glanced back the way he came. Confident that the guard couldn't possibly see him, he cautiously moved into the hallway. A faint green glow pulsed and beat to the rhythms of the facility. Gary couldn't help but move closer, it was the only way he could head without going back.
The hallway slowly opened into a gigantic circular room. Hovering weightlessly in the center was a jade-green crystal the size of Gary's hand. It was brilliant. Light cascaded off of it's facets and danced across the room's alien surfaces. The odd hum of invisible machinery suddenly quit, and the metallic click of locking mechanisms failing rattled around him.
Thousands of miniscule taps echoed from the arches as bulb-shaped creatures clambered down the walls from the tiers above. Gary didn't care to find out if they were hostile or not. His feet were beating down the pathway as fast as they could carry him, but too fast. His mind wasn't used to keeping up with them at this pace. His left foot caught on his right, and he tumbled head first into the pavement. His head slammed into the floor with a thud...then darkness.
Overhead, a column of orange-white light flashed quickly. Hovering above Gary was a small orb the size of a Human's head and a dozen larger machines. The orb glowed the same hue of green as the crystal, and fluttered around his body. The creatures he had been running from clamored closer to him. The machines overhead fired lasers into their bulbous bodies; popping them like pus filled balloons. But there were too many for their lasers to keep up with. They inched closer and closer to him every second.
Gary's eyes opened halfway; far enough for him to see his impending doom. Three of the tentacle-covered sacs hopped onto his body, and he felt the sharp sting of their barbs in his skin. The proboscis slithered excruciatingly under his skin. Each move felt like a worm was inching through his body. His hands struggled to grasp their slimy skin, but it was useless. He shivered as his body went icy-cold. One of the tentacles was wrapping itself around his spine, probing into his nervous system.
He heard a loud hiss, and suddenly felt extremely hot. The ice pulsed through his blood stream though, but slowly melted away. The small creature pulled its tentacle back, and moved on. All three did. The thousands of other bulbs continued on their way, without making noticeable moves in his direction. The orb overhead emitted a brighter aura of green, and the other machines ceased firing their lasers.
Gary rolled onto his back, and was face to face with the small sphere floating inches above him. It's single "eye" moved up and down his body, and a thin bluish-white beam scanned him from head to toe. It moved back several feet, and rotated on its central point; what Gary took for a confused shrug.
"Very curious." It spoke perfect English. Amazing. An ancient alien intelligence with the same language lexicon. Gary wasn't a scientist, but he didn't have to be to realize that it was an incredible discovery.
Gary said nothing.
"The Flood have completely bypassed you, though you are of an extremely sufficient biomass."
"Wait, what are the Flood? Who are you?" Gary asked almost intangibly.
"I am 342 Guilty Spark. I am the monitor of Installation 07."
"Guilty Spark?"
"My role as monitor gives me the designation of Guilty Spark. We are the ones responsible for igniting this structure's primary defense mechanisms should the cause arise. There is a Guilty Spark on each of the installations."
"You mean the rings?"
"This artificial planet."
"There's more than one of these?"
"Why, yes. There are hundreds."
Gary was astonished. These rings were enormous, and far ahead of Humanity's technological capability. Yet, there was a species out there which had constructed hundreds of them. It was mind-boggling. He watched as the endless stream of small bodies surged towards the crowded facility's entrance. Surely they would be fine; after all, they'd practically ignored him. He rubbed his hand over the hole the tentacle had formed. It had already scabbed? That was extremely fast.
"And these, these are the Flood?" He pointed to them as they scurried along.
"Yes."
Simple enough.
"Well, what do they do?"
"I am currently unsure. This facility, like the others, was built to house and study them. Certain occurrences arose which required more immediate attention, and so this facility has remained abandoned for ninety three thousand, six hundred and forty-two Earth years."
"Earth? How do you know about Earth?"
"The Sentinels," he turned so that his "eye" faced the mechanical guardians hovering close to him, "have combed every inch of your ship's computer database. I must compliment you on the vastness and depth of which you contain your history. It was very entertaining and informative."
"Thanks, I guess. So you know nothing about them at all?"
"We know that they are parasitic by nature, and are very capable at adapting and transforming anything of sufficient biomass."
"Then why didn't they... adapt.... me?"
"I...I'm not sure. But my scans show that you suffer from a mild radiation poisoning."
"Radiation poisoning?"
"Yes. Exposure to a plasma-based radiation. Non-fatal for you, though it may cause peculiarities in your nervous system as you age."
