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Chapter 9: Pearl

As the Domain of Prosperity traversed Slipspace, Oriné ‘Fulsamee prepared himself for duty on the front lines: every day he cleaned his armor, practiced with the weapons available at the armory, and said his prayers with conviction. In the galley he discussed with his fellow Elite Minors what it would be like, how much glory they would win, who would be skilled enough to rise in the ranks and become a Field Master. They laughed and joked and dreamed; veterans of combat looked at them with odd mixtures of emotions, though Oriné could not place the wayward feelings of those Sangheili who had already seen battle. They were neither happy nor angry. He pushed the concern from his head.

In private, he debated strategy with Hada ‘Sobotee. The two of them had grown quite close during their service on the Devil’s Gulag, and it was sometimes difficult for Oriné to remember that his new companion didn’t graduate Institution with him.

“I was born on Joyous Exultation,” ‘Sobotee confided to him once. “I was trained at the facilities located there.”

Oriné cocked his head. “I wasn’t aware of any training facilities on Joyous Exultation.”

At that, ‘Sobotee grinned. “They are small,” he said knowingly, “but they are there.”

When the Domain of Prosperity finally dropped out of Slipspace, Oriné and dozens of other curious Covenant warriors stood on the observation deck looking to catch the first sight of the planet. His eyes were locked on the transparent dome as the black film of Slipspace peeled back and revealed all.

Oriné stiffened. He expected that there would be a raging space battle overhead, orange and blue explosions ripping across the silent black void of space. On the surface he expected a pitched fight, the Covenant fighting for every inch of land and the humans returning their efforts blow for blow. While down there he expected his body and faith to be tried, and to come out alive, a better warrior and follower of the Forerunner for having undergone such a trial.

What he didn’t expect was that among this all, it would be so beautiful.

Pearl, the human world, hung in space like a smoky glass bead, the kind he had seen floating in museums as decorations, held in suspension by a gravity field. In its atmosphere, rings of white clouds twisted around the planet lazily, like a coiled serpent around a coveted treasure. Beneath, fields of browns, blues, whites, and light greens stretched for hundreds of kilometers, streaking the planet in a beautiful conglomeration of color. The dazzling blasts of battle only added to the effect, creating a halo around the unassuming world that left Oriné with a sense of awe. They were here to destroy this?

As the soldiers around him erupted into excited chatter, Oriné released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It was such a breathtaking sight... how could it belong to the vicious humans? Did they not appreciate its immutable splendor, choosing instead to defile it with their presence? Had they no shame?

Or do they know its tender beauty, he wondered, and look upon it as I do now?

He was roughly jostled in the shoulder. Oriné’s head snapped to the side, finding ‘Sobotee looking at him with his usual crooked grin. “We must prepare for deployment,” he said, indicating the crowd’s dispersal. “It would not do for us to be late to our first battle.”

——

Oriné’s stomachs dipped and twisted as the Spirit dropship plunged through the atmosphere. Each prong of the U-shaped craft had four troop compartments in it, enough for an individual warrior and his gear. Held in the forward-most compartment, three Grunts were on his left, all jittering nervously.

A small window was allowed him, and through it the Sangheili could see the thick clouds and not much else. In the other prong ‘Sobotee and three more Unggoy were in a similar position; a radio channel was open from one side of the dropship to the other, as well as to the cockpit, but nobody was speaking. Oriné knew his own reasons were out of fear and nervousness: there had been very little instruction regarding what he was expected to do once planet-side. An Elite Major had only told him and ‘Sobotee to this particular dropship that was heading down to a forward command center just east of a human city. Beyond that, their orders were unclear.

Finally the clouds broke and Oriné was able to see that they were in the middle of a storm of some kind; his visibility was severely limited. When the dropship landed several minutes later and opened its lateral doors, Oriné was confronted for the first time with an unknown weather condition.

“Is this... snow?” He reached out a hand. The multitudinous flakes fell upon it as if they were ravenous carnivores, hoping to consume his clawed digits. The lowest average temperature on Sanghelios was -5°C at the poles, but Lomak was located closer to the equator. He had seen recordings of ice and snow, but never at this magnitude, and never in person.

It was beautiful, sublime. Small glittering crystals held together by the basest bonds of nature. It was cold, yes, but by no means unwelcoming. Swirling around him, he found himself caught up in the simple majesty of it.

His reverie was shattered by the shouting of several voices at once. He looked up to see an Elite Major waving him and his clutch of Grunts over; ‘Sobotee was already there. Jogging up, Oriné saluted. Moments later two additional lances approached the group, similarly beckoned by the ranking Elite.

“Welcome to S’gor Legion, Divine Unit. I wish there was more time for proper introductions,” he said, “but recently the humans have begun a counteroffensive. We must hurry to the Shadow transports. I shall brief you while we are en-route.” The Major took off at a light run, followed closely behind by the four lances.

Shadow transports were armored personnel carriers capable of the same carrying capacity as a Spirit. Oriné and ‘Sobotee climbed onto the same transport, followed by their Grunts, while the other two lances jumped aboard the one in front of theirs, the Major climbing up and jumping in the defense turret of the same one. Ahead and behind other Shadows were loading up with troops. From where he sat, Oriné was unable to tell how many transports were in this convoy.

“The following are the lance assignments: ‘Kalsamee, your lance is First Lance; Olkokee, Second Lance; ‘Fulsamee, Third Lance; ‘Sobotee, Fourth Lance.” Just as the Major finished the list, the Shadow hummed to life, its anti-gravity generators coming online and making the craft hover a foot off the ground. As the convoy began picking up speed the Shadow shook, but the occupants were held tight by the magnetic safety harnesses.

The radio crackled. “Divine Unit, your ears: we are currently bound for the human city of Tropicas. We plan to assault the capital city of this world, Arctana, within the month. However, in order to do that, we must secure a route through the defensive phalanx the humans have set up to halt our progress. They have miles of anti-air and anti-personnel defenses prepared, as well as artillery.

“Tropicas has been under siege for several weeks now, and we believe the humans are finally weak enough for us to punch through. The units already present will be advancing as we speak, but it will ultimately be our job to take the city.”

There was a sudden sound, pulling Oriné’s attention away from the Major’s briefing. Several shapes accelerated past the convoy, barely visible in the snow. For a moment Oriné thought they were Chimeras, the civilian vehicles he had seen on High Charity, but realized his mistake when he saw the mounted plasma cannon on the back. These were Spectres, Chimeras modified for military use.

They must be the convoy’s cover, he rationalized. They would move up and down the length of the Shadows’ train, making sure no hostile vehicles drew close enough to cause any damage.

“Excellency,” Oriné said over the radio channel, “how are we to operate in this weather?”

“He has a point. I can barely see three feet from the Shadow,” ‘Olkokee said.

“It will be difficult,” the Major replied, “but the same is true for the humans as well. We are hoping that the storm will interfere with their artillery targeting and they will not be able to zero us.” Oriné didn’t like the thought of being annihilated by bombardment before he had a chance to fire his weapon.

As the convoy pressed onwards through the blizzard he became aware of an irregular distant thumping. At first he dismissed it as his own hearts beating, but as they grew louder he began to realize it was the sound of battle. The thought was driven home when he caught motion in the sky. A human flying vehicle dropped altitude and buzzed over the formation of vehicles, pursued closely by two Banshees. He heard the sound of plasma as the Spectres opened fire and the excited shouts of his fellow warriors. Unconsciously he gripped his plasma rifle tighter.

The exact cause of the thumping became crystal clear when the ground suddenly exploded several meters away from the Shadow. While the humans’ artillery sighting was indeed being interfered with by the storm, they were still firing into the blizzard, hoping to get lucky. The transport rocked slightly as it passed over the lip of a crater from a previous blast. Within it Oriné could see the broken remains of a Wraith mortar tank, still sparking as its fusion drive sent what little energy it had left to its destroyed systems. The damage was inconsistent with that of an artillery hit, leading him to believe the shell had landed and the tank had advanced and was destroyed by something else. A moment later he saw an inert human Scorpion tank, which he assumed had been the source of the Wraith’s demise.

Eventually buildings began to pass by his view, small ones, but that meant they were now entering the outskirts of the city. A tremble of apprehension flew up his spine. He looked at the windows with a growing anxiety; any one of them could conceal an enemy sniper. Tentatively he brought his rifle up a little higher, ready to open fire at a moment’s notice.

Or so he thought. A second later the staccato clatter of human weapons’ fire filled the air and bullets began ricocheting off the Shadow’s hull. A sniper round buried itself in the metal right next to his head; he cried out in surprise and tried to duck, but was held firmly in place by the magnetic safety harness.

“Shields!” The Major’s voice roared across the radio. Oriné activated his, feeling the crackle of electricity rush up his spine. No sooner had the feeling passed than a lighter caliber round pinged off his shoulder. He felt the impact but no accompanying pain.

The Phantom came to a halt soon after. The turrets on the top turned and began to glow as the plasma coils heated then spat gobs of white-hot plasma into the buildings and alleys. Human fire intensified but was redirected upwards.

Oriné felt the release of pressure on his chest and realized the magnets had been deactivated. The Major jumped from his seat up high and landed beside his Shadow. “Divine! Move forward!” As he began to run towards the nearest building Oriné found his own legs again and automatically charged after him. His muscles expanded and contracted of their own accord. Behind him pounded the footfalls of ‘Sobotee and the Unggoy that had accompanied them.

As they came to the building the other two lances dashed past them and into the neighboring structure. The Major’s voice crackled over the radio: “Third and Fourth Lances, take the nearest building. Clear it out and then do the same to the one across the street.”

‘Sobotee arrived at the door first, raising his hoof and delivering a powerful kick to the metal. It caved under his boot, and his three Grunts, two Minors and a Major, ran into the darkened room. ‘Sobotee followed; Oriné sent his own Grunts in ahead and went in last.

Inside, though the shadows were deep, Oriné saw many tables, chairs, counters, and shelves spread about seemingly haphazardly. Several had been overturned, their peculiar contents spilled across the floor. However there was no time to contemplate their purpose as Oriné heard shouting from upstairs.

Alien shouting.

