 |
About This Site
Daily Musings
News
News Archive
Site Resources
Concept Art
Halo Bulletins
Interviews
Movies
Music
Miscellaneous
Mailbag
HBO PAL
Game Fun
The Halo Story
Tips and Tricks
Fan Creations
Wallpaper
Misc. Art
Fan Fiction
Comics
Logos
Banners
Press Coverage
Halo Reviews
Halo 2 Previews
Press Scans
Community
HBO Forum
Clan HBO Forum
ARG Forum
Links
Admin
Submissions
Uploads
Contact
|
|
|
Cell Destruction
Posted By: Murcu<tomasomurcu@hotmail.com>
Date: 6 May 2005, 5:27 PM
Read/Post Comments
|
It has been two hundred and twenty three years since the end of the Covenant Civil War. The start of which had been nothing more than a variation in the interpretations of the ancient religion of the Covenant. That, and the Brute's thirst for power.
Inevitably, the Elites had come out of the war victorious. They just had higher numbers on their side. Not only the Grunts, the unstoppable Hunters, half of the Jackals, but also the humans. Though nothing compared to the technology and physical power of most of the Covenant forces, they were well known for their courage and devotion to a cause. The Elites had a word for all the common traits desired in a soldier, and after they allied themselves with the humans, they began using it for them. Heart.
The Civil War was very short in comparison to how long the Covenant-Human war had lasted, taking only one Earth year. However, by the time it was finished, the total deaths were staggering. The Flood had taken its toll on both populations, plus the amount dead from the prior war. The Earth was down to a third of its population, and was running out of men. The Covenant had also lost their capital, having to destroy it after the Flood took it over; however, they were able to evacuate the vast majority of their population.
Since that time, they have spread themselves far and wide across the planets, stretching out and interacting peacefully with other species, though they have yet to find any intelligence but the humans and themselves. The Brutes have been all but eradicated, and are being hunted to extinction. High prices are offered for Brute corpses or skulls, and their tough skins are used for protection in some populations.
The Elite sided Covenant and humans officially joined forces shortly before the end of the Civil War, and, after much discussion, settled on the name 'The New Allegiance'.
However, one thing was never completely resolved. Halo.
The Oracle could tell only that there were other machines like Halo scattered throughout the galaxy, but could not explain where. Supposedly, these Halo structures could actually come in any size or form, and hold many different types of flood. Since this time, the New Allegiance has created a new division of specially trained soldiers whose main purpose is to hunt the galaxy searching for the Halos and attempt to disarm them. In the two hundred and twenty three years since the destruction of the second Halo, only three more Cells, which is what they call the structures, have been destroyed.
Now, the Cell Destruction Division (CDD) found itself aimlessly flying through the galaxy looking for planets that might have a Cell orbiting them. The division, carried on only one ship, was made up of about six hundred soldiers and divided into four regiments each with it's own three companies. The Chief Company, in the second regiment, resided in the North barracks of their ship, called the Spartan Carrier.
It was his third week on the ship, and Master Sergeant Steven Cornell was regarded by the men under his command as new and 'not worth the dirt on their boots' he had heard one of them saying. True, he hadn't seen any battle, but from what he understood, neither had any of them. However, he also knew that the CDD tended to be a job that was passed down, and most of the soldiers in the division had had parents or brothers or sisters who had fought in it.
Him? He had no connection to the CDD. He had met a soldier once as a boy and had since dreamt of growing up to become one. He had enlisted into the New Allegiance military as a Private in the Planetary Infantry. Over the next decade he climbed the ranks, one after another, until finally he decided to go through the training program to become a Spartan, as they were nicknamed. He watched tens of others fail out of the academy, or just give up when training got too hard, and he almost did himself, but in the end, he decided to stick with it, and when he was handed his green armor he had to pinch himself to be sure he wasn't dreaming.
Now here he was on the famed Spartan Carrier, the ship that had overseen the destruction of three Cells, and was what most people considered old fashioned. Granted, it did of course have all the upgraded and newest technology on board, including both plasma and lead baring weapons, but the style of it was outdated.
It was built to look like the Pillar of Autumn, by request of the original Spartan, the 'Master Chief', whose rank and since been discontinued because of the false perception it gave to the barer. It had long metallic halls, devoid of most kinds of color, cornered rooms and catwalks without rails. The doors tended to be small and some even had metal grating on them. That style was so old fashioned, in fact, that when he had heard someone say that to him, he thought they were kidding. Metal grating was even considered ancient when the Pillar of Autumn was made, but here he was walking slowly by it as he made his way to the mess hall.
