A/N: This is just a one-shot defending Halsey that I just had to write. I do not like the way that 343 portrayed her, near the end of Spartan Ops, but I guess that years of slavery for something which your masters asked you to do can make a person bitter. These moments are designed to depict Halsey in a slightly more human light and defend her from the people who have only played Halo 4 that are accusing her of being cruel just because O.N.I. (a.k.a. hypocrisy central) has accused her of crimes against humanity.
I apologise in advance for the skipping around and tense swapping, but I felt that that was the best way to write this.
By the way, I have avoided breaking the rule about not writing about non-fictional characters by not using His name. Trust me, you'll know who He is supposed to be, but, for all intents and purposes, He is a person from the Halo universe that just so happens to draw a ton of parallels to someone in real life.
Fairly long A/N over. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Microsoft, Bungie, or 343 Industries. This is for my enjoyment and, hopefully, the enjoyment of others. I do not receive a profit.
Σφερια
A wave of pure force swept over the desert. The light was blinding as that of a miniature sun. Indeed, the man averted his eyes despite wearing three layers of tinted glass with varying levels of polarisation that would allow him to stare into the sun for hours.
The bomb was a new breed. It didn't use chemicals and heat. Its fuel source was destruction on a magnitude to end the world. His world. He had signed onto a project to build the weapon capable to destroy it. Words from the Song of God filled his mind. "I am become death, the destroyer of worlds." He muttered them aloud, but no one heard. The sonic boom had been enormous. His ears were still ringing, and everyone else's were, too.
A day later, the results were in. A fifteen kiloton payload was more than enough to convince the enemy that their war was wrong, but justification of his actions would always be impossible.
He wasn't a depraved man, but he was practical. Iwo Jima and Okinawa had taken just as many total lives as this bomb could, and although THEY had used civilians as human shields, this bomb was not merciful. It could not hunt out the belligerents and kill them only. Indeed, he would end the world for an entire city to save the rest of the world. He only hoped humanity would never again have to take up this mantle for destruction and war, have to harm innocents to save innocents. Total war was ugly, but it was that which must be done. Right?
Doctor Catherine Elizabeth Halsey had never been religious, but in that moment, that moment of sheer terror as she realised what she had wrought, a quote from the Bhagavad Gita filled her mind. "I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds."
Although, really, if the sin of hubris so great was not so bad, she may have claimed to have created Death, swathed in robes of dark green not unlike the colours of an evergreen pine forest. And that was even worse. Not to be Death meant not controlling it. Not controlling the Shroud for All Men was dangerous beyond all reckoning. For what if they fell as Lucifer fell, streaked like lightning painted in the sky?
But if they did not fall, they would assure the ascendancy of all others. So she had to teach them to control themselves. The first test taught them teamwork. Work together, that the others might hold you up, should you fall.
She watched as they raced for dinner. One-one-seven was fast. But the others were slow. He pushed them down and did not stop to help them get up. Who would help him if he fell? She silently corrected herself. When.
The next day, one-one-seven was slower, but he was slower because he helped the others. He was becoming more human, that she might recast him as machine, and then as hero.
Humans had names. Machines did not. Heros were human. He would learn this, in time. The others would too. They were to be heros. They were to be humans. They were to have names. His was John.
There were others to watch. Jai, Adriana. They did not like to work together. That could be useful, but first, she would have to teach them that they might have to. She would have to push them off the cliff and catch them, prove that they needed to work together.
Then came Mike. Mike was unexpected. He was independent, but he was also part of a team. Maybe he could teach Jai and Adriana to be part of the team.
He held them up, and they held him up. By having them work together, they held each other up without losing their individuality.
At last, they were ready for their test. She told them that only the best could win. They were to make it to a ship, racing against the others to survive and get a ride home. She hoped they would figure out a way to get everyone aboard, but she had doubted it.
That was her first error. Then was when she realised that she had not helped to forge soldiers. She had helped to shape something more than men. They were all heroes, but some of them were legends. And legends could do the impossible. That was their job.
John was a legend, or he would be. Gathering up seventy-four kids that he had lived with, learnt with, and developed the perfect team with was no difficulty for a legend. All he had to do was hold up his team and get the entire group onto the Pelican. And he had. They had become a single unit, the perfect team.
The next thing was bravery. She remembered giving a speech about fear. It had been filled with platitudes designed to reassure seventy-five seven-year-olds, but one line among them all stood out. It was a truth hidden in lies. "Against the wraiths wrapped in darkness, there is no defence, and therefore, no fear." It was the one line she hoped they would remember. There was no reason to be swayed by fear of death, for death was inescapable. The only way to become immortal was to become more than a man and then pass into the mists of time, twisting into legend. And her children could all do that. Of that, she was sure.
