Timeline: This story takes place after the Resonator is destroyed and the Master Chief 117 has returned to infinity while it is still in orbit around Earth before a full debriefing by Fleet Commander over the First battle of Requiem.
Commander Palmer walked through the largest room in the Infinity. The massive indoor park that made up part of the living quarters of the ship was the second largest space in the entire ship. From one of the things Lasky had told her, it was ordered by Fleet Admiral Hood to try and give the personnel onboard a way to relax in a natural setting rather than the much colder and less inviting recreation rooms that littered the ship.
On some level, Sarah still couldn't believe it existed. This ship was large enough to be called a city. According to one of the facts in the invitation packet, only ½ of the over 17,000 people who usually worked the ship would ever meet each other. The idea that she could work on a ship for a year and only meet half of the people was staggering.
'However that was why I was here. To be staggered and amazed. To push my skills to the limit and beyond and see just what I was capable of and prove that I am the best there ever was. Well I sure got what I wished for on this mission. Or I would have. But all I get to face was damn Covenant rejects and defective Forerunner A.I. weapons programs. I didn't get to face the true challenges. The reports of the Forerunner commander that Sierra 117 claimed to have seen and fought. Now that would have been a true test of my skills. However the Spartan II was the only person who had ever seen this supposed Didact.'
Thinking about this in her bunk was getting the female Spartan too worked up so she did the only think she was capable of doing when not on a combat mission. She went for a walk. The commander's legs eventually led her here, to the park. There weren't many people currently in the green space. Most were dealing with the preparations to dock with orbital UNSC command. However the Spartan fire teams, Palmer's Spartans, wouldn't be needed until people started arriving on the ship.
Looking around Sarah saw several Spartans lounging around the park. Fire Team Castle was far off to her right, standing in a circle doing what appeared to be Tai Chi. Horatio Fry of the newly created Fire Team Shadow was hitting on an egghead who's name Palmer couldn't be bothered to learn about. A couple of others were around, people she knew on sight but didn't remember of the name of. Then she focused on a Ginkgo tree in the corner and the giant that was beneath it.
Palmer was by no means a small person, after going through the augmentations she was a towering 6'4". But Sierra-117 broke the 7 foot barrier with inches to spare. That was where the crack about his height came from where they had first met in person. An automatic form of self-defense against someone who intimidated her on a primal level. She took stock of him from a distance. 117 had been ordered out of his armor by Lasky and loaned some coveralls to weir until they could get prepare a formal uniform in his size. But even the coveralls for the Spartan IV's were a few inches to short for the model II. He was sitting in an almost meditative stance at the base of his tree with a data pad in hand that had stickers from various UNSC ships plastered on it. Then she saw her opening.
Purposefully striding forward with all of the authority she could call upon she called out to him, "Weapons are not allow out of the lockers. I could sight you on that."
Sierra 117 looked up, his face completely blank and his unnaturally black eyes looking at her with indifference that she found almost insulting. She was a commanding officer and he was merely a Master Chief Petty Officer. Then he pushed himself to his feet and snapped into a salute. 'That was more like it. Know who your betters are.'
"Commander Palmer, what can I do for you?" 117 questioned. Despite his mouth moving, the rest of his face didn't change and Palmer wondered not for the first time if perhaps he had spent so much time under his armor that he forgot to make facial expressions.
She indicated to the handgun in its makeshift holster around his leg. "No weapons are allowed in this area."
He glanced down to the weapon indicated before looking up. "My apologies Sir but SCP 44 section 19 says that weapons are to be carried at all times while in a combat zone by all personnel."
"This isn't a combat zone Spartan this is Earth's orbit."
"Which less then 24 hours ago had a hostile ship in orbit attacking the surface. We are still in combat conditions until we make a jump out of here or all confirmed hostiles have been terminated," he responded. It was like talking to a dumb AI, cold and robotic without humanity.
Sarah felt an abstract level of anger at the Spartan. One the woman knew she should not have. Palme was a Spartan as well. But some habits are difficult to break. Before enlisting in the Spartan IV program she was an ODST. Her first CO in the now not so illustrious group was an outspoken critic of the Spartan program, believing that the 'machine freaks' as he called them were not true soldiers but merely enthralled servants, little better then slaves. Now she was a Spartan and she was no slave, however Sierra 117 seemed more robotic then that rampant AI that he had just lost.
