Chapter 6

Alba – Occupied city center, eight hours after slip-space rupture.

The Kig-yar snapped their jaws gleefully as the patrol emerged onto an open plaza, surrounded on all sides by native buildings wrought from glass and steel. There were fewer derelict vehicles here, it seemed to be reserved for pedestrians, and the ground was covered with regular patches of alien grass in places. The center of the open space was occupied by a group of Covenant and a deployable watchtower, there was enough room here for the Phantoms to land so that they could deliver gear and supplies. Beams of energy suspended the circular platform in the air, the Kig-yar snipers that were perched on top of it peering down at the newcomers with their large eyes, an Unggoy manning a mounted plasma cannon beside them. There were weapons crates stacked at its base, some of them open to expose the racks of carbines and plasma rifles within. It looked as though they had fashioned a kind of makeshift forward operating base here.

What had the Jackals so excited was not the presence of friendly troops, but the pile of dead Sangheili that occupied one corner of the plaza. There were maybe a dozen Brutes and twice as many auxiliaries, and they had clearly been hard at work. Alba hadn’t even come across a single Human yet, had the Covenant traveled all the way to this remote planet for the sole purpose of killing one another?

Alba and her procession of aliens were greeted by a Captain Major, a Jiralhanae wearing golden armor, and wielding a grenade launcher with a wicked bayonet on one end. His demeanor changed when he realized that she was female, seeming more amused by her presence than anything.

“Report,” he said gruffly. He outranked her, and so it would be wise to obey.

“No contacts along our route,” she replied, “no sign of any Humans.”

“The Heretics are lying low,” he huffed in reply, shifting his considerable weight from foot to foot as he readjusted his weapon. “At least the Sangheili are making for better sport.”

The Kig-yar laughed at his comment, Alba looking past him, appraising the corpse pile as the aliens jeered. There were at least a dozen dead, maybe more. She couldn’t help but think that the Sangheili had exacted a similar price on the opposing side, but those bodies had probably been left where they had dropped. These were trophies, proof of the Major’s accomplishments to his Chieftain.

“Have we received any new orders from the fleet?” Alba asked.

“We are to push deeper into the city, there are still pockets of Human resistance remaining. These cursed barriers are impeding the progress of our patrols,” he grumbled as he gestured to a nearby blast door that had closed over the street, crushing one of the colorful vehicles between its interlocking jaws. “They are too thick to burn through, not without a Scarab, at least. We are using the Phantoms to hop between these large plazas.”

“There are still Humans who remain?” she repeated.

“Hungry, perhaps?” he chuckled in his gravelly baritone, glancing over his shoulder at the pile of bodies. “I waited a long time to taste Sangheili, and I must admit, it did not live up to my expectations. It’s tough, chewy. Now, Human, that’s a tender meat that pulls right off the bone...”

“What is our new patrol route?” Alba asked, ignoring his comment.

“Eager to do the will of the Prophets?” he chuckled, “if only my mate back on Doisac were so obedient.”

Alba tried not to visibly snarl at him as he checked in with the assault carrier, a few of the other Brutes who were sitting on the ground nearby turning their heads in her direction, perhaps picking up her scent. She could certainly smell their musk.

“Your patrol is ordered to board the next Phantom, it will drop you off in the next plaza over,” he said as he gestured in the general direction. “Scout the area for Humans, and call in backup if you come across any Sangheili, little sister. They are formidable, despite their small stature. Do not underestimate them.”

“I can handle myself,” she replied gruffly.

“I’m sure you can,” he replied, looking her up and down conspicuously. “Rearm if you need to, then await the incoming dropship. Eat, if you wish, but the meat is starting to spoil.”

She made her way to a quiet corner of the plaza, the Unggoy tailing behind her, where she sat with the intent to catch some sleep before her Phantom arrived. She sat cross-legged, her carbine resting in her lap, the Kig-yar wandering off to join their fellows on the watchtower as the Unggoy settled in beside her. One of them picked up a rock and began to play with it idly, the others sitting with their heads bowed as they rested.

Almost as soon as she had closed her eyes, the musk of a pack of males roused her, and she opened them to see a trio of Jiralhanae lumbering over to her. She sighed in exasperation, knowing what was coming next, preparing herself mentally for their clumsy advances.

The one at the head of the pack was clearly the ringleader. He was a Jiralhanae Minor, identifiable by the color and the design of his armor. He was lower ranked than she was, a member of a larger squad that would be led by a more senior warrior, perhaps the Major that she had met earlier. He had the musk of a male who was just coming out of adolescence, not yet mature enough to control his pheromones, his roiling hormones imbuing him with the brashness that would let him approach a superior in this way.

His shadow loomed over her, and she looked up to see him peering down at her from beneath his helmet, his unshaven fur protruding between the joints in his power armor.

“A female serving in the military is a rare sight indeed,” he began, crossing his massive arms across his chest piece. “Come, celebrate with us. The age of the Brutes begins tonight, we shall be the escorts of the Prophets as they tread the path of the Great Journey. We have finally put the filthy Sangheili in their place, I slew a number of them myself,” he added in an obvious attempt to impress her. “We have meat to share, none too fresh, but the company of such a ... fecund female would satisfy more than a growling stomach.”

His two companions huffed with amusement at that, and he exposed his tusk-like teeth in a grin. Alba had suffered this kind of crude proposition before, it was commonplace while serving on a carrier where there might only be a handful of females, leaving the males frustrated for months on end. She had learned to restrain her anger, as some of those who approached her were sometimes her commanding officers, not above trying to leverage their status to get some time alone with her.