Prologue: Happy Birthday
[5 October 2532]
[New York, Earth]
[08:30 Hours]
Sleep slowly released little Claire Avalos. Warm in her bed, she was wondering why it was that she was so eager to get up. After all, the only thing she had to look forward to was a long day of grade school, because it was only Wednesday, the fifth of Oct-
Her birthday! She had almost forgotten her birthday! She propelled her tiny body out of her bed, down the hall, and into the kitchen of her families' apartment. "Mommy!"
Smiling, her mother stepped back from the stove and caught the small girl in her arms. Claire buried her face in her mother's jet black hair, smelling the sweet scent of her conditioner. It was beautiful.
"Happy birthday, sweetie." Her mother whispered into her ear.
"Thank you mommy." Still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Claire seated herself at the kitchen table while her mother served her favorite breakfast- Lucky Charm's cereal and toast with jam. Her mother, a die hard Argentinean, took it for granted that her only daughter preferred cold cereal over the breakfast taco's she made for herself. Claire took no notice as she dug in, asking, "What did you get me, mommy?"
"Well, if I told you sweetie, then it wouldn't be a surprise, and you wouldn't want to ruin your birthday surprise, now would you?"
Claire pursed her lips in a small pout, which was hard to do on a mouth full of cereal.
Mrs. Avalos bit back a smile and false scowled. "Aye aye aye! Alright, alright. We'll make a deal: you can open your cards now, you're presents after school. Bien? Good?"
Claire eyed the handful of shiny gifts in the center of the table. "Si, si, gracias!" she responded. Her mother loved it when they spoke in her "native tongue", as she called it. She couldn't deny Claire anything when she would speak in Spanish.
She picked a card off a crudely wrapped present and checked the name. "Ah, this one is from Matt."
Claire groaned. Matt Keller was her best friend, although more often than not she would completely deny even knowing him. He lived in the apartment down the hall, and had known Claire for two years. He was only about a year older than her, a lot taller, with scruffy blonde hair and laughing green eyes. They shared almost everything- their lunches, their secrets, their numerous adventures on the apartment buildings roof, and especially their numerous fights. Claire opened the card, which immediately ground out a horrible song. Claire squealed and slammed the card shut. Her mother laughed. "At least his sense of humor is alive and well."
Claire huffed. "He's just mad I beat him up yesterday."
Her mother laughed again, stroking her hair. "Beat him up? My Chiquita? My little girl beat up tall Matt Keller?"
"He's bigger but I'm faster." She proclaimed proudly.
"That you are." Claire's mother suddenly diverted her attention as an announcement came on the news. Claire only paid a little attention, instead tossing aside Matt's card in disgust and taking the next one. Opening it, she squealed again, this time in delight. "Mommy! I found daddy's card! I found daddy's card!" She paused, then looked towards the living room. "Mommy?"
Her mother was absorbed in the television. Claire jumped out of her seat and walked over to look at the program. On screen, the grim news anchor was reporting something about the war. She heard the words "Covenant" and "Spartan" several times. Suddenly afraid, she clung to her mothers leg. "Is it daddy, mom?"
Jack Avalos was a Staff Sergeant in the Marine Corps. His unit had been deployed to the frontlines of the war- wherever that was- almost three months ago. Her mother had cried the day he shipped out. Claire had never seen her mother cry before.
Claire looked up fearfully at her mother, but her mother shook her head and smiled, even though her eyes were shadowed. "No sweetie, its not your dad. It's just that the war is getting worse."
"Worse?"
"Much worse." Suddenly her mother squatted to her eye level. "Claire, listen to me. I know you're too young to understand this, but you have to promise me something."
"What, mommy?"
"You have to promise me that you won't join the military." Her mother said, her eyes full of concern. "You have to promise me that you won't run off to fight this war."
Claire frowned. "But daddy said that we all have to do our part. That if we don't sign up, that we're going to lose-"
"I know what he said!" Her mother snapped, eyes full of fire. Claire shut her mouth, eyes filling with tears. Her mother's eyes softened, and she pulled her daughter closer to hug her. "Don't cry, Claire. I'm sorry I snapped at you. But you have to promise me." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I've already buried your uncle, my brother. I don't want to have to one day bury you."
"I promise mommy." Claire whispered back.
"Thank you." Her mother sighed and stood up. "C'mon, lets finish up and get you off to school."
[5 0ctober 2532]
[Manassas]
[20:32 Hours]
"Why are you hesitating?"
He didn't answer. He just stood there, trembling and close to tears.
"Your entire life amounts to this one moment. Why are you fucking hesitating?"
"I don't know, Smiley!" He said, hating how pitifully weak his voice sounded, like a goat bleating before the knife.
"Then make the jump!"
So he did. The scrawny little eight year old jumped off the edge and into space, his hands scrabbling for the concrete ledge on the other side. Then gravity caught him, and he fell down into the pool of freezing muck below.
