| abstract
| - Airborne traffic cleared a path in Meru's wide skylanes as a trio of Phantom dropships cruised steadily through. One of Sanghelios's largest cities, Meru was no stranger to the comings and goings of military divisions. The throngs of civilian pilots who flocked through its sculpted towers knew to get out of the way when warriors passed their way. Aside from the whine of the engines, a tense silence hung over the interior of the lead Phantom. Its occupants sat or stood in the enclosed troop bay. Several shifted uncomfortably on the bare deck. Most of them were unfamiliar with this sort of craft, and this was but the latest step in a long journey. But one among them stood tall and unmoved amidst the tight chaos of the weapons and equipment secured throughout the small bay. Arms folded over his chest, he tapped his fingers impatiently against his light combat armor. "Have the other teams reported in yet?" he demanded. "Yes sir," the pilot's voice crackled over his radio. "Primary teams are en route to their targets. Secondary teams are already in position." "Good. Once our operation begins, signal all teams to begin the assault as well." "Roger." They had come along way, across the entire galaxy, to be here. Bribes had been made here, officials assassinated there, all to ensure that they and their weapons made it onto Sanghelios. It was far from their old fight, a fight many of them still wished to be fighting, but now they would fight in this new arena with the same ferocity they had in the old. "Five minutes till we hit the target," the pilot announced. "Air control is responding to our codes." "Good," the standing passenger noted sardonically. "I'd hate to be shot down before we even reach the target." He turned to the others. "You heard him. Five minutes. Prep weapons and gear." They all stood now, sliding on helmets and fastening buckles on their dark body armor. Pulling weapons from crates, they eagerly slapped magazines into assault rifles and submachine guns. The human weapons clacked hungrily as their human owners readied them for action. They were all human, every one of them there in the troop bay. Clad in dark armor and helmets, they were decked out with grenades, sidearms, and spare magazines. The leader's radio clicked again. "We're almost there," an eager voice hissed. "I've been waiting a long time for this." "Haven't we all. Don't forget the plan, Peter." "No problem, boss." The leader turned back to the men and women in the troop bay with him. "You know the drill. Move fast and strike hard, then move on to the next target. Anyone slows us down, we leave them behind. Remember, no mistakes." Fifteen armored heads nodded in unison. "Today, we revive our cause. Today, we avenge the billions who the rest of humanity has forgotten. We are the new Insurrection!"
*
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* Tuka 'Refum had spent most of his life in the countryside, diligently studying the art of swordplay. He was used to quiet keeps and open countryside, not the tight, crowded streets of cities like Meru. The only cities he'd seen before had been impoverished slums teeming with aliens of all species, and even then he'd been too busy fighting to stay alive to get accommodated with them. Seated at a small table, the young warrior stared out over Meru's largest plaza. He couldn't get over how it teemed with Sangheili from all walks of life, their brightly colored robes forming an ocean of swirling patterns as they haggled at open-air shops and conversed with each other in all manner of local dialects. Seeing and hearing it all for the first time, he was disappointed he only had a day to appreciate it. "I take it the army life suits you?" said a voice from the open communicator in front of him. "You don't call as often as you used to." Tuka snapped back to the communicator. "Yes, forgive me Master Visag. My lance performs more drills than usual these days." "I understand." His mentor and foster father's holographic image flickered on the tiny pad. "A new class of students began their studies yesterday, so I appreciate what you mean." For the briefest moment, Tuka was tempted to mention his last encounter with Simon as the Path Walker negotiations had exploded into violence around them. But he stopped himself before he could say anything. If his commander, Fira 'Demal, had sworn to stay quiet about the moment where they had let a wanted criminal escape then Tuka had no right to speak of it either, not even to that criminal's surrogate mentor. Besides, the news would only cause grief for Roni and the rest of his household. "Zealot 'Demal keeps us prepared for anything. With the Path Walkers' violence, we need to be ready for war." "Yes," Roni Visag said sadly. "I had hoped with the passing of the Fallen, we would find some peace. But even here, we've been feeling signs of trouble." "What?" Tuka leaned forward. "What do you mean? The Path Walkers aren't in Visag, are they?" "No, but there are reports of villagers disappearing. Whole families are vanishing, and they aren't being kidnapped. Someone is actively recruiting from their ranks." Tuka blinked at this. "Recruiting?" Roni shook his head. "I haven't seen so many peasants abandoning their duties since the Sons of the--" A low whine filled the air, one that Tuka knew well. He looked up in time to see three Phantoms descending towards the plaza. What are they doing? he wondered. Military transports weren't supposed to be flying this low. That was all he had time to think before the dropships swiveled their plasma turrets and opened fire. A blast of fire hit the building behind him and Tuka was sent sprawling. He tried to get to his feet only to be knocked down by panicked civilians. Plasma fire was everywhere, but it was mixed with another sound as well: human projectile weapons. Tuka staggered upright. A wave of heat washed over him and he cried out, curling into a ball as his exposed skin trembled and burned. The plaza was a burning mess, scattered with rubble and corpses as the Phantoms continued their barrage. Dark shapes had descended from them, humans in dark body armor. They fired indiscriminately into the crowd, cutting down dozens upon dozens with their assault weapons. A mother and her children went down just a few feet from where Tuka was lying. Two more rushed to help them, but they collapsed under a hail of bullets. One of the dark armored humans rushed up and sprayed their bodies with an assault rifle. Tuka gasped as a familiar face swam towards him out of the smoke. Simon, his friend, smiled and reloaded, firing after a crowd of fleeing civilians. What is happening? Tuka thought, desperately trying to crawl towards where Simon, clad in dark armor like the rest, continued firing. This had to be a dream. There was no way this could be happening... And then he realized it wasn't. As Simon bent down to inspect a nearby corpse, he pulled out a knife and slit the dying Sangheili's throat with his left hand. His organic left hand. Simon, the real Simon, didn't have a left hand, just a metal prosthetic. Tuka had never seen him without it. He couldn't have dreamed this up. What is this? he thought, drifting away into numb oblivion.
