Différences entre les versions de « Halo : The Rubicon Protocol/Extraits »

“Stone, get those lifeboats deployed now!” Palmer's voice rang sharp in her ears.

“On the last load out, Commander. We've got a total of four seats open.”

“They'll never make it. I'm diverting them to Bay Ten. And watch your tail. It's a mess out there.”

“Roger that.”

A metric ton of titanium support beam pressed on Spartan Bonita Stone's armor-clad shoulders as she held up the corridor ceiling from collapsing. Her muscles burned. Pressure built in her chest, her heart working overtime to process the massive surge of adrenaline flowing through her system. Amid the smoke billowing in the passageway twenty meters ahead, a friendly was making his way to the lifeboats behind her. Infinity shuddered again. Power cables and plating fell and sparked and the giant beam she held aloft shifted. Her stance dropped another fifteen centimeters, putting incredible strain on her thighs and knees.

“How… much… farther?” She squeezed her eyes closed and gritted her teeth.

“Nineteen meters,” Ouco, her personal AI, replied.

Stone cracked her eyes open, dialing in on the shadowy figure emerging from the haze. It was a young medic, stumbling and coughing, then suddenly falling to his knees as he gagged on the acrid white smoke of melting cables and circuitry. “Get up!” she shouted. Her muscles began to tremble from fatigue; she'd have to release the beam soon. “Get your ass up right now! If I can hold this damn beam, you can stand! One foot in front of the other!”

“I'm trying,” he gasped, barely audible, as a massive fiber-optic cable fell through the broken ceiling, hitting the floor next to him. Several meters behind him, the passageway blew apart and red fragments of what looked like a Banished Seraph tore through Infinity's hull.

The vacuum of space began to pull smoke and fire and debris. Horrified, the medic scrambled to his feet and ran straight for her. As soon as he slid clear under her arm, Stone ducked and pushed herself backward. The beam immediately slammed into the deck. Quickly she turned, took two steps, grabbed the kid by the arm, and raced toward the lifeboat bay, sealing the doors once they were inside.

Only two escape craft remained. Stone pushed the medic toward the lifeboat with one vacant seat left and then paused. Orders were orders and the chain of command had to be respected at all times, but there were still three empty seats in the second lifeboat and hundreds if not thousands of Infinity's crew still stuck on board. Reports continued to pour in via Spartan Channel, TEAMCOM, the battlenet… So many continued to fight their way throughout the massive UNSC flagship, or were already out there in fighters, hounding the Banished.

The heavy thunder of Infinity's 70mm autocannons and Scythe turrets echoed relentlessly as the vessel's super-heavy magnetic accelerator cannons fired tungsten projectiles that could tear clean through an enemy warship in a single shot. Amid the weapons' constant clamor, the ship-wide PA system continued issuing evacuation directives, revising which areas to go to, and which lifesaving measures hadn't yet been destroyed by the Banished fleet. Dozens of alarms blared through the ship until everything sounded like one gigantic sustained roar.

“Spartan Stone!” A lone marine had finished ushering the medic into the first lifeboat, distress clear in her face as she met Stone's gaze. It was time to go.

Stone glanced once more down the corridors, one way now sealed and the other an impassable tangle of twisted metal and fire.

No one else was coming. No one else could.

After the first lifeboat's door sealed, Stone stepped onto the small loading platform and ducked into the second lifeboat, ignoring the sour knot in her stomach and trying to keep her focus on the now versus what she was leaving behind. She closed the hatch and strode down the aisle toward the pilot's seat. “Buckle up tight. And when I say brace, you brace. Got it?”

The response was lackluster. The five faces staring at her were pale and streaked with soot. All the passengers were dressed in standard-issue marine coveralls, a corporal among them.

“We'll be hitting the ground in a war zone. Once we land, weapons ready. I'll debark first.” They continued gazing at her. “Hey!” She slammed a fist against the bulkhead, making them jump. “The Banished have taken our ship, our home, and our people. You gonna stand for that?” A few heads shook and backs suddenly went a little straighter. “Well?”

“Hell, no,” the corporal piped up, and then others murmured in agreement.

“That's right. Hell. No.”

Angry, Stone slid all four hundred kilos of her TRAILBLAZER-class GEN3 Mjolnir armor into the pilot's seat—no easy feat, but there was just enough room to maneuver.

“Link established,” Ouco said. “Ready for your input, Spartan Stone.”