“What are they saying?” ‘Sobotee asked, waving his Unggoy to the walls.

Oriné listened briefly. The building shook as one of the Shadows in the street turned its turret towards the second story. There was more human shouting, which Oriné recognized as instructions to get clear of the windows. “They are vulnerable.”

“Then we strike now.” ‘Sobotee barked an order, sending his Unggoy scurrying up the stairs. Oriné followed suit, he and his Grunts charging to the second floor. Plasma fire erupted among the surprised cries of the humans who were unprepared to split their attention between the street and their rear. By the time Oriné and ‘Sobotee got up the stairs, the Unggoy had already cleared out the room.

The third story proved to be more difficult as the humans had heard the commotion downstairs and were ready for the Covenant warriors. However, there were fewer of them. Once more the Grunts took the lead, but this time the two Sangheili were quick about getting into the room before the action stopped. When Oriné entered he blazed away with his plasma rifle, but after the two humans lay dead he was unsure if he had actually hit either one.

“Building clear, Excellency,” Oriné said over the radio.

“Move on to the next target,” the Major said. “Leave no human alive.”

The rest of the day was a blur to Oriné, obscured by adrenaline and snow. He and his lance cleared several buildings, Divine Unit in charge of emptying this particular street. As he and his Grunts began to set up barracks in the first building they had cleared, Oriné could not remember any particular details. Had he actually killed a human here? On Devil’s Gulag it had been... different. A one on one fight did not seem to register the same as the battlefield. Here his training took over. There were no words to accurately describe it.

Once the barracks were set up, Oriné descended from the upper levels to the ground floor where ‘Sobotee and his Unggoy were preparing defenses. Already an uplink crate had been set up in the corner and the supply pods stored appropriately. “Hail, Oriné,” ‘Sobotee said upon seeing him.

“Our living quarters are ready,” Oriné said by way of reply.

“The Major will be happy to hear it.”

“How is the battle throughout the rest of the city?”

‘Sobotee fiddled with the plasma cannon. It stood on a tripod, facing out of one of the large bay windows that faced the street. His lance had displaced several tables to make room for the turrets, and by the doors they had deployed inactive covers, waiting to be turned on. When they were, they would throw up a wall of plasma shielding. Against Covenant weapons it held for a while, but against human weapons it was nigh-impervious. Only their primitive explosives could damage the unit and bring it down. “It goes well,” he said. “The Major said we have made more progress than anticipated.”

The ground rumbled and the two Sangheili looked up. A pair of light-reconnaissance Ghosts sped by, followed closely by a Spectre. ‘Sobotee returned his attention to the turret. “They say that further down the line a few squadrons have broken through the human line completely and are already moving towards the capital.”

Oriné nodded. He took a step and stopped as he heard a tinkling sound. Glancing down he saw a human device at his feet. He picked it up and examined it: cylindrical, with a perforated plastic top. The main body seemed to be made of glass. Within he saw many small crystals. Upending it, he poured a few of the crystals into the palm of his hand. They sparkled lightly.

“What do you have there?” ‘Sobotee had finished his work on the cannon and was now interested in his companion’s doings.

“Some device,” he said, moving the crystals around with his finger. He passed it to ‘Sobotee. “I believe these are a delicacy among the humans.”

‘Sobotee sniffed at it tentatively. “How can you tell?”

“It is in such a small container,” he pointed out, “and there are not many of them around.” It was true; the floor was covered in a great deal of detritus from the battle, but few of these containers and some were filled with different substances.

“Is it edible?”

“Perhaps,” Oriné said, “but I would not recommend you try it.”

‘Sobotee nodded, accepting the warning, and tossed the vial aside. It clinked against the ground and rolled for a bit before coming to a stop against an overturned chair. But Oriné’s attention was drawn to the room at large: containers of various sizes rested upon the shelves, though a few of them had been knocked loose during the battle, spilling their contents across the floor.

Posters were on the wall in various places as well. Oriné moved to one and looked at it: there was an image of a human male and female below the words, “Do Your Part: Work a Full Day Every Day.” He frowned and moved to the next: “Your Job Builds Ships!” Beneath it, Oriné saw an illustration of a human battlecruiser against a starry backdrop. Behind it soared a comet.

The third poster he found was obvious in its intent: a human stood holding a smoking rifle over the crudely drawn corpse of a Sangheili. “Enlist Today,” it read, “Be a Hero Tomorrow.” He snorted. As he had suspected: human propaganda.

“Anything important?” ‘Sobotee asked, unable to mask the disinterest in his tone. Oriné shook his head.

With their temporary quarters set up, they radioed the Major and he came a short time later, flanked by the other two lances. They were covered in dirt and grime, and one of the Unggoy was bleeding but not too severely. As the two lances moved upstairs, the Major rendezvoused with Oriné and ‘Sobotee.

“Casualties are far less than expected,” he said. “These humans are poorly equipped for urban fighting.”

“Our sector was cleared with little incident, Excellency,” Oriné reported. “One of my Unggoy suffered a minor concussion, but the Healer proclaimed him to be fine. I ordered him to get some rest to help the healing process.”

The Major looked at Oriné thoughtfully. “Odd that you refer to Unggoy so. Do you respect them, ‘Fulsamee?”

Oriné was caught off guard by the question. “They are... soldiers of the Covenant as am I, Excellency. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The crimson-armored Sangheili gazed a while longer, then clicked his lower mandibles in dismissal. He turned to the other Elite Minor. “Anything to add, ‘Sobotee?”

“My lance had no issues clearing the buildings either, Excellency, and the other units have reported success as well. I estimate that our quarters here are secure for at least three miles around us.”

“That is good news. The Field Officers have set up tactical headquarters at the edge of the city and expect supplies and further reinforcement to be coming in soon.” He glanced outside. The snow was still coming down in a torrent. “Provided we are not buried in our cover here, we should be fine through the night.” Oriné and ‘Sobotee saluted and headed upstairs as the Major located the communications array and radioed in his report.

——

Indeed the most eventful thing of the night was the snow falling. Oriné lay awake in his bunk for a long while watching the precipitate fly past the window. He had reviewed the Covenant’s data on the planet on his Lumidex: the initial scouting party that had found the planet believed it to be on its way out of an Ice Age. It had crossed that boundary into habitable but the weather was still harsh. The humans had given it the name “Pearl” because of its frostbitten appearance.

The report went on but most of it was uninteresting, only observations that were geological in nature and thus completely dull in Oriné’s eyes. However, the Luminary aboard that first scout craft had detected at least one Forerunner object of particular note, otherwise the attack group would have simply glassed the planet and left. The Elite Minor contemplated what could have drawn the Covenant’s attention, but decided such concern was for the Inquisitors.

In the morning, it fell upon them to clear out the entrance, which had been snowed over during the night. The Elites set the Unggoy to work, who were quite excited at the process: their own home world was frigid and icy itself. Such weather was like a breath of familiar air to them.

Inside the Sangheili observed a holographic map of the city, projected by one of the cruisers that had achieved geosynchronous orbit with the planet. It was uncertain when the ship would be forced from its position by the battle raging in the atmosphere (Oriné was surprised at the tenacity with which the humans were defending their planet), so the ground forces were determined to make use of the advantage while they could.

“When the entrance is clear we shall make for the rally point after stopping over at the tactical headquarters for supplies,” the Major said. “From there we can link up with the rest of the main force and proceed through the city. ‘Fulsamee, pack up the barracks; ‘Sobotee, the defenses and the uplink crate; ‘Kalsamee and ‘Olkokee, prepare the Shadows for transport.”

The Minors saluted and set about their tasks. Oriné called his Unggoy in from outside, noting their disappointed faces, and headed upstairs. As he set about disassembling the Sangheili bunks while the Grunts took down the methane tents, Oriné took a moment to check that his personal container was all right. As he pulled it forward it accidentally popped open and he caught sight of the ornate box within.

My nadier, he realized, pulling it out and opening the lid. The two dueling rods sat safely. He had almost forgotten about them while he was stationed on Devil’s Gulag and hadn’t practiced with them at all. Then again, there had been no one to practice against. He wondered if he could find a willing and able participant here.

Soon after the barracks were completely packed up and ready to move out. He led his Unggoy down the stairs and out to the Shadows where the equipment was stowed in the supply pods. Once ‘Sobotee’s load was ready and all the soldiers aboard the vehicles rumbled to life and began moving down the road. Oriné was unfamiliar with the drivers, but listened on the radio as they chatted amiably with some of the other Sangheili.

When they arrived at tactical headquarters the area was already bustling. As the Major disembarked to enter the main building and talk with other Majors and the Zealots leading the charge, Oriné and the other Elite Minors of Divine Unit found their way to the makeshift armory to load up on whatever they needed.

“So you and ‘Sobotee have come from gulag duty?” ‘Kalsamee asked, coming up behind Oriné as he looked for a new battery for his plasma rifle.

“Yes, the Devil’s Gulag.”

“Is it as terrible as all claim it is?”

“How terrible do they claim it?

‘Kalsamee fell silent for a while. The call came to mobilize and they were loaded back onto the Shadows, though this time Oriné finding himself in the same Shadow as ‘Kalsamee. They began talking about lighter subjects, both finding it easy to converse with the other; after all, both were members of different Lineages of the same House, with Oriné from Clan ‘Ful and Ynko (his given name) from Clan ‘Kal.

As they were beginning to discuss their individual survival tales from Jisako, there was a cry of alarm and a massive explosion. The Shadow bucked beneath them and the magnets flickered, almost causing Oriné to lose his seat.

“What was that?”

“There!”

Just two Shadows behind was a smoking crater where one of the transports had been hit by something large and explosive. A moment later there was a whistling sound and another blast; this time, up ahead.

“Artillery! Move to cover!” Immediately the driver of the Shadow deactivated the magnetic safety harnesses and the soldiers sprung from their seat.

“Follow!” Oriné shouted to his Unggoy as they fled for the cover of the nearest building. Shells were raining from the sky, bringing destruction wherever they fell. A moment later a buzzing filled the air as several of the humans’ aerial weapons platforms came low and fired across the groups of warriors scrambling for protection. Fifty millimeter shells pounded up the street.