"You will hand over that weapon now solider." She ordered, expecting him to be as defiant to her as he had been to Del Reo.
To her surprise he upholstered the gun, ejected the clip and the single round that was chambered to hand them all over to her. He then proceeded to pull out from his pockets a plasma grenade, two flash bangs and four spare ammo clips for the gun. "All weapons accounted for Sir." Came his response.
Palmer was surprised, both at the easy acceptance of her orders despite being technically correct and the fact that he was so indifferent to her presence. Another insult to add to a rapidly growing list of slight against her.
"Where did you get all of these?" She demanded.
"Armory 24 on deck 13 C for the flash bang. The Plasma Grenade was in a crate off of a Pelican. I liberated the pistol from my armor after having it removed and the ammo was loose rounds I found in my temporary quarters. The previous occupant must have forgotten them there."
"And pray tell how did you get into an Armory and onto a Pelican flight deck? Both places you have no authority being until Command has debriefed you and qualified you still fit for duty." She threw that last part in as an attempt to get under his skin. Yes, being MIA for years means you have to get several eggheads to check you out but for an ODST, being reminded of the fact that one might not be fit for duty was an insult worse than being made into a prisoner of war.
He did not rise to the bait however. "Both of the electronic locks were installed improperly. The designers of the ship appeared to use the Cobalt Industries 'Match Pach' lock. They are infamous for being cheat to produce and easy to be tricked. Just pry off the cover and as you enter a random code send a small electrical shock through the wiring and it will automatically open. I was just writing a report for Captain Lasky about it when you arrived." He was cool, even and unflinching. Every quality that Sarah Palmer found infuriating in a man.
"Since when is it a ground pounder's duty to point out technical faults on a ship?"
"Since I was relived from duty and not given any further orders. As I am not allowed to contact anyone until after I am debriefed and was ordered out of my armor, I felt it prudent to assess the capabilities of the new class of ship the UNSC has created." There was a slight flicker across his face before he added, "So far I am rather unimpressed by it capabilities or crew."
This got her boiling. "What is wrong with the crew?" She demanded.
"I was able to break through 7 different 'Match Pach' locks on this ship while in full view of soldiers and Naval personnel and yet nobody noticed what I was doing. If I was an Insurrectionist spy or an anti-military fundamentalist, I probably could have gotten to the ship's engine core and detonated it without detection. Twice I even make sure Spartan IV's were in the area."
Was he goading her? He had to be. Sierra 117 was calling her people unobservant or worst, incompetent. "You will identify which locks you broke to the quartermaster and then you will fix them yourselves Petty Officer."
"Yes ma'am."
"And my Spartans are not unobservant Master Chief." Palmer defended.
"Not to contradict you Commander but they are. They failed to notice my actions. They failed to take into account the threat the Ditact composed even after he flattened this ship's defenses. They are currently failing to realize that you and I are in a conversation of escalating hostility over their actions. I am sorry Commander Palmer but they are not acting like Spartans as much as augmented ODST. Impressive in their own right but with noticeable flaws."
She could feel a pressure building behind her right eye, the exact same kind of pressure she felt when she argued with her brothers about following them to go practice shooting. "Then pray tell what those flaws are?"
"Beside the previously mentioned lack of situational awareness they also seem to have less then optimal short term memory capabilities and a rather heightened sense of aggression." To illustrate his point he indicated Horatio Fry and his lady friend. "Do you know who Seaman Fry is talking to?"
Sarah had already admitted to herself that she didn't but refused to give up ground by admitting the fact. "Does it matter?" She shot back.
"Moderately so. She is Engineer 1st class Mira Vete. The number two in the Mjolnir R&D situated on this ship. Seaman Fry is attempting to use the pretense of armor modifications to try and learn when the hard link communication lines are going to be available so that his fire team is able to get real time data while in field."
This caused Sarah to look harder at the woman in question but was still unable to place the egghead's face or name. "She on the other hand is trying to convince him to take her to the shooting range and test her marksmanship against a Spartan seeing as she has already beaten fourteen marines in a contest since the UNSC Infinity left port."
