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      Author's note: This fanfic is inspired by several games. See if you can spot their influence as the story unfolds.


      "Visjla, give me a full readout on that object."
      Captain Joshua Craven wasn't enjoying the situation he and his ship were in. The Archangel was barely holding together; the Sabre-class troop transport ship hadn't been designed to be in direct combat- and yet by incredible amounts of sheer luck and a dash or two of tactical genius, it had managed to bring down a Covenant super-destroyer and escape the destruction of the colony world Haven.
      That, however, was where the good news ended. One of the three reactors that powered the engines had gone critical from a partially-dispersed plasma torpedo striking the Archangel's midsection and exploded, causing monumental damage. The affected area was sealed off for now- but the blast had weakened the ship's entire superstructure, which meant that every maneuver the ship made threatened to cause it to shatter like glass.
      Add to that the fact that another Covenant destroyer had, for whatever reason, decided to take on the task of finishing off the Archangel once and for all. Through four Slipstream jumps and counting, the bastards had been hot on their heels. The last jump had been purely random- the Covenant ship had damn near rammed the transport as it exited from Slipstream space, its captain either stupid or arrogant. Likely the latter, considering that the transport's mass would barely do anything more than make the warship's shields flicker. The event had given the ship-AI just enough time to roughly plot a Slipstream course in the opposite direction of the Covenant ship's course, which MIGHT have given them the head start they needed to manage an actual escape.
      Or just one more pause in the cat-and-mouse game we're not going to win, Craven thought wryly, as his eyes moved from the observation screen to the holo-emitter below it. Visjla's "body" formed literally out of motes of light, her image that of an ancient Arabian princess, replete in soft silks. The rainbow-colored eyes above her veil seemed worried.
      "I can tell you what it isn't, Captain," she said. "The one thing we both want to see the most right now- a UNSC shipyard."
      Visjla's sense of wry humor reminded Craven of his ex-wife. It was both endearing and irritating. "However," the AI continued, "I can conjecture as to what it is. The overall shape, construction and spectrographic analysis indicate that it is a Covenant construct."
      Craven's heart sank. It would have been better to let the warship get them- at least those bastards had WORKED for it, not had it dropped into their lap like whoever was onboard this structure.
      Then Visjla spoke again. "This... is odd," she said quietly.
      The AI didn't say things like that often. "Explain," the Captain said.
      "This appears to be an orbital station. But I'm getting barely any power readings at all. Its orbit around this planet is erratic and degrading, and looks as though it has been for some time. It almost seems abandoned."
      "Somebody lost a space station, huh?" came a sarcastic comment. "Hate to see the poor Covie who signed for it."
      Craven felt divided between laughing and scowling. His normally good sense of humor was suffering from the stress, and Lieutenant Darryl Krane's ascerbic jokes weren't helping. "Maybe you could take up a collection for him, Lieutenant," he said after a moment.
      The communications officer chortled. "Only if it's a collection of bullets, sir."
      "Captain," Visjla interjected. "The station has a still-working command link. I've managed to interface with it with no difficulty or resistance. No doubt this is going to sound absolutely ludicrous to you- but if you like, I can open the garage door so we can park this puppy and tape it back together enough to possibly get us home."
      Now Craven managed a chuckle. The AI liked to catch him off-guard with the occasional out-of-character quip. He took a moment to calculate his options- two, really; stop and attempt at least some repairs, and hopefully manage to hide from their pursuer, or try for another Slipstream maneuver and risk the ship destroying itself.
      Both were stupid, but at least the first one was a fraction less stupid. "Do so," he ordered Visjla.


      "Official Log of Ship-master Rhys 'Onhamee of the ship Immediate Retribution, lunar cycle of Glorious Enlightenment, fifteenth day. May the Gods illuminate my words.
      "All attempts to repair our main communications array have failed. The damage we took at the Human world called 'Haven', though relatively light, have caused critical failures in several of our systems and subsystems, including communications, navigation, sensors and weapons. Further repairs cannot be performed by onboard technicians. Therefore, we are completely out of contact with the Covenant network until such time as we dock for repairs.
      "Furthermore, the foolish maneuver caused by my now-deceased navigations officer placed unexpected strain upon our propulsion systems, aggravating previous damage. It will be known aboard this ship from this point forward that 'plot an intercept course' does not give free rein to attempt to ram an enemy ship while exiting Slipstream space. On a side note, I have officially filed a reprimand upon myself for discharging a plasma pistol on the bridge.
      "Despite these happenings, we are currently near eighty percent of optimal operation. The pursuit of the fleeing Human ship continues. We are under the indirect orders of the Prophet of War Persecution not to allow any Human survivors from the world of Haven escape, and we will not fail to carry out those orders. May the Gods guide my blade to the hearts of my foes. This log ends."
      Rhys tapped a button on the console, and the red recording light cut off. He sighed. If there is justice in this universe, he thought, then whatever Human vermin commands that vessel feels every bit as horrid as I do right now.
      His ship needed repairs, his crew needed downtime, and he personally wanted nothing more than to spend a lunar cycle relaxing by a stream on a resort world. None of that was going to happen, however, unless and until he tracked down this third-rate transport and removed it from existence- and gave proof of doing so to the Prophets.
      The trouble with the thrill of the hunt was that, eventually, it wore off.


