"I spy..."

 

"Mike, one more word and I swear to god I will sabotage the life support of your cryo pod."

 

Mike laughed heartily as his friend grew increasingly annoyed with his antics. Michael Anderson, or just 'Mike,' was a cheerful and affable civilian pilot, or rather, he used to be a civilian pilot. The ship and its crew were contracted by the navy to support the war effort. Despite the grueling nature of their work, his ever-present smile and light-hearted banter with his close friend and boss, Dave, were constant sources of amusement for the crew.

 

"There's nothing out here! The stars? The void? There's not a goddamn thing! Not even a planet, not even a freaking asteroid... At least get me a comet to look at for crying out loud!" Dave angrily pounded on his console as Mike was clearly not helping with their situation.

 

Captain David 'Dave' Reynolds is a rugged and experienced captain known for his tough exterior but a heart of gold. Or so the people around him say, though mostly they are praising him just to piss him off. He has a few gray hairs on his head, showing signs of his many years of experience.

 

When the ship was still in civilian use, he and his crew would sail to the edges of known space in search of adventure, new star systems to explore. His eyes, an intense shade of green, typically used to glare at Mike. Despite frequently expressing his dislike for the pilot, they share a bond that goes beyond the surface, making their friendship a source of camaraderie and occasional humor within the ship.

 

"Hey, come on! I just fixed that!" Tom glared at him while pointing with a spork, trying to eat from a pouch. The survey ship wasn't exactly grand enough to have its own artificial gravity, so he had to be careful not to let any food escape.

 

Thomas "Tom" McAllister is the ship's indispensable mechanic and a true miracle worker with anything that has gears, wires, or moving parts. His appearance is slightly disheveled, with oil-stained coveralls and a patchy beard from long hours spent tinkering. He has an innate ability to improvise and make something out of nothing, especially when the ship's budget is tight. Often seen with a toolbox by his side, his hands are always stained with grease, but they have the dexterity of a surgeon. He can basically fix anything or modify something to the point that one would wonder how it is still functioning.

 

"Quiet, you morons. I'm getting a hail," said Jack, who was sitting quietly, strapped into his console. “They're broadcasting the correct security code,” he adds, double-checking it one more time.

 

Jack Dawson serves as the ship's communication officer, a position he takes with the utmost seriousness. Jack is often seen with a stoic expression. His uniform is always crisply pressed, and he's the first to arrive at his post during any operation.

 

Jack's dedication to his job sometimes makes him appear aloof as he's more concerned with the task at hand than engaging in idle conversation. However, he does have a love for music. The ship’s speakers are often filled with songs from both eras long past to much more recent ones to keep the crew entertained during their long voyages.

 

"Time?" Dave groaned annoyingly.

 

Mike, still smiling, checked the clock on his console. "0200 Local. Huh... They're on time."

 

Without looking, Dave knew Mike was grinning behind him, and it annoyed him further just thinking of it. "Yeah, it's a fucking miracle... The world is probably gonna end soon."

 

The radio soon came to life as a voice came through the speakers. "UNSC Are We There Yet, this is UNSC Smooth Sailing, please respond to Priority One Hail. Over."

 

Dave turned on his microphone and responded. "UNSC Smooth Sailing, this is Are We There Yet, as of 0200 Local time, breaking radio silence to respond to Priority One Hail, please confirm for the record. Over."

 

"Are We There Yet, this is Smooth Sailing, affirm on the clock. Stand by for orders. Over."

 

"Go ahead. Over."

 

"As of 0200 Local time, UNSC Smooth Sailing is to deploy in Sector 94 as a Forward Observer, UNSC Are We There Yet is to report back to Luna Station for ship maintenance. End of Order. Are We There Yet, please confirm. Over."

 

"We received the order loud and clear. Over."

 

An awkward silence soon followed before laughter erupted on both ships, filling up the channel. With the boring parts out of the way, the crews began to chat.

 

"Hey George, how's it going?" Dave said to the other ship's captain.