The new style was a sort of blend between Covenant and human styles. Plenty of purples and blues, and curving, strangely shaped rooms, but also lots of fluorescent lighting with metallic patterns and areas. It was actually much more pleasing to look at then the dull drab look of this ship. Cornell guessed that they didn't have money to spend on making a ship 'look nice' during the time of the Covenant-Human war.
The gray metal door in front of Cornell flashed green for a moment, then slid open, revealing a large room with low benches and tables which were all crowded around by humans and Grunts. On the other side of the room were larger tables for the Elites and Hunters, who tended to eat separately; not only because of table size, but because of a language barrier.
By this time, most soldiers were forced to learn to be able to understand Grunt as if it was their own language. Among some of the steep requirements of the CDD, one of them was that all soldiers needed to be fluent in understanding them, and at least have a moderate grasp of Elitin, which is what the Elite language was called. The Hunters were far tougher, because they communicated in a completely foreign way. Instead of using sounds they relied on smells and the movement of the orange innards they show in their faces, stomachs, and upper backs.
Cornell had heard from someone once what they looked like without any of their armor on, and after he had heard it, he felt sure he never wanted to see it himself. What he did want to see though, was one of them in a battle. Sure, he'd seen videos, but he knew there was no way it could possibly capture their true power and brutality on the battlefield, who's stories had been told from person to person since the start of the first war.
The question was whether or not he'd actually get that chance. He realized the chances of actually finding a Cell while he was part of the CDD were as likely as one in two, or as unlikely as one in a billion. It was all chance.
Cornell moved passed a few tables and took his seat next to one of his only friends in the company: Private Tenner Long. "Good morning, Sarge," Long said, looking over as Cornell took his seat. Long was in a similar situation to Cornell. He had no family or personal history with the CDD.
"Good morning, Long." Cornell leaned down and pushed the button below the table that brought down the food. The kitchen was above the mess hall, and then everything was put on trays, which were directly over the table. Each table had a call button that would bring down a full tray so that the soldier could take whichever foods he wanted. When the tray descended from the ceiling in front of Cornell, he looked it over quickly to be greeted by the same selection he gets everyday for breakfast.
The food they got out here was not of the highest quality, because it had to be able to survive long trips with minimal cost to the military. So what they came out with was a highly preserved, condensed, almost tasteless version of the most common foods. Sometimes, though, the higher ups would okay a visit to a nearby planet so the soldiers could have a 'morale boost' and get out to eat some real food. Of course, this would only on inhabited planets.
Before Cornell could reach out make his selection, the tray started going back up. He reached down to smash on the call button a few times, but in vain. The tray kept moving up. Eventually, he realized that the few other trays that were down at that time were rising, and the general had made his way into the room. "Room, attention!" Cornell commanded. Apparently he had been the first to notice him.
Within seconds, the entire mess hall was on its feet standing and facing with their eyes staring at whatever was directly in front of them. For Cornell, that was the small podium that was hardly used, which the General now stood behind. General Thomas Dryden was a man of about forty, but looked to be fifty. He had a heavily lined face and bore a tired expression even when he smiled. He came from a long line of generals; three of whom had been in CDD. He was extremely well respected, as he had been on the frontline of the last Cell that had been destroyed. It wasn't much of a battle, and no one had been killed, but he had been the one to convince the Board (who was originally very against the idea) that they should blow it up before landing on it. Most credited him with saving hundreds of lives.
He cleared his throat, and Cornell heard the sound make its way through all the speakers in the Mess Hall. "Men," he started, pausing for a moment to look them all over, "Good news." Cornell knew what he was going to say. They were stopping. Morale time. He could see the men around him gradually breaking into smiles, and the Elites starting to do what they call a smile, which is opening only their two lower jaws slightly, and clenching the top two. "We'll be stopping at New Chicago. You'll finally all have a good meal, and be able to meet with some of the natives closest to wherever we land. You have thirty minutes to get ready, then we'll need you in landing positions."
Cornell had only heard a very small bit about New Chicago. Apparently it started being settled by people about two thirds of the way through the Human-Covenant War, as a hopeful hiding place for what was thought might one day the human race's last survivors. Parts of it were heavily fortified and populated, but the majority of it was open grass areas and, surprisingly, completely unexplored.
Thirty minutes later, Cornell found himself buckled down in the landing wing with the rest of his company. Things got very bumpy during landing, there was no finding a way around friction, so that the soldiers had to all secure themselves as the ship made its way into the atmosphere. Cornell closed his eyes and tried to imagine what New Chicago might look like. He tried to imagine what new species he might encounter, or what the culture was like here, or whether they even still spoke the same language. He hoped that maybe if he got some free time, he might get a chance to do a bit of exploring of his own. Man's thirst for adventure still hasn't died, Cornell thought to himself, even after all these years.
|