      "Docking complete, Captain." Visjla seemed rather pleased with herself. "We're secure within the station's superstructure. Minimal damage taken to starboard sections one through three, due to our having to prop the ship up against the docking clamps. I'm sorry I couldn't get them to activate, Captain."
      "Quite alright, Visjla. When we get back to human space, I'll send in a suggestion to UNSC channels that all ships be retrofit with landing gear." Craven's good humor was starting to return now that things were starting to look up. "Have you finished calculating what repairs we can effect?"
      The AI's image shook her head. "I can only guesstimate, Captain. Most of the open variables depend on your decision on sending our troops to explore the station and scavenge Covenent materials. I have projected, however, that using only onboard tools and materials, we will be able to effect no more than a 35% improvement to structural integrity and system operations."
      "Meaning?"
      "Meaning that in order to get back off of this station, we may have to have someone get out and push."
      "Well, that makes the decision easier. I'd also definitely like to see what Covenant technology we can possibly scavenge from here. Anything we find could give us an edge."
      "Agreed, sir. Shall I draw up a draft of expedition team assignments from available personnel for you?"
      "Yes, Visjla, please do so."



      "Ship-master," his com console suddenly called out.
      The call startled him out of his half-asleep daze. He growled as he tapped the glowing reply button. "Here."
      "Sir, we've emerged from Slipstream space near where we expect the Human vessel emerged."
      "And have you located it?"
      "Negative, sir. However, we have found something else. I believe you should have a look for yourself."
      "On my way." Rhys cut the connection and rose from his seat, taking just a moment to stretch his muscles before stalking back out to the bridge. "This had better be important," he growled.
      His Second, Mahas 'Escalori, stood by the Ship-master's seat and watched as Rhys took it. "Main viewer," the Second ordered, and an image flashed upon the screen.
      For a brief moment, Rhys was angry for being shown an image of a standard Covenant orbital station. But then he realized what was wrong- the scarring, the lack of lights. "Have you attempted to contact this station, Second?" he queried.
      "Yes, sir. No response. In fact, outside of a carrier wave indicating a functioning comms system, there is no communications or network traffic at all from this station- not even the standard Covenant ID signal, which gives us no way to identify it."
      Rhys' mandibles lowered in a frown. "Has any trace of the Human vessel been found?"
      "Negative. Our sensor systems are at twenty percent efficiency and failing." 'Escalori let out a soft curse. "Sir, at this rate the enemy vessel could be flying circles around us and we would be none the wiser."
      As if to add credence to the Second's words, the video feed on the screen began to fuzz slightly with static. "Very well," Rhys said after a moment. "Make ready to dock at the station through manual override on my authority. All Engineers and their support staff are to be ready once docking is complete. We will effect what repairs we can in the space of one standard planetary cycle in order to pursue the Human vessel with greater efficiency. While that is underway, we will investigate what has occured here, and use this station's communications equipment to regain contact with the Covenant battlenet. Have a light reconnaissance squad ready for embarkation the moment we are fully docked; you will be leading them, Second."
      "It will be done, Ship-master."


