Chapter 1: Acquired

Sydney, Earth, January 18, 2558 13:22

STEPPING out of the transport, the USNC naval officer felt a tightening in his chest and a jump in his heart rate. He was fairly certain that the microscopic layer of sweat beading on his palms and forehead had more to do with nervous agitation than it did with the blistering heat outdoors, although the latter was undoubtedly a factor. Here in Sydney, January was technically the middle of summer; consequently, the outdoor temperatures were exceptionally warm. However, the officer barely noticed the solar radiation baking the back of his neck and reflecting off of the asphalt onto his face as he walked towards the unassuming, low-slung building marked "UNSC B6 SECURE GATE", surrounded by other similarly featureless structures in the low-rise urban sprawl outside of the city center. He was too preoccupied with both concern for his career and life.

It was an open secret locally that this otherwise unremarkable warehouse was one of several secure, classified side entrances to Bravo-6, the underground location of FLEETCOM headquarters and currently the center of power for the entire United Nations Space Command. Mid-level Fleet officers on active duty were never summoned here unless they were either being court-martialed, sent on suicide missions, or being honored in a big way. Right now, the officer wasn't at all sure which of those reasons he was here for, if any. Being sent in the back door wasn't helping matters any.

He nervously brushed a hand through his dark brown hair, trying to will away the jitters he felt all too clearly. He couldn't think of any offences on his record that could have warranted his being summoned here- he was fairly certain he'd know- but that didn't mean anything if the brass in charge thought otherwise.

Outside the front door, he presented his ID to the pair of heavily armored MPs on duty. The older of the two, a short and weathered-looking Staff Sergeant with a name patch reading Kaufmann, swiped the ID card over the datapad in his hand and grimaced.

"Summons from HIGHCOM, Lieutenant Commander? What's that about, you deck an admiral?"

The noncom suddenly realized his breach of protocol and straightened, snapping a hasty salute. "No offence intended, sir!"

"None taken," the officer commented dryly. "Right now I'm too wound up to get any more upset, so… Your court-martial will just have to wait until after mine, provided of course that's what I'm here for. Or, I suppose I could punch you and actually earn a scolding."

The MP looked a bit taken aback by the show of unexpected familiarity. He glanced at his companion, then gingerly handed back the ID. "You're cleared, sir. Head to sublevel 8, room 8A-2. Your single-use clearance is 5913-1. Welcome to Bravo Six."

Getting to the elevator after entering the building required passing through three more blast doors composed of 24-inch thick Titanium-A3, the new standard for armor reinforcement in UNSC construction. The security looked deceptively passive; however, multiple cracks and outlines in the walls hinted at the automated turrets and trip mines awaiting any unauthorized visitors who attempted to gain access. The message was clear: This was a lion's den, and the lion was ready for any unwanted guests.

The officer stepped into the small, brightly lit elevator. A tinny-sounding female voice- the facility AI- confirmed his destination and clearance code, the elevator quietly surging into motion. The only hint of the speed of descent came from the light feeling in the pit of his stomach as the relative gravity inside the elevator dropped. The lift abruptly lurched to a stop, and the doors opened into a dimly lit corridor that seemed intentionally designed to intimidate people entering.

A final blast door at the far end required biometric scans and voice authentication in addition to the standard keycode and ID security. After what felt like hours of verification, the duty sergeant stepped aside and waved him through.

This felt worse than before. This much security shouldn't be necessary for briefing a single officer, even by HIGHCOM. Was this actually a meeting, or just an overly dramatic execution?

The door silently opened into what looked like a cross between a conference room and a cavern, with bright lights shining on the long table in the center and pitch darkness smothering the corners. A single person sat at the far end of the room, with the angle of the light obscuring their features.

A deep male voice echoed from the rear of the room. "Come in, Lieutenant Commander." The doors thudded shut, sealing behind the lieutenant commander as he stepped forward. Moment of truth.

The person in the shadows stood and moved into the light, revealing a heavyset, graying man in dress uniform, the insignia of a Rear Admiral glinting on his uniform. The younger officer jumped to attention, snapping a salute. "Sir!"

The admiral nodded, neglecting to return the salute. "At ease, son. I am Rear Admiral Theodore Franklin, and I have been asked to initiate this briefing. I apologize for both the hasty transfer from the Whippet and the excessive security, but it was required by the people who want to see you. They didn't want this meeting to be openly discussed, and I need you to understand that everything said here is strictly off the record."

