"Just what are you...?"

It was not often Gris found himself perplexed at something he had years upon years of experience with. The first two years of an Unggoy's life is a turbulent one, and he had every moment noted down in the palm of his hand. When to exact training regiments at what age, how to get as much out of someone as quickly as possible. If he was worth his salt he had to know the intimacies of Unggoy life.

Their lives depended on it.

So when he found something that disrupted this flow, he paid attention.

His four digits fidgeted on the table as he leaned back on his chair. The moon was bright out tonight, typical summer air... warm and dusky and full of flies. The flies...

He swapped at his face lest one crawled into his eye sockets.

His eyes gloss over the pages as if some hidden meaning would become apparent. But nothing. Every minute of an Unggoy's life was tracked and not once could it have been that Tol received any form of formal training.

Huffing, he rubs his swollen eyelids. Very odd. Very frustrating. If he could somehow replicate what worked for Tol, then this Unggoy batch would be half decent fighters by the end of this cycle. Then, Arbiter'd finally get off his back...

Nobody worked as well as Tol did. After all, critical thinking and spur of the moment decisions did not come easily when the military they bleed for expect them to charge headfirst into hellfire and hoping at least one head hits. Their approach with fighting the space pirates was scuffed enough. Didn't need to exacerbate it further by chucking good people down the drain while doing so.

So where did it come from - this sense of intuition? He didn't want to acknowledge it at first. Too ridiculous given the hand that the gods had given the Unggoy - to be a servant species... but as evidence mounts, so does his suspicion. Tol must be a Messenger.

...but he will deal with it later.

Slamming his work tablet shut, he reached to shut off the night lamp and headed for rest. His personal holopad briefly caught light, and his eyes ran through it before hastily swiping it close. He didn't need any more complications, least of all from his 'family'. But he will show them eventually.

Tomorrow... tomorrow.

----------------------------------------

Their living quarters were little better than a prison cell in Marcus' opinion, but as far as his batch were concerned, this was luxury. They got given individual beds!

Yet tonight, the air felt constricting and heavy. Dust danced in the fluorescent light, and it only just begun to sink in that they were finally being treated like soldiers in training. As today had demonstrated, they had a long, long way to go.

Various Unggoy slunk down to their places of rest, their steps heavy with fatigue. It was hard to take in, but the fact the batch combat average for that training program was that much higher than other batches gave all of them something to talk about.

That didn't erase the fact they got absolutely outmanoeuvred by the kig'yar, but still.

But it wasn't an atmosphere of jubilation or relief as far as Pim was concerned. When your friend was slunk in a corner murmuring to himself, it was hard to feel anything but discomfort. So comes the pressure of managing to best more than three kig'yar trainees in combat on his own. All eyes were on Tollia, and it must have been so suffocating.

Tol felt a calloused hand brush over his skin, and turning revealed two gigantic globes of concern. They were eyes of fatigue, yet filled with a sense of optimism that Marcus felt was almost supernatural. "Thinking again?"

Tol's hands crossed. "When don't I?"

"You can tell me."

Pim shuffled to a more comfortable sitting position on Tol's bed, stroking his back. The dejected Unggoy looked at him solemnly.

"I think I screwed up. Big time."

Pimya recoiled slightly. "What? How? We kicked their butts!"

"By giving the majors a reason to shove us into that without any real training."

"So we are proud, then! Kicking their butts super hard feels so good!"

"Pim, you don't understand. It's only gonna get worse. First they throw us into physical training we are nowhere near trained enough to do, and now they have us do this! And… and not everyone is like me. People are getting hurt. Badly."

"Don't think that way. We bruise. We got hurt. We mess up too. And yet we still going. 'Glass half full'!"

"That's exactly it. That's how our superiors look at us. 'Once in a lifetime', 'blessed by the Gods'. Have you noticed just how accelerated our training has been, when compared to the other batches? They are looking at us for the moon. It just doesn't work like that, Pim. It's when, not if, someone gets killed. And it's because I chose to stick out."

"So we do better next time. Not everything has be bad thing, you know. We co'ave ended up like other batches - at least we have beds! And what's this doomsday thing, anyway?"

"Whatever it is... whatever this is, it's not enough for what's coming next." Unconsciously, his bad leg recoils. "Sooner or later something's gonna happen that is going to put us in serious danger. I gotta think o' something."

It was true. If he didn't progress up the ranks of the Covenant faster, millions of Unggoy were going to get hurt, giving pain to another billion whose existence stood in the way of some maniacally egotistical asshole's grand plan.

A hand clasped his, and he saw Pim's eyes burrow into his soul.

"Then tell me what this is."

But he looked back down, back to fiddling with his fingers. "Pim, there is no light way of putting this. You are gonna to think I am crazy."

"I think you plenty crazy already. What's one more story?"

Tol shuffled away. "Just… please."

Dejectedly, Pim pulled away. The bed creaked sorely as he got up. "Alright."

Before he walked any further to his side of the complex, Pim turned around, still radiant in his smile.

