Chapter 2
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Raines P. Amanda, ONI
Amanda subconsciously gnawed on the end of the pen as her fingers danced across the data pad's screen. "How many will be on board again?"
Her younger compatriot's eyes flickered down to the folder splayed across the metallic desk. The room was quite barren other than the two agents and their cluttered work station. A fan swirled overhead to mediate the room's temperature, but other than that it could very well be a jail cell. Barely any light was allowed through the small window in the corner. "A little over seven-"
"Exact numbers, Ryan," She hadn't even looked up from her work to chastise the young man. "There's no need to shirk our duties."
Ryan nodded and cleared his throat. "Seven hundred and twenty nine UNSC personal, mostly marines and technicians. There is a small contingent of orbital drop shock troopers planning to get off on Haling." He turned the paper over. "One thousand two hundred and eight civilian families of enlisted personal, including the Admiral's wife and daughter. All of them will be transferred back to a base on Earth before the marines head to the front."
Amanda nodded. "I see." She moved the pen from one corner of her mouth to the other. "Subject B will be applied before the ship reaches Earth. Have the Admiral's escape pod primed and ready to go immediately."
"Yes, Ma'am," There was a hesitation in her protégé's voice, and the barest fidget in his form. It was just enough for her to pick up on out of her peripherals.
"You don't agree?" She inquired coolly. Her fingers ceased in their work on the data pad.
He didn't answer at first – obviously weighing her verbal options carefully. Amanda respected that, and fought off a small smile. "Well," He began. "It just seems like a lot of lives to throw away is all, Ma'am."
She barked a bit of laughter. "Agent Wells," She placed the data pad down and withdrew the pen from her mouth before intertwining her hands atop on the table. "For the first time in humanity's history we are fighting a war and losing." She smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles in her skirt before crossing her legs and leaning back. All in one well practiced motion. "A few hundred soldiers and a thousand civilians that probably hate us won't change that."
He didn't nod, but the acknowledgment still left his lips, and that was good enough for her. "Yes. Ma'am."
"Besides," Her fingers drummed the tabletop. "When this is over and done with, we'll have complete control of a weapon to destroy the Covenant." She let the words linger in the humid air for a few moments. "Send the orders out immediately. Dismissed."
He nodded this time. "Of course, Ma'am." The chair screeched against the floor as he pushed it out like nails on a chalkboard. His steps were fluid, almost robotic, and paused only to give her a final fleeting glance and a question. "But why are we saving the Admiral?"
Amanda considered that for a moment. "What this war doesn't lack for is cannon fodder like marines. It does lack capable Admirals. We have more ships than qualified commanders for them."
He left after that, leaving the Spook in the dark. She looked around and grimaced before standing up and quickly walking out.
She hated the dark.
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Bannerman A. Trisha, Lance Corporal
The chair was cold and stiff and she hated it. Being left in an empty room didn't help her already deteriorating mood either. She craned her neck to peer around for the umpteenth time since she had arrived and sighed. Award plaques and various laminated PHDs and doctorates hung on the walls so thick she could barely see the yellow wallpaper beneath them. Looking back to the desk and past a cup full of pencils she spied an inactive computer, and beyond that a picture of a middle-aged man with two younger girls. Daughters, obviously, or at least Trisha hoped her psychiatrist wasn't some pedophile.
"My daughters," The sudden answer solidified her assumption and she nearly jumped out of her chair. She blinked as the man rounded the desk from behind – dark brown irises reading over something inside of a chocolate colored folder behind narrow glasses. "Sorry," He offered an easy smile. "I didn't mean to scare you, Trisha. How are you doing tonight?"
Relaxing somewhat back into the uncomfortable seat, she folded both arms over her stomach. "You scared the hell outta me, doc."
A warm chuckle seemed to be his answer. He dropped down into his own chair and shut the folder before setting it to the side. "Night terrors?"