      "Lock and load, Marines. We're finally getting a chance to get off this tub and stretch our legs. Problem is, we're boarding a Covie space station, and you know they're not going to have cheese and crackers out on the table for us. So get tactical!"
      Alisha Sincavage snatched the eighth MS7A4 off of the rack as she passed the armory. The Corporal liked the weapon far more than the MA5B; the 9mm parabellum rounds delivered a HELL of a lot more force than the larger assault rifle's ammunition, did a much better job of punching through Elite shielding and could even bring down a Jackal's shield with a sustained burst. All that, at the cost of a magazine that was only ten rounds smaller than the MA5B and a small amount of accuracy, made the submachine gun Delta Company's preferred weapon in close-quarters combat.
      Seven magazines went into her bandoleer; an eighth went into the weapon with a satisfying smack from her hand. A click of the bolt being drawn back and released, a full-weapon readout flashing on her HUD monocle, and Alisha- "Sin" to her friends, Death to the Covenant- was ready for anything.
      As her squad waited at the doors for the docking to be completed and the bay to repressurize, she wondered just how the swabbies had managed to find a vacant Covie space station to dock at. Though she'd never admit it, she was starting to like the Naval folks running the ship- they'd been the ones who'd gotten them off of Haven, not to mention keeping everyone alive while the Covenant warship chased them to hell and back, while the Marines had no choice but to sit cooped up inside the ship. Finding a safe spot to get repairs started was just one more minor miracle chalked up to the swabbies, and Alisha wasn't going to let any Covie bastards spoil their streak.
      After what seemed to be a week past forever, the doors finally cracked open, and the sterile metallic tang of Covenant-preferred atmosphere greeted Alisha's senses. As soon as the ramp started extending, her squad moved; the first five Marines literally jumped to the ground before the ramp touched down, rushing off to cover positions. The instant her boots hit Covenant metal, Alisha's weapon was at her shoulder; she swept the visible area with her gunsights as she rushed to her position, kneeling beside a purple metallic crate.
      Not a single Covie was to be seen. "Position clear," she radioed in, hearing through the tacnet the rest of her squad reporting the same.
      There was a pause of a few seconds, and then- "Delta third platoon, split up and cover the two entrances to the bay, six at each. Set motion detectors and turrets at each door and maintain watch until further orders. All other squads form up before Major Pueyrnovich."
      Alisha breathed a sigh of relief; sentry duty would have been a real bitch of a job. She rushed back to the temporary command point being set up outside the ship; she spared the modest-sized craft a lookover as the squads moved into formation. Looking at it from this perspective, she wondered just how the hell the ship had made it this far; enormous sections of armor plating were slagged or completely missing, and the underlying superstructure was bent and mangled in more than a few places. Going to need a lot of chewing gum to put that back together, she thought, dismissing any further reflections on the ship as the Major walked into view. "Officer on the deck!" someone shouted, and the entire platoon came to attention.
      The CO had an MA5B slung over his shoulder and a custom-made gold-plated M6D handgun in a holster at his side. His Russian-accented voice was loud but gravelly, no doubt an effect of whatever had left a finger's-width scar on the side of his throat. "Listen carefully, Marines," he called out. "As of this moment, we are still alive. Obviously the Covenant would take exception to that- but as you've noticed, they haven't come to do anything about it. That makes this an unknown situation... and we all know how dangerous they can be. So you all need to be triply aware of everything at every moment.
      "We have two objectives while aboard this Covenant structure. One, to secure supplies and materials in order to repair the Archangel enough to return to Earth; two, secure any and all important Covenant technology and information that we can and bring it with us. To those ends, I'm delegating four groups of Marines and Naval personnel.
      "Group One will consist of First and Second Platoons of Alpha Company. You will accompany a group of Naval techs as cover while they scavange what raw materials and tools they can from the surrounding internal landing bays and nearby areas. They are in charge as far as group divisions and movement, but you are in charge the moment any combat occurs. Try to be nice to the swabbies in the meantime." A few spots of laughter broke out, then quickly died.
      "Group Two will consist of Fourth Platoon of Alpha Company and Second Platoon of Delta Company. They will escort a smaller group of Navy techs to what we believe is the engineering area aboard this station, to assess and take any valuable Covenant technology they possibly can. We are in full charge of that operation; the swabbies know it, and will jump when you tell them to.
      "Group Three will consist of Fourth Platoon of Delta Company." Alisha leaned forward ever so slightly; this is where she came in. "This group will escort a handful of techs to the bridge of this installation, who will attempt to hack the onboard AI and systems to extract all information possible. This may prove to be the most dangerous assignment, so I'm keeping the group size small to ensure mobility. Third Platoon of Delta Company will remain here to secure this area and defend against any enemy encroachment. Now separate and move out, Marines!"
      "The most dangerous assignment" equated to the most exciting in Alisha's mind. With an inward yelp of glee, she turned and rushed off with the rest of the platoon to the brand-new rally point displayed on her HUD.


