HIGHCOM FACILITY BRAVO-6
SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA
JANUARY 2553
The twelve admirals sat at the u-shaped table, waiting patiently for the meeting they'd all been called together for to come to order. The room was flooded with light as the single door before them opened. The gold and black logo of the United Nations Space Command stood out against the blue tint of the floor. They all looked to the lone figure as his chair wheeled into the room, stopping in the space between the logo's raised wings.
"Ladies. Gentlemen. Thank you for having me here today," the commander greeted.
"You made it sound like we didn't have much of a choice, Musa," one of the admirals commented.
"I suppose I didn't, did I?" Musa admitted. He was far from a handsome man, his nose, chin, lips, and ears all seeming too big for his face. But he spoke with authority and confidence.
"So…?" another admiral urged, trying to get things moving.
Musa decided that he'd kept them waiting long enough and would get to the point. "I've come to talk about the Spartans."
"I knew this was a waste of time." One of the Admirals stood up, prepared to storm out of the room.
"Sit down, Admiral." Musa didn't have to shout the words; they echoed in the room, but above all they held a weight that made the admiral stop in his tracks. "And you will listen to what I have to say. You owe me that much at least." There was a moment of hesitation before the admiral sat down and Musa continued.
"The original Spartans, Leonidas and his boys I'm talking about here. They were taken from their families as children, and trained as warriors. It's been two thousand years since Thermopylae, and we're still talking about them, so maybe the Spartans did something right." Musa could still see the holographic figures of the armored soldiers holding back waves of enemies in the small mountain pass. He focused again on his choice of words, knowing that this meeting required just as much strategy as an actual battle. "Doctor Catherine Halsey thought so." He could feel the uneasiness in the room growing. "She kidnapped children from their beds, stole them from their families, and enlisted them in a life of servitude to the UNSC." Just as he had expected, the admirals were clearly uncomfortable now.
Now that he had their full attention, this was the time to bring down the hammer and really use the guilt that was attached to the Spartan-II program against them. "But you know that part," Musa continued with a casual, but still serious tone. He also allowed a small amount of anger to tint his words. "Hell, it was people like you, sitting in a room like this, that gave Catherine the power to assault he bodies and minds of innocent children." His voice rose a bit in volume. "Who gave her the permission she needed to sentence me to a life of pain in this chair." His hand rested on his, legs but he couldn't really feel them. He hadn't been able to since the augmentations stripped him of his ability to walk. "Do you know how many children Catherine Halsey killed in her quest?" Musa let his head drop and his eyes close. "I do. I know all of their names." He'd grown up with them, and although he had survived, too many hadn't even been as lucky as him. "Their faces haunt my dreams in ways I can only hope they still haunt hers." His voice was a bit quieter as he reflected for a moment on how often he saw all the members of his fallen family in his dreams. He collected himself and put more force behind his words. "As much as I may hate that woman, and rail against her crimes…It is my brothers and sisters who saved humanity. We would not be here were it not for Spartans. But now with the Master Chief lost and the others all missing in action…" Musa couldn't bring himself to admit that the rest of the Spartan-IIs were dead; he had to believe that they were still alive, somewhere. "Our guardians are gone," he finished.
Musa then straightened up in his chair, pulling it all together with his final statements. "The Covenant have been kicked into submission, but already we hear there are cultist leaders who are gathering followers. When those sects rise up, we must be prepared to face them. And we know already that things are not well in our colonies. It is only a matter of time until the insurrection rears its head once more."
"Musa…you have my sympathy—" one of the admirals began.
"No one needs your sympathy, Admiral!" Musa barked.
"Then what?" the admiral asked.
"What we need, are Spartans." Musa smiled slightly as he prepared to strike the final blow. "So I made some."