He came up coughing, sniveling, and crying. His scared brown eyes looked up at the evil ragged face above him. The lower half of the vagabonds face was covered with a bandana that was adorned with a hideous painted smile.
The vagabonds cold black eyes crinkled. "Sorry, Davy Boy, I guess you can't make the grade." Then he waved the stolen bag of credits playfully and disappeared, leaving the eight year old to die.
David fell back on his haunches. It was all over, that was it, there was nothing left. He had failed on his first job, and now he was credit less, slimy, smelling like a goat, and stuck at the bottom of a sewer line. Tears of self pity oozed silently down his dirty face as he stared into oblivion.
Above him, he faintly heard Smiley, the thief who had abandoned him, yell at somebody. Then somebody yelled back in response, there were gunshots, and he heard Smiley cry out in pain. The patter of footsteps approached, and a head appeared at the edge of the pit above him. "Hey, we got a kid down here!"
Before David could even grasp what was happening, a rope was lowered, a man in a dark uniform zipped down, picked him up like a sack of flour, and was hoisted back into the semi darkness of early evening. They emerged just as another man in a dark uniform was bringing Smiley around the corner of the blocked off construction site. Smiley's mask was gone, revealing a lemon puckered mouth and a small chin. He looked pale, and his knee was dark with blood.
The man holding David prodded him, calling to his partner. "Found another. This one's younger. Looks about five, six years old."
"That's the proper age." His partner called back in a strange accent. He pushed Smiley forward. Smiley, in turn, swiveled and spat on the mans boots.
The man responded with a blow that knocked Smiley to the ground. The thief lay still for a moment, then his eyes lolled and focused on David. A sick grin, crimson with flowing blood, formed on his face. "Guess we both got snitched, eh Davy Boy?"
David didn't say anything.
The man who struck Smiley looked down at him with disinterested eyes. "Take the other back to the car."
"What about that one?"
"He's too old," the man said as he took something out from behind his back. "I'll catch up to you in a second."
The man holding David roughly put him over his shoulder and carried him out of the site, towards a dark vehicle with tinted windows. David felt dizzy, his head was spinning. He couldn't muster the strength to call out for help.
Back at the construction site, two gunshots rang out, then silence.
Hours later…
The men had said nothing to David all during the drive. They had just deposited him into the backseat and left him alone. Once they arrived at their destination, they grabbed David and practically dragged him through a maze of hallways, before tossing him into a dark room and shutting the door behind them.
David felt strange all over. He was shivering, but his forehead felt warm. He must be sick. He might even be dreaming. He had dreamt a lot since his father had left, leaving him to fend for himself, six months ago. Dreams of escape, mostly, which was why he thought he was dreaming right now. Except that his dreams had never been this dark.
Finally, the door opened, and another man in a dark blue uniform grabbed David's hand and dragged him to another room. After throwing him in, he closed the door. David stood up on legs shaking with fatigue and fear. He looked around with wide, scared eyes.
The room he was in seemed as large as a hangar. It was filled with all sorts of hardware and equipment. Along one wall stood rows of boxes that reached the high ceiling above. Tables of weapons and ammunition lined the area adjacent to them. Taking up the opposite wall were vehicles, ones that David recognized as military cars called "Warthogs". He looked around in awe, then his eyes stopped on one item in particular.
Eyes now bright with wonder, David moved slowly towards the glass case. Pressing his nose against the cool glass, he examined the massive armor suit that lay within. He studied its intricate curves and bulky plating, from the bottom of the ham sized boots, the greaves as long as him, the chest plates that seemed as big as a table, and finally the helmet as big as a basketball. The copper tinted visor stared into infinity. The armor seemed to be ten feet tall. David was both frightened and fascinated with it.
"Amazing, isn't it?" A cold, calm voice called out from nowhere. David didn't move a muscle. To whirl around would be to show a sign of guilt, something that, in the right places, could get David killed. And he had a feeling that this was one of those places.
The voice continued. "A vision of power, one might call it. An unstoppable, unbreakable personification of the weak and vulnerable man, a dream of what we can makes ourselves into. This suit will never yield. But man…all men yield, in time. Surely this suit should belong to those who never yield, who never give up. Wouldn't you agree?"
Out of the shadows of the massive room, a lean Caucasian man emerged. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with wavy black hair, a neatly trimmed black moustache, and cold grey eyes. His features were sharp and well defined. The uniform he wore was immaculate, dark blue with small gold trimmings. An indistinct insignia was adorned on his shoulder.
David saw all of this in the reflection of the glass case. He had still not turned around to face his…kidnapper? Savior? He didn't know. Finally, he chose to respond to the man's question.
"Yeah, I guess."
The man stepped closer. "You don't know me, boy, and I don't know you. I believe we should change that." He stopped, about five feet from David. "Turn around."
The skinny boy obeyed. He found it hard to meet the cold grey eyes.