Oriné recognized the craft from his training as Sparrowhawks, though he hadn’t quite understood their destructive capabilities until he watched a pair of shells punch right through the Shadow. He watched in horror as a warrior tried to move up the street from cover to cover only to be gunned down viciously, half of him collapsing onto the snow and twitching pitifully before he died.

“An ambush,” Oriné breathed. The Unggoy cowered, staying as far away from the windows as possible.

After what felt like an eternity of suffering such a bombardment, though more likely simply a matter of minutes, he heard Banshees overhead. As the sky erupted in flames the twisted wreckage of a Sparrowhawk spun into the top of the building Oriné’s lance was taking cover in. With a shout he and the Grunts cleared out before the entire structure came down. They took cover under the ruins of their former transport.

When the aerial battle died down the Major called Divine Unit from cover. Only a few minor flesh wounds from debris could be found among them, though others hadn’t been so lucky. There was the one half of a warrior that lay in the snow, now stained purple around him, and several others that had been killed in building collapses or the artillery barrage.

“The humans are determined to make us work for every step,” the Major said. “We shall repay them in kind.”

——

The rally point didn’t have explosive shells falling from the sky but it did have a chaos equal to that of the battlefield. As soldiers dashed back and forth making ready the primary offensive wave, Oriné found it hard to keep track of his lance and his unit, making sure the Unggoy stuck with him while simultaneously trying to stay close to the Major.

Once at the command building the Major was drawn into a war council and Oriné forced out, making him wonder why he had bothered following the crimson-armored Sangheili in the first place. Oriné quietly stormed away and was immediately caught up in the controlled chaos of the rally point. Vehicles came to a halt to disgorge supplies and weapons then skated away to retrieve more of the same. Warriors rushed back and forth, outfitting various units with the equipment they’d need to push through the city.

There was a distant rumbling and a cold fear seized Oriné’s stomach: the humans had them zeroed again! But when he saw plumes of dust and smoke rising elsewhere in the city, he calmed down slightly. There was another group making a push through the city and attracting the humans’ attention, drawing their fire away from the massing offensive. He said a prayer for them and kept moving.

At one point he was shanghaied into assisting another unit load up their Shadows with supplies, a distraction he welcomed. It kept him from dwelling too much on his situation: though they were surrounded by allies, had consistent supplies, and were on the advance, Oriné still could not shake the adrenaline from his system. Maybe it was the fact it was his first battle, or the thrill of being on an alien world, but his body was in constant readiness for battle. It was slowly taking its toll on him. If he didn’t find a way to relax, he worried for his mental health as well as his physical.

However, as the group worked, one of them began to sing; the melody quickly caught on, and those who knew the lyrics struck up:

Once I knew a dancing girl
Finest girl in all the world
Her soft skin was light as pearl
When she spun her skirt would curl

Her love was a young Zealot
And when near her he would sweat
For only trouble she beget
Yet each scheme he would abet

When her father did catch on
He would lecture, she would yawn
He would talk from dusk till dawn
And by day’s light she was gone

This young Zealot watched afar
Over time he did not bar
Her return by light of star
For his love would bring them far!

Oriné didn’t know the lyrics, but he happily hummed the tune as the others sang.

Soon after the song ended in a chorus of cheers and bawdy comments, the commanding officers emerged from war council and Oriné was summoned back to his unit. He and the other Elites came to a stop next to their Major, the Grunts crowding in a ring around them.

“Warriors, we shall be moving out soon,” the Major said. “Our objective now is to get through this city.”

“But Excellency,” ‘Kalsamee asked, “were we not to take this entire city?”

“The battle in space grows dire and the Hierarchs are displeased with the slowness of progress on this planet. If we are to take the capital and secure the Forerunner artifact, we must act quickly. The Prophets have spoken, and it is the will of the Gods that this planet be destroyed within a month’s time.”

The Sangheili fell silent. Though haste seemed to be a poor choice of tactic, the will of the Gods could not be spoken against. The Prophets, in their divine wisdom, knew the ways of the Forerunner and could interpret Their Holy Designs.

With their new objective in mind, the four lances climbed onto their two Shadows once more and prepared for a rough ride. The weather having cleared, the humans would have an easier time targeting them with artillery.

As the craft rumbled beneath them, Oriné found himself humming the song.

——

That evening the convoy had once again been stopped by a heavy artillery barrage. As the warriors scrambled for cover for what had to be the third time, the Major’s voice sounded over the radio, informing them that they would be able to make no further progress for the day.

“Lie low where you are,” he said, “and wait for morning. At dawn we shall push forward once more.”

Hearing this, Oriné settled himself into a corner of the building he and his lance had taken cover in. The Unggoy found a space beneath a set of stairs and huddled in it, backs to the wall with weapons facing outward. In the darkening shadows of the building, the small motes of green light at the end of their pistols were becoming more and more visible. In a different situation, Oriné might have ordered them to clip the pistols to their belts in order to preserve secrecy, but as they could be attacked at any time, he decided that it was better to be prepared than remain undetected.

Eventually the light fully faded from the sky and the thunder of the barrage tapered off. The blasts had moved steadily away from the area, the humans sweeping the entire section of the city in hopes of wiping them out. For a while, Oriné allowed himself to relax. No longer zeroed, perhaps they could rest for a time.

Oriné yawned. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until just now. With another glance towards the Unggoy, who had themselves begun to show sign of fatigue, he settled himself further into the corner and allowed his eyelids to droop down.

Some time later, he awoke. At first his mind was still clouded by sleep. How long had he been out? He looked around for some tell of time, but the sky was still full of clouds, obscuring any sort of starlight that he might use. He remembered that Pearl also had a moon, but it too was blocked out by the atmospheric conditions.

Suddenly alertness flooded his mind. Everything was silent. There was no sound made, only a soft and constant hiss of freshly falling snow against the roof and walls outside and the quiet whisper of the wind. In such conditions, he should have been perfectly capable of continued slumber. Something must have woken him.

He looked around, eyes adjusting to the darkness quickly. The Grunts were still huddled together in the corner, but they had all drifted off to sleep like he had. For a moment he cursed them, but realized that he too had drifted off. That had been against protocol.

Oriné strained his ears against the silence. At first he heard nothing, and began thinking that maybe he was simply paranoid. Then a long, lingering creaking noise resounded through the building. He stiffened. It was too deliberate. Slowly and carefully he rose to his feet and removed his plasma rifle from its place of holding on his hip. He dared not move in case he too betrayed his position, but swept his weapon back and forth.

Soon his eyes made out movement in the darkness. It was significantly shorter than him and moved with cautiousness; as it drew closer, he could see more shapes behind it. They moved methodically, sweeping the rooms they passed through with their own weapons. Oriné stepped out of sight, fearing they had night vision aids.

Their footsteps entered the room, and he heard them halt. For a moment, he wondered if his quick movement, but heard a whisper: “Sleepers.”

The Unggoy. They had caught sight of the slumbering Grunts.

Oriné peeked into view and watched as one of the humans slowly approached the creatures. It slung its rifle over its shoulder and drew a glittering metal knife. His eyes went wide. They were going to kill his Unggoy in cold blood as they slept!

Falling back on his training, Oriné mechanically drew his rifle and fired. The bolt of plasma flew straight and true, impacting the back of the human’s helmeted head and sending it crumpling to the floor. Immediately the other humans, of which Oriné counted three, turned and fired on his position. He ducked back and activated his shields, feeling the crackle of energy run up his spine. Properly protected, he moved to engage.

Stepping out into the fire, he felt the bullets ping off his energy shields. The holographic energy display was steadily draining, so he began to duck and weave his way through the fire. As he went he pulled back on the firing contact of the plasma rifle, firing waves of blue energy at his enemy. The first few shots went wide, but he adjusted his aim and fired several bolts into the nearest form. It screamed and fell to its knees, whereupon Oriné kicked with his hoof and struck it in the face. It fell and made no more motion.

A shrill warning sounded in his ears and Oriné realized his shields were nearly drained. He danced backwards, trying to minimize his exposure to the projectiles, but as he did so several green flashes went off and both of the humans’ aim faltered. The Grunts had awoken and come to their senses in time to turn their weapons against their attackers.

Realizing they were outnumbered, the remaining two humans fell back, focusing their fire on the Grunts. The Unggoy screamed as the bullets tore into them; hearing their anguish, Oriné roared.

“Wort wort wort!” he bellowed, the traditional war cry tearing its way through his mandibles before he could think. He charged, barely aware that his shields had not fully recharged, and threw himself into the humans. The first one raised its arms weakly in defense, still burdened by holding its rifle; Oriné simply swatted its hands aside and swung his plasma rifle, cracking the human in the head with it. It fell to the floor and he shot it several times before turning his attention to the remaining human.

Perhaps realizing there was no way to escape, it had fixed a blade to the end of its weapon and stood in what seemed to be a perversion of a warrior’s spear stance. Not one to fight dishonorably, Oriné jumped forward to meet the soldier’s challenge. To its credit it was able to drive off the Sangheili’s first few attempts by thrusting and keeping Oriné moving, but it made the mistake of slashing too wide. The Elite simply stepped into the arc and blocked with his left bracer, the blade sliding harmlessly off the combination of armor and shields. Effectively disarmed, Oriné swiped off the human’s helmet and brought his rifle solidly down on its head. Something warm and wet sizzled on his shields.

His bloodlust faded, leaving him panting in the darkness for breath. Slowly rational thought returned, and Oriné realized he had been operating on a combination of instinct and his training. Though he couldn’t see as well in the dark, he saw dark smudges all over his rifle and hands.

A burning sensation made itself known in his mind. He didn’t feel the numbness he had back on Devil’s Gulag, instead being overwhelmed with... pride. He had met his enemy while disadvantaged and groggy from sleep and still come out the victor.

Gradually he became aware of a chiming in his ears. He keyed his radio. “Report!” the Major was demanding.

“Oriné ‘Fulsamee here,” he responded. “A small human force attempted to neutralize us as we slept.”

“What is the status of your lance?”

