Shadow Contingency

To safeguard the UEG and its secrets, Task Forces with plausible deniability must be created in order to identify and neutralise threats posed by foreign and domestic powers.
-Shadow Contingency Abstract

Acknowledgements

My sincerest gratitude to Lady Pryde who helped me develop story, for months on end… as well putting up with my constant pestering for her opinion on my latest idea or cover image.

Foreword

Hello all, this is a story I've had in the works for quite some time now. It was an idea I developed with Lady Pryde, in order to address the shortcomings that was in Lost Legacy. Though this story may be the spiritual successor of Lost Legacy, it is not related to it lore wise. Characters and tech have been revised, but overall, they are not the carbon copies of their Lost Legacy counterparts.

Will this story cover the Reclaimer Trilogy? Yes – well no… not really, there will be themes and elements of the Reclaimer Trilogy that I will include in the story, but overall, assume that the Reclaimer Trilogy is a non-grata. I really want to focus on the dynamics of the Bungie's vanilla Halo and Mass Effect factions.

Obviously I will be using ideas that have been retconned by 343i, so think back to pre-2011 Halo, when everything was vague and left up to interpretation. Now, why am I doing this? Well I wish for to return to Halo's sentimental roots. I want to return to a narrative where everything wasn't quite clear cut, where we as the readers we left to make up our own interpretations, instead of the plot spelling it all out for us.

If you want to keep up to date with story news or you want to ask a question, feel free to PM me or head over to the Tumblr page (I know… I have a Tumblr account… please don't hurt me) for this story: shadowcontingency-dot-tumblr-dot-com

I would also like to reach out to any Deviantartists who would be interested in creating fan art for this story.

…

Prologue

…

"There was once a time, when we would gaze up into the stars, and wonder where our place might be among them, we'd imagine the worlds and people we would see, and envision the future we would eventually live in. But in one day, we lost all that… out of the blackness of space, the Covenant came, and with their arrival came the harsh reality that extinction could be an inevitability, that this war cannot be won by ordinary humans."
-LTCOL Dr Charleston R.E. Keyes

…

1530 hours, June 7th, 2552 (UNSC Military Calendar)
ONI CASTLE Base, Reach

The war was coming to an end, he could feel it. One way or another, it was going to end soon. Blinking away the tiredness in his eyes Lieutenant Colonel Charleston Keyes spun a pen around his fingers as he read through the reports.

"Colonel," Cooper interrupted.

The AI's avatar was modelled after a monolithic robot from one of Keyes's favourite childhood movie. Despite lacking any anthropomorphic features, the silvery blue slab had "appendages" and joints which gave him an endearing human quality.

"Yes?"

"Admiral Parangosky is here, as you requested, sir."

"Thank you, I'll be out to meet her in a moment."

"Of course."

Logging off his computer, Keyes pushed his chair under his desk and checked his sidearm. Straightening his tie and his Air Force jacket, he picked up his datapad and augmented reality glasses, and headed out into the foyer.

"I trust that this is important," Parangosky said neutrally.

Charles looked at her detail of armed bodyguards, fully kitted in the latest armour and weapons.

Strength through paranoia… he remembered her say.

"Yes ma'am," Keyes nodded. "Follow me."

The ensemble of shoes and boots gently thumped along the tiled floors of the base. Keyes led them through a labyrinth of security checkpoints before reaching the shuttle tubes.

"After you," he gestured.

Two of her guards stepped in first and made a quick sweep. Once the all clear was given, Parangosky stepped in, followed by Keyes and then the rest of her detail. The doors closed, and the locks hissed shut. He felt the acceleration of the shuttle as it shot through the tube, eventually coming to a halt as it reached the lower levels of the base.

Keyes was the first to step out, giving his challenge ID and countersign to the security station. Passing through another maze of security checkpoints and patrols, the group finally reached their destination. The Colonel led them into an observation room, granting Parangosky a view of the occupant in the chamber below.

"What exactly am I looking at?" the Admiral asked, looking at the unknown alien.

It was humanoid, wore red armour reminiscent of Feudal Japan. Its dark turquoise green skin was similar to that of an amphibian, and its four eyes panned across the room warily.

"A species referred to as a Prothean," Keyes explained. "Found him in a stasis pod on Eden Prime."

"Attempts at communication?" she asked.

"Mind-meld," Keyes answered. "Intern came into contact with it. Also shows an incredible ability to read organic residue."

Parangosky looked at him with an arched brow as if the lack of holidays had begun to take their toll on him.

"When we woke the Prothean, he was disoriented and panicking. Exhibited signs of telekinesis like abilities," the Colonel elaborated.

Tapping a few keys on the nearby console, he brought up the security footage of the incident. After revival, two scientists had hovered over the alien, and without warning or provocation, a dark emerald mist hurled the scientists a few metres back.

"He was confused," Keyes explained. "But he's got his bearings now."

"What have we learned so far?"

"He's been in stasis for at least fifty thousand years," Charles answered. "No evidence to suggest any relation to the Forerunners. He says his species were wiped out by the Reapers."

"Reapers?"

"I don't know," Keyes said, shaking his head. "He became a bit turbulent, spouting off about warnings his species placed. We'll try talking to him again once he's cooled down."

Parangosky took a step closer to the monitory.