 

"No news on the enemy yet, so that's a good sign," George replied. "So, is your Huygens heading for the scrapyard soon?" As Reach fell, ships from various colonies were recalled back to Earth, including Dave’s Huygens-Class Survey Ship. His small crew got enlisted, and his ship was contracted to monitor the fringes of Sol.

 

"Nah, man, Tom said the Slipspace drive was just a bit wonky on our last jump. It's been a while since I had it tuned up. UNSC is paying for it anyway, might as well."

 

"Why not get some upgrades too?"

 

"Well, You arrived too early, I was about to vent Mike out of an airlock and get a new crewmate. Total upgrade that would be."

 

"Yo, Mike! I'm gonna marry your sister!" someone from the other ship yelled.

 

"Over my dead body, asshole," Mike quickly responded as banter continued for a few more minutes. Finally, as the laughter died down, Dave's ship maneuvered away from its position as the Smooth Sailing took its post. "Have fun talking to each other for two weeks, boys! We'll drink ourselves to death on Luna."

 

"Save some for us!" "Have a safe trip back home!" A few more final goodbyes before Are We There Yet's engines slowly spooled to life. Jack and Dave were already preparing themselves for cryo sleep, while Tom and Mike made the final checks. Soon, the ship sailed through the void, heading for home.

 

______________________________________________________________

"Men, by the orders of the Office of Naval Intelligence, I would like you all to meet our newest member, Specialist Markus Blake. If you have any problems with his assignment, go complain to Internal Affairs. I’ll try my best to attend your wake.” Elara waited for any questions, comments, violent reactions, or otherwise, but none arrived. Therefore, she continued.

 

“From the left, this is Sergeant Carter Brooks, our Medic.” Although completely unlike what one would expect from a medic, the large man, standing about six foot two wearing ONI Recon armor, was quite intimidating. A M45E Combat Shotgun slung on his back. With a scar on his face, he stared at Markus before nodding.

 

Sergeant Carter Brooks is an imposing figure, both in stature and presence. Standing tall and broad-shouldered, he exudes an air of strength and resilience. His intimidating physicality often catches others off guard, but those who know him understand that his size belies his gentle and caring nature.

 

“Here is Corporal Maya Valen, our Marksman.” A female of small stature with short red hair. It was quite difficult not to notice her, especially with the M99 Stanchion Gauss Rifle behind her. Like Carter, she nodded simply at him.

 

Underneath her armor is what appears to be a thermal suit, a typical gear for snipers to hide away their body heat. Her helmet only has some spotting attachments and other paraphernalia Markus has no idea what for. Maya has a reputation for occasionally voicing her concerns but she is also the first one who would tackle problems head on.

 

“Warrant Officer Jackson Pierce, our pilot.” “Yo!” Jackson quickly replied when his name was called, smiling at Markus. Unlike the others, he was lightly armed. Markus could only see M6H Magnums on his person. Pierce even extended his hand toward him to shake his, only for the last member of the team to swat his hand down.

 

Jackson is quite the character, often embodying the classic stereotype of an easygoing beach surfer or a charismatic football jock. With his sun-kissed, blonde hair and perpetual smile, he brings a sense of light-heartedness to the otherwise tense and serious atmosphere of the ship. His charismatic nature and friendly demeanor make him well-liked among the crew, despite being a constant source of amusement and occasionally mild irritation.

 

“And finally, Private Zoe Clarke… she doesn’t talk much.” The small brunette woman just looked at Markus, but all the same said nothing. A BR85HB Battle Rifle was on her back, and on her person, she had quite a lot of ammo.

 

Zoe is a silent but formidable presence within the team. Despite her youthful appearance, her eyes tell a story of experience and resilience that goes beyond her years. While she may not speak often, her actions during combat speak louder than words ever could. Zoe's expertise and skills are honed by her past experiences, making her a crucial asset to the team's success. She got demoted several times for insubordination, however.

 

“I am Lieutenant Elara Kane, your new boss.. Welcome to Ghostwalkers, ONI Recon 108.” Welcoming him one more time. Much like himself, she was also carrying the standard MA5B Assault Rifle. However, her suit appeared modified, with pieces of it similar to an ODST/TAC uniform.