"But you let me tell you another story tonight. Got something been working on the whole day."

Almost like flipping a switch, Tol smiled for the first time in hours.

"Sure."

----------------------------------------

Somewhere, over the highest clouds... a queen waits patiently.

The Covenant, for all its size and might, was not impermeable to error. In their hubris, petty politics between species, and population not adequately justifying much of their land mass, small crumbs of information tend to seep through the cracks. For pirate queens like Eris, these pieces form part of a larger picture.

This, more than stealing credit and gold, was her greatest pleasure.

Power.

The Might of Ruutia hung lazily over one of the many ice moons of Polar II. If her sleuthing proved fruitful, and if the stars aligned, a sizable gap within the Covenant cargo fleet should reveal itself soon. If her ship can sneak through, the Covenant would be none the wiser.

She gazed into the vast expanse of space from her cockpit. In the distance laid her prize.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

A pea-sized rocky planet with little greenery, but nonetheless had signs of life contained within the glittery lights which dotted its surface. Synthesi was traditionally one of the unassuming planets which set the staging ground for 'fundamental' aspects of the Covenant military. Before more and more Sangheili and Jiralhanae soldiers were brought into the fold, the Covenant could rely on the stable production of Unggoy troops to carry out their deeds. Poor bastards. Nowadays, production has slowed down as the hand of the Covenant gripped ever tighter around the galaxy. No invasion, no need for the chaos that the Unggoy can bring.

For Eris, this signalled opportunity.

Still, pulling this heist off would require duress and nimbleness unseen by her people in a long, long time. This was a galaxy-spanning empire she was contending with.

It wasn't the fact it was a guarded planet populated with all the very things she despised which scared her. It was her crew. This was one of the first times she was ever directly responsible for the lives of others, and if she screwed this up... she did not want to travel any further down that road.

"Ah..." The carbonated drink went down smoothly. A tang of bitter and sweet. She snickered. Ever the joke among her contemporaries. She can't stand alcohol, much less swiveling a dozen down before a mission. More often than not she was the target of ridicule during bounty auctions in the Ministry of Tranquility, even before their relationship turned sour.

A mantra her mother imparted everyday: not everything had to be done with intimidation, brute force, or pure muscle. Though drinking numbed wounds, it couldn't replace a sliced arm. She absolutely did not want to embody the kig'yar legends of old, who more often than not had terrible mortality rates.

Ironic, given that she was about to rob her formal employer.

Knocking. Her ears perked. "May I enter, ma'am?"

"You may."

The metal floors thumped and creaked. In her peripheral vision laid an imposing figure easily three halves her size. A Sangheili, which is unusual in of itself - but one which also adorned the colours and attire befitting that of pirates? Most would rather die.

Yet Lys was not most.

"Full diagnostics report?"

"You know me."

"Our slipdrive engines are in excellent condition, as are the blast engine linings. The rest are in... serviceable states of operation. As you are aware, the last mission left our shields in varying stages of disrepair."

"Come on, even you have to admit I could not have seen that asteroid coming. It would take an act of the gods for me to foresee such a thing."

"Be that as it may, had you went in prepared to fight the mining bots instead of living in that fairytale mindset of yours, such a scenario would never have occurred in the first place. I have said it before, and I will say it again: you have to be more careful. It is unsustainable to charge in like a glass cannon and hoping to come out unseen and unscathed. We can fight back. From experience, it is when - not if - the unexpected occurs and blindsides even the best laid plans; when the time comes to fight. It is in our line of work."

"You and your bloody honour. We are on a pirate ship."

"Being a pirate does not give you an excuse to be stupid."

"I also think it is stupid that you would want to bring the fight to the very people you escaped from."

Lys'Vadam did not respond. Eris winced.

"Sorry, I just..."

"It would take more than words to wound me. There are more pertinent matters at hand. Has the supply rotation changed since we last checked?"

"Quadruple-checked. Still the same."

"It is settled, then." He nodded. "We are ready."

"Not even a sardonic reply?"

"I have learned long ago that arguing with you is a losing battle."

"Not even when we are about to rob your former bosses… disappointing."

Eris had come to loathe the silence which seemed to follow every interaction they had.

----------------------------------------

The tyranny of the sun was overbearing. Sweat glistened on their skins as they toiled the barren fields - it was like sweet nectar for the seemingly endless fleet of flies. Above the horizon was the almost flat landmass the facility grounds encompassed, though if one were to strip away the insidiousness of it all one might find the landscape to be almost calming.

This was apparently an initiative to remind the Unggoy never to rely so much on their nipples to nurture them. Pim was sick of it. How could he not be? What was food to the manufactured Unggoy other than energy to get through the day? For one, Tol was grateful that that nipple slush shit would not be his only source of energy for the remainder of his short life.

"How deep do we do it with this one, Tol?"

"Well, this particular seed grows a vegetable that can only get its nutrients deep underground. Plant it too close to the surface and it will die. So we gotta start digging."

"Oh, so they special seeds."