She had lied when she had said they would "become the defenders of Earth and her colonies." They were the defenders of humanity, defenders of the Mantle. Immortality was easy for them. They just needed to realise it.
Teaching bravery would set them on the path to halt their fear of death, and by doing do, make them timeless, undying, immortal. The first step was a leap off of the precipice of safety into a sea of danger and uncertainty. They had to trust that someone would catch them. For that, they needed their teamwork. Once they had that, they could abolish fear, abandon anger, absolve themselves of hate and become the heroes they needed to be.
They needed to understand why they were killing. Hatred was not a reason. Hatred was strong, but unwieldy. Without understanding why to take the lives, they would become machines, ceasing to be men. And they were men, no matter what the others thought. So they needed to be brave.
They were given parachutes and told to jump. Without exception, they leapt. Without exception, they landed safely.
Without exception, they were told of the risks. Without exception, they accepted the procedure. Some died, but they died bravely.
Finally, logic. For who could control themselves if they could not decide what was best? They learnt from Déjà the rules of life.
They learnt how to think and observe and deduce and decide what was best. When they were old enough to understand the draft, they knew that it was a necessary evil.
They were a new weapon, but they were also more than that. They were heroes, inspiration. They were humanity's best, and they would defend it because humanity needed them. What were the deaths of a few during a process that would grant the survivors the ability to save the many? This they knew, and they also knew the risks, but they went ahead. Logic deemed it the answer.
She was just as sad as they, if not more so. After all, she was their mother. It was fine to be sad, for the thing was that which must be done, not the thing which they wished to be done.
She remembered a speech she had given to tie her teachings together, to remind her children why they fought. She had opened with a quote. "George S. Patton once said, 'Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men.' Remember this, for you are all of you human. There will be those who do not belive. Do not listen to their lies. You, you are the key to victory, but more than that, you are the key to humanity. Remind the UNSC why we fight.
"We fight for a better world. A world where Insurrectionists cannot harm innocents. And we cannot lose, for they use weapons. Bombs, guns, ships. These are but tools. You though, you are men and women, heroes and legends. You are immortal in the minds and stories of men. With your help, with the power of man and woman, we shall claim victory everlasting."
The speech had been short, but it had been enough. Her SPARTANs, her children. They were ready.
She was sad. When Noble team had entered the cavern, or rather, when Catherine-B320 had contacted her, she knew her mission was a failure. Someone had seen her children as tools, nothing more. Someone had failed to recognise that they were more than just machines, lives to be traded for time. Someone had forced children to make the ultimate sacrifice when it didn't need to be made. Hers were enough, for they gave hope. Secrets couldn't give hope.
And worse, no one had been there to love these new SPARTANs. That she could see just in the difference between Jorge, her own son (indeed, she almost let herself fancy that his 'ma'am' was 'mum', in that heavy accent of his), and these new, cold SPARTANs. Some would say hers too were cold, but they just didn't know them the way she knew them. They didn't love them the way she secretly loved them.
And then, to find that Kurt and Mendez had trained these SPARTAN-IIIs, that was the ultimate abomination. She knew that they had only been following orders, and that they had tried to watch their charges, tried to love them.
But nearly one thousand SPARTANs (too many to love properly), all dead just because someone in the brass wanted his own private army, that was abomination. Marines knew why they fought and took their guns willingly. SPARTANs were told why they fought and were given guns. Conscription was not the answer, not when it didn't need to be done. And her SPARTANs were more than enough.
After all, the last of the new SPARTANs were with her in the shield world. They couldn't help even though Kurt had given his life to save those of his mother and his children and his brother and sisters.
Luckily, John was still out there. But if the universe did need more SPARTANs, well, it would have to settle.
She was angry. For the first time, she was truly angry at one of her children. She had watched as John punched out Jacob's face.
Yes, she knew that they had been estranged. Yes, she knew that he was dead already. Yes, she knew that John didn't know. Yes, Halsey understood. But that didn't mean she liked it.
There were many things Halsey didn't know. But the thing, the secret thing that troubled her most was why she had said no. He was a handsome man, a loving man, and they had a daughter. Maybe, if she had said yes, Miranda would be here to comfort her (and she could comfort Miranda), rather than estranged and living on Earth. But Halsey had to be strong because another thing she didn't know was what her SPARTANs, her other children, (the ones Jacob had also had a hand in, although admittedly less) would do if had seen her cry over the death of a seemingly unrelated naval officer.
After all, John had only played his helmet feed for her.
Reach had been their home. They gave their lives defending it. They became martyrs for humanity, whether humanity knew they were dead or not (because hope was such a powerful tool). They had been conscripted, told what to believe, yes, but they were far more than robotic warriors, dying because they were told to. They were heroes, people she loved, people who died because of what they knew to be right. They needed humanity far more than humanity needed them. Humanity was their holding point, the connector that forged them as heroes.
