Contents Under Pressure, Part 2
A Fractured Story
Editor’s note: This short story takes place in a fractured canon that is unlikely to be revisited in the future. In this fracture, the Master Chief died by the hands of Chieftain Cathegus on the Ark and the Prophet of Truth successfully activated the Halo Array in December 2552. The story that follows is about a survivor.
Office of Scrap's Yard, Deck 7
Infinity-class supercarrier Code of Silence
Lagrange Point 4, Earth, Sol System
July 29th, 2554
Is this your chair? 'Cause it’s garbage.
The scrapping business must be a bust. You'd think with all that junk out there in your yard you could afford better office supplies. Or at least find some. And your security isn't any better.
I wasn't subtle coming in here. I walked right up to your gate with a cheap plasma cutter during business hours. I didn't even bother blinding your cameras.
I knew what I was looking for, but not where it was. Not until I got a quick snoop around your scrapyard and found the freighter parked at the blast door. That is when that lumbering oaf found me relaying my location.
So sure, let Wrecker think I was resisting if that makes him feel good about himself. I definitely didn't let myself be captured and hauled to your back office.
You know, it's funny... Scrap, was it?
Call me Zyr.
I ain't ever seen a brute take orders from gas-guzzler before. Is he in debt or something?
You're right. Never mind. I don't really care.
I think I was telling you why I'm here. Yeah? Or was it who I work for? Whatever.
Let's start from the beginning. You might want to get a snack.
🌌
I was a spacer hatched near Eayn. My old man was a deckhand by trade, and the zealot who laid me was his ship mistress. They both flew for the Covenant. Neither wanted a son.
I grew up on a raider-class much smaller and nimbler than this human ship the brutes have been toying with. I pretty much had free reign as a hatchling. No one ever paid me any mind.
I guess you could say I got in with a bad crowd. As juveniles, most of the spacer kids aboard the raider would roam around causing trouble.
You know our type: Iridescent quills, fluorescent paint, tight leather, and ripped lace. Lingering outside the convenience kiosk spitting and leering and generally bothering bystanders.
As we got older our vandalism got bolder. Our most recent act of rebellion was the decision to bail. We waited until our raider-class docked with a prospective buyer, which happened to be this beast of a ship you've setup shop in.
We stole all of the escape shuttles off the raider with that same subtlety as I'd had walking in here. We crashed those things directly into the Code of Silence like a broadside barrage.
I was separated from my friends in the crash landing. I still haven't caught up with any of them, but I'm sure they're around here somewhere.
I landed in a service tunnel. Of course I made a ton of noise breaking in, but the maintenance idiots that came to investigate weren't difficult to give the slip. Since then, I'd been in hiding.
Scrap, relax. I'm getting to it. And frankly I'd prefer you keep your attention over here as I tell my story. Staring out the window as I talk is frankly rude.
In the cycles since I'd been here, I've met quite a variety of people. This place is housing a ton of Covenant refugees.
This ship here operates like a colony ship, I'd imagine; like a civilian city in space. Which is good, because busy-body merchants are easy to steal from.
I ran into a human recently. There aren't very many of them roaming around freely, I've noticed, despite this ship being of obvious human design. I want to ask why, but I don't think we have time for that.
Anyway, I was on the run from Malithus' Guard after lifting some food in the market. This human saw me and offered somewhere to hide. After that we became a sort of duo; stealing to survive. We bonded over our shared struggle, being alone in a hostile place.
We'd learned to call on each other for favors. One of her biggest requests yet was her plan to escape the Code of Silence for good. That involved stealing a ship. And I absolutely could not resist the trouble.
This human; her name is Si, which short for something… human, I guess. She had a plan. And I liked it a lot. Because it involved me doing what I do best.
Her family freighter had been impounded, and she knew where. Which brings us back to you, and that ship in your hold. It belongs to my friend. She calls it the Contents Under Pressure, and she wants it back.
Ha, no. I don't expect you to give it up. I expect to take it from you. I'm going to be flying out of here on that thing. And here's how.
First, I'm going to just walk in, find the freighter's exact location in the scrapyard, and ping it. At that point a big buffoon of a brute will apprehend me, and I'll demand an audience with the grunt in charge.
Sound familiar?
The muscle will bring me to you before returning to his work in the scrapyard. At which point you ask your questions and I meander on about life as a neglected child, or whatever.
While we are chatting, a human in hiding has found her way to the impounded freighter through the scrapyard ventilation system.
She is quiet and quick. But even if she were noticed she carries a unique ace up her sleeve; an infiltration AI that can tap into your network and neutralize a threat.
At this point your guard dog is either knocked down, locked up, or spaced out. And that freighter is free for the taking.
🌌
Eyes over here, Scrap.
I know what you're thinking. I do talk a lot. It's what's I do best.
But my ride is here, right out that window behind you. So I'ma go, and...
Oh? You want to be difficult?
Y'know, I'd heard a rumor once.
I'd heard that when you shoot the mask off a gas-guzzler, the colorful filters inside burst out like confetti. And that the sound it makes is eerily similar to children celebrating a birthday party.
Is that true? I'm sorta itching to find out.
Look, you can file your complaints with those mounted gun turrets pointing through your window if you’re that desperate to keep the freighter.
No? I didn't think so.
Now, do us a favor and open the blast door.
Image generated by Microsoft Copilot (2024).