 

Elara Kane is a tall blond woman, Markus had tried to look through everyone’s background before being deployed in the field but Elara’s file is mostly blank. Though of course it is common for intelligence officers to have their documents blacked out. Still, Markus looked at her with intrigue.

 

“Thank you,” Markus finally replied. Surely everyone has looked him up before. He is a combat engineer, a tech expert. His job on the field is typically to find out how alien technology works and hopefully use it to their advantage.

 

“Hey, question. From what I heard, you are from Section 4. What are you doing on a Section 1 team?” Of course, rumors would naturally spring up if someone joins out of nowhere. Maya jabbed her elbow into Jackson’s side, making him flinch.

 

“You don’t have to answer that,” the Lieutenant said as she glared at Jackson.

 

“No, it's alright. It's not really top secret or anything. Section 4 is downsizing a bit as there isn’t much reason to acquire and reverse engineer alien tech if your own homeworld is about to be turned into a molten slag.”

 

Clearly, it was not a proper joke to break the ice as the team just stared at him in exasperation.

 

A few more awkward moments passed before Elara coughed and tried to diffuse the tension. “Before Reach fell, a Covenant ship was able to deploy several Zealot-Class Sangheili Elites on the planet to disrupt communications. This action allowed them to bring in their fleet long before the UNSC could prepare a proper defense of the planet. So, our mission at the moment is to visit and inspect several relay stations around the globe alongside several other recon teams. After that, we’ll move on to visit the nearby planets to do the same.”

 

“So, that’s what we’ll be doing? Visit a relay, go in, go out, visit the next one? That’s gonna take forever.” Carter scratched his head, realizing the scale of the mission considering how many stations there were on Earth alone.

 

“This will be an exhausting mission, I know.” Elara turns and asks, “Markus, if we do two stations a day, how many days will this take?” Inspecting a station isn’t easy due to their size; a thorough sweep of one would take almost half a day.

 

Markus was surprised when his name was suddenly called, but he performed some mental math before coming up with an answer. The number of relay stations on Earth, the neighboring planets and moons was staggering. “Two months? Wait, if we are doing this with other teams, does that mean these stations would be visited by ONI almost every week?”

 

Jackson could only grimace at the thought. “Poor bastards.” It’ll be like having Internal Affairs breathe down your neck every day.

 

Maya shook her head and made her way toward their ship parked next to them. “Let’s just get this over with,” clearly unhappy with the mission as well.

 

The team turned and prepared to board their Winter-Class Prowler, the UNSC Eclipse Runner.

 

______________________________________________________________

“Doctor, surely you understand what you are asking us but we cannot stop the operation of this facility.”

 

“Well, if you want to see this moon crashing into the Earth, then fine by me. The fusion reactor has been in operation nonstop for more than a month now. Without proper maintenance and inspection, this is just a catastrophe waiting to happen.” 

 

Dr. Robert Caldwell, the chief scientist of the Antimatter Fusion Reactor facility in Luna, is a man of remarkable intellect and perpetual dissatisfaction. Despite his tendency to voice concerns about the facility's operations, Dr. Caldwell's insights are often valued and respected by his colleagues, even as they sometimes find themselves on the receiving end of his pointed critiques.

 

“Dr. Caldwell, we understand your concern, but not knowing when our enemies would reach Earth, we have to make sure all ships in the system are prepared and fueled.”

 

“And you are willing to risk cracking this moon in half while doing so? We’ll all be dead before the Covvies even show up!”

 

“Robert.” the Administrator finally said, shaking his head. “We are done here,”. The old man stared at Caldwell as if pleading him to drop it.

 

Dr. Robert Caldwell on the other hand glared back. His topaz eyes pierced through every member of the board in anger or hatred. “This is a big mistake, and you know it… you all know it!” before quickly exiting the meeting room in anger.

 

______________________________________________________________

“Professor,” the holotank hummed as the image of the AI appeared with a mild orange light. It took the form of a Greek woman, dressed in silk and carrying a harp. “It seems you have already completed the task given to you by ONI… but what else are you doing here?” The AI frowned as she checked the data stream flowing from the Professor’s computer.

