Bloodlines Chapter 6: Landfall

Chapter 6

Landfall





We sense.

We feed.

We become.

We are.


***


The escape pod burned through the atmosphere of the Halo, leaving a fiery orange trail across the black of space, blocking out even the star’s glare; and, unknown to the recently vacated shipmaster, a trail across the clear blue sky to anyone on the ground.

As soon as his former commander had launched the pod, Ambr had frantically made his way to the front of the craft to try and gain control of it. Luckily, Isma had not had time to disable that much. He ran through his options, and came up with exactly one. The Halo was his only chance, destroyed or not. He guided the pod towards the massive ring with the practiced expertise of one who had done such a thing before. Which, of course, he had. Though not under these conditions.

The vessel took an even five minutes to slice through the thickening air above the structure, emerging over a series of mountain ranges covered in brilliantly white snowfall. For a moment, Ambr reflected upon the sereneness of the whole scene; and then realized that it would better serve him as a landing zone than a spectacle. He steered the agile escape craft toward an even patch of ground, in a small valley just beyond the mountains; grateful that the craft had been designed to survive an atmospheric re-entry in the first place.

The craft reached the ground in a matter of seconds. At the last instant, Ambr braced himself in the pilot’s seat and jammed a button down. The craft brought its nose up with a jolt of thruster fire, and activated the antigravity pods on its underbelly. With a pulse of energy that scattered the snowdrift, the ship slowly and smoothly came to a halt, settling itself on the snow-covered ground.

Ambr didn’t wait for the craft to finish it’s descent before climbing to the back of the pod and retrieving a plasma rifle from the weapon holster in the pod’s hold. As soon as the blue light lit on top of the doorway, he hit the hatch release switch, and the doors hissed open and embedded themselves in the craft. The practiced soldier, Ambr immediately jumped the meter to the ground, landed with a roll, and came up on his feet, rifle drawn. Only the whistle of an arctic wind answered his maneuvers.

The elite held his pose for a moment, and then lowered his rifle, satisfied that he was in no immediate danger. He glanced around, and walked back to the escape pod, switching on his suit’s heating elements as he did.

Once he entered the pod, he walked over to the pilots seat, sat down, and tapped a series of holographic runes on the pilot’s computer surface. A projection showing the nearby landscape speared from the display, but there was nothing of interest, or danger. He switched the display to scan further, nearly to the radar’s range, and saw… a large something. A very large, fast-moving something. He furrowed his brow. Both of the ships in orbit were too far away to be picked up by the small radar package. Then, this could only be…

At the very moment when Ambr was about to draw his spectacular conclusion, he heard, and felt, a low-frequency rumbling just outside his pod. The display jittered a little under the sound waves, and Ambr paled, his mandibles dropping limp.

He climbed out of the pod once again, looking towards the sky, letting his eyes adjust from the blindingly white snowscape. Slowly, gradually, the rumbling got louder, and a blackish shape appeared in the sky.

Ambr cursed under his breath. It was his death, coming after him after such a long time. This was no way for a warrior to die, he told himself. Rather to go down fighting than to be destroyed by angels from the sky. But it was not as if he had a choice in the matter. The very least he could do was beg the prophets for their forgiveness, he reasoned with himself. Or, perhaps not even that, his mind said. A cold chill crept down his spine that had nothing to do with the arctic weather. He had failed. There was no redemption for failure.

As the shape get larger and larger in the sky, he stared, the weight of the monumental errors he had made rooting him to where he stood. In under a minute, the Herodotus, for of course it was she, passed directly over Ambr’s head. The sheer kinetic force of the ship passing over wasn’t enough to force Ambr to his knees, but he allowed his legs to buckle all the same, prostrating himself before the very Gods that had forsaken him. He steadied himself with his hand as the shockwave rumbled the snow around him. All the while, he stared at the white ground below him; as if it could somehow offer the answer he himself had sought after for so long. The snow did not answer Ambr’s question. He shut his eyes tight, and a single tear lazily snaked its way down his mandible. He brought his free hand to his chest, drawing the symbol for the Great Journey in the air above his heart. His hand shook with the pure fear he felt as he heard the words echo once more in his mind.

I have failed.

Ambr held his position for a great while, anticipating the end that he felt on his tongue. For several of the longest minutes of his life, he waited. The frigid wind snaked around his figure, but he didn’t notice. The cold soaked into the soles of his combat boots, but he didn’t notice that either. For those long minutes, he didn’t even dare to open his eyes. The first thing he did, in fact, was involuntary- the wind was hurting his throat, and he coughed.

The sudden movement snapped him back to reality; or, at least, it snapped a small part of his brain back. That small part of his brain found the courage to wonder about something. The rest of him saw the question and tried to ignore it. But the question persisted, and soon he was forced to look at it.

He opened his eyes, and saw naught but the snow beneath his feet. But that simple sight brought the question forth into being.

I’m alive?

Unfortunately for Ambr, this was all he had time to think about on that particular subject before he heard a shuffling noise in the snow behind him. He started to lift himself off the ground, but an armored boot connected with his back first, sprawling him the rest of the way to the snow. He rolled to the side to face his attacker, and found himself staring straight into the barrel of his own rifle, wielded by a Spartan in brown.

Ambr, or anyone, for that matter of fact, wouldn’t have been able to tell that the Spartan’s hands were shaking ever so slightly, and that his breathing came in short bursts.

“Can you speak English?” he asked the elite.