"Keep him under lock and key, find out what he knows and give him what luxuries he wants," she commanded.

"Yes ma'am."

"Good, I'll get you an assembly, hopefully by October."

"This doesn't take precedence?" Keyes asked, confused; waving a hand to the data combing the AIs were running through the artefacts.

"War is priority, you have to wait."

Without waiting for a goodbye, the Head of ONI turned and left, leaving Keyes alone. Taking a quick glance at his watch, he guessed there was enough time for another chat before he headed home for the day.

Navigating his way to a vault nearby, Charles quickly ran through the security measures before picking up a Prothean artefact before heading back.

It was against protocol for a Project Lead to interact with unknown subjects, but Keyes doubted Parangosky would care. This Prothean was most likely the last of its kind, and Charles wanted answers up front, instead of talking via a proxy.

He walked to the elevators, and readjusted his dark navy blue tie. In one hand he held a datapad, and in the other, a Prothean artefact.

Charles walked out into the cavernous room where a table and other amenities had been placed. Guards patrolled in the shadows, and on the catwalks above. The Prothean looked at Keyes, all four yellow eyes with oddly shaped irises focused on him as his shoes padded silently along the concrete floor.

Placing the artefact front of the Prothean, and the tablet off to a side, Keyes pulled out the chair and eased himself into the synthetic leather seat. Scooting in closer to the table, he cleared his throat.

"I'm Lieutenant Colonel Charleston Keyes," he introduced himself. "And you are?"

"Prothean."

"You said that last time. What's your name?"

"Javik," the alien answered slowly. "Just like I said… last time."

"Can you tell me what you were doing in that stasis pod"

The Prothean expression shifted something closer to that of human exasperation.

"You were already watching in the beginning… this is pointless," he growled.

He had an accent similar to that of a Nigerian, possibly due to the oral and vocal muscles.

Charles's expression hardened as he shuffled through the files, keeping his eyes firmly locked onto the Prothean's.

"Level with me," Keyes began. "I just need to make sure that everything is in order."

Javik's his four eyes flashed in annoyance.

"Alright, tell me about the Reapers. What are they?"

"They are sentient machines from darkspace. Every fifty thousand years the come to harvest the advance species, erasing almost everything about them."

A worried frown made its way across Keyes's face.

Javik held the device over the centre of the table, projecting a red holographic model into the air. It looked like a mechanised squid or a cuttlefish. Characters began to scroll beside the projection; characters Charles couldn't understand but assumed it was a technical specification – or so he guessed. He couldn't understand the glyphs but hopefully Cooper would be able to translate.

"You were in the stasis pod to guide this… era to fight the Reapers, I'm guessing"

Javik nodded.

"Yes," the Prothean said solemnly. "We would wait in our stasis pods, and wait for the Reapers to return to darkspace. Then we would rise, a million strong."

The excavation team had uncovered thousands of stasis pods with Prothean remains in various stages of decay, most were bone or charred ashes, but some had died fairly recently. Power failure and lack of automation had resigned a lot of the occupants to death in their sleep. The system had been horrifically flawed in Keyes's opinion. At the sign of power failure, triage protocols should've woken up whoever remained, not leave them to die within the pods.

"We haven't found anyone else," Charles said.

"I suspected as much."

Keyes activated the datapad, bringing up a galactic map of the Milky Way.

"How long did this war against the Reapers go on for?"

"Before I was born. By the time of my birth, my home was already in flames. I only learnt of what was through the memories of my ancestors."

Charles clasped both hands onto the table.

"And?"

"We were a proud race. Our empire spanned across the entire galaxy. We used the Mass Relays to expand our borders and to meet new species."

"Relays? These installations?" Keyes asked.

Swiping at the tablet, Keyes brought up a holographic image of a space stations shaped like a tuning fork, with a bulbous end containing two gyroscopic rings encasing an orb of energy.

"Yes, the Mass Relays. We thought they were built by the Inusannon, but they were the creation of the Reapers. The relays would dictate the technological progress and expansion of any species. By the time we had learnt this, it was too late."

"The Inusannon came before you?"

"We believe so."

"What happened during the war?"

"We became desperate," Javik said sadly. "Every battle conjured a new nightmare. The Reapers were turning our own against us, forcing us to kill our own children. We fought them through attrition, system by system, planet by planet, city by city. But the Reapers, they were unstoppable. We sacrificed planets to regroup. The time they spent harvesting was the time we spent gathering our strength."

"Must've cost you in the long run."

Javik nodded.

"When they harvested, they gained far more strength than we could. We were delaying our inevitable defeat. Our empire was already fractured by my birth. We could not communicate to one another; no one knew what the other was doing. The Relays, the Reapers deactivated them, crippling us, stranding countless soldiers on planets. We had to use our own ships to travel the galaxy."

Charles felt an all too familiar chill creep down his spine.

"What happened to the other species?"

"They became Prothean, one of us."

"Subjugation or by choice?" Keyes challenged.

"We offered them a choice. Join us, or face the Reapers alone. Our unity was our greatest strength, but also our greatest weakness. Once the Reapers found our flaw, we could not adapt."

A small vibration thrummed through his wrist, signalling he had just received a message. Pressing the command on his smartwatch, the message popped up in the lower half of his optical heads up display.

