3rd of May, 2551

Halberd-class destroyer UNSC Iroquois

In any other situation, the clueless silence following his query would've been almost comical.

Almost.

"I say again, what are we seeing?" Repeated Commander Jacob Keyes, frowning as he took his seat among the crewmen of UNSC Iroquois.

"An unidentified ship appeared on our long-range sensors a couple of minutes ago, roughly one hundred million kilometres away." Lieutenant Hall was the first to reply, turning to face her commanding officer. "It just appeared from nowhere."

"Appeared?" Keyes inquired curiously.

"Yes, sir. Strange thing is, there was no slipspace rupture, no nothing. It sat there for a couple of minutes before it moved."

"What'd it do, Lieutenant?"

"We recorded a significant energy build-up. That's when we sent for you, sir, and were preparing for a slipspace jump. Next thing we know, it's speeding away towards this system's star. It then began to orbit it at one third the speed of light, moderately deep in the corona. It's been doing that for about ten minutes, sir."

"So we've got an unknown ship with no IFF transponder and possessing sophisticated faster-than-light travel. If any of you have suggestions, now's the time." Keyes looked over his bridge crew, patiently awaiting a response.

"We make contact, sir." It was Lieutenant Aki Hikowa who spoke first this time.

"Are you out of your mind, Aki?" Jaggers was quick to criticize, as always. "For all we know, it's hungry and its favourite snack is lone UNSC destroyers!"

"With all due respect, Lieutenant Jaggers," the woman ground out, her tone very much suggesting the opposite, "that ship isn't Covenant. It clearly doesn't use slipspace."

"W-well, perhaps they built a new design!"

"Why would they? Their FTL capabilities outclass ours tremendously." Dominique added his two credits to the ongoing conversation. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it, as the saying goes."

In any other situation, it would've been a privilege to watch Lieutenant Hikowa verbally ream Jaggers. But the problem in the shape of an unknown starship still remained, and needed to be addressed.

"I would very much like to let you continue this discussion, but I've made up my mind. Lieutenant Dominique, send out a ping - see if you can draw its attention. Lieutenant Hall, have the reactors brought up to seventy percent. Get the point-defense turrets online and warm up the Archer Missile pods. I'd hate to be caught with our pants down."

"Aye-aye, sir."

"Nuuuurgh." Commander Evangeline Graves vocalised drunkenly as she sluggishly pawed at her ship's controls. The incessant beeping of alerts filled her ears with their shrill whine as she pulled herself upright.

"Computer... status report." She gasped, her stomach feeling like a Gordian Knot from Hell. Almost immediately, the right-hand holographic panel lit up, accompanied by the clank-clink-clink-clink that informed her that the shields were down, but had begun to regenerate.

The status report didn't bring much good news – her ship's hull had been subjected to enormous stresses – like she'd been interdicted by a hundred pirates at once. The corvette's systems had experienced a massive power surge, which had fried a number of secondary and tertiary systems, but had, luckily, left the primaries relatively intact – a quick test confirmed that all hardpoints could be deployed and retracted, and the hundreds of metres of power cables still functioned without any immediate problems. The two remote-controllable F63 Condor fighters were scrap, however. It was no big loss, luckily. She could always manufacture new ones.

As it were, things could've been a lot worse. A frightening number of pilots disappeared without a trace. Despite the wonders of 34th century technology, accidents happened. Yet, the siren call of the stars beckoned tirelessly; men and women of brave and adventurous bearing ventured forth all the same.

"Shields online." The synthetic voice of her ship's computer jostled Evangeline from her thoughts and she quickly switched to Galaxy Map, eager to ascertain her whereabouts.

Imagine her shock when, instead of a reassuring visualisation of the Milky Way galaxy, she was presented with two sentences.

NO CONNECTION AVAILABLE

SWITCHING TO LOCAL COPY OF GALACTIC MAP

Oh, this was not good.

"Balls..." She cursed, trying again.

No sell.

Groaning in defeat, she activated the Frame Shift Drive, aligning herself with the distant star. The fuel tanks were nearly empty, and she really preferred not to sit in a stasis pod, waiting for Fuel Rats to save her ass.

"Four. Three. Two. One. Engage." With a jolt, the corvette accelerated into supercruise, towards the distant star.

It took less than a minute to reach the star and settle in a sustainable orbit, the fuel scoop scarfing down countless cubicmetres of gaseous hydrogen, processing it through a number of filters and compressors before it was suitable for storage and eventual consumption for the power plant. A quick discovery scan revealed the system wasn't much to look at – a mediocre asteroid belt and a couple of barren rocks orbiting a main sequence star. The exploration data for it probably wouldn't be worth much.

However, there was a much more pressing issue in the form of a bruise on Evangeline's head. Concussions weren't fun to deal with, moreso when in deep space, where the only medical aid to be found was in a first-aid kit that was woefully lacking.

She hissed in discomfort as she tentatively poked at the swollen bump with a finger, quite frustrated that she had no ice at hand, all the while trying to remember what had led to this.