"Night terrors," She confirmed and spared a brief look out the nearby window. Night had come particularly early today, and along with them did the nightmares that seemed to be the bane of her existence for the past few months. "I don't know what it is. I just keep seeing everyone."
"Seeing?" He arched an eyebrow and withdrew a small pad of paper from his shirt's pocket. "You mean Privates Jonathan Lang and Stella Kirkpatrick?" A pen was procured from the cup not long after and he jotted down the names.
"Yea," She nodded and watched his rhythmic writing. "I don't know what to do. The meds aren't helping."
The psychiatrist made a few grunting sounds as he continued to write before putting the pen down and looking across at her. "Military vaccinations are known to complicate, and sometimes stop, the use of civilian medicine. An immunity, if you will, now tell me," Both his elbows planted themselves on the desk and he propped his chin against his palm. "Do they ever say anything to you? Try to communicate?"
Trisha shot him an icy glance. "I'm crazy, doc, not some voodoo witch that talks to dead."
He snorted back laughter. "No, no, no," He shook his head. "That's not what I meant. Dreams of formerly deceased companions and friends have been linked to, in some cases, acute paranoia. In even fewer cases some psychologists hypothesize that the way those people died is a direct correlation to the reason of nightmares." He paused, but not near long enough for Trisha to interject. "Did you see them die? The wounds they sustained?"
She nodded her head and watched as he retrieved the pen again. Taking the hint, she leaned forward. "It was a misfire. A grenade primer got stuck on one of the loops on their pants and activated when they moved." She told the story as calm as she could, although her body began to shake involuntarily. "They were all torn up, doc. I was the closest medic on scene. Hell, I even saw the explosion." The man seemed to be writing everything down and she stopped to allow him to catch up. Only when he waved did she continue. "They were dead before I even got there. Shrapnel had punctured their lungs and several arteries along the upper body. If that didn't do it, heavy lacerations would have bled them to death."
He didn't say anything for a long while, merely nodded and reached over to the chocolate covered folder. "How long after did the nightmares start?"
"How close were they to you?"
"They were my best friends." She blinked. "I've known them since we were kids."
Another series of grunting and he flicked past a few pages. "Any prior interaction?"
"What?" She leaned back. "What do you mean?"
He stopped reading and peered back at her again. "How long before they were killed did you speak to them?"
She couldn't answer that immediately. It felt like it had been so long ago since the accident occurred. "Three hours, maybe four."
Pleased with whatever he was staring at he snapped the folder shut again and discarded it beside him. "Interesting," He scratched at the stubble on his chin. "I don't have any different types of meds you can take. You've tried every medicinal reference I've given you, right?" When she nodded, he sighed. "And you refuse to take leave from your unit on the grounds of mental instability, correct?"
"I can't," The words came out more as a guttural growl than anything else, and she immediately checked herself. "I mean I leave tomorrow for the outer systems. I can't sacrifice combat deployment pay because I'm having problems sleeping, doc."
She saw him tense somewhat and run his hands down his face. An incoherent murmur arose from him before sharply clearing his throat. "You said your unit sustained heavy casualties your last deployment. Two were from the accidental grenade, and four from Covenant fire?"
Trisha nodded. "Yea,"
"Can you give me the names of those who are left? Not from your platoon, just your squad. And not the replacements."
She licked her dry lips to avoid chapping. "There's Privates Daniel Cooper, Skyler Sparks and Corporal Alisha Cunningham, myself, Sergeant Jason Ramirez and Lieutenant Michael Shiften."
He wrote these names down as well. "Are you close with all of them as well?"
Again, the question wasn't answered immediately. When she did finally offer an answer it stretched the line of the truth slightly. "I guess I was pretty close with Danny. I didn't really warm up to anyone else, though." She quickly changed the subject. "I feel like we're going around in circles, doc. You've asked all this before."
"I know," He recited bluntly. "You haven't tried to contact any of them on your shore leave? Don't go out drinking? Out to dinner? Movies?"