"Plasma? I've never been exposed to plasma. We don't even have our own energy. We rely on yours."
"Ours?"
"The blue beams. We use them for our power."
"That would be the source of your radiation. Those towers are plasma excess conduits. They emit a constant stream of super-low radiation. Years of buildup could cause the problems you are experiencing, and would explain why your nervous system is radiated enough for the Flood not to be interested in you."
"So I shouldn't be affected by the Flood at all then? None of us should?"
"You have been infected, though the effects you are experiencing are not harmful in nature. The Flood first injects its own cells into the host body, which repair and enhance it's immune system and core structures. They also enhance the host's natural strength and reflexes. These should be the only effects you experience, as a stage two infection was not begun."
"You're saying that these are the only effects we'll experience? That they'll make us healthier and stronger?"
"Only those of you who have been exposed to the plasma radiation should be safe from their later stages of infection. I highly doubt the newcomers will be ignored as you were."
"Newcomers? You mean the ships we saw?"
"I see you do not know who they are. Odd. They are combing your craft and facilities as though you knew each other."
A small hologram of the Humanoid creatures winked into view. There were thousands of them. Small, dog-like creatures that hobbled on all fours through the streets of the Human city. Medium-sized bird-like animals walked upright around the perimeter, and he watched a small detachment move into the forests towards the facility. Tall insect looking creatures, with mandibles and small spines on their arms were ransacking the huts.
Gary watched as alien tanks hovered through the streets, and barreled through the market; the only buildings in town not built around the beam towers. Smaller single passenger hovercraft stormed swiftly towards the tree line. The hologram shifted to the ten ships originally used to bring the colonists to the planet. Enormous blue-armored beasts with spikes covering their backs were guarding them. Dozens of floating sac-like creatures with hundreds of tentacles swarmed over the ships' interior and hull.
The view shifted again to a tree-top view, and shifted visions. The treetops disappeared and revealed hundreds of mixed troops moving through the foliage towards the facility. They knew where they were, and from what he'd seen, they weren't friendly. Friends didn't bring guns to barbeques.
"It's been fun Sparky, but I've got to warn the others."
"I have already requisitioned another group of Sentinels to help with the defense of your friends. The knowledge available from your study would make your deaths unacceptable. They will assist in guarding you as long as possible. It will take time though for my systems to reroute and establish a safe method of transporting such a large group of beings, but when I can, I will move you and your people to safety."
"Thank you." Gary turned and waded through the Flood spores toward the entrance.
He wondered what would happen to these aliens if the Flood attacked them. That would be an interesting sight. But right now, he could care less if he saw it. He rounded the small bend and came into view of the mass of huddled and screaming people. Staccato gunfire burped from the militia's weapons. Hundreds of Flood popped at a time. But Gary had seen how many of these things there were, they seemed endless. The bullets were just being eaten up uselessly.
"Stop firing! Stop!" He screamed at the nearest guard, who came very close to blasting Gary away in the confusion.
He could see the spores attaching to many of the colonists, and many more moving on after having discovered their imperfection. The guard he was screaming at even had one attached to his leg.
"Are you insane? Look how many there are?"
"Exactly. You can't kill them off, and they don't hurt us anyway."
"How the hell can you know this?"
Gary turned and lifted up his shirt, revealing the large scabbed region on his back. The guard's eyes darkened in a hazy understanding. He stopped firing.
"Well, what the hell are we supposed to do?" The man shouted over the bursts of gunfire and screams.
"Tell the other militia to stop firing, and everyone to let them do what they are here for. They won't hurt us at all. I can explain later. Round up all of the men with guns, I need to talk to you immediately."
Gary watched as the man ran off and systematically gathered the militia. Some took longer than others to convince to stop firing, but one by one they did. The thirty men all moved into a group around Gary, some rather agitated because they had been moved off of their positions for a meeting with someone who wasn't even a guard. Others agitated because of Flood spores grappling onto a part of their body and probing around inside of them.
"What is this about Jim?" one asked harshly.
"Listen to the boy. He says he knows something important."
"How the hell could he know anything we don't?" a different man asked.
"I'm not sure Russell, but he has a healed wound from these things, and came from deep inside the facility. So I believe him. Now listen up would you!"
Gary seized the few seconds of silence to begin his speech.
"These creatures are called the Flood, and they won't hurt us. I don't have time to go into all of that, it's a long story. There's something much more important right now."
"What is that?" a deep voice called out from the back of the group. It was Councilor Gerand.