This caused Palmer to look hard at Sierra 117 in an attempt to pick up the joke. The expressionless Spartan just moved something around on his data pad to show the woman's profile and that she was a top rated marksman who had outscored several marines in a small tournament the ship had held only two hours before Infinity found the shield world Requiem.
She snorted in disgust at the standard of soldiers that she had to work with. "They should be ashamed of themselves to be beaten by a non-com." Palmer muttered.
117 looked at her hard. "Given the right circumstances, anyone can be beaten." For the briefest moment he wasn't looking at her but backwards through his own history. Palmer however was too focused on the news in her hand to bother noticing the sudden shift in his stance. By the time she looked up he regained his composure.
"Oh. And under what conditions could you be beaten?"
"The Didact. He had every advantage against me: Vastly superior armor and weapons, millenia of experience, tactical knowledge. The only reason I survived and he did not is because Cortana was able to distract him for the brief moment for me to blast him off the platform and that he failed to recognize that by deactivating the Hard Light bridge I was standing on, I would fall to my death and he wouldn't have to lift a finger. His was beaten because of his inability to consider me a threat."
Palmer smirked a little, "And what about me? How could I be beaten?" The meant it as a challenge, to lord her position and youth over the decade more experienced and older Spartan.
He didn't even pause in his response, "Any person with intimate knowledge of the Mark VII armor could beat you."
That stung. Then she felt a plan form. Palmer let out a smile that even 117 could realize meant trouble. "Then let's test that out why don't we. Nobody is scheduled to arrive or leave the Infinity in the next hour. I'll meet you in training room 4 in 15 minutes."
"It that an order?" 117 asked. He was still hurting from the run through the Didact's ship and the onboard doctor and medical dumb AI had both recommended him against strenuous activity until further notice.
"Yes." Palmer answered as she turned to leave.
The Spartan II stood there for a moment. He could almost hear Cortana's voice in his head. 'Did you really have to antagonize the woman?'
'She is not a woman. She is supposed to be a Spartan.'
'But do YOU consider her a Spartan? She didn't train with you, she wasn't conscripted at the age of 6, from what you saw in her un-redacted personal records she only went through ODST and then a basic training regiment after her modifications. Does that count as being a 'Spartan' or just a soldier in powered armor?'
117 had no response to that, odd considering he was essentially talking to himself.
The Spartan II knew that he wasn't really having a conversation with Cortana but it felt nice to pretend. Even if it could be considered a form of psychological disorder. It was nothing new or unique. Technically speaking, all of the Spartan II's were considered socially abnormal. It came with the training, it's part of what gave them an edge. One can't get distracted by something one does not know, like a social life.
117 knew that he couldn't delay any longer. Taking his data pad with him, he went to the prearranged point.
Palmer was fully suited up in her Mark VII. She loved the armor, it always made her feel invincible. She looked around the Training Room 4. It was a rather unimpressive room. Four sparing rings. A line of benches along two walls. A good sized medical create was shoved into a corner for emergencies, which was very common among the Spartan IV's. They tended to forget their own strength and that led to injuries.
Using her position she had commandeered a fighting circle for her match against Spartan 117. Sarah couldn't remember being this excited about a fight but she had to keep her cool to maintain a flippant outward attitude. Fire Team Shadow, minus Horatio Fry, was also in the room to act both as the judges and to spread the word of her victory over the older model Spartan.
Her back was to the door when she heard it swish open. Turning to face the anticipated arrival she had to bite back an exclamation. "Where is your Mark VI armor," Sarah demanded.
Sierra 117 looked down at his unprotected body before returning her gaze. "With or without it, the result will be no different."
She felt her pride take a blow. 'He is mocking me. He doesn't even consider me enough of a threat to take me seriously.' To the room in general, "Well then this will be quick. Take your place Soldier."
The old Spartan stood across from her in a basic combat stance. Nothing different or unique about it. One open hand out in front, palm facing Sarah. His other hand clenched in a fist. Feet were in a t-stance, two shoulder widths long, one shoulder width wide.