"My name is Gordon Bristow."
"Are you with the Navy?"
Bristow smiled. "Observant boy. How did you guess?"
"I saw your reflection in the glass." David pointed to the case with one tired arm. "Only Navy people wear that kind of uniform."
"Very good. Yes, I was with the Navy. I worked in the Special Warfare Division. But that is now the past. I'm too old to work in the field, so I've transferred to someplace where my skills can be put to good use. The Office of Naval Intelligence. I doubt you've heard of it."
"I have." David remembered his mother, a Marine when she was alive, talk about something called "Oh-NEE" one night, the Office of Naval Intelligence. She didn't have any kind words to say about them.
"You have? What have you heard?"
"Just the name."
"You don't know what we do."
"No." David said, then suddenly remembered something. "But she said you guys are bad news. That you can't be trusted."
"Ah yes, your mother." Bristow walked over to a table and flipped through some papers. He came back with a page and a photo. "Is this her?"
It was her, in her dress uniform. Her smile was just like he remembered. David suddenly found that the earth was shaking. No, that wasn't what it was; he was trembling.
Bristow seemed not to notice. He read off the paper. "Sergeant Katherine Ambrose, 2nd Marine Division, stationed at Reach. Served with honors on three tours of duty, declared KIA when UNSC Macedon is destroyed in overwhelming Covenant attack-"
"STOP IT!" David roared, his quivering voice booming in a peculiar way. Bristow stopped reading and favored the boy with what might have been a sorrowful look.
"I'm sorry about your mother, I truly am. No doubt you loved her very much."
David couldn't speak. His eyes were blurring with tears, but he refused to look away. He found that by staring at the space between Bristow's eyes, he could focus a little more.
Suddenly the man walked towards him with frightening speed and knelt to his level. His cold grey eyes shone with a strange light. "What is your name, boy?"
"David."
"Are you afraid, David?"
No answer. David swallowed audibly.
"Do you hear me, David? Answer me, you stinking goat!"
Shame broke through the floodgates, and the tears overflowed and oozed down David's face. He made not a noise.
"Are you afraid?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir."
"What are you afraid of, David?"
David swallowed the lump in his throat. "You, sir."
"Why?"
"Because I'm afraid you're going to hurt me."
The grey eyes softened a bit. "If you're afraid then, why don't you look away?"
David refocused and glared, channeling all his fear, emptiness, and pain into his own eyes. "Because I won't let you win sir."
Bristow smiled, more broadly this time. "Bene." He laid a gentle hand on David's shoulder. "What do you want David?"
What did he want? David hadn't thought about what he wanted for a long time. Mostly, it had been about what he needed- food, shelter, his father, his mother, his life back. He blinked. "I want my life back, sir."
"Your life is done with." Bristow said sternly. "Your mother is dead, your father is gone, and all that is left for you is a trail of broken memories. I wasn't asking what you wished could happen, David, I'm asking what you want. Think long and hard about it."
David sniffled. His mind tumbled over the question: What do I want? His thoughts gravitated back towards food, his mother's warm smile, his father's strong arms protecting him, but with effort, he pushed those away. And the more he thought about it, the more he started thinking about what he had become: a goat, afraid of his own shadow, always afraid…
He looked up. "I don't want to be afraid anymore, sir."
Bristow nodded approvingly. "Good David. That is a good thing to want." He motioned towards the armor in the glass case. "I said that this armor should belong to people who will never yield, never stop. Do you think those people exist?"
David mulled it over. All this big thinking was starting to hurt his head. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because people who would never stop would never be afraid. And everybody's always afraid of something."
"But David that is the whole point!" Bristow looked down at him with a pained expression. "The people who deserve this armor are just as afraid as anyone else. The difference is that they push forward regardless of their fear. They know how to control their fear. Isn't that what you would want? To control your fear, instead of allowing it to control you?"
David nodded dumbly. It must have been midnight and his eyes were heavy with sleepiness. All he wanted was to go to sleep. Bristow recognized this.
"You're tired David. I see that. You will sleep here tonight, if you wish. There is a bed, and a nightlight. But first David, I want to know: do you want to be a person who can use this armor?"
David eyed the massive suit. "Yes. Yes sir."
"The people who use this armor are real, David. They are called Spartans. They were just like you once, but they were made stronger, faster, tougher than anybody else."
"How?"
"Through years of training. That is something you need to understand David. If you choose to become a Spartan, you must trek a road with many hardships on it. You will be pushed to the breaking point, to where you believe you will die of the pain you feel. But you will not die; like a phoenix, you will emerge from the ashes stronger than before. You will be the best humanity has to offer. You will be unstoppable." Bristow clapped him on the shoulders and stared deeply into the scared brown eyes.
"So, David, will you yield? Or will you become a Spartan?"
David thought it over, then nodded slowly. "I want to become a Spartan."
Bristow smiled.
"Then let us begin."