Suddenly remembering the Unggoy, Oriné forgot his pride and bounded back into the room where they had taken shelter. Fluorescent blood stained the walls and floor; he heard a voice whimpering and two more trying to calm it.

“One of them is seriously wounded, Excellency,” he said.

“Very well, I am sending a Healer to your location. Good job repelling the humans. We shall be more alert in the future.”

——

Halfway into their third day of pushing through the city, their convoy got hit.

Oriné was fortunate; he had been sitting in the seat of the Shadow, plasma rifle clipped to his hip, testing his shields when the first two rockets screamed out of nowhere. The first one hit the cockpit, killing the driver and destroying the controls. The second slammed into the plasma turret on top and set off a secondary explosion that sheared the craft in two. The magnets failed and Oriné, already caught off guard by the attack, was flung to the snowy ground.

He was dimly aware of the continuing attack, but the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his head kept him from reacting very well. At one point he struggled to get up but found himself too muzzy to manage it. With everything going on he was barely aware of when one of the humans noticed him and began firing at him, hardly able to acknowledge when the bullets started pinging off his shields, when the audio alert blared that his shields were depleted, or when he felt the metal bite into his shoulder. In fact he was so out of it that he scarcely realized when two strong hands seized him by his calves and pulled him into the refuge of one of the buildings.

After that, he blacked out.

When he came to, he found himself propped up against a wall on the inside. Instinctively he tried to sit up, but a burning in his left shoulder held him down. Craning his neck he saw that his pauldron had been removed and a crude but effective bandage made of ripped cloth placed over the wound. Looking around, he saw that at his feet was a chipped bowl filled with water, and next to that fresh cloth.

Oriné let his head roll back to rest against the wall, suddenly noting that his helmet was missing. Clenching his mandibles and closing his eyes, he struggled to recall what had happened, but could only remember patchy things from the battle, then nothing.

“I’m fairly sure I’m not dead,” he muttered, gingerly poking at the bandage with his good hand. “If I were, I imagine this would hurt less.”

“It would probably be warmer in Paradise, too.” Oriné jumped at the voice, but relaxed when he realized it was only ‘Sobotee. The other Elite Minor walked in, carrying with him a small satchel and his plasma rifle. As he knelt at Oriné’s feet next to the bowl, the wounded Sangheili saw clearly the state of his friend’s armor: it was scorched and damaged, with a cluster of small holes in the right breast.

“What happened?”

‘Sobotee set down his satchel and picked up the bowl with his free hand. “We were ambushed,” he said. He aimed his plasma rifle at the floor and fired, creating a glowing hot spot in the concrete. “The humans were waiting for us, having realized what our objective was. They attacked our convoy.” He set the bowl down on the spot, the water within immediately beginning to bubble and steam. ‘Sobotee turned his somber eyes to his friend. “I believe the rest of our unit is dead.”

Oriné felt the numbness return and a slight pressure build behind his eyes. Dead? “Even the Major?”

His companion nodded. “I know that for certain. I saw his body after the battle was finished, lying lifeless in the snow.”

The Major had been killed, as had ‘Kalsamee and ‘Olkokee and all the Unggoy. Once more he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, but left his mandibles loose and let a prayer slip through:

Fear not the darkness
Greater than any night
Forerunner be blessed,
And on the Great Journey
We will reunite.
Die with honor.

‘Sobotee nodded, and remained quiet for a moment. Then he reached forward and slowly removed the bandage from Oriné’s shoulder. The Sangheili winced, but said nothing as ‘Sobotee removed it and, after soaking a piece of cloth in the hot water, replaced it.

Oriné watched him do this. “How do you know the ways of the Healer?”

‘Sobotee was silent for a moment before answering without looking up. “I told you I was raised on Joyous Exultation, did I not?”

“Yes.”

“There are no formal training centers on that planet. I learned what my father and mother taught me before being shipped out to a brief finishing academy. Though my father was quite strict with me in learning the combat disciplines, my mother was able to teach me what she knew of medicine.”

They sat for a while in silence before Oriné shifted uncomfortably. “Where are we now?”

“I dragged you away from the fight as far as I could. We had a few pursuers, but I was able to lose them by going through these buildings.” He smiled. “You are quite heavy, you know, and a pain to carry.”

“Will we meet up with our forces soon?”

At this, ‘Sobotee could only shrug. “We shall look for them when you are better and when this latest storm passes. Until then, it is best we lie low. Here,” he reached back for the satchel and pulled it forth, “I have food.”

Oriné took the meager portion of rations he was offered. “On the gulag, when you spoke about serving on a ship...?”

“Merely the ship that was transporting me from the academy to the gulag,” he replied, beginning to partake of his own share. “For a while its shields were down and some space debris punched through the outer hull. We were in lockdown for a few hours, during which time one of the Elite Majors in charge of maintaining the ship told me of the function.”

The two ate and conversed no more.

——

The next day, Oriné was able to move and the storm had abated enough to allow travel. Rifles brandished, the two Minors ran from cover to cover, pausing to watch for any sign of human snipers. In the distance they could hear the cracks and explosions of battle, though were unsure of how to approach. They were ill-prepared for leaping right into combat.

“Yet where there is battle we shall find allies,” ‘Sobotee said. Oriné had to agree.

Making their way between buildings and across streets was quite harrowing. Adrenaline flooded Oriné’s veins, making him jumpy. Every shadow held an enemy. It was all he could do from snapping and shooting at everything that moved. Were it not for the calming presence of ‘Sobotee, he doubted he could have made it.

When they finally drew close, the two Sangheili found their way to a courtyard and took cover behind the low wall. Peeking over, Oriné saw that there was a large group of human soldiers surrounding a human building, peppering it with automatic fire from a cover point set up just across the street. From within their target building a few bolts of green and blue plasma answered the alien barrage, punctured by a few grenade blasts. Memorizing the enemy’s position, Oriné hunkered back down.

He described the scenario to his companion. “What do we do?”

‘Sobotee thought for a moment. “Grenades to attack them from behind. While they’re distracted we charge through and link up with our brothers trapped within.”

“There are many humans between us and them.”

‘Sobotee raised his rifle and checked the battery. “Then we shall kill them.”

——

Yarna ‘Orgalmee cursed as several rounds tore into the building, several bouncing off the shielding on his helmet. Behind him, a Grunt squeaked as a ricochet pierced its neck. It fell to the ground, writhing, as a second one tried to assist it. From his position behind a staircase, Elite Major Olah ‘Seroumee barked at the Unggoy to get back into position.

“Damn our luck!” Yarna cursed, ducking behind an over-turned table. He looked back at his commanding officer. “How were we to know the humans were sweeping the area?”

Olah leaned out for a better look into the hallway and fired a few shots. Something screamed. “They have been trying to stop our push for some time now, and realized their artillery barrages were ineffective.” Suddenly the Sangheili grimaced. “Run, now.”

Not bothering to question why, Yarna turned and bolted further back into the building while Olah followed and ducked into another hall. A split second later, three grenades landed in the room and exploded, tearing apart the Unggoy left inside. The concussion of the collective blast heaved Yarna off his feet and he landed hard, cursing all the while.

Suddenly he realized he was alone. Glancing around he saw no cover and heard the humans pounding down on him. Sprawled out and his plasma rifle out of reach, he prepared himself for death. He reached back and grabbed a grenade off his belt.

Should I fall, he thought, pulling it tight to his chest, I shall send these demons to Hell as I ascend to Godhood. Just as he mentally recited his own last rites, he heard a sudden ruckus. The sound of plasma rifles and grenade discharges combined with human shouts and cries distracted him from his immediate space long enough for a gloved hand to reach down, seize his collar, and pull him up running.

As Yarna struggled to go from prone to sprinting, he saw the one who had saved him. “By the Rings, Oriné!” The other Sangheili looked at him and gave a quick smile. “You are here? What about...”

“Later,” Oriné said in a clipped tone, turning sharply and jumping out a broken window into an alley between the buildings. As Yarna did the same, the younger Elite Minor tossed a grenade back through the opening. The explosion caused bits and pieces of concrete to shake loose from the building and rain down on them. “How were you caught so unawares?”

Yarna growled. “We hadn’t thought the humans smart enough to actually follow up their barrages with infantry sweeps.”

“Underestimating your enemy is the quickest way to death,” Oriné chided, leading Yarna in a run around to the front of the building. “With great fortune to you, we were in the area trying to link back up with the main force.”

“Who is ‘we,’ Oriné? And you still haven’t told me—”

Suddenly Oriné stopped, and Yarna nearly plowed into his shoulder. He looked past his stationary friend and saw, outside the building and among the bodies of many fallen humans, one Elite Minor had been cornered. Pressed against a wall without any weapon, a single human had him a gunpoint.

Yarna watched as Oriné’s rifle snapped up and fired a single blue bolt. It vaporized half the human’s head. The creature dropped to the ground, still and lifeless. The Sangheili against the wall stared at the body for a second, and then his head turned to the two Minors in the alleyway. His mouth opened as if to greet them, but any words he had planned to say never left his throat.

There was a distant crack and a great plume of blood and mortar exploded into existence as a high-caliber round went right through the unknown Elite’s head and buried itself in the wall, leaving only a neck attached to the previous owner’s shoulders. For a brief, macabre moment the body remained standing, almost seeming to turn towards Yarna and Oriné, but then it collapsed onto its knees and backwards.

Oriné seemed frozen, but Yarna knew the danger. “Sniper!” he shouted, grabbing his friend by the shoulder and pulling him back into the alley. There were three more cracks, and three rounds punched through the stone walls of the buildings but cleanly missed the Sangheili taking refuge there. Yarna tried to catch his breath and cast a glance at his friend. Oriné was perfectly still, the only visible sign of life being the puffs of breath from between his mandibles turning to steam in the cold air. His arms lay limp at his side, plasma rifle in his inert hand.

“Oriné,” Yarna asked, “who was that?”

He was silent for a long time as the snowfall began to intensify. Just as Yarna was about to give up all hope of hearing an answer, Oriné’s head rose slightly. “He was Hada ‘Sobotee,” his voice said, sounding tiny and cracked, “a Healer from Joyous Exultation.”

