: Short and sweet!

I make no apologies for the following:

There were many strange things that rose from the grave of the Old Covenant, but surely none could be as strange, as contrary to the natural order of things, as this arms bazaar. The homeworlds and the colonies were snapping up every last gun they could find, and yet Wraiths and Seraphs and the odd capital ship flowed to this small moon. Here was the sort of martial might that many a Field Marshall had dreamed of, awaiting only payment and the trained warriors to use it.

And the master of this empire-spanning gunrunning cabal was... an Unggoy.

"That will be all," Jul said. He didn't dare let his eyes stray from the distant assault carrier, as if it might vanish the moment he averted his gaze. "I can pay in cash and minor artefacts of the Forerunner."

Mab Datla giggled and typed furiously into her tablet. "I might close early today. What should I put you guys down as?"

"We." Jul 'Mdama said, straightening his back and gesturing imperiously. "We are the Covenant."

The typing stopped. "Seriously?"

"I am."

"What separates you from the..." Mab squinted at her tablet. "One hundred and thirty seven other groups that have shopped here and called themselves 'The Covenant'?"

"They are mere pretenders. We are the true inheritors of the Covenant's legacy, bound to our path by a Forerunner's decree."

"Oh. So you call yourselves the True Inheritors?"

"No."

"Forerunner-Decreed, then?"

"Absolutely not."

"The Not-Pretenders?"

It had been a long afternoon with all of the Unggoy's insolent jabs and Jul already felt the beginnings of a migraine. The sounds of his energy blade activating and the arms dealer's squeals of fright were sweet music.

"If you kill me, it'll take you five years to crack the security system on the carrier!"

"My satisfaction may be worth it."

"If you guys can't figure out how branding works, you're a lost cause," Mab said, a defiant gleam sneaking back into her eyes. "Look, there's plenty of reasons to not call yourselves 'The Covenant', both practical and psychological. Let's start with that last one: What comes to mind when I say 'The Covenant'?"

"The Covenant," Jul 'Mdama said mechanically. "Were the greatest power that the galaxy has seen since the time of the Forerunner. We were the Forerunner's disciples, following in their footsteps and seeking a brighter future for all."

"Yes, that's what comes to your mind, and it's what comes to the mind of those backwater hicks you have with you. The ones still picking fertilizer out from between their hooves, anyway. What most Sangheili think of is betrayal. They think that generations of their forefathers were fed spoonfuls of lies by the Prophets. They remember all their brothers and wives who were slaughtered by the Brutes. The military-age Sangheili, i.e. your potential recruits, have all fought to separate from the Covenant. They aren't in a rush to join another one."

"You mentioned over a hundred pretenders who have adopted the name."

"That just means that there's over one hundred and thirty-eight idiots fighting for a slice of the chavra. Face it. You Sangheili were raised to fight glorious wars, not to sell a product."

"The Covenant is not a product to be sold."

"Au contriare," Mab said, words that Jul was quite certain he'd never heard before. "It used to be that the Covenant was the only option for your fellow Sangheili, but now they have a choice. How are you going to convince them to join your Covenant, and not one of the other ten in their area? Why should they join a Covenant, and not the Arbiter's coalition?"

"We are-"

"Rhetorical question. You must also keep in mind the Sangheili proverb 'Your name is in the mouths of your enemies. Make sure it has teeth.' When your enemies hear that the Covenant demands their surrender, the response will not be 'At once!' but 'Which Covenant?'"

"And finally, there's the practical reasons. Like the fact that I set up a credit account for all my clients, and record-keeping is a bitch to handle when everyone insists on doing business with the same name. Some of you guys see the light and adopt names like 'The Reformed Covenant' or 'Pour 'Jerrnoule's Covenant'. Others don't, and they get put down as 'Covenant #76'. So, what shall you use?"

Jul rubbed his neck, willing away both the migraine and the visions of glassing Mab Datla's business with his new flagship. Both stubbornly refused to go. "You will call us 'Jul 'Mdama's Covenant'."

"It's a start, hon. It's a start."

In other words, I'm going to continue calling Jul's group 'The Storm'.