*
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* The gunfire faded away as the assault team ran out of Sangheili to shoot. They moved fast, inspecting the myriad of bodies for survivors. "If they won't survive, leave them!" Redmond Venter pulled off his helmet and glared around the burning plaza. The operation had begun, just as he had planned. If it was to continue, they would need to be back in the air before the local defense forces could respond. Other team leaders were shouting status reports into his ear, but he could already see distant columns of smoke rising through the alien forest of sloped, curving towers. "I want prisoners." A few yards away, Peter, the youngest member of the task force, leaned down and slashed a dying Sangheili's throat. "Save it, Peter," Venter ordered. "We don't have time to dick around here." "You got it boss." Filled with the hungry energy Venter had come to expect from the clone, Peter grabbed an unconscious young Sangheili and dragged him back towards the Phantoms. "It only gets better from here," he called back over his shoulder." Venter smiled, surveying the carnage around him. He had been away from scenes like this for too long, and now that the corpses didn't belong to humans he didn't feel any hesitation at all. This was what he had been born to do. "Mount up," he ordered. "Let's get the hell out of here!"
*
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* They soared away from the burning plaza, falling back into the now-panicked sea of civilian air traffic. Venter's Phantom was even more crowded now, thanks to the four wounded Sangheili they had taken aboard. Tapped into the pilot's frequency, he heard the approach of a wing of Banshee fliers as they pulled alongside the dropship formation. "Did you see what happened?" their leader demanded. "No," replied the preprogrammed virtual intelligence program hardwired into the dropship's communications software. "We only just got notice." "The attacks are happening all over the city! Sensors are down, we can't see who is hitting us!" "We understand," the VI replied. "Continue your sweep. We have orders to report back and get help." "Understood," the squadron leader said, falling for it completely. "We'll try to find whoever is responsible for this outrage." "Safe hunting, brothers," the VI intoned, signing off. Their plan had worked completely. The sabotage of the sensors, the impersonation of Sangheili military, it was all going just as they had meant it to. "Now what, boss?" Peter demanded over the radio. "What's next." "We drop the prisoners off at base camp," Venter explained patiently. "Then we head back in for round two." Another, more private frequency beeped urgently. "This is Reaper," a low voice said into Venter's ear. "Having fun?" "Is that a problem?" he replied casually. "Glad to see your part of the plan went off without a hitch." "Yeah, I'm fine," the voice said coldly. "Just get it together and keep things moving. Any word from the countryside?" "Not yet, but something tells me we won't be waiting for long."
*
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* They came in fast and low, two UNSC-made Pelicans that soared over the Henden keep's courtyard. Dark armored humans made faceless by visors and radio gear rappelled down, moving quickly in practiced formation. The keep guards were dead before they even knew what was happening, cut down by snipers from the Pelicans' open troop bays. The strike teams moved fast, planting explosives at key areas and advancing on the living quarters. One team breached the servant hall, shooting down startled cooks and gardeners with silenced weapons. Another hit the children's quarters, emptying their magazines into the dormitories before dragging the corpses back out into the courtyard. They had studied the layout of the place for hours on end and knew it as if it were their own home. In less than ten minutes, all thirty-two Sangheili--the whole Henden bloodline--were piled up in gory heaps in the courtyard. The commandos darted back into the Pelicans and vanished into the night sky. Behind them, the keep erupted into flames as they blew the charges they had put in place. Death had come to Sanghelios. This was just the beginning.
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