She remembered leaving Crick City in 19 Phi-2 Ceti. It'd been one of the many ports she'd called home. The resource-rich asteroid belts around the system's gas giants drew many a miner there, which, in turn, brought many a pirate looking for an easy score.

Which, in turn, brought pilots like her to the system, always up for thrashing pirates and getting paid for it. She'd made a hefty profit from doing so – with the closest resource extraction sites less than half a light-second away from Crick City, resupplying wasn't an issue, either. And with a group of friendly pilots as her wingmen, they'd made a killing (har har har).

Of course, eventually, the influx of pirates slowed down to a trickle as they learned to avoid the system, and they'd been forced to move on. She'd packed up, gathering all her property, and had set out for a new system to temporarily settle down in. And then...

Ice filled her veins as the gears in her head clicked and she finally remembered what was responsible for her current predicament.

An ugly, octagonal bastard of a ship had torn her from witchspace mid-jump, shrieking at her through the comms, and she'd no longer known up from down before passing out.

Thargoids were, without a doubt, bad news. They could pull any ship from witchspace, and had repeatedly done so, without any reason given, and it almost always ended badly for the victim. She could only be grateful that she was still breathing.

"Fuel scooping complete." With a clunk, the fuel scoop retracted itself into the corvette's hull, the fuel tanks refilled.

She tried the galaxy map again. It remained stubbornly useless.

"Damn it..." She grumbled, sinking into her seat, gears whirring in her mind as she began to plan, all the while the star's corona howled and shrieked as it scraped across the shields.

Unknown signal source detected, one of the panels began to blink, and she examined the prompt before sighing resignedly. With her map being a problem child, there wasn't much else she could do. With masterful ease, she broke orbit and accelerated towards the distant signal.

"It worked. The mystery ship is moving towards us, sir." Dominique's sudden report didn't do much to ease the tension. "ETA two minutes, sir."

"Reactor output at sixty-seven percent and climbing." Hall announced curtly.

"Missile pods 1 through 17 are ready to fire on command. Awaiting target lock." Hikowa added, the very image of professionalism.

It was a tense and nerve-wracking ninety seconds later that Dominique announced that the unknown vessel had come to a sudden halt just under ten kilometres away from them.

"Put it on the main screen, Lieutenant." Keyes ordered. Mere moments later, the bridge crew could finally see the alien ship. It was keel-shaped, with a narrow, blunt prow that became wider to the aft of the ship. It came as a surprise to Keyes that it didn't look all that alien to him – if anything, it seemed utilitarian.

But the part that really surprised everyone present was the lettering across its front, written in clear English.

HYPERION

Evangeline gaped in awe at the huge, imposing starship looming ahead of her – the black-hued hull was illuminated by a number of spotlights across its armour plating, UNSC IROQUOIS painted on its side. The ship was big – easily at least twice as big as Hyperion, and was bristling with big, double-barrelled turrets whose destructive power she had no interest in seeing.

Unnerved, she opened navigation panel, dismayed at seeing a line of blinking NON-APLICCABLE where she'd usually see a list of systems within her jump range. Locking onto the ponderous behemoth didn't help things, either – the allegiance/hull/shield integrity tabs remained stubbornly empty, and as a result, the computer began to wail as it registered the other ship maintaining a number of passive locks onto the corvette.

"It's human?" Hall mouthed silently in utter disbelief.

The silence could be cut with a knife, a small part of Keyes idly reflected as everyone's eyes remained glued to the screen, taking in the battered ship's appearance, again and again examining the lettering just to make sure they weren't hallucinating.

"Sir? Sir, what do we do?" Lieutenant Hikowa queried, and he realised he had to pull himself together. His crew looked to him for direction and guidance. It would do no-one any good to stare like a witless cretin.

"Lieutenant Dominique – see if you can establish communications with them. Try everything you know of. If it's actually a human ship, then there's a chance they'll be able to respond."

The taciturn officer nodded and feverishly began to work at his console, rapidly typing away for a minute before speaking into a microphone. "This is UNSC Iroquois, hailing the Hyperion and its crew. Identify yourselves."

Static issued from the speakers – Dominique tried again, with similar results. The other officers waited with bated breath, watching as the communications officer tried once more, but was, yet again, rewarded with the same results. It wasn't until he'd resorted to FM radio that his attempts bore fruit. The voice of a woman, laden with static, yet still audible, could be heard as they received a reply from the other ship.

"This is Commander Evangeline Graves of Hyperion. I hear you, Iroquois."

Dominique allowed himself a rare smile before turning to Keyes. "The horn's all yours, sir."

"Damn good job, Lieutenant." Nodding in thanks to his subordinate, Keyes spoke into the microphone built into his command seat. "This is Commander Jacob Keyes of the Iroquois. As far as I know, there are no ships in the UNSC named Hyperion. Frankly, I feel out of my depth here. I've never seen a ship like yours."

"I could say the same, Commander. So, what's the next step?"

"I'm sure you have questions that I could provide the answers to, and you can do the same for us. Would you find an in-person meeting agreeable?"

"As long as you have a doctor onboard, sure. I'm fairly sure I have a bit of a concussion."