      "We are docked, Ship-master."
      Rhys grunted in acknowledgement. "Execute the mission. Keep me informed, Second; maintain an open comms link. Report anything pertinent to me immediately."
      "Yes, sir."
      As his Second left the bridge, Rhys turned to his communications officer. "Have you been able to establish a commlink with the station's systems yet?" he queried.
      "Negative, Ship-master. It's difficult to tell whether the cause is our own system's damage or problems with the station, but for whatever reason I can't manage to get any response at all from the station's AI or systems."
      He managed to suppress a growl of irritation. "Very well. Continue your attempts at regular intervals during the repair efforts. In the meantime, be certain that we do NOT lose contact with the recon squad at any time, for any reason."
      "Yes sir."
      Rhys settled back into his chair. He didn't like this situation at all, and the faster he had answers about it, the better he would feel.


      Grizol had seen plenty of action in battle before. A survivor of operations on five separate Human worlds, he was now a platoon leader, given the right to wear the coveted gold armor and lead any other class of Grunts- and even some Jackals- in battle.
      But all that experience didn't alleviate the strange feelings of performing armed reconnaisance on a friendly orbital station. Not to mention the eerie quiet and dim lighting in every hallway and section they passed through. None of the readouts or workstations they passed were functioning, some of the lights were out or flickering in strange patterns, and the utter lack of any Covenant personnel- or even any trace of them- was starting to fray Grizol's nerves. He found himself pointing his plasma pistol at shadows, jumping at nothing. He was angry at himself; he was aboard a Covenant installation, not hunting down Humans on one of their worlds- and yet he couldn't slow down the beating of his heart or the speed of his breathing.
      The Ship-second signalled for the squad to halt with a wave of his fist. Odd how he wasn't using verbal commands- did he feel the same uneasiness Grizol was? Anything that unsettled an Elite wasn't good in the least. Grizol gripped his pistol tighter and waited for further orders.
      After a long moment, the Ship-second waved for the squad to continue. Grizol was fourth behind him, trailing three of the Jackals in the squad. They marched single-file through a hallway housing what seemed to be inactive data storage banks, and entered a small administrative section along the way to the bridge.
      "Hey, what's that door-" he heard just before a metallic clank.
      He whirled, pistol at the ready in his shaking hands. A flat featureless door greeted his view, status lights flickering red. "Oh," he managed to breathe. "Must just be... a malfunctioning door. Yeah."
      The Ship-second's hand clamped down on his shoulder, shoving him aside before he even could think enough to be afraid again.The Elite tried to yank the door panels apart, without result. With a snarl of irritation, he raised his plasma rifle to fire, then paused suddenly and held a hand to the side of his head. Grizol could just make out another Elite's voice- probably someone from the Command center- over a commlink. "Malfunctioning door," the Ship-second said. "It's cut me off from half of the squad. Can it be overridden?"
      A reply came, which the Elite didn't like. "Then I'm going to blast it open," he declared, leveling his weapon at the door again.
      Another reply, which seemed to stop in mid-sentence. The Elite's mandibles dropped in a frown. "Command," he said. "Command, respond."
      At that moment, the door slid open again, revealing an empty corridor.
      Grizol blinked. "Wh... where's the rest of the squad?" he asked, nervousness causing his voice to squeak.
      "They probably went to find another way to get to this position," one of the Jackals said. His voice seemed far less certain than his words.
      "No doubt." The Ship-second also seemed uneasy. "At any rate- we will proceed as ordered to the bridge. The rest of the squad can rejoin us there." He paused for a moment, then lifted his hand to his head again. "Command, respond. Command, are you receiving me? Command?" After a moment he growled softly and shook his head. "Come on," he ordered.
      Grizol glanced down the hallway once more. How could the entire group have left that long corridor in the few microcycles that the door was closed? It made no sense- but a grunt of irritation from the Ship-second let him know he was thinking too much again. Quickly he turned and rushed after the remainder of the squad.