Beacon decrypted… you might want to see this. Our resident might be helpful too.

Looking back at the Prothean, Charles cleared his throat.

"We'd like you to take a look at a few things for us. Beacons about your history."

"Hmph. What do you seek," Javik huffed.

"I'm not asking you to give away your state secrets, but a little bit of context into what we're looking at would be nice."

"My history?"

Keyes nodded.

"What does it matter about my people? They are dead now."

"Then we can preserve their knowledge."

…

1800 hours, June 17th, 2552 (UNSC Military Calendar)
Arlington County, Virginia, North America
The Jason Greer Centre for Intelligence – FIA Headquarters

Josiah Harper, or Jack to his closest friends, was a man of efficiency and utility with an undercurrent of class and opulence like most people of his calibre. He prized optimal efficiency above all, but enjoyed a classy flare to accompany it. As the Director of the UEG's only independent intelligence organisation, the Focal Intelligence Initiative Agency (FIA, phonetically pronounced as Fear; or nicknamed "the Company" or "the Agency"), his office reflected his specific taste. It was sparse, but open with gigantic curved wall monitors, and reflective black tile flooring.

Over the years in his tenure on as the Director, he had voiced his concerns about the growing power of ONI behind closed doors. While the UNSC maintained martial law, the Senate was unable to do anything except for "minor" legislative and administrative issues. He understood the need for the UNSC to be in total control so to not expose any colonies unwittingly and to restrict the travel of insurrectionists, but absolute power had a tendency to corrupt.

Over twenty-five years of martial law, and surprisingly, the UNSC hadn't descended into a completely oppressive fascist totalitarian regime, but the Office of Naval Intelligence was certainly heading down that path. Section II continually pumped out propaganda and restricted communication, even going so far as to hamper the communication networks of the Initiative.

That was something he complained to the Office of the Directorate of Intelligence (ODIN) immediately, but unfortunately, since the ODIN was not the UNSC, it was powerless to do anything to ONI but send letters.

That wasn't to say all of ONI was bad, Harper knew a lot of Officers on a personal level, and they were all just tired people trying to win the war and go home. It was the small number in leadership positions he had his concerns.

Taking a sip of his coffee, his bionic blue eyes looked blankly at the animated star wallpaper on his desktop background. It had been an incredibly long day for him. FIA cells that managed to break through the interference were sending in more reports about a new faction coming into the scene.

They were identified as batarians, four-eyed humanoids who were interest in slavery much like the Jackals, but seemed to lack a religious fervour. That didn't sit well with Harper. If the batarians were only abducted humans purely for trade, which meant that there were people in the unknown regions of the galaxy willing to buy.

In the grand scope of things, the Human-Covenant War was contained within the extremities of the Orion Arm of the galaxy.

Blinking away the dots from his eyes, he pressed the microphone.

"Yes, Director?" a rich feminine voice answered.

"Can you check what time Lambert and Jackson wants to have lunch?"

"Of course, Director."

There was a brief pause.

"Two o'clock in the afternoon, at Ellis."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure, Director."

The speakers turned off, leaving Harper alone in the quiet room again, though the silence didn't last long when the speakers rang again.

"Director, Mister Yazim has a package for you from Doctor Keyes."

"Send him in."

The doors parted open, allowing a young man in his late twenties, dressed in a conservative suit. In his arms, he cradled a matte black case, no bigger than a medium sized book.

"Growing a beard, Fahil?" Harper asked.

The man instinctively ran a hand of the thick beard.

"Thought I'd try something new, sir."

"Makes you look older," Josiah said with a kind smile.

"That's what I'm going for. Colonel Keyes sent you this package, says that he wants you to make use of it and pass it on to Defence Research."

"Thank you," Josiah said, taking the case.

Yazim gave a courteous nod, and left the office.

Setting the case on the desk, Harper entered in the access codes, and popped the lid open. Inside was a small thumb drive. He turned to his isolated computer, and inserted the drive into the port. The files the device contained were more information about the batarians that was gleaned from an archive. Most of it was about physiology – which Harper had already seen thanks to his teams being able to dissect whatever bodies they got their hands on, but there were other things that Keyes had given him which the Initiative had not yet learned.

But he wasn't interested in those files, the ones he wanted to know, was the encrypted message that was hidden within all that sludge of information. The decryption had to be done by hand, any software installed could alert ONI's army of analysts and AIs ready to pounce at the slightest inconsistency. With a pen and paper, Harper had to comb through the entire data package for the equations and numbers. When he was done, the message was long, but concise.

ONI not concerned about batarians.

Live Prothean found – not a scientist – cannot help with research. Mentions something about Reapers

Musa and Head are creating a fourth Spartan-IV Program. Adult volunteers. Augmentations required achieving desired outcome impossible. Unstable – will produce strong Spartans if they survive. Musa and Parangosky want new Spartans to be as effective as IIs – request is physiologically impossible.

Have sent notes.

It took the better part of the hour to decode the summary of the augmentation notes, but from what Harper gathered, modified Class I augmentation – which was used widely in FIA Operatives – was the primer for the next stages. The Spartan-IVs needed to be strong enough to wear the armour, which would do the rest of the leg work.