It was times like these that she appreciated her choice of personal AI. Ouco's steady personality and calming baritone had a knack for setting her at ease no matter the situation. “Initiate auto escape and evasion routine.”

“Initiating now.”

Behind her, the cabin was eerily quiet. Five souls in her care and nine in the other lifeboat were counting on her to get them through hell in the sky and onto the surface of Zeta Halo.

She opened a channel to the companion lifeboat: “Papa Tango Delta Zero Nine, this is Echo India Bravo Zero Eight, copy?”

“Papa Nine, copy. Reading you loud and clear, Echo Eight.”

Wait. She knew that easy drawl. “Murphy… is that you?”

The lieutenant and Pelican pilot, well-known among Spartan ranks, should have already been deployed, but should-haves didn't really apply to their current situation. The UNSC Infinity dropping out of slipspace smack into a Banished ambush had made navigating certain parts of the vessel impossible. She should know; she should be accelerating to the surface in a drop pod right about now.

“Yeah, lost my ride. Whole damn hangar is gone.”

Another blast rocked the ship, the shockwave vibrating through the lifeboat hull as its docking clamps released.

“Roger that,” she replied somberly. “Stay glued to my six. We're going to do this together. Sending landing trajectory. Once we're down, we'll be in the thick of it. Get your folks out, find cover, and then wait for me.”

“Music to my ears. Will do. Murphy out.”

Stone had a wealth of experience when it came to endless war and incursions into uncharted hostile territories; she'd seen her fair share of shocking, unforgettable things, but what she was feeling now was altogether new. That they were abandoning ship—and not just any ship—seemed unreal. Infinity was the United Nations Space Command's pride and joy, its flagship, a technologically advanced monster on every front. She wasn't supposed to falter.

And yet, she had.

Infinity had set out on a high-risk mission to stop the rogue AI, Cortana, who had taken control of Zeta Halo and was using it as a base of operations. When they arrived, however, they didn't just find the ancient ringworld—they found the Banished. The captain's steady voice still echoed in her head: “Captain Lasky to all hands. Banished forces are present above the ring—repeat, Banished forces are between us and our target. All stations engage Banished craft. Infinity, we must reach our target.”

And soon after, Commander Sarah Palmer's orders cracking over the ship-wide intercom: “Spartans, all teams! You heard the captain. It's an ambush. Somehow the Banished beat us to the target. Your orders are simple. Eliminate hostiles with extreme prejudice!”

“Locks released. Thrusters online,” Ouco informed her as the lifeboat drifted from its docking clamps and its thrusters executed a burst to send them away from Infinity's hull.

The lifeboat, an SKT-29 Bumblebee, wasn't equipped for offense or even that much defense; its sole purpose was to propel fleeing personnel down to a surface like an armor-plated bullet.

If they weren't picked off by the Banished first… .

Her TEAMCOM channel continued to provide live audio of Fireteam Shadow's activities. Shadow One barked through the speaker: “Kovan, report!”

While Stone and Kovan had orders to evac, the other two members of Fireteam Shadow stayed in the thick of things. A quick look at her display showed them hunkered down in Infinity's primary hangar bay, holding off the Banished incursion with Fireteam Taurus, who now appeared to be breaking off to begin their descent to the surface of the ring.

“This is Kovan,” a calm voice replied. Leave it to Nina Kovan to sound as even-keeled as ever. “Approaching drop pod now.”

“Good. Those Banished artillery guns are picking off our lifeboats and drop pods as soon as they enter lower atmosphere. Once you hit dirt, you know what to do.”

“En route now, Shadow One,” Stone informed him.

“See you both on the surface,” he replied, and cut transmission. “Hey, Kovan,” Stone said, finally getting a good look at what they were facing as the lifeboat moved away from the ailing ship. “Remember running the HIVEMIND trials on Anvil Station?”

“How could I forget?”

“Factor it by a thousand and this is it.”

A collision alert blared through the lifeboat as they cleared Infinity's port side, cutting off Kovan's reply. A UNSC Longsword starfighter streaked past, nearly clipping their bow as it swooped up under Infinity's hull and hooked a hard left, rotary cannons blazing.

“Initiating final burst,” Ouco said.

The push sent the craft into open space, giving Stone an expansive look at the mayhem. Explosions, weapons fire, plasma blasts, and artillery peppered the space all around them as Infinity and her support ships gave everything they had. Broadswords, Pelicans, and Longswords crisscrossed space in an effort to take out Banished Seraphs, Phantoms, and Grievers and provide support to lifeboats, drop pods, and troop carriers streaming from Infinity while the flagship's escort frigates maneuvered to inflict maximum damage to Banished warships.