Description
Chapter 9: Pearl

As the Domain of Prosperity traversed Slipspace, Oriné ‘Fulsamee prepared himself for duty on the front lines: every day he cleaned his armor, practiced with the weapons available at the armory, and said his prayers with conviction. In the galley he discussed with his fellow Elite Minors what it would be like, how much glory they would win, who would be skilled enough to rise in the ranks and become a Field Master. They laughed and joked and dreamed; veterans of combat looked at them with odd mixtures of emotions, though Oriné could not place the wayward feelings of those Sangheili who had already seen battle. They were neither happy nor angry. He pushed the concern from his head.

In private, he debated strategy with Hada ‘Sobotee. The two of them had grown quite close during their service on the Devil’s Gulag, and it was sometimes difficult for Oriné to remember that his new companion didn’t graduate Institution with him.

“I was born on Joyous Exultation,” ‘Sobotee confided to him once. “I was trained at the facilities located there.”

Oriné cocked his head. “I wasn’t aware of any training facilities on Joyous Exultation.”

At that, ‘Sobotee grinned. “They are small,” he said knowingly, “but they are there.”

When the Domain of Prosperity finally dropped out of Slipspace, Oriné and dozens of other curious Covenant warriors stood on the observation deck looking to catch the first sight of the planet. His eyes were locked on the transparent dome as the black film of Slipspace peeled back and revealed all.

Oriné stiffened. He expected that there would be a raging space battle overhead, orange and blue explosions ripping across the silent black void of space. On the surface he expected a pitched fight, the Covenant fighting for every inch of land and the humans returning their efforts blow for blow. While down there he expected his body and faith to be tried, and to come out alive, a better warrior and follower of the Forerunner for having undergone such a trial.

What he didn’t expect was that among this all, it would be so beautiful.

Pearl, the human world, hung in space like a smoky glass bead, the kind he had seen floating in museums as decorations, held in suspension by a gravity field. In its atmosphere, rings of white clouds twisted around the planet lazily, like a coiled serpent around a coveted treasure. Beneath, fields of browns, blues, whites, and light greens stretched for hundreds of kilometers, streaking the planet in a beautiful conglomeration of color. The dazzling blasts of battle only added to the effect, creating a halo around the unassuming world that left Oriné with a sense of awe. They were here to destroy this?

As the soldiers around him erupted into excited chatter, Oriné released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It was such a breathtaking sight... how could it belong to the vicious humans? Did they not appreciate its immutable splendor, choosing instead to defile it with their presence? Had they no shame?

Or do they know its tender beauty, he wondered, and look upon it as I do now?

He was roughly jostled in the shoulder. Oriné’s head snapped to the side, finding ‘Sobotee looking at him with his usual crooked grin. “We must prepare for deployment,” he said, indicating the crowd’s dispersal. “It would not do for us to be late to our first battle.”

——

Oriné’s stomachs dipped and twisted as the Spirit dropship plunged through the atmosphere. Each prong of the U-shaped craft had four troop compartments in it, enough for an individual warrior and his gear. Held in the forward-most compartment, three Grunts were on his left, all jittering nervously.

A small window was allowed him, and through it the Sangheili could see the thick clouds and not much else. In the other prong ‘Sobotee and three more Unggoy were in a similar position; a radio channel was open from one side of the dropship to the other, as well as to the cockpit, but nobody was speaking. Oriné knew his own reasons were out of fear and nervousness: there had been very little instruction regarding what he was expected to do once planet-side. An Elite Major had only told him and ‘Sobotee to this particular dropship that was heading down to a forward command center just east of a human city. Beyond that, their orders were unclear.

Finally the clouds broke and Oriné was able to see that they were in the middle of a storm of some kind; his visibility was severely limited. When the dropship landed several minutes later and opened its lateral doors, Oriné was confronted for the first time with an unknown weather condition.

“Is this... snow?” He reached out a hand. The multitudinous flakes fell upon it as if they were ravenous carnivores, hoping to consume his clawed digits. The lowest average temperature on Sanghelios was -5°C at the poles, but Lomak was located closer to the equator. He had seen recordings of ice and snow, but never at this magnitude, and never in person.

It was beautiful, sublime. Small glittering crystals held together by the basest bonds of nature. It was cold, yes, but by no means unwelcoming. Swirling around him, he found himself caught up in the simple majesty of it.

His reverie was shattered by the shouting of several voices at once. He looked up to see an Elite Major waving him and his clutch of Grunts over; ‘Sobotee was already there. Jogging up, Oriné saluted. Moments later two additional lances approached the group, similarly beckoned by the ranking Elite.

“Welcome to S’gor Legion, Divine Unit. I wish there was more time for proper introductions,” he said, “but recently the humans have begun a counteroffensive. We must hurry to the Shadow transports. I shall brief you while we are en-route.” The Major took off at a light run, followed closely behind by the four lances.

Shadow transports were armored personnel carriers capable of the same carrying capacity as a Spirit. Oriné and ‘Sobotee climbed onto the same transport, followed by their Grunts, while the other two lances jumped aboard the one in front of theirs, the Major climbing up and jumping in the defense turret of the same one. Ahead and behind other Shadows were loading up with troops. From where he sat, Oriné was unable to tell how many transports were in this convoy.

“The following are the lance assignments: ‘Kalsamee, your lance is First Lance; Olkokee, Second Lance; ‘Fulsamee, Third Lance; ‘Sobotee, Fourth Lance.” Just as the Major finished the list, the Shadow hummed to life, its anti-gravity generators coming online and making the craft hover a foot off the ground. As the convoy began picking up speed the Shadow shook, but the occupants were held tight by the magnetic safety harnesses.

The radio crackled. “Divine Unit, your ears: we are currently bound for the human city of Tropicas. We plan to assault the capital city of this world, Arctana, within the month. However, in order to do that, we must secure a route through the defensive phalanx the humans have set up to halt our progress. They have miles of anti-air and anti-personnel defenses prepared, as well as artillery.

“Tropicas has been under siege for several weeks now, and we believe the humans are finally weak enough for us to punch through. The units already present will be advancing as we speak, but it will ultimately be our job to take the city.”

There was a sudden sound, pulling Oriné’s attention away from the Major’s briefing. Several shapes accelerated past the convoy, barely visible in the snow. For a moment Oriné thought they were Chimeras, the civilian vehicles he had seen on High Charity, but realized his mistake when he saw the mounted plasma cannon on the back. These were Spectres, Chimeras modified for military use.

They must be the convoy’s cover, he rationalized. They would move up and down the length of the Shadows’ train, making sure no hostile vehicles drew close enough to cause any damage.

“Excellency,” Oriné said over the radio channel, “how are we to operate in this weather?”

“He has a point. I can barely see three feet from the Shadow,” ‘Olkokee said.

“It will be difficult,” the Major replied, “but the same is true for the humans as well. We are hoping that the storm will interfere with their artillery targeting and they will not be able to zero us.” Oriné didn’t like the thought of being annihilated by bombardment before he had a chance to fire his weapon.

As the convoy pressed onwards through the blizzard he became aware of an irregular distant thumping. At first he dismissed it as his own hearts beating, but as they grew louder he began to realize it was the sound of battle. The thought was driven home when he caught motion in the sky. A human flying vehicle dropped altitude and buzzed over the formation of vehicles, pursued closely by two Banshees. He heard the sound of plasma as the Spectres opened fire and the excited shouts of his fellow warriors. Unconsciously he gripped his plasma rifle tighter.

The exact cause of the thumping became crystal clear when the ground suddenly exploded several meters away from the Shadow. While the humans’ artillery sighting was indeed being interfered with by the storm, they were still firing into the blizzard, hoping to get lucky. The transport rocked slightly as it passed over the lip of a crater from a previous blast. Within it Oriné could see the broken remains of a Wraith mortar tank, still sparking as its fusion drive sent what little energy it had left to its destroyed systems. The damage was inconsistent with that of an artillery hit, leading him to believe the shell had landed and the tank had advanced and was destroyed by something else. A moment later he saw an inert human Scorpion tank, which he assumed had been the source of the Wraith’s demise.

Eventually buildings began to pass by his view, small ones, but that meant they were now entering the outskirts of the city. A tremble of apprehension flew up his spine. He looked at the windows with a growing anxiety; any one of them could conceal an enemy sniper. Tentatively he brought his rifle up a little higher, ready to open fire at a moment’s notice.

Or so he thought. A second later the staccato clatter of human weapons’ fire filled the air and bullets began ricocheting off the Shadow’s hull. A sniper round buried itself in the metal right next to his head; he cried out in surprise and tried to duck, but was held firmly in place by the magnetic safety harness.

“Shields!” The Major’s voice roared across the radio. Oriné activated his, feeling the crackle of electricity rush up his spine. No sooner had the feeling passed than a lighter caliber round pinged off his shoulder. He felt the impact but no accompanying pain.

The Phantom came to a halt soon after. The turrets on the top turned and began to glow as the plasma coils heated then spat gobs of white-hot plasma into the buildings and alleys. Human fire intensified but was redirected upwards.

Oriné felt the release of pressure on his chest and realized the magnets had been deactivated. The Major jumped from his seat up high and landed beside his Shadow. “Divine! Move forward!” As he began to run towards the nearest building Oriné found his own legs again and automatically charged after him. His muscles expanded and contracted of their own accord. Behind him pounded the footfalls of ‘Sobotee and the Unggoy that had accompanied them.

As they came to the building the other two lances dashed past them and into the neighboring structure. The Major’s voice crackled over the radio: “Third and Fourth Lances, take the nearest building. Clear it out and then do the same to the one across the street.”

‘Sobotee arrived at the door first, raising his hoof and delivering a powerful kick to the metal. It caved under his boot, and his three Grunts, two Minors and a Major, ran into the darkened room. ‘Sobotee followed; Oriné sent his own Grunts in ahead and went in last.

Inside, though the shadows were deep, Oriné saw many tables, chairs, counters, and shelves spread about seemingly haphazardly. Several had been overturned, their peculiar contents spilled across the floor. However there was no time to contemplate their purpose as Oriné heard shouting from upstairs.