Send this to Defence Research; they can fill in the blanks. ONI cannot have monopoly.

That last sentence unnerved Harper. Keyes didn't want ONI having the monopoly on supersoldiers. Aside from the obvious, what could they do with a legion of Spartans? Harper doubted the idea that ONI was planning anything that was politically sinister, that just didn't fit in with their objectives. But then again, Harper did have his concerns about certain people in ONI leadership.

Creating multiple copies of the files, he seeded them into encrypted thumb drives and pocketed them. Satisfied that everything was in order, he grabbed his coat and went to lunch.

He walked through the labyrinth of the building, and was joined by Yazim and an entourage of guards. They led him down into the basement where a number of unmarked cars awaited. Unlike in the movies where the motorcade would be filled entirely with black cars, Harper's convoy was an assortment of cars of various colours.

Large SUVs contained heavily armed response teams while one of the lower riding saloons would transport him to his location.

"Sir," Yazim said, opening the door for him.

"Thanks," Harper nodded, unbuttoning his jacket as he climbed in and sat down on the rich leather grain.

The door closed behind him, and Yazim entered the shotgun seat.

"Cleared to go," the Operative said over the COMs.

The restaurant was always a different one every time the group met. It would always be held in a small function room where the guards would wait outside and monitor the surroundings. To some, these security measures might seem extreme, even borderline paranoid, but it was necessary.

In the small room were Harper, the Director and Deputy Director of the Office of the Directorate of Intelligence, as well as the Attorney General, and the Director of the Federal Investigations Service. As a rule of thumb, food was consumed first before any issues discussed. The topics generally removed people's appetite by causing more stress.

Once the food had been cleared away, that was when the air became tense with dread. They were in a war against the Covenant, and at the same time, they had to make sure ONI didn't get any more emergency powers.

"So, what do we have today?" James Lambert asked.

As the Director of Intelligence, Lambert had the most stressful job out of all of them. His office had to keep track of which Intelligence Organisation was doing what, and that none of them were overstepping their jurisdiction or on each other's toes. Harper could see it in the man's dark eyes, he was tired, and his dark skin held an unhealthy pastiness to them.

"Keyes's has just sent me another package," Harper began, presenting a paper file. "It says that he is working on a procedure which will create adult volunteers into supersoldiers. It's the Fourth Spartan Program."

"Did he send you the full procedure?" Doctor Ryan Jackson, the Deputy Director of Intelligence asked.

Contrary to popular belief, Jackson held Doctorates in Law and Economics. He also had an incredible talent of sniffing out anything that was remotely irregular.

"No," Harper said. "But he sent us formulas, chemical compounds and notes – that should be more than enough for Research to replicate accurately."

"Okay, so why did he send this to us, then?" Attorney General Emma Sahill inquired.

The Director of Federal Investigations Service Kara Yung leaned forward.

"Isn't obvious?" she said. "Keyes doesn't want ONI having the monopoly."

"Exactly," Harper agreed. "He also mentions that under the orders of Parangosky, other cells are attempting to recreate the Spartan-IIs with adults."

"But Keyes said that's impossible," Jackson said, pointing towards the decoded sentence.

Everyone's uneasy expressions didn't go unnoticed for Harper. Despite learning that the Spartan-II Program consisted of conscripted children a few months earlier, it still hadn't really sunk in for most of them. With Keyes being under near constant surveillance, he was rarely able to send out messages to Harper or Lambert.

"Not quite," Harper corrected. "Strength and durability wise, Keyes predicts that the Spartan-IVs will be on par with the Spartan-IIs, pound for pound. But the problem is neurological. He believes that if those cells go forward with their research, they'll end up creating mentally unstable soldiers – provided that they survive."

Lambert cleared his throat and clasped his hands together.

"Well, what are we waiting for then? Let's get some of our own supersoldiers then," he said, staring at Harper. "But tell Keyes to ease up on the packages. People might start asking questions."

…

1400 hours (local time), June 7th, 2552 (UNSC Military Calendar)
Kosovo II, Emrich System's second asteroid belt

Doctor Craig Hennessey was just one of the many civilians that had been scooped up into evacuation of Millers. He was a kind man, one without political views – well, that's what he told his Insurrectionist "liberators" when they "liberated" the Field Hospital he was working at. Ten UNSC servicemen and women were killed in a matter of seconds; people who could barely stand were just executed where they lay.

But everyone else got a free pass onto their ship, and off to safety in the rocks. Or so they thought. A month after the dust had settled and the Covenant had moved on. He thought that was when the casualty list would thin out, but he was wrong.

At first it was one, then four, then dozens of people waiting in his clinic. Men and women, all military age, sporting wounds caused by long spikes, or incredible small shards of metals propelled at shocking speeds.

He would've thought that it was the Covenant's doing, but everyone kept saying they were gone. It was another faction, another player. Batarians he had overheard. It didn't help that the "freedom" fighters constantly raided his clinic for drugs they could turn into a cocktail to get high off. Day in day out, his limited supply would diminish even further. When it came to the meds, the militia were incredibly talented in finding his hiding spots.

Walking to his "desk" he sat down at the table, a mug of water in his hands and wishing he was back on Earth. But when he signed on for becoming a Doctor, he had to spend his internship abroad. And when it finished, he had opted to stay. He liked the open air, and the flexibility that a mid-colony life offered. In hindsight, he should've returned back home.