"The ships we saw outside are alien, and they are heading our way. We have to move deeper inside of the facility now."
"If the Flood came from down there, why would we go that way?" Gerand asked. The fat, weasel of a man was bothersome. Pat had told him that constantly throughout the few years since Gary had been engaged in politics.
"Because they won't hurt us. They aren't a problem for us, they're a problem for the aliens. We need to move now though."
"Maybe we can talk with these aliens, and reason with them. Surely they won't be hostile if we've never met them before." he said hostilely. He was over-confident in his position as figurehead. Gary wouldn't let him win this fight.
Two-dozen sentinels and Guilty Spark flashed into existence overhead. The guards quickly raised their guns, but Gary yelled for them not to fire.
"They were sent to protect us. Trust me, we need to move deeper inside the facility."
"I don't believe you. How do we know you aren't just making this up as it happens?" He was unbelievable. Everything he said was as stupid and poorly conceived as his political career had been.
"Gary, why aren't your people moving deeper inside of the facility?" Guilty Spark asked as he floated above the circle. Gary's mouth moved into a wry smile. Eat that you fat bastard, he thought.
The guards had found the one piece of the puzzle they needed for assurance, and moved off to round up the colonists. It was only minutes before the wave of Humans were strolling deeper inside of the facility. Gerand was visibly steaming. He huffed off towards the entrance, after screaming obscenities and yelling about how he would talk them out of it.
"You'll all see," he'd said before walking away.
Gary followed the trailing guards inside as well. A thought hit him a half-mile inside the facility. He stopped; he had to go back. They'd need every weapon possible, and he'd forgotten his spear. He told Russell, who grunted and kept walking.
Affront to a God [Part 3]
Date: 18 July 2004, 6:30 PM
Field Master 'Zuka and his company of highly-trained soldiers marched to the facility's entrance. There were thousands of small creatures pouring out of it. He had orders to kill the beings inside, and these were obviously coming from inside. A wave of his hand, and all hell broke loose.
Plasma bolts streamed relentlessly into them. One popped, and six near it followed suit. He fired his plasma pistol into one, and clacked his mandibles in satisfaction as it popped. The torrent of bulbs shifted direction, and began heading towards his men.
He growled in defiance and primed a plasma grenade; he tossed the sizzling explosive into a group of the fleshy sacks, and roared as the entire group of hundreds erupted into a pus pool. Thousands of plasma bolts collided with the beasts, but they had a seemingly endless supply. 'Zuka meanwhile was running low on battery. A larger, strange looking creature exited the facility. It's arms waved in the air and it made strange noises. It was beckoning to him?
"Give me cover, and do not shoot that alien," he ordered to his field marshal.
"What are you going to do, sir?" he asked.
"I'm going to capture it."
'Zuka's men concentrated their fire on the wave of spores before him. Tens, hundreds, tens of hundreds; they popped before him. Yet they seemed unchallenged. More were there to pick up the slack. He bounded to the entrance quickly, grabbed the alien by its mid-section, hefted it over his shoulder, and sprinted back to his men.
He clenched his fist and waved it back toward the alien city. The signal for retreat. His men gave him confused glances.
"Why are we retreating sir?" another of his Elite warriors asked with the hint of defiance.
"We can't win this battle, there are far too many of them. I saw thousands, if not millions more of them inside. We may yet return. But for now we must go." 'Zuka glanced over his shoulder at the men fighting behind him. Two Hunters charged up the hill, and were overwhelmed by a wave. Hundreds of Flood spores popped as their razor-sharp spikes bristled and sliced them to pieces. The explosive force dimpled their thick, blue armor and the bond-brothers crumpled lifelessly to the ground. Several spores fought over their bodies.
To his right he could see his field marshal firing wildly into them. Six jumped onto him. 'Zuka cringed as he watched their tentacles puncture his shields, and sink into his body. Blood squirted onto them, and he wrestled to pull them off. The Elite's mandibles opened in a painfully contorted posture, and he collapsed. The spore attached to him burrowed its way into his chest cavity and disappeared before 'Zuka could shoot it.
The screams, barks, and roars of falling men around him was a very bad sign. Very, very bad. 'Zuka pivoted and began a sprint for his nearby ghost. An infected grunt waddled by, almost causing the top heavy field master to trip. A definite death. He dropped the alien figure onto the hovercraft carelessly, and jumped onto it. The grav-pods whirred to life as the machine rose three feet into the air. Throttle forward; engines blared. A frantic Jackal ducked under 'Zuka as he hurried out of the battle, but an infected Elite wasn't as lucky.