But some of them were far more than heroes. Those who had leapt into the fiery death that burned Reach and had been rejected by the flame became something more than martyred heroes. Their limbs had been washed in liquid flame and their bones had been streaked with thunder. Some had not survived this process to become legends, just as some had not survived the process of fusing muscle and steel, skin and armour in order to become heroes.
And, as she had feared for their lives then, so too did she fear for their lives now. Some had survived. Kelly, Fred, Will, Anton, Li, Grace. Issac and Vihn. They had survived only to be cut down before John rescued the rest.
John. He had done something more. While aboard this ship, he had told her and the rest about the Halo and . . . and the Flood.
He had bathed in death, and from it, risen stronger. He was more than a man, for he had had his muscle fused with steel and his armour had become his skin. He was more than a hero, for his limbs had been washed in liquid flame and his bones had been streaked with thunder. And he was more than a legend, for he had survived the Flood, had bathed in the waters of death that even the Forerunners drowned in.
But what was more than legend? Myth? Nay. Heracles had been a real man, once. And then he became a hero, then a legend, and now, now he was faded, not even a memory. His deeds were remembered, but his humanity was lost to time. And as she had stripped John of his humanity, she would give it back to him. She would not let the rest take that from him again. After all, what mother would deny her son that?
SPARTANs were not supposed to be emotionally charged, nor were they supposed to be sentimental, but that did not mean that they weren't. She had known them almost as long as they had known themselves. And they were willing to turn a blind eye to their sentimentality that the spooks couldn't see. They were blind to the small actions. Her SPARTANs were not sociopathic. They just communicated in smaller ways. A smile behind the helmet that only she and the SPARTANs could see. A change in pitch, subtle but still there. The way they took a step.
Even they were mostly blind to the changes. But she, she could see. She could pick out the tiny changes, and she knew the timbre of his voice when he promised something. John was her prodigy. She had watched him, but really, it was Cortana who had decided his secret. Luck was a part of it, but the other was a loyalty and love to outlast or even end the foul covenants of man and beast.
So when he promised he would come see her again, she believed him.
Now he is gone, but he'll be back.
After all, SPARTANs never die, right?
And he, out of all of them, he has never yet lied. John isn't one to break a streak.
So Halsey wasn't worried about a jail. No. A jail would never separate her from her SPARTANs, especially when a promise had been made.
She was far more worried about Cortana. Halsey had hacked computers in her free time (of which there was a lot aboard the Ivanoff Research Station when Parangosky was not using Halsey's intellect to study artifacts recovered from Halo Installation 03). She had watched what happened on his side of the armour on High Charity. The irony of his hunting the so-called Prophet of Truth aboard the Covenant's floating Capitol after RED FLAG had been declared a failure didn't escape her.
She watched as Cortana parted with him. And he, he couldn't feel it, and maybe she couldn't either, but Halsey knew. She always knew.
But when he promised something as simple as seeing her again, Halsey wasn't worried. After all, they were her SPARTANs. There was no justification for her actions, only that it was that which must be done, but she loved them all the same.
She had half of the Janus key. Her plans to see John and any other surviving SPARTANs had been put on hold, but not indefinitely. She just had to trick Jul 'Mdama into manoeuvring her into John's way. After all, she had half the key as a bargaining chip with humanity.
She had first seen the Librarian in the hope that she could tell Halsey about John. That Laksy hadn't told her that one of her few remaining children was still alive was horrid, but at least he'd sent a rescue team for her.
They weren't her children, but they were volunteers. They had not been subjected to the life her children had, so they could not be the heroes her children were. At least they had not been subjected to the terrors her children had.
She wondered how many of her children had survived to remember those horrors. Maybe, once she had cast off the shackles of Jul's heresy, she could find them. She was an old woman now. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to hug them now and tell them all the things she regretted not telling.
But first she had to convince 'Mdama not to kill her.
But once she had said goodbye, she would be willing to die.
After all, her children were human. Heroes, legends, yes, but all humans died. Maybe she could find her children in another life and apologise for that which she had done, even if it had been necessary.
And then she would find Jacob and Miranda. She would try to rebuild her life.
A/N: I am not touching Red Team being lost in space because my story Drifting By and By will cover that (yes, I have decided to continue that after I finish Fireteam Nebula: Stories of SPARTAN-IVs).
Just to be clear, these are the good moments only. This is to defend Halsey, but I do recogmise that she isn't perfect. I just don't believe she is a monster.
But please, tell me how this writing experiment works for me, and as always, please tell me if I have errors, whether grammatical, factual, or otherwise. Thanks!
For those of you who don't speak/read Greek, the title is Sferia, or Sphere. Something about the unity and coming together of Halsey's life.