The interrogation hit a nerve and she pushed the chair out. It was true, and that was what made her the angriest. She hadn't even bothered to open up to anyone other than Danny in the unit. Even then, they had yet to get together when they shared leave. "I just want to get rid of these nightmares."
He had that damned chocolate folder in his hand again. If he saw her little movement of frustration he made no note or indication he had to her. "I took the liberty of pulling the pre-deployment psych evaluations of your squad mates."
So that was what was in the folder. "Yea, so?" Both her arms crossed ignorantly over her chest.
"You're the only one who suffers from nightmares."
"I know."
He sighed again. Both pointer and index finger rose to push up his glasses and rub at his temples. "I'm urging you to take a leave of absence due to your mental health. I was a soldier too, once, you know. I understand how a traumatizing situation like that could prove detrimental in the middle of a firefight."
She shrugged again – quickly putting stomping out any flames of reasonable conclusion. "It's not happening, doc. I need this combat pay."
Without another word she rose to her feet and stamped out. She didn't even acknowledge the pretty young receptionist that bid her a good night. Instead, she burst through the large double doors and into the night. It was raining hard and it matted her hair against her face. Bearing left, she ignored the icy water against bare skin and clothing, instead reaching up to wipe away the tears from her eyes. Always cry in the rain, her father told her, its perfect camouflage.
She needed a drink. Bad. Looking around she spied the small establishment across the road. Lou's Bar flashed in a pinkish blue fluorescent sign. The 'L' was in the form of a woman's bare leg with an indistinguishable high-heeled shoe on the foot of it. Forcing a smile, she crossed the street and prepared her credit chip and military identification.
It was going to be a good long night.
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Raines P. Amanda, ONI
"You play a dangerous game, agent."
Amanda shifted her focus back onto the centermost of the room. She stood directly under a beam of light just large enough to illuminate herself clearly. Out of the beam it was pitch dark and even her eyes couldn't adjust. She surmised there were three people sitting before her judging from the frequency of the movements and whisperings. Two males and one female, if she had guessed correctly, but she didn't dare to ask or step out of the safety of the light - creatures worse than ONI Spooks no doubt lay past the bright shield of artificial sun. "It's no game," She said impassively. "This is for the good of humanity."
There was a saying in the military that if you didn't know somebody's rank it was safe to assume you better stand at attention anyway. So she did, and for the entirety of the small meeting she had yet to be dismissed to parade rest. "Killing our soldiers is for the good of humanity? For an experiment that may yet fail?" This time it was the shrouded woman that spoke. Her tone feigned disbelief, although Amanda knew it was to mock her. Nobody in this room gave two shits about anyone but themselves.
"If it fails than it fails." She almost shrugged before thinking better of it. "It wouldn't be the first time ONI sacrificed lives."
Scoffs proceeded. Again, it was simply to mock her. To cause a rise in her stoic persona, perhaps. "Never to this magnitude." The first man chirped. He was elderly by what his voice indicated, but the opposing two seemed as young as Amanda. "You're insinuating we allow thousands of people to die? What if your weapon fails? What if you can't control it?"
She bristled silently. "All tests show a green light in every sector. There is no reason to believe we won't be able to completely control it."Almost as an afterthought, she added: "Sacrifice a few lives to win a war, and save billions of others. Surely all of you can see the credibility in that."
Whispers began to echo throughout the room as the three silently congregated on what should be done. After a tense minute or so the elderly man cleared his throat. "Very well," She could almost see his frail outline wave the other two off with a dismissive hand gesture. "The Admiral of the ship will be evacuated his family and requisition another ship to command. We will leave it up to you to convince him to keep his mouth shut, or we'll be finding a new agent in addition to an Admiral."
Finally, she allowed herself to smile. "Of course."
"The Red Sonja is yours. Dismissed."
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Whoo! Things are heating up! Sorry for the slow first few chapters. I like to build up the story and offer a bit of character development before jumping straight into the action. As usual, please read and review! I'd really appreciate it if you did so! :D