Witnessing the Banished force firsthand, the sheer number… she hadn't seen anything like this since the end of the Covenant War. Stone wondered what the hell the Banished were doing here. Except for those aboard Infinity, the UNSC's mission was—or should have been—virtually unknown. They were attempting to unseat Cortana from her place of power and eliminate the oppressive threat of her forces spread throughout the Orion Arm, something that had cost countless lives over the last year. But now a massive Banished fleet hung in the space between them and the ring, and their chances for even surviving this operation, no less completing it, were plummeting dramatically.

There was a very real risk of getting hit by friendly fire just as much as enemy fire, and while she had the advantage of faster reflexes and response times than most pilots and could use the lifeboat's thrusters to push the tiny vessel to its limits, in a war zone like this they'd be lucky to make it into the atmosphere in one piece. Collision alerts and modifications came at Stone with lightning speed as, outside the craft, escape shuttles and drop pods exploded or took hits that sent them spinning into others or spiraling out into deep space. And while Fireteam Windfall was using their aerial expertise to provide support, it was literal pandemonium in the skies. Spartan Vedrana Makovich lit up Stone's comms. “Hey, Stone, you've got a Phantom coming in fast at nine o'clock!”

“Thanks, Mako. I see it.” And she also saw a way out. Four hundred meters ahead, an enemy dreadnought lay powerless with a gaping hole in its midsection, the victim of a direct hit from Infinity's MAC rounds. They'd already accelerated to ninety-five meters per second and gaining. No time to apply the brakes—not that she'd use them anyway. Burning up the single-use brakes now meant they wouldn't have them later to slow down for landing.

Murphy's voice cut through the din of her comms: “They've got a lock on us!”

“Stay on course, Murphy.”

“Wait. We're not… Stone, you've got to be—”

The lifeboat shot inside the dreadnought, breaking through debris and plating, its reinforced armor like a battering ram— smaller and tougher than the Phantom following them.

“Jesus,” Murphy's rattled voice echoed as both lifeboats exited the damaged vessel intact, the Phantom lost somewhere behind them.

“It's not over yet,” she said. “Entering upper atmosphere. Hold on.”

One hundred and twenty meters per second now.

Stone glanced out the viewport. Thousands of pods and life-boats, shuttles and ships, and damaged vessels and debris streaked on parallel trajectories toward the surface of a colossal, artificially constructed alien ring designed to both harbor life and destroy it on a galaxy-wide scale. Its inner habitable surface glowed invitingly and deceptively in the darkness of space with familiar tones of blue, green, and white.

Stone kept watch on her readouts, and listened to the channels. A cacophony of voices came through TEAMCOM, while TACCOM was constantly updating intel. As far as she could tell, Captain Lasky and the bridge crew seemed to be in good hands. And Fireteam Taurus along with the other members of Fireteam Shadow had already abandoned ship.

She counted down kilometers in her head; impact was going to be a real bitch.

Lower atmosphere now and the surface of the ring was coming up fast, that ribbon of blue and green getting wider and wider… “Brace for impact!”

“Stone!” Murphy yelled. “We've been hi—” The audio filled with static.

She searched for the companion lifeboat through the viewport, not seeing anything. “Hang in there, Murphy!” Then she saw it, spinning out of control, coming in at her two o'clock, the back section completely gone.

“Brace—brace—brace—” the automated system warned as clouds swept past the windshield.

“Bracing positions!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Landfall on the ring in five seconds!”

Those five seconds happened in an instant.

The lifeboat slammed into the ground at a steep angle with an earsplitting boom. The impact threw her hard against the harness, and then immediately in the opposite direction, her head snapping back and shoulders plowing into the pilot's seat, breaking its frame. As the crashed lifeboat cut a vicious path through the earth, it shook so hard that even with her Spartan augmentations, it was difficult to focus or do anything but hold on to the harness.

“Ouco… speed,” she managed.

“Forty meters per second.”

The console in front of her suddenly spit out sparks and went black along with the cabin lights, putting them in complete darkness.

“Twenty.”

The lifeboat rapidly slowed, finally coming to a stop.

The sudden absence of motion after the chaos of the past several minutes felt strangely surreal. Stone turned in the broken seat. “Sound off, marines!”