Franklin paused, looked at his shoes, and then continued, "HIGHCOM is not responsible for this meeting… another branch is involved."

The younger officer blinked. Another branch?

Abruptly, a second voice broke in behind his ear. "Admiral Franklin is referring to the Office of Naval Intelligence. We're the ones who wanted to see you, not HIGHCOM."

The lieutenant commander jumped. He hadn't had the slightest idea anyone was behind him. The new arrival moved to his front- it was a tall woman with dark hair and angular features, in a black uniform. Her insignia marked her as an admiral, and she projected an attitude of silent confidence suggesting power. Franklin straightened, his face twisting strangely. To the lieutenant commander, the older admiral looked uneasy, almost afraid. Who was this woman? Clearly someone with influence- it would take a lot to shake brass as high as Admiral Franklin.

The female officer moved to the center of the room and waved dismissively at Franklin. "You're dismissed, Theodore. I'll take it from here. This is above your pay grade." To the junior officer's surprise, Franklin barely reacted to the snub. His jaw clenched, but he nodded and walked out.

The newcomer turned and addressed the officer. "No doubt you have many, many questions about who I am and what this is about, so let's not waste each other's time. I am Serin Osman, commander in chief of ONI. The purpose of this meeting is…" Osman paused for a second, with an almost amused expression, "…a hiring meeting of sorts. Think of this as an interview for a civilian job. ONI- the potential employer- has a special position that needs filled, and our analysts felt that you had the most… potential to fill it. My time is important, so please sit. We have a great deal to discuss here."

As he took a chair, the officer puzzled over what he had just heard. CINCONI was the one responsible for his summons? Why? So far he hadn't learned a single thing about this meeting; for all he knew, he was about to be shot, though "special position" sounded intriguing, and CINCONI probably tended to avoid the affairs of low-level, insignificant personnel, unless they were on a hit list. The word in the Fleet was that Osman was a more genial commander than her predecessor Parangosky, the latter of whom had held a legendary level of infamy in all branches of the UNSC. He certainly hoped that was the case. ONI. Nobody in any level of the Navy trusted ONI- heck, probably nobody in the galaxy trusted them. They probably didn't even trust themselves. And here was their boss sitting across the table from him.

Osman sat for a full minute in silence, looking at him without blinking. Waiting? Perhaps. Possibly just trying to unnerve him. Well. Two could play at that game… He swallowed the growing lump in his throat and stared back. Osman's right eyebrow quirked, as if amused at his boldness.

Abruptly, the admiral broke eye contact, glancing down at a small datapad in her right hand. She spoke at last.

"Adam Trevelyan. Born August 11, 2514, Mira, Circumstance colony. Middle class family, no military background, a few minor family genetics issues previously recorded by health authorities. Average grades in most subjects in elementary school, though exceptional scores noted in history, mathematics, and science. Leadership skills above average, minimal respect for protocol and authority structure bordering on rebellion."

The admiral paused and leaned back in her seat. "Both parents lost during the invasion of Circumstance by Covenant in 2528; following a slipspace drive malfunction aboard the evacuation ship, eleven years spent in cryostasis before rescue.

"Following recovery by UNSC forces, assigned as a ward of the government and enrolled in the Earthrise Military Academy on Luna. After garnering exceptional grade levels, you were assigned to the frigate UNSC Firebird as navigation officer in 2542. Fifteen separate encounters with Covenant, four directly and eleven ship-to-ship, and promotions followed. With leadership and astrogation skills like yours, small wonder, although your conduct was seldom what would be considered tolerable. In fact, the phrase 'near-insubordination' was used frequently by superiors when referring to you. I assume that is why you're still only a lieutenant commander, despite your rather impressive record."

Osman let her words hang in the room for several moments, then continued. "In academy, fellow cadets complained about your informality with newcomers and general lack of adherence to rank and file. You never treated subordinates as subordinates, going out of your way to make friends with lower ranks.

"That didn't matter, I suppose… In spite of your flaws- or perhaps thanks to them- crew morale aboard ships you served with was around fifty percent higher than average, in fact. The frigate Whippet has had the best recorded crew performance in the entire UNSC fleet during your interval aboard it as XO. You have shown considerable adaptability to unusual situations, notably the Blackfish incident in 2544. However, you also violated Cole Protocol during those events and breached forty-five separate safety and emergency regulations; the only thing preventing your court-martial was the fact that you brought back what was at the time our best workable intelligence on Covenant Engineers, or Huragok."