Alien shouting.

“What are they saying?” ‘Sobotee asked, waving his Unggoy to the walls.

Oriné listened briefly. The building shook as one of the Shadows in the street turned its turret towards the second story. There was more human shouting, which Oriné recognized as instructions to get clear of the windows. “They are vulnerable.”

“Then we strike now.” ‘Sobotee barked an order, sending his Unggoy scurrying up the stairs. Oriné followed suit, he and his Grunts charging to the second floor. Plasma fire erupted among the surprised cries of the humans who were unprepared to split their attention between the street and their rear. By the time Oriné and ‘Sobotee got up the stairs, the Unggoy had already cleared out the room.

The third story proved to be more difficult as the humans had heard the commotion downstairs and were ready for the Covenant warriors. However, there were fewer of them. Once more the Grunts took the lead, but this time the two Sangheili were quick about getting into the room before the action stopped. When Oriné entered he blazed away with his plasma rifle, but after the two humans lay dead he was unsure if he had actually hit either one.

“Building clear, Excellency,” Oriné said over the radio.

“Move on to the next target,” the Major said. “Leave no human alive.”

The rest of the day was a blur to Oriné, obscured by adrenaline and snow. He and his lance cleared several buildings, Divine Unit in charge of emptying this particular street. As he and his Grunts began to set up barracks in the first building they had cleared, Oriné could not remember any particular details. Had he actually killed a human here? On Devil’s Gulag it had been... different. A one on one fight did not seem to register the same as the battlefield. Here his training took over. There were no words to accurately describe it.

Once the barracks were set up, Oriné descended from the upper levels to the ground floor where ‘Sobotee and his Unggoy were preparing defenses. Already an uplink crate had been set up in the corner and the supply pods stored appropriately. “Hail, Oriné,” ‘Sobotee said upon seeing him.

“Our living quarters are ready,” Oriné said by way of reply.

“The Major will be happy to hear it.”

“How is the battle throughout the rest of the city?”

‘Sobotee fiddled with the plasma cannon. It stood on a tripod, facing out of one of the large bay windows that faced the street. His lance had displaced several tables to make room for the turrets, and by the doors they had deployed inactive covers, waiting to be turned on. When they were, they would throw up a wall of plasma shielding. Against Covenant weapons it held for a while, but against human weapons it was nigh-impervious. Only their primitive explosives could damage the unit and bring it down. “It goes well,” he said. “The Major said we have made more progress than anticipated.”

The ground rumbled and the two Sangheili looked up. A pair of light-reconnaissance Ghosts sped by, followed closely by a Spectre. ‘Sobotee returned his attention to the turret. “They say that further down the line a few squadrons have broken through the human line completely and are already moving towards the capital.”

Oriné nodded. He took a step and stopped as he heard a tinkling sound. Glancing down he saw a human device at his feet. He picked it up and examined it: cylindrical, with a perforated plastic top. The main body seemed to be made of glass. Within he saw many small crystals. Upending it, he poured a few of the crystals into the palm of his hand. They sparkled lightly.

“What do you have there?” ‘Sobotee had finished his work on the cannon and was now interested in his companion’s doings.

“Some device,” he said, moving the crystals around with his finger. He passed it to ‘Sobotee. “I believe these are a delicacy among the humans.”

‘Sobotee sniffed at it tentatively. “How can you tell?”

“It is in such a small container,” he pointed out, “and there are not many of them around.” It was true; the floor was covered in a great deal of detritus from the battle, but few of these containers and some were filled with different substances.

“Is it edible?”

“Perhaps,” Oriné said, “but I would not recommend you try it.”

‘Sobotee nodded, accepting the warning, and tossed the vial aside. It clinked against the ground and rolled for a bit before coming to a stop against an overturned chair. But Oriné’s attention was drawn to the room at large: containers of various sizes rested upon the shelves, though a few of them had been knocked loose during the battle, spilling their contents across the floor.

Posters were on the wall in various places as well. Oriné moved to one and looked at it: there was an image of a human male and female below the words, “Do Your Part: Work a Full Day Every Day.” He frowned and moved to the next: “Your Job Builds Ships!” Beneath it, Oriné saw an illustration of a human battlecruiser against a starry backdrop. Behind it soared a comet.

The third poster he found was obvious in its intent: a human stood holding a smoking rifle over the crudely drawn corpse of a Sangheili. “Enlist Today,” it read, “Be a Hero Tomorrow.” He snorted. As he had suspected: human propaganda.

“Anything important?” ‘Sobotee asked, unable to mask the disinterest in his tone. Oriné shook his head.

With their temporary quarters set up, they radioed the Major and he came a short time later, flanked by the other two lances. They were covered in dirt and grime, and one of the Unggoy was bleeding but not too severely. As the two lances moved upstairs, the Major rendezvoused with Oriné and ‘Sobotee.

“Casualties are far less than expected,” he said. “These humans are poorly equipped for urban fighting.”

“Our sector was cleared with little incident, Excellency,” Oriné reported. “One of my Unggoy suffered a minor concussion, but the Healer proclaimed him to be fine. I ordered him to get some rest to help the healing process.”

The Major looked at Oriné thoughtfully. “Odd that you refer to Unggoy so. Do you respect them, ‘Fulsamee?”

Oriné was caught off guard by the question. “They are... soldiers of the Covenant as am I, Excellency. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The crimson-armored Sangheili gazed a while longer, then clicked his lower mandibles in dismissal. He turned to the other Elite Minor. “Anything to add, ‘Sobotee?”

“My lance had no issues clearing the buildings either, Excellency, and the other units have reported success as well. I estimate that our quarters here are secure for at least three miles around us.”

“That is good news. The Field Officers have set up tactical headquarters at the edge of the city and expect supplies and further reinforcement to be coming in soon.” He glanced outside. The snow was still coming down in a torrent. “Provided we are not buried in our cover here, we should be fine through the night.” Oriné and ‘Sobotee saluted and headed upstairs as the Major located the communications array and radioed in his report.

——

Indeed the most eventful thing of the night was the snow falling. Oriné lay awake in his bunk for a long while watching the precipitate fly past the window. He had reviewed the Covenant’s data on the planet on his Lumidex: the initial scouting party that had found the planet believed it to be on its way out of an Ice Age. It had crossed that boundary into habitable but the weather was still harsh. The humans had given it the name “Pearl” because of its frostbitten appearance.

The report went on but most of it was uninteresting, only observations that were geological in nature and thus completely dull in Oriné’s eyes. However, the Luminary aboard that first scout craft had detected at least one Forerunner object of particular note, otherwise the attack group would have simply glassed the planet and left. The Elite Minor contemplated what could have drawn the Covenant’s attention, but decided such concern was for the Inquisitors.

In the morning, it fell upon them to clear out the entrance, which had been snowed over during the night. The Elites set the Unggoy to work, who were quite excited at the process: their own home world was frigid and icy itself. Such weather was like a breath of familiar air to them.

Inside the Sangheili observed a holographic map of the city, projected by one of the cruisers that had achieved geosynchronous orbit with the planet. It was uncertain when the ship would be forced from its position by the battle raging in the atmosphere (Oriné was surprised at the tenacity with which the humans were defending their planet), so the ground forces were determined to make use of the advantage while they could.

“When the entrance is clear we shall make for the rally point after stopping over at the tactical headquarters for supplies,” the Major said. “From there we can link up with the rest of the main force and proceed through the city. ‘Fulsamee, pack up the barracks; ‘Sobotee, the defenses and the uplink crate; ‘Kalsamee and ‘Olkokee, prepare the Shadows for transport.”

The Minors saluted and set about their tasks. Oriné called his Unggoy in from outside, noting their disappointed faces, and headed upstairs. As he set about disassembling the Sangheili bunks while the Grunts took down the methane tents, Oriné took a moment to check that his personal container was all right. As he pulled it forward it accidentally popped open and he caught sight of the ornate box within.

My nadier, he realized, pulling it out and opening the lid. The two dueling rods sat safely. He had almost forgotten about them while he was stationed on Devil’s Gulag and hadn’t practiced with them at all. Then again, there had been no one to practice against. He wondered if he could find a willing and able participant here.

Soon after the barracks were completely packed up and ready to move out. He led his Unggoy down the stairs and out to the Shadows where the equipment was stowed in the supply pods. Once ‘Sobotee’s load was ready and all the soldiers aboard the vehicles rumbled to life and began moving down the road. Oriné was unfamiliar with the drivers, but listened on the radio as they chatted amiably with some of the other Sangheili.

When they arrived at tactical headquarters the area was already bustling. As the Major disembarked to enter the main building and talk with other Majors and the Zealots leading the charge, Oriné and the other Elite Minors of Divine Unit found their way to the makeshift armory to load up on whatever they needed.

“So you and ‘Sobotee have come from gulag duty?” ‘Kalsamee asked, coming up behind Oriné as he looked for a new battery for his plasma rifle.

“Yes, the Devil’s Gulag.”

“Is it as terrible as all claim it is?”

“How terrible do they claim it?

‘Kalsamee fell silent for a while. The call came to mobilize and they were loaded back onto the Shadows, though this time Oriné finding himself in the same Shadow as ‘Kalsamee. They began talking about lighter subjects, both finding it easy to converse with the other; after all, both were members of different Lineages of the same House, with Oriné from Clan ‘Ful and Ynko (his given name) from Clan ‘Kal.

As they were beginning to discuss their individual survival tales from Jisako, there was a cry of alarm and a massive explosion. The Shadow bucked beneath them and the magnets flickered, almost causing Oriné to lose his seat.

“What was that?”

“There!”

Just two Shadows behind was a smoking crater where one of the transports had been hit by something large and explosive. A moment later there was a whistling sound and another blast; this time, up ahead.

“Artillery! Move to cover!” Immediately the driver of the Shadow deactivated the magnetic safety harnesses and the soldiers sprung from their seat.

“Follow!” Oriné shouted to his Unggoy as they fled for the cover of the nearest building. Shells were raining from the sky, bringing destruction wherever they fell. A moment later a buzzing filled the air as several of the humans’ aerial weapons platforms came low and fired across the groups of warriors scrambling for protection. Fifty millimeter shells pounded up the street.