“We're good, Spartan Stone,” came a female reply. “Bumps and bruises, not much else.”

“Copy that.” A miracle everyone had survived. Then again, the day was still young.

With that thought, Stone disengaged her harness and pushed herself to her feet. Her muscles felt sluggish and fatigued from holding up the support beam. Diagnostics were showing some tissue damage in both shoulders, thighs, and one knee. At least she didn't feel any pain. Yet.

Her helmet light flared through the passenger cabin, beaming on the five occupants, all relatively unharmed; an incredible relief. “Soon as I blow the hatch,” she said, “we fan out in pairs. The ring's already crawling with Banished. Be ready for anything.”

They got up slowly, filing behind her as she disengaged the door release. Daylight flooded inside. Stone unshouldered her M395 rifle, already scanning the area for potential threats as she poked her head outside. No targets in the direct vicinity, but she knew that wouldn't last for long—the area just beyond the boulder-strewn ledge was lit up with signs of heavy fighting.

She left the lifeboat, making sure everyone was out before heading to the edge of the rocks to get a visual on their surroundings. Behind them, a wide grassy plateau led to rocky foothills and hundreds of acres of high alpine forest that stretched right up to the base of a massive snowcapped mountain range.

In the sky, drop pods, evac craft, troop carriers, and burning debris rained down toward the surface like meteors, impacts shaking the ground and filling the air with constant thunder.

“Whoa,” one of the marines marveled, having followed her. She glanced down. “You all right, marine?”

“Yeah. Just… for all the trouble these things are supposed to cause, I guess I never thought the surface of the ring would look so… beautiful.”

Her brow lifted.

That was certainly one way of looking at it. It was on the tip of her tongue to be sarcastic, but she let him have the moment. It wouldn't be long before he'd forget about the idyllic scene and all he'd be able to see and remember would be the brutality of war.

The first glimpse of the Mortal Reverie struck Lucas with awe. He paused along the mountainous ridgeline with the rest of the team. He was no expert, but it seemed like a good location, dominating the end of a pass littered with a few sparse grass patches and thin alpine trees clinging to loose soil, rocky outcroppings, and strange hexagonal stacks of Forerunner alloy that rose from the ground in groups and seemed to slowly shift and adjust. They were still several klicks away, according to Murphy, but from their higher position on the ridge, their view was unobstructed.

The frigate lay at the edge of an unnatural cliff where a fracture had split part of the mountainous area in two, her bow hanging over the open chasm. Her center was buckled and part of her belly had lodged deep into the landscape, as though she'd hit the ground hard and fast, plowing her way through to the very precipice.

The overwhelming relief at seeing her weakened his legs and actually hurt his chest; after what had happened in the woods, Lucas was surprised he could feel anything at all. Despite his cuts and bruises and exhaustion, the entire journey he'd been feeling numb and dumbfounded that their small crew had actually made it out alive while others more trained and able had not.

Survivor's guilt settled firmly into place as he remembered each loss from the moment Infinity had been attacked.

Spartan Horvath followed on the heels of those memories, and Lucas wondered if the lifeboat's would-be rescuer had survived the ring's destruction, if he continued to search for them, if he'd found the empty shuttle, or had met a terrible fate at the hands of Banished patrols and scavengers.

Jo stopped next to him, interrupting the direction of his maudlin thoughts. The petty officer was extremely pale and gaunt. Everything about him shouted that he was done, mentally and physically. Some of the intense shock of the brutal forest attack had worn off, and they'd washed away as much Jackal blood as they could without wasting too much water, but traces of purple still clung dark and crusty in the crevices of Jo's skin and stayed dried on his clothes. His dark eyes were lost, dazed, consistently red-rimmed.

“Surprised we made it,” he remarked in a flat tone.

Lucas plastered a hopeful expression on his face even though he too wasn't feeling especially bright. “It's going to be good,” he said as they continued walking, Bender and Dimik ahead of them, Murphy and Cam behind. Spartan Stone was keeping pace at the head of the pack and Spartan Kovan was more visible this time, following Murphy but keeping to the higher rocks. “We'll regroup, you know? Clean up, shave, finally sleep without looking over our shoulders all the time, eat warm food… things will turn around.”

Jo snorted. “It'll be a miracle if we survive. We're scattered and outnumbered… and we don't even know when or if help is coming.”

Lucas didn't know how to respond to that, mostly because deep down, he couldn't argue with Jo's logic.