He wasn't sure how to feel. He was somewhat angry that he'd killed the Elite as carelessly as he did, but also happy to put him out of his misery. Or was that what the Elite wanted? Maybe he jumped in front of 'Zuka, to end it. The body thudded harshly against the ghost, and was crumpled sickeningly under the chassis. The field master didn't turn to look; only pushed the throttle harder.
Two units later, he emerged into the alien city they'd ransacked, only to find it completely swarming with the same bastard-creatures. Mangled corpses of Grunts, Elites, Jackals, and Hunters were scattered randomly across the land; several hung limply from building windows. There, what he was looking for, the gravity lift. He snarled and slammed his fist onto the console. It wasn't functioning. He'd have to go for it though.
The Gods had been with him so far, hopefully they wouldn't blink. He dodged through the passageways of the massive open-air building the aliens called "Market", and ramped up the gravity lift's base. The ghost whipped around to face the swarms of flesh-bulbs clamoring after him. He depressed the trigger and felt the shudders as the plasma bolts streamed into them. The "rat-tat-tat" as they popped was good to hear, but he could only last so long.
Three leapt for him, but he ducked, and they landed behind. He didn't have time to spin the ghost to face them, they were everywhere. He glanced in time to see them leap for him again, but they weren't going to miss. Their slimy tentacles were already probing for him, but they stopped an inch from his face. The ghost leapt upwards. The gravity lift was on! 'Zuka smacked the devil-beasts hard, sending them flopping wildly into the air, and to a thirty foot fall.
Those fools better be ready to fight these things off; he realized there were hundreds more of them following under him. The bay doors opened above him. He hovered into the bay, and watched the doors shut. His ghost hovered forward and off of the ramp as shade emplacements opened fire. He turned his head to see the pus-filled spores explode behind him. All of them were destroyed under the heavy barrage; except one. He turned to fire at it, but it skittered into a low vent-shaft before he could line it up. He took a deep breath of relief. He wasn't worried.
How much could a single spore do anyway?
"Field Master 'Zuka! The High Prophet of Truth would like to speak with you immediately!" An Imperial Guard informed him with a tone that sent shivers down 'Zuka's spine.
He followed the guard down the corridors, through the barricade of doors, and into the Council Chambers. It was completely dark, except for a heavy spotlight on him. The Elite guard melted into the shadows behind him. Another light slowly uncovered a Minor Prophet, but he knew the High Prophet was there.
"Explain this failure immediately!" It screamed at him irately.
"Failure, your holiness?"
"You failed to kill these aliens, and have retreated from battle."
"With all due respect your holiness, the aliens we encountered are not the same as those we watched flee into the facility. I managed to capture one of-"
"We are aware of that, we are interrogating him now. But your failure and incompetence on the field of battle is the priority here. Your men failed to take the holiest relic we have discovered yet, and now we are unable to send men to it. On top of that you retreated from battle. Therefore by your actions you have lost this relic to us. A most regrettable error on your behalf. The Council finds you guilty of treason, and sentences you to death."
The light on the Minor Prophet blinked out instantly, and the brawny figure of two Brutes edged into view. He was surrounded. There was no honor in fighting them. 'Zuka deactivated his shields and kneeled down,; prostrate before the Prophets he couldn't see. The Brute grinned maliciously, and lifted his heavy blade above the Elite's head. It sliced through the air, his armor, and body in a quick slice. Field Master Zuka's head rolled lifelessly onto the floor, and his body slumped to the ground in a pool of its own blood.
Councilor Gerand awoke between the arms of two alien warriors. Their mandibles clacked as they spoke to each other. Pain split through his ribs; he remembered being tossed over the back of one of their vehicles. He must have blacked out from the pain. They stopped at a door, waited for it to part, and dropped him inside.
He looked up to find another of their large warriors staring at him. It turned away from him, fidgeted with a small device, and then faced him again. It's mandibles moved like the others, but this time it spoke English.
"Why have you come to this holy relic, and defiled it 'ooman?"
"We crashed on it. We haven't defiled it."
"You lie. We have seen your structures on it. You have sent these miserable creatures to fight us, and yet you say you have not defiled it?" The beast glowered at him. It's ivory-white teeth glistened from each jaw.
"We had to survive! I don't even know what the creatures are. We found them."
"Yet they did not attack you, but slaughtered us. Desecrated our corpses. And we are to believe you have nothing to do with this?"