There was nothing he could do about it now, just pray that someday, he could go home.

"Doctor Hennessey?" a woman's voice called.

Leaving his small cubicle, Craig returned to the main area of the clinic, and found a middle age couple waiting for him – as well as their security detail of a woman and two men.

"Mister and Missus Waller," he greeted. "You're five minutes early."

"Doctor Hennessey, thank you for meeting us at such a late hour," Mrs Waller thanked.

He never liked those two, so sickeningly sweet. Their words were seductive, capable of enticing some of the greatest minds to join the insurrection. As fond as they were of him, Hennessey knew that they would kill him without hesitation at a moment's notice. After all, he was an Earthborn, and the Earthborn cosmopolitan types were rarely welcomed beyond the mid-colonies.

"Experiencing any troubles, sir?" Craig asked, noticing the man's laboured coughs.

"Headaches," Mr Waller grimaced.

"Of course, I'll get the pain medications right now," Hennessey nodded, walking to the medical cabinet. "Have you been eating as I told you to?"

"Yes."

"No!" Mrs Waller scolded. "He hasn't. Too much of that beef jerky."

"You need a balanced meal of fish, vegetables and red meat," Hennessey said as he filled a cup of water.

"Supplies are scarce. All we have is soy and jerky."

"Well, soy isn't going to be enough," Craig said as he handed the medication to the man.

He took a seat opposite to the couple, rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together.

Mr Waller downed the pills and water in one gulp, and placed the empty plastic cup onto the coffee table – or what stood in place for one.

"How are the children?" Mrs Waller asked.

Hennessey frowned.

"The people here are in bad shape. Vitamin D deficiency is my main concern."

"Just do what you can, Doctor," Mrs Waller said.

"Of course," Craig nodded. "Now, if you could please sit down, so we may begin."

The two sat down in the chairs, with Mr Waller easing himself onto the recliner and his wife by his side. He pulled up his sleeve, as Hennessey pulled on a pair of latex free surgical gloves. Turning on a portable biometric scanner, Hennessey attached a set of wires to key anatomical positions to monitor Waller's vital signs.

Unwrapping a hypodermic needle from a make shift sterility package, Craig withdrew a small dose from a vial.

"This next part is going to hurt," Hennessey warned.

"Wait," the female guard stopped him. "Why aren't you using one of those tube things for IV?"

Craig gave a tired smile.

"Cannulas are in limited supply… and it's not necessary for cancer treatment."

"Tell me about this… cancer," Mr Waller said, more of a demand than a question.

Hennessey inserted the needled into the vein, and slowly pushed down on the pump. The clear liquid flowed into Waller's bloodstream, his face contorted slightly in pain as his hands curled around his wife's to the point of his knuckles turning white.

"Uncontrollable cellular reproduction," Hennessey answered. "The cells in your body replicates so fast that it causes an imbalance."

"I see," Waller said slowly, his eyes drooping down.

"Okay, he should be out for a bit," Craig said calmly to Mrs Waller. "This next part is too painful without…"

"Doctor! Doctor!" a woman wailed.

Her desperate plea for help rang throughout the clinic, easily penetrating the flimsy walls.

"In hear!" he called out as he walked to the doors, pulling off his gloves.

Quickly the guards stood between the door and their leader, out of habit, but they didn't seem concerned. A lack of infrastructure meant that many would be seeking the services of one overworked doctor.

The woman was covered in a shawl that covered the pack on her back; her baby was wrapped around in torn rags.

"Please, you have to him… he… I tried…"

"Shhh, calm down. Let me take a look," Hennessey said softy.

The woman pushed her baby into his arms, desperate for some kind of miracle, tears streaming down her cheeks. As he held the child in his arms, the mother was unwilling to let go, her eyes focused on the patch of cloth that covered her child's face.

Foom.

An explosion echoed through the cavernous spaces, vibrating through the metal decks.

"They're here," the mother whispered.

Reaching into the furl that contained the baby, Hennessey felt the grip of a pistol. Quickly, he wrapped his fingers around it, dropped the "baby" and turned around to face Wallers' and their security. Bringing his pistol to bear, he fired thrice into the first guard. The suppressed firearm coughed armour piercing rounds ripped through her body and crashed into the medical cabinets behind her.

The mother strafed right, emptying out half her magazine as she quickly brought down the remaining guards, and killed Mr Waller.

His wife's face paled as she looked back at the Doctor with the gun, rooted to her spot in shock.

Hennessey quickly aimed down his sights and squeezed the trigger thrice in quick succession. A trio of bullets punched into Waller's chest, leaving her slumped in the armchair.

"That went well," the Lawson commented dryly, dropping her colonial accent in favour of her native general Australian accent.

Craig shrugged. "What's the ETA?"

"Batarian main force will be here in thirty, we need to move, Langley," Miranda said, walking towards the dead Wallers.

Searching their pockets, she appropriated access keycards for a private shuttle.

"Bingo," she smirked.

Shoving the card into her pockets, Lawson removed the shawl, revealing the body armour she was wearing underneath, and the backpack. She placed the bag onto the floor, removing another set of body armour and a long range transmitter as Langley quickly grabbed a bag of used needles and a medical carry case.