They went a few more steps before Jo said, “I'm sorry. I'm just being realistic—to a fault, I know. And trust me, I've heard it my entire life. No one likes to hear the truth or look at the world through unfiltered lenses. I don't like it either,” he said hoarsely, “I hate it—I hate… this. But—”

“It's not in your nature to sugarcoat things. That's why you're good at what you do. Just the facts, right?”

Jo glanced over and Lucas was surprised to see that his eyes had grown glassy and his mouth was spread into a thin, grief-stricken line. He dipped his head, grateful to be understood. “Right.” An errant tear slipped down his cheek, carving a clean trail through days of dirt, smoke, sweat, and blood. “So, what's left to hold on to for a person like me?” He laughed and wiped it away. “I hate this goddamn place.”

The true weight of what Jo was going through hit Lucas hard. Jo didn't want to feel the way he did—who would? But if you lived in the land of raw facts and unbiased odds—if that was just part of your DNA—then it sure was going to be a struggle to find hope amid the chaos and grief and the constant stresses of war.

Lucas's training had included PTSD, of course. But seeing it firsthand over the past few days had made him realize how unprepared he was to be the effective medical figure everyone needed him to be. At twenty-five, he was the youngest one on the crew and at times felt like he had no business helping anyone at all.

He hadn't realized he'd stopped walking again while Jo continued without him.

A tight sensation squeezed Lucas's chest. He was familiar with this feeling—the anxiety that came from questioning his worth, whether he was good enough to make a difference, to survive. Imposter syndrome, they called it. All he'd ever wanted to do was save people, and right now he certainly didn't think he had what it took.

And also right now, just like Jo, he wasn't sure if that was even possible in the end.

The air was thinner up here and cooler, grayer. Lucas drew it deeply into his lungs and released it slowly, attempting to push out the doubts. No matter the outcome, he'd do what he could, ease pain and suffering, offer a shoulder to cry on. A little attention and comfort could go a long way—he'd seen it up close, knew it to be true after growing up in a house full of nurses and caregivers. He'd focus on those things and take it one step at a time. And leave the big-picture worries for the ones in charge.

“You all right?” Murphy asked, catching up to him. “You've stopped twice.”

Murphy was just as dirty and beaten and exhausted as the rest of them, yet through the busted lip and scruff, the nasty bruise under his left eye, the deep claw marks on the side of his neck that continued to ooze blood, and the weight of the pack he carried, he still managed to project an aura of ease. And always that slight quirk to his mouth or humorous glint in his eyes.

It struck Lucas how much the lieutenant reminded him of his father—probably the worst realization to have when he was already swimming in emotions. He swallowed that line of thought down real quick. “Nothing's wrong. Just… I don't know, thinking, I guess.”

Murphy eyed him for a long second. “Take my advice and save the thinking for later after you've had some time to rest, okay?” He clapped him on the shoulder and gave a small squeeze.

Lucas responded with a nod of appreciation, then turned his attention to Cam as he approached. “How's the knee today?”

“It's looking forward to getting into Reverie's med bay.” Cam actually cracked a smile and continued walking, more positive than he'd been in days.

“Come on, Doc,” Murphy said. “Chin up. The Reverie is waiting.”

The Reverie is waiting.

And that was the best damn thing he'd heard in a very long time.

Spartan Horvath sat on the hillside, staring at the smoke curling up from the basin, his helmet resting in the grass beside him. Gorian, as he'd come to know the Brute's name, must have caught a couple of snakes or birds to tide him over, and started up a campfire.

It had taken two days, but together they'd finally succeeded in leveraging the starboard side of the Phantom about twelve centimeters out of the mud with a couple substructure beams gathered from the edge of the island. It was enough to start digging around the sentinel. Dead tired and needing a break from the constant vigil of watching his back, Horvath had hiked out of the wetlands and high into the hills.

From this vantage point, the view stretched clear to the edge of the island and out into space, where only a few pinpricks of starlight flickered in the blackness. There wasn't much out there—which worried him more than he'd care to admit. He'd made this hike a few times now, sitting on the hill and wondering just how isolated they were in the galaxy.

As far as Christmas Eves went, this wasn't the worst one he'd spent, though it might just be the loneliest. Plus, he was pretty sure Gorian hadn't even gotten him a gift.