Palmer felt it was antiquated and rather irrelevant but she mirrored the stance. From the side of the room she could hear the other members of Shadow team muttering. "Forty on the Commander." As sandy haired recruit muttered to his team mate. "Na. Palmer has armor but the Master Chief has experience and reach on her. Thirty-five on the Chief," His hairless team mate responded. Sandy looked unconvinced, "Have you ever been hit by one of those things? They are lighter then the Gen 1 models by ½ but that is still almost 500 lbi's behind each blow."
"What kind of rules are we operating under Commander?" The Master Chief asked.
"No fatalities. Fight to injury, incapacitation or surrender. Nothing below the belt or to the eyes. No going out of the ring or weapons. Everything else is fair game." Palmer responded. 'Not that it will matter, this will be a one-hit KO.'
"Fighters: BEGIN!" A member on the sidelines declared.
Before the words had even begun to echo Palmer was moving. Sliding forward she aimed a single punch to his center mass. It would knock the wind out of the old man, perhaps damage some rips but there should be no permin -
117 slid under the punch and blocked upward, pivoting until his back was to her and locking his other arm over her shoulder. Before she could realize it, Sarah Palmer was flipped clear over the giant's back and landed flat on her own. The sudden impact with the ground jarring her head and as she was not expecting to get hit the ground, she didn't have any way to break her fall. Meaning she felt the full force of the impact. While still stunned, Palmer could feel something hitting her chest.
The dizziness passed quickly and she struck back with her leg. While it hit the standing man the blow was merely glancing, most of the impact absorbed by the Spartan II's swift retreat.
"That must've hurt." Hairless muttered from the sidelines. That only infuriated Palmer further. The blow that should have finished it merely made her look like a fool before her own soldiers.
She recovered and got back onto her feet. All the while kicking herself for the amateur mistake. If she wasn't in the armor, he probably could have dislocated her shoulder with that move.
Sarah quickly delivered two round-house kick to Spartan 117's lower body but the man blocked both easily. They weren't really intended to do much damage, merely to feel the brute out. 'So he thinks that by dancing around and killing me with pin pricks. Might have work but not now.'
The Commander brought her leg up and swung it in an arch for the Master Chief's face. It was an obvious attack and an easily dodged. Spartan 117 did just that, moved his face backwards. Spartan Palmer planted her foot and immediately spun into a back kick. It worked perfectly. The kick went straight to 117's chest with a slightly satisfying 'thump'. Under the muscle augmented and powered armor, that blow usually exerted over one ton of pressure per square inch. The resulting impact forced the man back to the very edge of the circular arena.
'That did it!' Palmer though. The Master Chief was bend over from pain and the force of the blow. Not doubled over but he was defiantly hunched. Through the enhanced auditory system, Palmer could hear the coughs and the a few red drops sprinkled the floor.
"Pay up." Sand hair whispered to his friend. Most of the IV's were had been hit like that in training and even when they were suited up the pain was crippling. Normal flesh and bone broke like sticks.
While still wheezing, Serra 117 stood up again. "Good blow." He resumed that fighting stance, no words were needed to indicate that he was ready to continue fighting.
That was unnerving for a second. 'I'm ODST AND a Spartan. We are the best. When we hit something they STAY DOWN. They are not suppose to get up again. But he did… How?' The brief moment of uncertainty was replaced by cool logic. Palmer quickly remembered that he too had the augmented bones and physical system. A normal human would be dead but he wasn't a normal person after all. That was why she had to put him in his place. To prove that her rank meant she was better than his experience.
Palmer shook it off and continued the fight. They traded a few more blows. Neither making much headway in terms of injury nor was either side losing stamina. 'This shouldn't be so difficult!' Palmer yelled at herself. 'I am younger, I have the powered armor! He's just an old man in a jump suit.'
She threw a few quick jabs only to have her arm caught and pulled forward, breaking her balance and center of gravity. Using the opening he made, Sierra 117 put his hands to a point and struck forward to right between the armor plates of the shoulder and arm. His first blow struck the shoulder but the second one found the sweet spot. The younger Palmer felt the pain radiate up her arm before the limb went mostly numb. Sarah retreated backwards to the edge of the ring and the Spartan II didn't follow.
She tested her arm quickly and despite the fact she could barely feel it, the limb seemed to be working. 'That's twice now that he has caught me unaware. I need to end this quickly or he really will be able to whittle me down.'