"Sorta, yea. But each of 'em are unique in their own way. It's like... comparing a Kig'Yar to a Sangheili. They both got different needs even though they serve the same gods - cos they are different species."

"Cool..."

As they went back to work, Tol notices something on the corner of his eye slowly making its way toward them. A set of glistening armour and a confident gait he could recognise anywhere.

But just what did Gris want with him?

Regardless, a light tap from Tol brought Pim out of his stupor as they both stood at attention. Contrary to their expectations however, the imposing Sangheili almost stood there apologetically.

"Sorry for intruding upon your work. Exemplary technique, Tollia."

"T-thank you sir."

"But back to the matter at hand. I wish to borrow Tol for a moment."

Pimya widened to a smile and did not miss the chance to jab at Tol. "Well? Go already!"

Half-laughing, Tol complied. "Alright- I am, I-I mean, yes sir."

"Good lad."

----------------------------------------

A slither of anger simmered underneath the surface, but letting it boil over now would ruin everything. Still… the nerve of this guy!

Reducing his efforts of uplifting his race to what was effectively the will of the gods was so deeply patronising. Like the Unggoy wouldn't have the capacity otherwise to come up with frankly asinine and mundane strategies!

However, this Sangheili's attitude puts into perspective for Tol the many bizarre training regiments the Covenant have put them through recently. Because the Unggoy did some things right, it had to be the work of someone else.

It all made sense now. These muppets never stopped to think, just for a moment, effectiveness in warfare did not have to be based on pure strength and agility. Of course such a poorly thought out and inefficient government would never lean into the strengths of each individual race. The entire Covenant must have been built upon nepotism – this idea that one race is more worthy than the other in inheriting the throne in this holy crusade.

This whole situation, lest anger gets him soon enough, was a golden opportunity for his people to shift courses and actually hone their strengths. But just how...?

"So are the visions true?"

Gris, to his credit, was surprisingly tolerant of someone who was his inferior staring off into space mid-conversation. Not that there was much to see on the beige walls lining the back alleys of the Complex, anyway. Shaking off his stupor, Tol's heart nearly stops. He had to think of something truly innovative to say to wade this guy off his masturbatory zealous high.

"Well," he starts. "I don't think I have seen the gods appear in my sleep yet, sir."

Gris' grin immediately fades, and a long sigh drawls off his mandibles like the wisp of a cigarette. "Right..."

"But what you said is true though. We are a special bunch," Tol grinned. "And I am willing to bet that a Zealot like you can pull-"

He was reminded of his lack of tact almost immediately.

"Let's get one thing straight. You and I conversing right now is probably the third worse thing I can do short of drawing graffiti onto our monuments. I do concede that your people require special provision and training, but defying the will of the Prophets is a foolish endeavour - in every sense of the word. They see further into the future than either of us can see."

"What do you mean? We are failing to meet their expectations... right now."

"I recognise that. Completely. But let me tell you something first," Gris started, straightening his posture. "When I was a boy, I thought exactly like you. We didn't need the gods in our seafaring House. Had they been with us from the Start, the bounties we reaped would have been much better than they were. As it stood, we were coasting the line between the right to our lordship and poverty.

"Then one day, one of the Prophets visited us - in person. He spoke of our way of life ending soon, that the ocean would turn its back to us as the gods see a different future for our family. Naturally, we declined. Yet his words become truer day by day. Fish became a rarity. The vastness of our seas and not a sign of life swimming in its body. And yet, Tollia... despite our arrogance, they gave us opportunity. To become greater than we were in our holy mission.

"They gave me a life greater than myself. I would not be here if it weren't for them. No one could have seen the tragedy which would befall us except the Prophets. So whatever misconceptions and hardships you have right now... trust me; it will be well worth it in the future."

...

Holy Stockholm syndrome, Batman. He knew that the Covenant races were forcefully uplifted but Jesus that was rough. Didn't even stop to think that the Covenant could have been pillaging Sanghelios for her resources. Just... blind trust. Still, they were more alike than Gris thinks. Gris was not a bad person - far from it. No Sangheili would dedicate this much time for a species they traditionally saw as cowardly and dim. He is also no stranger to hardship like the vast majority of his people. Or… at least he thinks. If he could leverage a little bit of this empathy...

"But we need opportunity too, sir. You know we can't match up to the strength of the Jiralhanae or the nimbleness of the Sangeheili. All I am asking is to redesign the course so it appeals to our own strengths. Teach us how to read, how to write, if nothing else. We are one of the best batches to come out in a while, after all."

In spite his beliefs, Gris stood to contemplate, a frown adorning his features.

"Perhaps this is something you also can't see."

Not before long, he closed his eyes and nodded, conceding. "I will see what I can do. I highly doubt that better equipment will be in order, but redesigning the course is not the most demanding thing in the world."

"Thank you, sir. Seriously, thank you."

"Don't thank me just yet. For now, rejoin your kin. I will have to devise something truly cunning..."

As he walked back onto the wet soil, Marcus felt springy in his steps - like he was floating on Cloud 9. The sun shone brighter than before.

Today was a good day.