He took the transmitter and placed it into the case, and then poured out the needles over it before slamming the lid shut.

"Labcoat in the left drawer, bottom right," he said, pointing to the blood covered flimsy doors.

Once they were geared up, Langley was satisfied with their makeshift disguise. He tossed Miranda a wet cloth, letting her wipe the dirt and grime off her angelically sculpted features.

"Ready?" she asked.

Langley nodded.

Leaving the clinic, the quickly made a mad dash for the car that the Wallers used to get to his clinic. The two guards were already dead, killed by Miranda on her way in.

The female operative unlocked the doors and wrenched the driver's door open. Turning on the engines, the car hummed to life. Steering the car out of the parking lot, Miranda slammed the acceleratory, shooting the car down the road.

"Taylor and Niket have just blown the secondary power grid and rigged the Cantation and Marina's slipspace drives." Miranda said. "They'll meet us at extraction. Sorry I kept you waiting."

"You know, I actually thought you were going to leave me in this cesspit," Langley joked.

Miranda scoffed. "Yeah right… I do that; I'll never hear the end of it from Petrov."

Pulling the cars into the docks, Langley saw the masses of militia scrambling to take up fighting positions.

"These people aren't going to make it," he stated.

"No they aren't… batarians are coming in force… SIGINT did their jobs a little too well."

Pulling the car into a parking spot, the two quickly clambered out and rushed through the corridors. Langley kept the case close on him as he made a dead sprint across the courtyard and into another section of the port. Guards stepped aside as he rushed through with Miranda hot on his heels. No one was going to stand in the way of Doctors.

"Wallers' shuttle should be up on our left, then the fourth corridor on our right."

Langley followed her directions, the heels of their shoes thumping down the halls. Withdrawing his pistol from his belt, he thumbed the safeties off as he rounded another corner.

"Stop!" the militiamen ordered, raising their ageing rifles.

Ducking to the side, Langley threw himself by the cover of supply crates, giving Miranda a clear line of fire. Two shots echoed from her silenced pistol, striking the two guards in the head. Blood, brain and bone splattered over the metal doors behind them.

"Shuttle's just through that door," Miranda said, jogging up to the console. "We've got five minutes before the militia starts to respond."

She swiped the card through the access port and waited for the airlocks to cycle through while Langley watched their six.

"Door's open, let's go."

The doors parted, allowing the two operatives to enter a massive chamber containing the private shuttle. Lawson gave a low whistle as she looked over the sleek design of the vessel.

"Bit banged up… but wow… the Wallers definitely got lucky."

Langley pulled open the access hatch, allowing Miranda to enter first. She swept the corridors of the small corvette, entering the small kitchenette area and lounge before doubling backing to the cockpit.

The flight deck was cramped, and clearly not designed for the comfort of the pilot and his crew, but at least the chairs fit the contours of their body.

"System check complete," Langley said, running his hands along the controls. "Locks disengaged, we're good for launch."

Opening the medical case, Miranda carefully fished through the needles and pulled out the communications gear. Entering the password and selecting her encrypted frequency, she spoke into the mike.

"Lima-Mike-Baker, we're in the clear. Waiting on you," she said coolly.

"Tango-November-Baker," Taylor responded. "Keep your head down, we're blowing the locks."

A dull thump rippled through the cavern, the decompressive force shoved the large steel doors into the blackness of space. Back up doors descended from the roof on a separate rail line, but another explosion billowed from the side, jamming the pistons.

"Punch it," Miranda ordered.

"Watch for the blinking lights," Taylor warned.

The thrusters flared to life as Langley swung the corvette around, pushing on the yoke; the main engines hurled the corvette into the night.

Langley kept his eyes glued to the viewports, searching for the strobe lights that would mark the rest of his team's positon.

"There!" Miranda pointed. "Ten o'clock."

"I see."

Easing up on the thrusters, the Operative lined up the corvette with the small pod.

"Five hundred metres… two hundred… hold on."

"Alright, going to the airlocks," Miranda said, unclipping her harness. Pushing her legs of the rungs, she propelled her down the ship and glided through the luxurious interior.

A light tap on the controls and the corvette came to a halt a few dozen metres away from the pod.

"Okay, open up the airlock," Niket said.

Langley kept a constant look out, cycling through the cameras and hoping that the two CMA Destroyers did not pay any attention to a missing corvette. Looking on the sensors, scores of contacts appeared on the rim of the radar screen.

"We might wanna hurry it up," Langley urged. "Batarian contacts are in the asteroid field."

"We're in," Miranda reported.

"Hold on, this is gonna be rough."

Flooring the engines, Langley tapped into the corvette's petrol reserve, shooting the craft deeper into the asteroid field. He weaved around a gutted batarian vessel, and then dived through two derelict cargo ships.

"Baron and Zhao are waiting for us just after Heinlig," Miranda added.

Langley searched for the ruined husk of the luxury liner. The ship had crashed onto a large asteroid, its remains splayed out across the rocky surface. He noticed a strobe light winking just on the edge of the dark side of the rock. It flashed twice in quick succession and then two more slowly.

"Got 'em."