Oriné recognized the craft from his training as Sparrowhawks, though he hadn’t quite understood their destructive capabilities until he watched a pair of shells punch right through the Shadow. He watched in horror as a warrior tried to move up the street from cover to cover only to be gunned down viciously, half of him collapsing onto the snow and twitching pitifully before he died.

“An ambush,” Oriné breathed. The Unggoy cowered, staying as far away from the windows as possible.

After what felt like an eternity of suffering such a bombardment, though more likely simply a matter of minutes, he heard Banshees overhead. As the sky erupted in flames the twisted wreckage of a Sparrowhawk spun into the top of the building Oriné’s lance was taking cover in. With a shout he and the Grunts cleared out before the entire structure came down. They took cover under the ruins of their former transport.

When the aerial battle died down the Major called Divine Unit from cover. Only a few minor flesh wounds from debris could be found among them, though others hadn’t been so lucky. There was the one half of a warrior that lay in the snow, now stained purple around him, and several others that had been killed in building collapses or the artillery barrage.

“The humans are determined to make us work for every step,” the Major said. “We shall repay them in kind.”

——

The rally point didn’t have explosive shells falling from the sky but it did have a chaos equal to that of the battlefield. As soldiers dashed back and forth making ready the primary offensive wave, Oriné found it hard to keep track of his lance and his unit, making sure the Unggoy stuck with him while simultaneously trying to stay close to the Major.

Once at the command building the Major was drawn into a war council and Oriné forced out, making him wonder why he had bothered following the crimson-armored Sangheili in the first place. Oriné quietly stormed away and was immediately caught up in the controlled chaos of the rally point. Vehicles came to a halt to disgorge supplies and weapons then skated away to retrieve more of the same. Warriors rushed back and forth, outfitting various units with the equipment they’d need to push through the city.

There was a distant rumbling and a cold fear seized Oriné’s stomach: the humans had them zeroed again! But when he saw plumes of dust and smoke rising elsewhere in the city, he calmed down slightly. There was another group making a push through the city and attracting the humans’ attention, drawing their fire away from the massing offensive. He said a prayer for them and kept moving.

At one point he was shanghaied into assisting another unit load up their Shadows with supplies, a distraction he welcomed. It kept him from dwelling too much on his situation: though they were surrounded by allies, had consistent supplies, and were on the advance, Oriné still could not shake the adrenaline from his system. Maybe it was the fact it was his first battle, or the thrill of being on an alien world, but his body was in constant readiness for battle. It was slowly taking its toll on him. If he didn’t find a way to relax, he worried for his mental health as well as his physical.

However, as the group worked, one of them began to sing; the melody quickly caught on, and those who knew the lyrics struck up:

Once I knew a dancing girl
Finest girl in all the world
Her soft skin was light as pearl
When she spun her skirt would curl

Her love was a young Zealot
And when near her he would sweat
For only trouble she beget
Yet each scheme he would abet

When her father did catch on
He would lecture, she would yawn
He would talk from dusk till dawn
And by day’s light she was gone

This young Zealot watched afar
Over time he did not bar
Her return by light of star
For his love would bring them far!

Oriné didn’t know the lyrics, but he happily hummed the tune as the others sang.

Soon after the song ended in a chorus of cheers and bawdy comments, the commanding officers emerged from war council and Oriné was summoned back to his unit. He and the other Elites came to a stop next to their Major, the Grunts crowding in a ring around them.

“Warriors, we shall be moving out soon,” the Major said. “Our objective now is to get through this city.”

“But Excellency,” ‘Kalsamee asked, “were we not to take this entire city?”

“The battle in space grows dire and the Hierarchs are displeased with the slowness of progress on this planet. If we are to take the capital and secure the Forerunner artifact, we must act quickly. The Prophets have spoken, and it is the will of the Gods that this planet be destroyed within a month’s time.”

The Sangheili fell silent. Though haste seemed to be a poor choice of tactic, the will of the Gods could not be spoken against. The Prophets, in their divine wisdom, knew the ways of the Forerunner and could interpret Their Holy Designs.

With their new objective in mind, the four lances climbed onto their two Shadows once more and prepared for a rough ride. The weather having cleared, the humans would have an easier time targeting them with artillery.

As the craft rumbled beneath them, Oriné found himself humming the song.

——

That evening the convoy had once again been stopped by a heavy artillery barrage. As the warriors scrambled for cover for what had to be the third time, the Major’s voice sounded over the radio, informing them that they would be able to make no further progress for the day.

“Lie low where you are,” he said, “and wait for morning. At dawn we shall push forward once more.”

Hearing this, Oriné settled himself into a corner of the building he and his lance had taken cover in. The Unggoy found a space beneath a set of stairs and huddled in it, backs to the wall with weapons facing outward. In the darkening shadows of the building, the small motes of green light at the end of their pistols were becoming more and more visible. In a different situation, Oriné might have ordered them to clip the pistols to their belts in order to preserve secrecy, but as they could be attacked at any time, he decided that it was better to be prepared than remain undetected.

Eventually the light fully faded from the sky and the thunder of the barrage tapered off. The blasts had moved steadily away from the area, the humans sweeping the entire section of the city in hopes of wiping them out. For a while, Oriné allowed himself to relax. No longer zeroed, perhaps they could rest for a time.

Oriné yawned. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until just now. With another glance towards the Unggoy, who had themselves begun to show sign of fatigue, he settled himself further into the corner and allowed his eyelids to droop down.

Some time later, he awoke. At first his mind was still clouded by sleep. How long had he been out? He looked around for some tell of time, but the sky was still full of clouds, obscuring any sort of starlight that he might use. He remembered that Pearl also had a moon, but it too was blocked out by the atmospheric conditions.

Suddenly alertness flooded his mind. Everything was silent. There was no sound made, only a soft and constant hiss of freshly falling snow against the roof and walls outside and the quiet whisper of the wind. In such conditions, he should have been perfectly capable of continued slumber. Something must have woken him.

He looked around, eyes adjusting to the darkness quickly. The Grunts were still huddled together in the corner, but they had all drifted off to sleep like he had. For a moment he cursed them, but realized that he too had drifted off. That had been against protocol.

Oriné strained his ears against the silence. At first he heard nothing, and began thinking that maybe he was simply paranoid. Then a long, lingering creaking noise resounded through the building. He stiffened. It was too deliberate. Slowly and carefully he rose to his feet and removed his plasma rifle from its place of holding on his hip. He dared not move in case he too betrayed his position, but swept his weapon back and forth.

Soon his eyes made out movement in the darkness. It was significantly shorter than him and moved with cautiousness; as it drew closer, he could see more shapes behind it. They moved methodically, sweeping the rooms they passed through with their own weapons. Oriné stepped out of sight, fearing they had night vision aids.

Their footsteps entered the room, and he heard them halt. For a moment, he wondered if his quick movement, but heard a whisper: “Sleepers.”

The Unggoy. They had caught sight of the slumbering Grunts.

Oriné peeked into view and watched as one of the humans slowly approached the creatures. It slung its rifle over its shoulder and drew a glittering metal knife. His eyes went wide. They were going to kill his Unggoy in cold blood as they slept!

Falling back on his training, Oriné mechanically drew his rifle and fired. The bolt of plasma flew straight and true, impacting the back of the human’s helmeted head and sending it crumpling to the floor. Immediately the other humans, of which Oriné counted three, turned and fired on his position. He ducked back and activated his shields, feeling the crackle of energy run up his spine. Properly protected, he moved to engage.

Stepping out into the fire, he felt the bullets ping off his energy shields. The holographic energy display was steadily draining, so he began to duck and weave his way through the fire. As he went he pulled back on the firing contact of the plasma rifle, firing waves of blue energy at his enemy. The first few shots went wide, but he adjusted his aim and fired several bolts into the nearest form. It screamed and fell to its knees, whereupon Oriné kicked with his hoof and struck it in the face. It fell and made no more motion.

A shrill warning sounded in his ears and Oriné realized his shields were nearly drained. He danced backwards, trying to minimize his exposure to the projectiles, but as he did so several green flashes went off and both of the humans’ aim faltered. The Grunts had awoken and come to their senses in time to turn their weapons against their attackers.

Realizing they were outnumbered, the remaining two humans fell back, focusing their fire on the Grunts. The Unggoy screamed as the bullets tore into them; hearing their anguish, Oriné roared.

“Wort wort wort!” he bellowed, the traditional war cry tearing its way through his mandibles before he could think. He charged, barely aware that his shields had not fully recharged, and threw himself into the humans. The first one raised its arms weakly in defense, still burdened by holding its rifle; Oriné simply swatted its hands aside and swung his plasma rifle, cracking the human in the head with it. It fell to the floor and he shot it several times before turning his attention to the remaining human.

Perhaps realizing there was no way to escape, it had fixed a blade to the end of its weapon and stood in what seemed to be a perversion of a warrior’s spear stance. Not one to fight dishonorably, Oriné jumped forward to meet the soldier’s challenge. To its credit it was able to drive off the Sangheili’s first few attempts by thrusting and keeping Oriné moving, but it made the mistake of slashing too wide. The Elite simply stepped into the arc and blocked with his left bracer, the blade sliding harmlessly off the combination of armor and shields. Effectively disarmed, Oriné swiped off the human’s helmet and brought his rifle solidly down on its head. Something warm and wet sizzled on his shields.

His bloodlust faded, leaving him panting in the darkness for breath. Slowly rational thought returned, and Oriné realized he had been operating on a combination of instinct and his training. Though he couldn’t see as well in the dark, he saw dark smudges all over his rifle and hands.

A burning sensation made itself known in his mind. He didn’t feel the numbness he had back on Devil’s Gulag, instead being overwhelmed with... pride. He had met his enemy while disadvantaged and groggy from sleep and still come out the victor.

Gradually he became aware of a chiming in his ears. He keyed his radio. “Report!” the Major was demanding.

“Oriné ‘Fulsamee here,” he responded. “A small human force attempted to neutralize us as we slept.”

“What is the status of your lance?”