The admiral looked up. "In short, Lieutenant Commander, you've caught the eye of ONI as a potentially useful asset with several unusual qualifications. You possess certain capabilities beyond many fleet admirals, capabilities which are all too rare these days. Many of our best died during the war, and locating fresh talent can be difficult, to say the least. Incompetents like Franklin are littered through our command structure, forcing us to aim low when recruiting."

Osman pivoted her chair, leaning on the table. "Recent… events have shown us the importance of exploring and controlling as much space as physically possible. It's a big, bad galaxy, and we know so very little about it."

She switched to a quiet tone, as if she was sharing in extreme confidence. "You see, no matter what our propaganda machines spout on news channels every day, and no matter how Hood's PR brass spins it, there's a cold, hard truth we don't want to admit.

"That truth is, we exist in a dangerous, untamed galaxy, and we're unequipped to control or even defend against what's out there. We're not kings of the hill; we're not even on the hill at all. We're the little boy who tried to climb it and got a bloody nose for the effort, and now we're trying to climb again, only with a concussion this time. What we need is a new hill, and better tools to defend it. Exploration and appropriation of resources has become a new priority for ONI, and that's where you come in.

"We need taskforce leaders, officers who aren't afraid to bend Fleet rules or cross lines to accomplish goals, and who know how to connect with their crew, maintain their trust in unusual circumstances, and keep them together without oversight or backup. I've just described you, Adam, if this file is to be believed. The question is, are you really the kind of man we're looking for?"

Osman paused and looked his way, apparently expecting an answer; Trevelyan, who had been growing more uncomfortable as the ONI officer spoke, cleared his throat and searched for a reply. "Ma'am, I don't... Well…"

The ONI admiral's eyebrows went up. The officer hurried to finish. "I'm flattered, ma'am, that ONI thinks I'd be such a valuable asset. But I need to be honest- I have no desire for or interest in working with Naval Intelligence. A good leader like you seem to want, well, that and the word spook are mutually exclusive. If you want people who can keep groups together, who can inspire and lead people into danger, you also want people who won't keep secrets and lie to their men, people who've earned their followers' trust. That incident with the Blackfish you mentioned? The only reason I brought anyone back at all was because I took it upon myself to ignore ONI's classification directive and give the crew every detail of our mission after the captain was killed. Turned out that our navigation officer was able to use the information ONI wouldn't give him to successfully jump back to real space without AI support. I earned their trust when I was honest with them. We'd have all died if I had followed my orders.

"To be blunt, I don't feel comfortable taking a position with an agency that looks out for its own interests at the expense of good people. If you're ordering this transfer, Admiral, I'll follow it and work for Naval Intelligence in whatever capacity is required. Otherwise, I'm not going into any command role in which I'm required to be that officer, the one who nobody trusts or likes. Mutual respect and loyalty is the heart of a military; you're only as strong as the friends you work for or with. Working for ONI prevents that kind of trust, and you and I both know it."

Well, there. It was out in the open, and now came the execution, more likely than not.

To his surprise, Osman chuckled- quietly- and smirked. "So, that's it, then- I guess no spook-fu for you, hmm? What a shame… However, you misunderstood me. You'll not be an ONI operative- God knows you'd make a terrible agent. No, your role would be different- serving as a Fleet liaison within ONI, albeit reporting to the Office directly. Old man Hood has been extremely insistent on FLEETCOM involvement in our operations, and placing qualified officers as commanders of exploration vessels would serve as a mutually beneficial compromise. Fleet stays out of ONI's affairs, and ONI offers some transparency in our operations. No dishonesty on your part is required- There's already enough of that to go around here."

Osman stood, pulled a small plastic container out of a front pocket and tossed it towards Trevelyan. "Also, it's clear to me that you consider this an offer. My question was directed towards your abilities more than your interest. This isn't so much a request as it is a commission. You will take command of an ONI exploration taskforce; whether you morally agree or not is your own problem.

"Besides, your little speech answered my question better than a direct answer would have. Talking back to CINCONI was either as stupid or bold as you could have gotten, I have to say. I'm inclined to suspect the latter; don't disappoint me, Captain Trevelyan."

Adam picked up the box and cracked it open- the bars and leaf of a UNSC captain's insignia glinted back at him.

Walking to the door, Osman turned and looked back at the silent officer. "Welcome to ONI. It may not be what you want most, but it's what's required of you.

"You may be better at this than you think… it's in your blood, Adam, more literally than you might suspect." The admiral walked out of the room, and Captain Trevelyan slumped into his seat.