So she went on the offensive. Throwing blow after bone breaking blow at her disturbingly astute opponent. She was started to realize how skilled Spartan Sierra 117 really was. He caught her leg in the middle of a kick and tried to chop downwards on her kneecap. Luck was on her side this time as the leg was straight and as such the armor plates were interlocked, preventing anything larger then a needle from getting through. Realizing his mistake 117 punched the side of her knee. This did some damage but Palmer was able to bring her other leg up and in a move more out of a martial arts movie then a real life fight she struck him in the shoulder.
The older Spartan dropped her leg and grabbed his shoulder. Seeing her opportunity to end it she charged forward.
Only to understand that in her haste she fell into his trap AGAIN! He was hurting in the shoulder but was faking the degree to get Palmer to charge, he tripped her and the Spartan Commander face planted into the mat. She felt what had to be a knee slam into her back and a second strike around the base of her neck. The armor absorbed both blows so the impact was minimal. Then his arms reached around her faceplate and pulled it backwards. They both knew that she was basically helpless and that if he applied a little more pressure her neck would break.
Sarah balled her hand into a fist and swung it backwards much like a person doing a backstroke would. It connected with 117's shoulder. The same shoulder she had just kicked. 117 instantly let go and recoiled. Palmer got to her feet, holding one arm out to defend herself while her other rubbed her neck. That had hurt far more then she was willing to admit.
Panting she talked, "I will have to admit, I haven't had this much of a fight since I was in Boot. But I am still standing and that arm of yours has just about had it. So why don't we call it a draw and you can get patched up." She paused for an instant before adding, like an after though, "I would hate to damage a valuable piece of military property."
Despite his obvious injuries, Sierra 117's face still had that implacable calmness that seemed to be his only facial expression. "The rules were to injury. I am no more injured then when I began."
"Then let's rectify that!" Palmer charged again and tried a jump kick. Despite what the movies showed, jump kicks were easy to dodge and regardless of their power, hard to hit with. The male Spartan moved back just to the edge of the ring. Palmer tried to punch but he ducked underneath and elbowed upward into the center of her body mass. It struck the armor and everyone in the room could hear the metal crunch inward.
Sarah tried to move to either counter or get away, she wasn't sure but found she couldn't. Her armor had locked up. It was completely frozen. Try as she might she couldn't even move a pinky, much less a quarter ton of metal that had suddenly become her coffin.
Spartan 117 stood up to his full height and looked down at his vanquished opponent. "Like I said, anyone with intimate knowledge of the Mark VII armor could defeat you."
Palmer could hardly do anything but sputter for a moment before she could for a coherent word. "How?"
John walked away from her to pick up the data pad he was using earlier. As he moved Sarah could see part of the room and was shocked to saw that there were three times as many people as when the fight had started, probably more from behind her that she couldn't see because even her head was no longer able to move. Obviously word had spread about the match and drawn a crowd. From the corner of her eye she could see a fight clock. It read 4:22. The fight only lasted 4 minutes. She could have sworn it went on for longer.
"MJOLNIR Power Armor reference manual. Page 310; Paragraph 4." Sierra 117 began, reading from the pad. "'Despite the numerous advances made with the newest model of Powered Armor two minor flaws have emerged that previous models did not have. The more prevalent of them being that if struck in any six of the points outlined in Appendix E 44 within several minutes, the armor has a chance to enter a stasis lock. If that transpires then a hard reboot is need to scrub the system. In spite of my best intentions I am unable to rectify the fault. It appears that the data build up brought about by these blows…' well the rest doesn't matter." He looked at her hard in the eye.
Comprehension dawned on her, that was way all of his blows seemed to be so ineffective. He wasn't aiming to injure her but to force the armor to shut down.
"That's not true!" Someone called from outside of Sarah's line of sight. The sandy haired recruit from before ran forward with another data pad. "Page 310 talks about the maintenance of the various armor attachments."
John 117 didn't even bother looking away when he spoke. "That is from the Mark VI manual. It appears that when ONI outsourced the development of the Mark VII, the Military Industrial Complex seemed to have either been given only the technical specks or they didn't bother to read the manual. Whatever the reasoning, they missed several key points and design flaws of the Mark VI and never bothered to address them."