Horvath scratched his growing beard as memories of Fireteam Intrepid filled his mind, sitting in the lounge on S-Deck with the team, toasting the holiday, talking shit, making stupid bets, planning their next prank. They were chaos-makers on and off the job, and he'd loved every minute of it.

Unsettled, he donned his helmet and headed down the hillside. Might as well see how much he could poke the Brute and liven up the holiday.

Gorian sat on an empty supply crate in front of the fire, his massive black shoulders slumped forward. A large plucked bird hung over the flames, suspended from a limb balanced on two tripods, while a couple thorned snake heads and skins lay at the edge of camp. Horvath kicked one aside as he entered the area, and sat across the fire. The Brute picked a snake bone from his dirty mouth, tossed it over his shoulder, and then pulled the bird from its pole to sink his fangs into one of the wings, the crunch of bone and meat drifting across camp.

“As soon as we're off this fragment,” he grumbled between chews, “I will enjoy killing you.” A line Gorian repeated frequently.

“Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you like me.”

“Why don't you take that helmet off or eat anything?”

“Who says I don't?”

The Jiralhanae grunted, eyes narrowing as he paused in his feast to hold a hand out, palm up. The leathery expanse flexed, the fingers curling into a tight fist as he intoned: “Atriox once crushed a Spartan helmet with his bare hand.”

“Well, Atriox isn't here…” Horvath paused thoughtfully. “In fact, I'm betting he's probably good and dead by now.”

Gorian went still, then pointed the mauled crane wing at him. “Careful with your words, demon.”

Ah. He'd hit a nerve. Naturally, he had to do it again. “The Banished will never take the ring.”

An amused grunt issued from deep within Gorian's throat. He polished off the wing, juice and fat sticking to the fur on his chin, and then wrenched open the bird's chest, biting into one side. “There are more of us here than there are of you. More weapons. More ships. And soon we will control not only the ring, but the—”

Now, that caught his attention. What else was there? What were the Banished up to?

Gorian laughed slowly. “You humans have been here for years, studying with your feeble minds, and yet you know nothing about what this ring is capable of or what it holds.”

“And you do?”

“Why else would we be here?”

Not exactly a giant revelation, but Horvath was starting to think it might have something to do with the artifacts the Banished were so interested in. “So what's the endgame, then? You take control of the ring and whatever else is here and then what? Do you even know why you're fighting?”

“War.” He ripped off a giant chunk of meat. “It is the lifeblood that feeds the Jiralhanae soul. There need be no other reason than that.” He took a moment to study his opponent. “You think you are different? Is it not your lifeblood as well? What would you do without war, Spartan? Who would you be?” He grunted and went back to eating. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

The fire spat sparks into the sky. Horvath watched them rise, mulling over Gorian's words, when a chunk of bird meat hit his Mjolnir armor with a splat and slid down to his lap. “What the hell?” His curse counter dinged as he picked the meat up between two fingers.

Gorian's smug laugh was low and deep. “We still have a truce, Spartan. All warriors must eat. When I do kill you, it will be a fair fight. It won't be because you are weakened by hunger.”

The bird was rare in the middle and turned his stomach. Immediately he flung it back at the Brute, smacking him square in the mouth. A wide grin split Horvath's face and laughter bubbled from his own throat, loud and clear via his helmet speaker. Go chew on that, asshole.

Gorian flung it to the ground and leapt to his feet.

Horvath responded with a very satisfied and lengthy sigh. “Merry Christmas.”

“I know not what you speak of, this merriment.”

“You wouldn't,” Horvath muttered.

Gorian returned to his seat and regarded the Spartan quietly before saying: “Long before the Great Immolation, in Jiralhanae prehistory, females were tasked with raising and training the fearsome kateukal warbeasts, with killing the mother and raising the pups, allowing them to sleep in their beds, nurse at their breasts, to bite and nip at their heels, and fight with their own offspring. They yapped and yapped, fierce, but small and stupid for many, many years, so that no male Jiralhanae could bear to dwell in the settlements while the pups were there…” Gorian chuckled softly, then leveled a dark stare across the gloomy campsite. “You are such a pup.”

Horvath snorted. “And here I thought Brutes didn't have a sense of humor.”

Gorian continued his meal, evidently too hungry to be bothered by the Spartan's response. Horvath let the silence sit for a moment as the restless feeling from earlier suddenly reemerged. Gazing at the night sky, he wondered what his team might be doing at that very moment…

“So what happened to the pups after those many, many years?”

“They grew to maturity and became legend.”

“That's what I thought.”