Upon swinging around to the dark side of the asteroid, a Northlock Starliner 783 decloaked and revealed itself. The 783s were primarily used by interstellar travel and shipping companies, but its modular and flexible design have attracted the attention of the Intelligence Community, which use the liners as deep space support vehicles for special operation teams.

"Get your asses on board, barty's are coming in force," Baron said over the communications channel.

"Copy, commencing docking."

A docking tube extended from the ventral side of the 785. Thanks to the interstellar standard of spacecraft design, everything ever produced by the aerospace companies had to comply with the core standards, and that was same fuel, power and docking ports.

Guiding the corvette onto spot, the locks slid in place and the doors opened. Langley unclipped the harness, floating in zero gee. He reached out to the hand rungs and pulled himself along through the corridors and into the passenger compartment, which should be rotating to create artificial gravity.

Upon reaching the doors, Langley glided up through the tube and closed the hatch behind him.

"Lang's clear," Miranda said into he mike, and handed him a pair of mag cleats.

"Copy that… detaching corvette," Baron responded. "Welcome to Poseidon's Fist, I am the pilot of Trident Team, and we'll be happy to make your travel more enjoyable. As with all flight regulations, smoking is prohibited at all times. Should you feel sick, please find Langley and he'll be happy to give you a hand… if he was here."

"Jackass," Lang muttered.

Taylor and Niket immediately broke off and headed to the armoury, while Langley and Miranda headed to the flight deck.

"Nice to see you out in one piece," Zhao said cheerily.

"Blow the charges," Miranda ordered.

"You got it," Zhao complied.

Activating the long range transmitter, he entered in the activation code and pressed the confirmation button.

Fireballs blossomed along the hulls of Cantation and Marina, hurling spark and debris into space. The two destroyers shuddered under the thunderous force, their superstructures twisting and turning, straining under the pressure.

"Slipspace drive destruction confirmed," Zhao reported. "Alright, I think we're good to go."

"Baron, take us home," Miranda said.

"You got it, plotting course."

…

1324 hours, July 24th, 2552 (UNSC Military Calendar)
Olympic Tower, Reach

"Winter Contingency has been enacted."

Keyes looked up from his desk and gazed out the windows. Hundreds of UNSC aircrafts were taking to the skies. The red and blue flashes of the New Alexandria Police Department flooded the streets below. This was the chaos before the Covenant's assault. Men and women would run frantically to their cars, speeding through traffic to get to their families.

Security Personnel began to move through the office hallways, making their way to the private section that was his office.

"Sir, we need to go," Agent Jameson Locke urged, as he pushed the glass doors open. "Stanforth's orders."

Charles swore silently, hesitant to leave. His mother and Javik were still at CASTLE Base.

"If you die here sir, so does your work," Jameson said, pulling Keyes away from his desk.

The Lieutenant Colonel quickly checked the pistol in his thigh holster, and pulled on an armoured vest, forgoing his coat. Adjusting his AR glasses, he fell into step with the ONI Special Activities Division Team as they guided him through the areas of cubicles and workstations.

ONI personnel were quickly moving from station to station, purging all work data or sending it to an offsite facility before being herded out by security.

Entering the lifts, Keyes opened up his TACPAD and interfaced into the secure channels.

"Holton, you there?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Receiving," he answered his voice dry and humourless.

"Where are you?"

"We're on lockdown here, prepping for evac."

"I need a favour."

"Go on."

"Make sure the Subject in Room-Four-Two-A, gets out okay."

"That's the biology section."

"Do me a favour; get out of physics and go. I'll send you the priority codes."

"Fine… you owe me lunch."

The link was then terminated.

Keyes rolled his eyes, Alistair did know when to crack jokes at the most inappropriate moments. Switching channels, he entered in a new contact.

"Charles?" an elderly woman answered.

"Mum, where are you?"

"Charles? I'm so sorry. We've been cut off. Look, don't worry about me or your father. Just focus on getting yourself back to Earth."

Keyes clenched his jaw, tightening his grip on a nearby handle.

"Sword is still green."

"No, Charles… the base is on full lockdown, no one gets in or out. Don't worry about me… just get home safely."

"Alright… I'll see you soon."

"Bye, Charles," Halsey said, barely above a whisper.

Keyes cleared his throat and turned off his COMs.

The rest of the elevator trip down remained quiet, Charles kept his gaze firmly on the console, watching the numbers tick by. Coming to a rest, the doors parted open, allowing the team to usher the Lieutenant Colonel out.

Security was everywhere, manning checkpoints and standing at evacuation intersections in the underground foyer. Everything was so loud, and yet so quiet at the same time. Many here knew how many worlds had burned before Reach, Keyes had the feeling that a lot of them believed they were never going to see their families again.

"Sir, this way," Locke said, leading him to a vactrain carriage.

Stepping through the airlock, Keyes secured himself in one of the seats and breathed heavily as he tried to hide his shaking hand. Forcing his stiff fingers to work, he called his mother again. But there was no connection on the secure channels.

"Dammit," he murmured.

The sound of the hissing locks registered in his ear, followed by the sensation of acceleration pushing against his whole body. Non electrical glow lights streaked by as the carriage shot through the vacuum tube.

Charles kept himself busy by working on his device, looking at the in combat repots flooding the network. Reach was already lost; anyone who was left was just delaying the inevitable.