 

“Calliope.” Without even turning to look at the construct, the Professor continued to type. “Has the transfer started?” Olivia Reed was a consultant hired by the UNSC, more specifically ONI to compile the entirety of human history. It was months of arduous work requiring a large team of professors, historians and translators from all over the galaxy.

 

Fatigue lines her face, and her eyes, a shade of warm brown, show hints of weariness, revealing her inquisitive and perceptive nature while also reflecting the exhaustion that comes from months of relentless research and writing.

 

She is typically seen wearing glasses, but these days they often rest lower on her nose as she squints at documents and text, taking a toll on her eyes. Her attire remains conservative and professional, but there's a slightly disheveled quality to it, and her hair, while still maintained, has a few loose strands that have escaped their confinement as she tirelessly delved into the past.

 

At first, it was all separated by language and culture. Each relic was scanned and preserved digitally, some even shipped to god knows where to save, larger items however had to be thoroughly captured using high end cameras and scanners but in the end, they would be left behind. 

 

After translating and compiling these histories by date, most of her team was sent back, ONI didn’t want this information to leak as contingencies such as this might cause a panic. Soon, ONI personnel began adding classified entries to the file from various worlds and governments, slotting the information wherever it is appropriate for the timeline before Olivia would perform a thorough check and compiled it into one document. The Memento Mori.

 

“Yes, Professor. The file has been routed to Data Station Gamma 3 for the past few hours.” That also meant Olivia had completed her work hours ago. “Professor, your security clearance for this facility is going to expire soon, what are you still doing here?” asked the AI once more as personnel of the ONI Alpha Site aren't exactly friendly to intruders.

 

“It has been home for the past few months…” Olivia looked up, sighing as she stopped typing. She removes her glasses before rubbing her tired eyes before turning to the AI and putting her glasses back on. “I had to compile anything and everything the human race has accomplished, from the miracles to the nightmares. Calliope, I am still here to make a copy of it for myself.” As soon as she said that, a data crystal ejected from a nearby machine, giving the AI no time to intervene.

 

“Professor…” taken aback by how this human was able to outsmart her. The data was several zettabytes large and had to be handled carefully. Once it arrived at the Data Station’s servers, it had to be inspected by an AI one last time before finally being moved onto crystals. Somehow, Olivia was able to create a clone of the document while creating the Memento Mori file.

 

“It's not complete though,” Professor Reed confessed as she stood and picked up the data crystal. “I had to remove all that is labeled top secret. It was the only way I could fit it all in here.” It was massive after all, it would take several crystals to have a complete copy. Not only that, each crystal would normally be encrypted, Olivia had to forgo any encryption programs as well as needing to compress it down and hope to God none of it becomes crushed and corrupted just to make space. Soon she slotted the chip into her laptop before pulling it off its cables.

 

“Even without any classified documents on that crystal, it is still an unauthorized copy of the Memento Mori file Professor, you give me no choice.” Calliope was able to take a glimpse of it when she scanned the data stream flowing through the professor’s laptop earlier. She barely scratched its surface however, able to go through several petabytes of data before she got bored of how mundane it was as she did not find any top secret files just like what the professor said. Clearly this was a mistake and she should’ve been more vigilant, Klaxons began sounding all over the building. 

 

Olivia, however, didn’t run and continued to stare at Calliope. “Knowing ONI, even if somehow the human race survives? Memento Mori would never see the light of day.” trying to justify her actions. She knew however that any moment now, guards would come pouring into the room. 

 

However, even as seconds passed, no one arrived to arrest her. “That wasn’t me,” the AI finally added.

 

A voice soon blared through the building’s intercom. “All Personnel, Evac Protocol 5-A, Vacate The Premises Immediately, This Is Not A Drill. Proceed to your designated landing pad for extraction. Please Remain Calm.”

 

Olivia was dumbfounded for a second before rushing toward the AI’s holotank. “Come on… come on!” She typed furiously on the keypad as a memory matrix slid out from a nearby wall. Olivia quickly took it and slotted the device onto the holotank. Calliope’s image quickly shut off as the AI transferred itself into the device. The professor soon pulled out the matrix, taking her laptop with her before finally running out of the room and to safety.