***


The Halo installations were built by the Forerunners to house the parasite known as the Flood for observation and study. The Forerunners, though little of them or their work is actually known, appeared to have spent a great deal of time and energy to make sure that their system of containment was as foolproof and invincible as possible. The combination of shields, metal and energy, made it nearly impossible for any infection forms to find their way out of the seemingly free-roaming facilities of study built for them.

As a safety measure in case these devices failed, the rings were built in a very certain way, to a very specific blueprint, to a very specific tune. This tune included the fact that there were no creatures that roamed the landscapes apart from the butterfly-like birds that patrolled the skies, and the worms in the ground. If an infection form somehow escaped, there would be nothing with enough calcium for it to feed on, thus preventing another outbreak from occurring.

Furthermore, the facilities that held the Flood parasite itself were in cold or snowy climates built on the ring’s surface. The infection forms didn’t like, nor could they live very long in, temperatures much below what would be considered warm. That’s why the facilities were heated, and the outsides were kept in their natural environment.

However, despite all these precautions, sometimes- very rarely, mind you- a single flood infection form was able to slip past the shields and roam free in the lands beyond the test facilities. Due to the backup safety measures, however, they died within a day, and the infection viruses became harmless. These outbreaks happened once within many thousands of years, and were considered both normal and containable, since they invariably informed the Forerunners of any flaws in their designs; which were updated accordingly.

To the very stroke of luck to our story, this very rare event had occurred- a single flood infection form had made its way past the energy shielding. Whether this was made possible by the subsonic rumbles of the Herodotus’ entry, or by some other naturally occurring occurrence, we shall never know. What does matter to the point of this tale is that one had indeed escaped, and was roaming free in the frigid wastelands of the mountains.

The flood infection form is extremely sensitive to things that can support its virus- calcium, a bone structure, and nutrients. When the Herodotus entered the atmosphere, this single infection form happened to chance a glimpse at the life on board, and was immediately drawn to it, like lead filings to a magnet.

It would be unfair to say that the Flood virus has no consciousness, as it can display an amazing degree of imitation ability to any host organism it can find, absorbing it’s knowledge and effectively developing one; amazing as it sounds. In the infection form, however, it’s thought processes can be equated to that of any other blood-borne virus- that is, it only cares about replicating and supporting itself, albeit with a bit more finesse due to the higher thought functions inherent in every infection form. But, if one were to know where to listen, and on what level to hear the infection’s ‘thoughts’, one would hear something like this:

Go forth, I shall.

We are waiting.

I am waiting.

Free them, we shall.

I shall.

We are. Are. Are. Are.


***



All this was a bit too much for Ambr to process at once. Staring down the face of death for the second time in so many minutes seemed to have stalled his thoughts for the moment, as the Spartan waited for his answer.

Truth be told, Ambr could speak English, albeit with an accent due to his mandibles. He understood the Spartan’s request, but the answer wasn’t coming to his mouth.

“I asked you if you could speak English,” the Spartan repeated, brandishing the plasma rifle. “Can you understand me?”

Finally, words came to the astonished elite. “I speak English, human,” he managed to snarl. The words tasted bitter on his tongue. To his surprise, the Spartan lowered the rifle in a gesture of peace. He pointed to the sky in an exaggerated gesture.

“Did you see the ship that passed over just now?” he asked the elite, enunciating as clear as he could.

Ambr realized that he was in no position to argue with this armored human. He had no other weapons on his belt, or tricks up his sleeve. Actually, he didn’t have sleeves at all, but he appreciated the metaphor as best he could, given the circumstances.

“I saw the ship,” Ambr said, looking the Spartan in his mirrored visor, propping himself up on his elbows. The Spartan raised his weapon again, and Ambr decided against getting up for the moment, dropping his elbows back down to the snow. The cold seeped into his arms, but he ignored it, keeping his full attention on the human.

“Good,” the Spartan said, apparently in control again. “Because we’re going to find it.”

Ambr scoffed. It sounded like sandpaper scraping against wood. “How?”

The Spartan walked over to the elite, keeping the rifle pointed at his head. He stopped, keeping the rifle a foot from Ambr’s frame. He took one hand off the rifle and extended it to him.

“We’re walking, unless that pod can still fly. Mine can’t.”


***



Marcus felt something brush the edge of his mind.

It was like a gentle light in a darkened room, but it quickly extinguished itself.

Come back, he called. He liked the light.

The light returned a moment later, a little brighter. The light felt… hesitant, as if it were afraid of Marcus. He didn’t like the fact that he gave the light that feeling.

I won’t hurt you, he said. Come back.

The light froze for an instant, and then came closer. It touched the edges, the frays, of Marcus’ consciousness, embracing them, nourishing them, bringing them back to life. Marcus felt revitalized from the slight touch. With the touch came several very faint sensations- cold, solid, and pain. He didn’t like the pain. But as soon as the light heard his discomfort, the pain was extinguished. Just… gone.

He enjoyed the sensations for a few moments, but then turned his attention back to the light which had given him them.

But as soon as he did this, the light extended deep into his consciousness, with tendrils that felt to Marcus like inviolable evil- something to be kept out. He recoiled with all his strength, and even the little bit the light had seen fit to give him. The sensations stopped for a moment, and then the pain started again. Unbelievable pain. With the pain, Marcus lost his focus, and the tendrils slipped deeper into his mind. An overwhelming fear gripped Marcus as he dawned on what was happening.

With the realization came a sense of the end.

He felt it. He knew it.

And then it was gone.