…

September 19th, 2552 (UNSC Military Calendar)
UNSC HIGHCOM Facility Bravo-6 "The Hive"
Sydney, Australia

The jump back to Earth was spent in virtual isolation, without any way of knowing how the fight on Reach was developing. The wait had been killing him, until a lone Prowler made it back with the news. Several days later, civilian shuttles and UNSC escorts arrived, but the numbers of those who survived were tragically low.

Charles didn't know if his mother had made it out alive, or if his father was still in the fight. The reports were meagre, not enough to form a coherent image. CASTLE was up for grabs, but a large portion destroyed, and Sword Base overrun. Most of the UNSC garrison had been wiped out, but at least the Pillar of Autumn was last seen making a slipspace jump.

Lieutenant Wagner reported that Keyes's father had made it off Reach, but whether he was alive or not was still an open question.

The elevator came to a halt at its final destination. The doors parted open, revealing a sparsely decorated foyer, which primarily relied on a holo-landscape display of the Sydney Harbour, segmented metal panels and indirect lighting to give it some kind of flare.

Walking along the carpet, Charles stopped by the front desk, manned by three receptionists. Bit overkill, but he knew that the two men and women were more than capable with a firearm.

"The Committee is ready to see you, Colonel," the woman said.

"Thank you."

Passing through the dual doors flanked by armed MPs, Keyes entered the Committee chambers. It was dark, barely lit by dull azure blue lights illuminating the UNSC Insignia on the floor.

"Colonel Keyes," Hood greeted. "Thank you for coming."

"Sir."

There were a surprising number of empty chairs, most of it from ONI. Section II Deputy Head was vacant, and so were both Section III chairs.

"We're here to discuss your promotion."

Charles's eyes flickered over to the empty chairs.

"A unanimous decision has been made, that you will be the Acting Head of Military Intelligence Section III. Congratulations Brigadier General."

The Committee gave him a curt nod, but no applause. No one was really in the mood for celebration anyway.

"Thank you sir, but… what about Colonel Ackerson?"

"Colonel Ackerson has been deployed… you're next in line. Please, take your seat," Hood gestured.

Charles decided to drop the subject of why he was now the Acting Head. Walking around the curved table, he pulled out the chair and eased himself into the leather cushions. He felt the servos kick in as they automatically shifted to the contours of his body. Looking to his right, Admiral Margaret Parangosky, the CINCONI gave him another light nod and returned her attention back to Hood.

"Now, Keyes, you said you wanted to present something about a… Prothean?"

Charleston nodded, and placed a small device onto the table, interfacing it with the room's monitors.

"We discovered this Prothean on Eden Prime, one of our Outer Colonies," he began. "His name is Javik, a military commander."

A humanoid appeared on the monitors and projectors. He was clad in armour reminiscent of Feudal Japan, with his three-digit hands, and two-digit feet left exposed.

"What happened to his species?" asked Major General Nicholas Strauss, the liaison from the Army.

A crease formed in Charles's forehead.

"Destroyed… by an entity known as the Reapers, some fifty thousand years ago."

Another image appeared on the central holoprojector. It appeared to be a purple mechanised cuttlefish.

"His species has the ability to read their environment through organic residue; a skill that made them prime hunters. They quickly evolved and became space faring."

"Any relations to the Forerunner?"

Charles shook his head.

"No. Apparently they used these Mass Effect Relays, much like the one we found near Elysium. There could be more, but they are hard to detect. Anyway, the Protheans used this network to expand their influence."

"Who built the Relays?" Strauss asked.

"The Protheans thought it was their predecessors, but it turns out it was built by the Reapers."

"And they are?"

"Sentient ships that harvest advance species every fifty thousand years," Keyes said gravely. "Our analysts believe that the Relays are a means for the Reapers to influence development, something that Javik confirms."

A galactic map appeared on screen, with red lines running across the stars like veins.

"These are known Relay lanes," said Keyes. "Virtually instantaneous travel across the entire galaxy. However, we should be having a Relay in Sol if we are to go by the pattern of dispersion."

"You're saying someone is interfering with the network," said Strauss.

Charles nodded.

"Could be the Reapers, could've been the Forerunners. We don't know."

"Know or not is irrelevant at the moment," Hood interrupted, raising his hand. "Time is not our friend here. If Javik has anything useful, use it. If not, shelve it for later."

Charles nodded. "Yes sir."

…

Email Archive

January 15th, 2551

From: Charleston R.E. Keyes
To: Musa-096

Subject: Spartan-IV Program

Musa,

What you and Parangosky are requesting cannot be done. My team and I have run through hundreds of simulations, each concluding that the augmentations will result in death or serious injury of any adult candidates.

As requested, I've attached the procedures and chemical compounds to this email.

I have also provided another set of augmentations which will guarantee 100% effectiveness for adult candidates; however, they will not reach your desired results.

Regards,

Doctor Charleston R.E. Keyes
Thetis Cell

…

Author's notes

I should also let you know that Josiah Harper is based off a combination of the Illusive Man (Jack Harper) and President Josiah Bartlett from The West Wing – both characters played by Martin Sheen.

Afterword

Well, there we are, the first chapter of Shadow Contingency has landed. Love it? Hate it? Leave a review and let me know.