Suddenly remembering the Unggoy, Oriné forgot his pride and bounded back into the room where they had taken shelter. Fluorescent blood stained the walls and floor; he heard a voice whimpering and two more trying to calm it.

“One of them is seriously wounded, Excellency,” he said.

“Very well, I am sending a Healer to your location. Good job repelling the humans. We shall be more alert in the future.”

——

Halfway into their third day of pushing through the city, their convoy got hit.

Oriné was fortunate; he had been sitting in the seat of the Shadow, plasma rifle clipped to his hip, testing his shields when the first two rockets screamed out of nowhere. The first one hit the cockpit, killing the driver and destroying the controls. The second slammed into the plasma turret on top and set off a secondary explosion that sheared the craft in two. The magnets failed and Oriné, already caught off guard by the attack, was flung to the snowy ground.

He was dimly aware of the continuing attack, but the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his head kept him from reacting very well. At one point he struggled to get up but found himself too muzzy to manage it. With everything going on he was barely aware of when one of the humans noticed him and began firing at him, hardly able to acknowledge when the bullets started pinging off his shields, when the audio alert blared that his shields were depleted, or when he felt the metal bite into his shoulder. In fact he was so out of it that he scarcely realized when two strong hands seized him by his calves and pulled him into the refuge of one of the buildings.

After that, he blacked out.

When he came to, he found himself propped up against a wall on the inside. Instinctively he tried to sit up, but a burning in his left shoulder held him down. Craning his neck he saw that his pauldron had been removed and a crude but effective bandage made of ripped cloth placed over the wound. Looking around, he saw that at his feet was a chipped bowl filled with water, and next to that fresh cloth.

Oriné let his head roll back to rest against the wall, suddenly noting that his helmet was missing. Clenching his mandibles and closing his eyes, he struggled to recall what had happened, but could only remember patchy things from the battle, then nothing.

“I’m fairly sure I’m not dead,” he muttered, gingerly poking at the bandage with his good hand. “If I were, I imagine this would hurt less.”

“It would probably be warmer in Paradise, too.” Oriné jumped at the voice, but relaxed when he realized it was only ‘Sobotee. The other Elite Minor walked in, carrying with him a small satchel and his plasma rifle. As he knelt at Oriné’s feet next to the bowl, the wounded Sangheili saw clearly the state of his friend’s armor: it was scorched and damaged, with a cluster of small holes in the right breast.

“What happened?”

‘Sobotee set down his satchel and picked up the bowl with his free hand. “We were ambushed,” he said. He aimed his plasma rifle at the floor and fired, creating a glowing hot spot in the concrete. “The humans were waiting for us, having realized what our objective was. They attacked our convoy.” He set the bowl down on the spot, the water within immediately beginning to bubble and steam. ‘Sobotee turned his somber eyes to his friend. “I believe the rest of our unit is dead.”

Oriné felt the numbness return and a slight pressure build behind his eyes. Dead? “Even the Major?”

His companion nodded. “I know that for certain. I saw his body after the battle was finished, lying lifeless in the snow.”

The Major had been killed, as had ‘Kalsamee and ‘Olkokee and all the Unggoy. Once more he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, but left his mandibles loose and let a prayer slip through:

Fear not the darkness
Greater than any night
Forerunner be blessed,
And on the Great Journey
We will reunite.
Die with honor.

‘Sobotee nodded, and remained quiet for a moment. Then he reached forward and slowly removed the bandage from Oriné’s shoulder. The Sangheili winced, but said nothing as ‘Sobotee removed it and, after soaking a piece of cloth in the hot water, replaced it.

Oriné watched him do this. “How do you know the ways of the Healer?”

‘Sobotee was silent for a moment before answering without looking up. “I told you I was raised on Joyous Exultation, did I not?”

“Yes.”

“There are no formal training centers on that planet. I learned what my father and mother taught me before being shipped out to a brief finishing academy. Though my father was quite strict with me in learning the combat disciplines, my mother was able to teach me what she knew of medicine.”

They sat for a while in silence before Oriné shifted uncomfortably. “Where are we now?”

“I dragged you away from the fight as far as I could. We had a few pursuers, but I was able to lose them by going through these buildings.” He smiled. “You are quite heavy, you know, and a pain to carry.”

“Will we meet up with our forces soon?”

At this, ‘Sobotee could only shrug. “We shall look for them when you are better and when this latest storm passes. Until then, it is best we lie low. Here,” he reached back for the satchel and pulled it forth, “I have food.”

Oriné took the meager portion of rations he was offered. “On the gulag, when you spoke about serving on a ship...?”

“Merely the ship that was transporting me from the academy to the gulag,” he replied, beginning to partake of his own share. “For a while its shields were down and some space debris punched through the outer hull. We were in lockdown for a few hours, during which time one of the Elite Majors in charge of maintaining the ship told me of the function.”

The two ate and conversed no more.

——

The next day, Oriné was able to move and the storm had abated enough to allow travel. Rifles brandished, the two Minors ran from cover to cover, pausing to watch for any sign of human snipers. In the distance they could hear the cracks and explosions of battle, though were unsure of how to approach. They were ill-prepared for leaping right into combat.

“Yet where there is battle we shall find allies,” ‘Sobotee said. Oriné had to agree.

Making their way between buildings and across streets was quite harrowing. Adrenaline flooded Oriné’s veins, making him jumpy. Every shadow held an enemy. It was all he could do from snapping and shooting at everything that moved. Were it not for the calming presence of ‘Sobotee, he doubted he could have made it.

When they finally drew close, the two Sangheili found their way to a courtyard and took cover behind the low wall. Peeking over, Oriné saw that there was a large group of human soldiers surrounding a human building, peppering it with automatic fire from a cover point set up just across the street. From within their target building a few bolts of green and blue plasma answered the alien barrage, punctured by a few grenade blasts. Memorizing the enemy’s position, Oriné hunkered back down.

He described the scenario to his companion. “What do we do?”

‘Sobotee thought for a moment. “Grenades to attack them from behind. While they’re distracted we charge through and link up with our brothers trapped within.”

“There are many humans between us and them.”

‘Sobotee raised his rifle and checked the battery. “Then we shall kill them.”

——

Yarna ‘Orgalmee cursed as several rounds tore into the building, several bouncing off the shielding on his helmet. Behind him, a Grunt squeaked as a ricochet pierced its neck. It fell to the ground, writhing, as a second one tried to assist it. From his position behind a staircase, Elite Major Olah ‘Seroumee barked at the Unggoy to get back into position.

“Damn our luck!” Yarna cursed, ducking behind an over-turned table. He looked back at his commanding officer. “How were we to know the humans were sweeping the area?”

Olah leaned out for a better look into the hallway and fired a few shots. Something screamed. “They have been trying to stop our push for some time now, and realized their artillery barrages were ineffective.” Suddenly the Sangheili grimaced. “Run, now.”

Not bothering to question why, Yarna turned and bolted further back into the building while Olah followed and ducked into another hall. A split second later, three grenades landed in the room and exploded, tearing apart the Unggoy left inside. The concussion of the collective blast heaved Yarna off his feet and he landed hard, cursing all the while.

Suddenly he realized he was alone. Glancing around he saw no cover and heard the humans pounding down on him. Sprawled out and his plasma rifle out of reach, he prepared himself for death. He reached back and grabbed a grenade off his belt.

Should I fall, he thought, pulling it tight to his chest, I shall send these demons to Hell as I ascend to Godhood. Just as he mentally recited his own last rites, he heard a sudden ruckus. The sound of plasma rifles and grenade discharges combined with human shouts and cries distracted him from his immediate space long enough for a gloved hand to reach down, seize his collar, and pull him up running.

As Yarna struggled to go from prone to sprinting, he saw the one who had saved him. “By the Rings, Oriné!” The other Sangheili looked at him and gave a quick smile. “You are here? What about...”

“Later,” Oriné said in a clipped tone, turning sharply and jumping out a broken window into an alley between the buildings. As Yarna did the same, the younger Elite Minor tossed a grenade back through the opening. The explosion caused bits and pieces of concrete to shake loose from the building and rain down on them. “How were you caught so unawares?”

Yarna growled. “We hadn’t thought the humans smart enough to actually follow up their barrages with infantry sweeps.”

“Underestimating your enemy is the quickest way to death,” Oriné chided, leading Yarna in a run around to the front of the building. “With great fortune to you, we were in the area trying to link back up with the main force.”

“Who is ‘we,’ Oriné? And you still haven’t told me—”

Suddenly Oriné stopped, and Yarna nearly plowed into his shoulder. He looked past his stationary friend and saw, outside the building and among the bodies of many fallen humans, one Elite Minor had been cornered. Pressed against a wall without any weapon, a single human had him a gunpoint.

Yarna watched as Oriné’s rifle snapped up and fired a single blue bolt. It vaporized half the human’s head. The creature dropped to the ground, still and lifeless. The Sangheili against the wall stared at the body for a second, and then his head turned to the two Minors in the alleyway. His mouth opened as if to greet them, but any words he had planned to say never left his throat.

There was a distant crack and a great plume of blood and mortar exploded into existence as a high-caliber round went right through the unknown Elite’s head and buried itself in the wall, leaving only a neck attached to the previous owner’s shoulders. For a brief, macabre moment the body remained standing, almost seeming to turn towards Yarna and Oriné, but then it collapsed onto its knees and backwards.

Oriné seemed frozen, but Yarna knew the danger. “Sniper!” he shouted, grabbing his friend by the shoulder and pulling him back into the alley. There were three more cracks, and three rounds punched through the stone walls of the buildings but cleanly missed the Sangheili taking refuge there. Yarna tried to catch his breath and cast a glance at his friend. Oriné was perfectly still, the only visible sign of life being the puffs of breath from between his mandibles turning to steam in the cold air. His arms lay limp at his side, plasma rifle in his inert hand.

“Oriné,” Yarna asked, “who was that?”

He was silent for a long time as the snowfall began to intensify. Just as Yarna was about to give up all hope of hearing an answer, Oriné’s head rose slightly. “He was Hada ‘Sobotee,” his voice said, sounding tiny and cracked, “a Healer from Joyous Exultation.”