Turning to address the room at large John raised his voice. "The military believes in the simple training philosophy of 'show and tell'. It is a useful way in training lots of soldiers in rapid succession. However that was not how I was trained. I was taught 'Do then show and tell.'" He paused to let that sink in before gesturing back to the immobile Sarah Palmer. "This is what happens when you are merely content with the information given to you by the powers that be. This is why you check your sources and get every scrap of data that you possibly can, whenever you possibly can." He turned back to Commander Palmer, "Anything less is just lazy workmanship."
A voice came from beyond Palmer's line of sight. "Then what would you have us do?" The voice was that of Horatio Fry, Fire Team Shadow must have called him. "Read a bunch of old technical manuals and drill whenever we are not on missions?"
Spartan 117 turned away from Palmer to what she assumed was the out of sight Spartan. "Exactly."
"I don't have time for that." Someone muttered.
"Why don't you?" Serra 117 said, turning to the offender in question. "I started read them when I was 8. It was a mandatory part of training. You learned how to take apart and put together your battle rifle didn't you? How is that any different?"
The man Palmer could see, it was Hairless who had bet against her. He was distinctly uncomfortable at being singled out. "Yes… was forced to disassemble and reassemble most of the standard firearms in the UNSC."
"Now as a Spartan, the Mark VII armor is a part of your standard equipment. Shouldn't you learn how they operate just as well as when you were in boot camp?"
Nobody was willing to answer that. When put that way, the logical progression made sense, however they also felt that the Mjollnir was more like a tank or a space ship and no regular rifleman is ever expected to be able to do more than the most basic of checks on one of those complex machines.
Spartan 117 stood there with absolute certainly, "The Spartan II's were designed to be a shield behind which humanity could hide and regroup itself. We would protect them from any who would do them harm, be it extraterrestrial or local. We were to also be her sword, to cut away the darkness as it closed in. That was our purpose. That was why we were made. And if you could ask any of the living or dead if they were sad, the only answer they would have given is that they would no longer be able to serve as that shield when humanity needed it most." He turned to address the other half of the room, "And while I never did work with them, I am sure the Spartan III's were just as adamant as we are." Now he turned again, this time to the still immobilized Sarah Palmer directly. "So what will the Spartan IV's be? What is YOUR purpose?" he challenged.
At that moment Palmer realized why the true difference between the two of them was. It was not the fact that fighting was so easy for him nor that he had been able to defeat her on a fundamental level even when she had every physical advantage. It was his conviction. Sierra 117 was just as determined to protect humanity as the Covenant had been to destroy it. That terrified her. This individual might wear a human skin, but he was as alien as anything she had ever met. That was more then enough.
"Well spoken Master Chief." A voice said behind them all as the doors swished open.
"Attention on Deck!" Horatio Fry called at they all stamped into position. Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood marched into the training room and looked around, assessing the situation. He gaze eventually fell on the immobilized Sarah Palmer. "At ease." The admiral responded.
"Commander Palmer. Training demonstrations are always necessary to maintain and improve one's skills." Then to the surrounding Spartan's, "Now would somebody get her out of that armor so the lady can relax."
The entire fire team Shadow jumped and grabbed some tools to access the Mark VII's systems and being releasing the officer from her enclosure.
While she waited, Palmer saw that the Master Chief was at perfect ease around what was one of the most powerful men in the UNSC.
"It is good to see you again son." Hood began. "I couldn't believe it when the Infinity reported they had found you alive and I am glad to see it wasn't a fabrication."
"Thank you sir." 117 responded.
Hood looked the Spartan up and down. "I don't think I have ever seen you completely out of uniform before Chief." He then turned and indicated that Serra 117 should follow. "I will be handling your debrief directly then we will have to get your re-outfitted for service."
As the doors opened two giant bodies clad in green were directly outside the door. Despite not being about to see their faces, Spartan 117 would be able to recognize their posture out of a million. "And I brought a few companions along to help facilitate the process." Hood continued. He turned back to the Spartan II and said with the closest thing a Spartan could ever get to a grandfatherly smile, "Welcome back John."