"I promise you, we didn't do it."
"Very well 'ooman, you've been as useful as I expected."
It stood upright, and turned toward a second door. Gerand sighed a breath of relief, but was stopped mid-exhale by a plasma bolt through his face. The Elite holstered its weapon, and exited the room. He walked to the Council Chambers, as he'd been instructed to. A spotlight was instantly trained on him, and at the center of the room he could discern the figure of the High Prophet of Truth.
"Did you learn anything from the Human?" It rasped.
"No your holiness. He wasn't useful, as expected."
"No matter, the Engineers gathered enough information from their ships' databases for our needs. We will have revenge for what they have done here. Move our fleet to the following location. We will glass their newest planet, and stem their unholy spread. They will feel the same knife in their side, as they have put in ours."
"We are to move to this planet they call Harvest?"
"From records we recovered from their crashed ship, it is the last world they began settling; approximately the time this group arrived and began defiling this most holy of relics. That is unacceptable. If they want to reach out and grab what is rightfully ours, and take it from us, then so be it. We will cut off their fat, greedy fingers...and then their heads! There will be none to oppose the mighty wrath of the Covenant, and even fewer to defile those which the Great Ones left to us."
A loud and heavy roar of approval erupted from the unseen Elites in the room. The High Prophet of Truth hovered majestically between his men, and towards the control room. He would watch the destruction of the Humans personally.
June 4, 2556
Little Slice of Heaven Territory
Eden Research Facility
Gary stretched his arm as the Sentinel extracted another blood sample. Guilty Spark had graciously allowed them to stay, as his guest, on Installation 07. They were granted Sentinel protection, but in return they had to donate blood and tissue samples once a year. A more-than-fair trade in their eyes.
The Flood had undergone a miraculous change, and even seemed to impress Guilty Spark. In the time since their encounters with the mutant, radiated Human DNA, they had adapted to become entirely different creatures. The spores who had come in contact with Gary's group grew arms, legs, and heads. The unused stem-cells they had pulled from the Humans' spines during their short interchange, had been reproduced by the Flood.
So they began their transformation into the body parts expected by a Human, and spawned a tremendous growth of the Flood into individual, thinking beings. Though not much smarter than a cat, or even in extreme cases a Dolphin, they had completely lost their mindless hunger. Some had been seen hunting in groups, and others were found not only using tools, but making them. Guilty Spark showed him holograms of reproductive sacks, but neither had seen the offspring. The flood were very protective, much like Human parents.
Gary, in a cooperation between the new Human and Forerunner alliance, had begun a rigorous scientific study. One of each species of Eden's animals was brought to a specially designed structure, and made to live by the plasma radiation. Hopes were that the Flood would ingest, and adapt to these new DNA pools as well.
Speculations remained that the Flood were actually Human predecessors, but they couldn't prove it. Nobody ever could. Far too many zealots to convert, and others too ignorant to grasp such a broad reaching concept.
The Council elected a replacement for Councilor Gerand, and after a miniscule debate over his fate, he was eventually forgotten to time. Gary stared at his reflection in the Sentinel's stainless, metallic body. His beard was graying now, and reminded him of his father. Patrick was in his seventies, and as active as he'd ever been. A benefit of the Flood enhancements. Gary was worried that the Flood would come for the children, but they were born with the Flood-Human DNA combination as well. A new, better breed of Human.
No more disease, no more cancer. It was perfect. Except for one thing, the Covenant. Eden's sensors watched as Harvest burned. Then Sigma Octanus, Reach, and hundreds of other Human worlds. Guilty Spark sent a request for ships capable of helping defend Humanity, and Gary was going to take what he could get.
He was awed when they arrived. They were incredible. Weapons, propulsion, and shield systems far more advanced than even the Covenant. But so few. The Forerunner didn't believe in interfering with younger species' conflicts. The Flood encounter had swayed their decision a bit, but not too much. They only got two ships; the Forerunner equivalent of cruisers. But they could have easily been Covenant super-carriers for their size.
If this was all Earth got, so be it. It was better than nothing.
Reinforcements are on the spoke, he joked to himself. Like their two ships would last very long against the Covenant armada that would be sent to Earth. But anything would help, and these ships were certainly the best equipped to do so. Gary smiled. He was ready to set sail, and win one for the good guys; though he wasn't really sure when the Pirates who'd sworn so vigorously never to befriend the UNSC, became a part of it. But that was ancient history now, they'd evolved above that. To something more. Something better.
Now was Humanity's time to shine.
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