"I can arrange for a medical team to inspect you."

"Great! I'll approach to two klicks and leave on a small craft. Do you have a hangar I could land in?"

"We do. I'll have it prepared for your arrival."

"Understood, Iroquois. Over and out."

"Lieutenant, prepare a quarantine team. Have the hangar depressurized in advance, and tell the crew to stand down." Keyes addressed Hall, who promptly did as ordered. The tension, having grown worryingly fast, dissipated just as quick as everyone realised that there wouldn't be a shooting match with a ship whose destructive capabilities were an unknown, even if it was a third of the size of Iroquois.

The fighter deployment rack whirred as the Condor's canopy slid shut around her. The hangar bay doors swung open, and Evangeline took the opportunity to examine the bottom surface of Hyperion. It looked like the damage was mostly superficial. Given that one could find themselves touring deep space for months without any support, all ships were built with numerous redundant systems, meaning that even if an explorer was flying an Asp that was held together by snot, tears and prayer, they'd be able to return to inhabited space, long as they took no further damage.

"Thank heaven for small mercies," she muttered aloud before keying the throttle, sending the agile fighter towards the other ship. It didn't take long for her to cross the distance between Hyperion and Iroquois, toggling the flight assist on and off as she circled the massive ship, looking for anything that resembled a hangar bay.

Or maybe you should've asked them where the hangar is to begin with. Durr.

Luckily, she found her destination moments later, courtesy of marker lights that drew her attention. With a deft flick of controls, she soon was on the correct approach.

Keyes watched the small starship approach through the window of the hangar control room – the flier was barely half the size of one of the Pelicans that occupied rest of the hangar. With grace that was equal to that of a Covenant Seraph, the small craft spun about and set down, as the hangar doors began to close. Mere moments after the slabs of metal were back in place, the air pumps began to work.

"Quarantine team, prepare to enter hangar."

The canopy slid open with a hiss as Evangeline wriggled herself out from the not-very-spacious-at-all cockpit, sliding down the Condor's hull, her boots hitting the floor with a quiet thump. Her joints protested as she stretched to her full height, wincing at how stiff her limbs felt – she could never get used to sitting in the same seat for hours with next to no breaks to speak of, no matter how much money she spent on a better Remlok suit.

Her musings were interrupted as a door on the far end of the hangar opened, and a group of hazmat suit-wearing crewmen walked inside, all of whom were carrying tools and equipment of some sort.

"Commander's orders, ma'am," one of the crewmen spoke, approaching her. "We're to ensure that no possible contaminants are brought onboard."

"So long as there's no probing involved." The crewman let out a chuckle at that.

"Just a couple of scans for anything that could cause health problems, I promise." In an instant, the others had surrounded Evangeline and her ship, circling both with their tools for the better part of a minute before she was spoken to again.

"Everything's clean. The commander will be here to greet you in a moment."

"Alright." With nothing else to do, she leaned against her fighter as the quarantine team left her to her own devices.

Keyes could, once again, feel anxiety mounting as he entered the hangar, a Marine security team following him, marching in perfect unison. He'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't equal parts curious and apprehensive to see their guest.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long, as he spotted the solitary figure leaning against the small fighter – which was comically tiny when compared to UNSC's own GA-TL1 Longswords.

The pilot was clad in a form-fitting suit made from a black material, a number of tiny blue lights glowing on its surface. The headpiece was, compared to Navy pilots' equipment, more compact, with an opaque faceplate.

As he drew closer, the woman – Graves, he recalled her last name – stood straighter, almost as if she was at a military parade. A moment later, there was a click and hiss, and the helmet separated into several segments that retracted into the suit's collar, revealing a youthful face, framed by coal-black hair tied in a neat bun.

"Commander Keyes. Good to meet you." She spoke moments after the Marine detail stopped, backs ramrod-straight, rifles held at ease.

If she was being honest to herself, she was more than a little impressed by the grizzled man in front of her – he all but radiated an aura of determination, and the medals on his chest only added to the impression of a seasoned officer.

Confidence without arrogance, command without tyranny.

"Likewise, commander." He replied, offering a handshake, a gesture she gladly accepted. "Now, I don't mean to be rude, but I need a straightforward answer from you – who are you?"

"Vice Admiral Evangeline Graves of the Federal Navy Auxiliary." She replied without hesitation.

"I must admit I've never heard of a Federal Navy." He paused, considering the pros and cons of a question that would, in all likeliness, either turn this situation rather bizarre, or give him a migraine. "What year do you think it is?"

"Uh, thirty-three-oh-two?"

Grrk.

Both it is, then, he sighed internally. "Try twenty-five-fifty-one."

"Oh." Evangeline blinked. "That complicates things. Look, I'll just rattle off a couple of things, please tell me if any of them ring a bell. Galactic Federation. Empire of Achenar. Alliance of Independent Systems. GalCorp. Lave."

"Sorry." Keyes shrugged apologetically.

Evangeline blinked again, processing this turn of events before sighing deeply, facepalming. "Mothefucking Thargoids."