      The sound of rubber soles on metal and fabric rubbing against gunmetal were all that reached Alisha's ears. Her group advanced quickly, being careful to clear every hallway and nook in their path before moving on. The four Naval techs sandwiched between the Marines did a decent job of following their lead- keeping their pistols at the ready, not pointing them at any friendlies, and stopping when Sergeant Marshall, the group leader, signalled.
      The quiet was frankly getting on Sin's nerves. Where were the Covenant? Did they simply up and abandon this place- and if so, why? It wasn't like them to simply leave a station to eventually fall into a planet's atmosphere.
      Suddenly, a synthesized voice broke into her reverie. "Corporal Sincavage," Visjla's voice came over her radio. "I'm losing resolution on your transmisson. Please perform a quick reboot of your headset unit so I can monitor you effectively."
      "Yes ma'am." The Sergeant paused, likely asked by the AI to allow her a moment to perform the reboot. She held down the two buttons on her monocle until her HUD flashed, died out and reset. "That's better," Visjla's voice announced. "Thank you, Corporal."
      "No trouble, ma'am." Alisha kind of liked the AI as well. She'd made sure to keep the Marines updated on their status, as well as what news on Humanity's battle she could pick up during while in normal space. It had helped keep the Marines sharp during their flight from Haven, thinking about their brothers and sisters in arms still out there fighting for the survival of the race.
      The ludicrous idea of inviting the AI to have a drink with her after this was all over had just crossed her mind when an inhuman scream came from far down a nearby corridor.
      As if choreographed, the group immediately spread out into a firing line near the center of the large room they occupied, every weapon pointed either down that corridor or covering nearby exits. Alisha stared down the sights of her weapon, waiting to see what had made that noise.
      A dark waddling shape rushed into view, hard to make out in the dim light. As it ran down the corridor towards them, she realized it was a single Grunt, dressed not in their typical colorful body armor but instead wearing some sort of metallic-looking robe that covered its methane tank and environmental suit. Remembering that a favorite Covenant tactic was placing a plasma grenade on their own low-level troops and having them run at the enemy, Sin's finger tightened on the trigger-
      "Hold your fire!" Marshall hissed. "He's unarmed. Make ready to capture him for interrogation."
      That was perfectly fine with Alisha. She raised her hand, signalling that she would make the capture; she flicked on the safety of her weapon, rising into a crouch as the Grunt came near.
      Then she realized it was yelling something.
      All Marines were subliminally taught the Grunts' language- the only Covenant language ONI had been able to fully translate- for whatever tactical advantage they could glean. The Grunts were typically talkative enough for it to be at least mildly helpful. But this particular alien's screams chilled her to the bone- because it was calling out to them.
      "HELP ME! Please help me! Humans! Please get me off this station!"
      "The hell...?" Alisha murmured, her legs tensing to spring at the Grunt as it finally left the corridor, approaching the range where she could take it down cleanly. But just after it cleared the threshold of the corridor, there was a quick blur and the beginnings of a scream from the Grunt-
      -whose body collapsed a second later, spurting bright blue blood as most of its head flew off to the side, severed neatly just above the jaw.
      "SHIT!" She snapped off the safety of her weapon and knelt back down, the entire front line of her group firing randomly in front of them, trying to hit the stealthed Elite that had no doubt killed the Grunt. But every round struck bulkhead; there was no shimmer of light-refractive shielding, no glow of a plasma sword. After a few seconds, the group leader signalled to cease fire, and the dull roar of automatic fire cut off.
      With a series of hand gestures, the group leader sent small teams to cover every possible entrance, and gathered the rest of the group around the corpse of the Grunt. "Check it," Marshall said to the group's medic.
      The young-faced female, whose name Alisha never could remember, knelt down and examined what was left of the Grunt. "Sarge, this is weird," she said. "The cut's clean- but there's no burning. This wasn't done by a plasma sword."
      "The bloody hell," Marshall murmured. "Visjla- did you manage to see what killed this Grunt?"
      Visjla's response was groupwide. "Negative, Sergeant. None of your headsets caught anything. If not for what happened to your Grunt, I wouldn't have believed that anything was there at all. I- wait a moment. I'm receiving reports of power fluctuations from other groups. You may lose the lighting there-"
      As if on cue, everything went abjectly dark for a moment. Panic gripped Alisha's heart as she reached up to turn on her helmet light- but before she could, the lights flickered, then came back on, seeming dimmer than before.
      "What the-?!" the medic exclaimed.
      Sin glanced down at her and gasped. The Grunt's body and severed head had vanished, leaving only the small pool of its blood behind as testament that it had ever existed at all.
      "Hell-! Clear and reload!" the Sergeant called out. Alisha immediately yanked the magazine from her weapon and let it drop to the floor, slamming home a fresh one. She picked up the half-empty mag and tucked it into the pouch the new one had occupied before. "Visjla! What the hell happened to the Grunt?!" Marshall demanded.
      The AI's reply seemed confused, which didn't make Alisha feel any better. "I... I don't know, Sergeant. Your video feed was only blanked for two point six seconds, nowhere near enough time for anyone to move the body without leaving some sort of trace. I don't know what to make of your situation, but I advise you to complete your mission as quickly as safety will allow. I do NOT like this situation."
      "Understood. Marshall out." The Sergeant turned. "You heard her, people. Form up!"
      Alisha was quick to comply. This wasn't fun anymore, and Sin wanted it over and done with- the sooner, the better.

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