X
Dr. Halsey sat in her office, scrolling through her laptop. Her black hair was swept up into a high ponytail, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Her brow was furrowed in thought. For the duration of her stay onboard the Hercules, she had been provided with access to various information systems. Right now, she was looking for the ship's security video logs.
Without notice, Keira's face appeared in the lower left hand corner of the screen.
"Can I help you with something, Doctor?"
Halsey startled, her elbow bumping against her coffee mug. A bit sloshed over the side onto the desk. Quickly, Halsey wiped it up with her lab coat sleeve – she'd been meaning to throw her coat in the laundry, anyway.
"Shit. Keira! You surprised me. It's so quiet here. I'm trying to locate the ship's security camera logs."
"Just give me a moment." Halsey watched as the AI navigated through her laptop, bringing her in seconds to the files she wanted to see. "Here we are. Any specific date or time stamp?"
There were hundreds of logs.
"Yes. Last night around 2300 hours…" Halsey scanned all the camera locations. "Try the junior NCO's quarters."
"Got it." The video selection narrowed, but there were still about twenty or so. "You're viewing all the live feeds, starting at 2300, at 2x fast forward. Do you know what you are looking for?"
"Yes." Halsey's eyes scanned the video screens. For the most part, the halls of the junior NCO's quarters were empty, save for a person or two heading to the bathroom or back. Then, she spotted him. "That one." She pointed. "Camera 3. Top right hand corner. Reduce to normal playback speed."
The screen filled with that singular video. John was walking down the hall, his arm wrapped supportively around a female's shoulders. Halsey squinted. It was Private Klein. They appeared to be in good cheer, if not a bit drunk. They came to stop outside of what Halsey could only guess to be Klein's quarters. Klein ushered John closer to her, then placed her lips over his. Halsey could only stare in disbelief.
Of course. She felt a strange feeling wash over her. To her knowledge, this was the first ever case of one of her Spartan II's expressing any kind of passionate interest in anyone, Spartan or otherwise. A well-known and assumed - yet never proved - side effect of the Spartan augmentations was the repression of their sexual drive. They were also well trained in pushing aside human emotion and operating strictly from a logical point of view. In other words, romantic or lustful relationships of any kind weren't thought to be a part of any Spartan's agenda, let alone to even cross their minds.
But apparently for John, this was not the case.
The kiss ended, and Halsey watched as Klein ushered John away, out of frame, away from her room. Where else could they be headed? Halsey's heartbeat quickened, her mind buzzing through the options.
"Quickly, switch to the senior NCO's quarters, same time frame." Her voice sounded nervous. About twenty or so individual video logs appeared once more, and it took seconds before she selected the right one. Within less than a minute, John and Klein came into view and walked directly into John's room, closing the door behind them. No hesitation. No second thoughts.
Halsey closed her eyes, heaving a sigh as she massaged her temples with her hands. John might not have been aware of what lie ahead of him, but Klein definitely did. It hadn't taken the Doctor long to uncover the terribly-kept secret of Klein's sexual relationship with Lieutenant Myles Coddington. This added to her questions. Where was this girl's morals? She was only nineteen. She had met John days before. He was a senior rank, he was a Spartan. Maybe her reasons for being so kind to John pointed to this exact moment. Had she simply wanted to sleep with him from the start?
Lifestyle in the Marine Corps was stressful and harsh. Death and defeat were all around, and Halsey knew the Marines relied heavily on several comforts: alcohol, nicotine and sex. Gambling and recreational drug use were also not unknown, either, although those activities occurred more secretively. Women who joined this world quickly had to adapt, or else they didn't last long. They had to compete against the men, and train twice as hard. Physical training was not gender subjective, and hadn't been for hundreds of years. The women were expected to march just as far, carry just as much and shoot just as well as the men. If they didn't, they were a liability and were phased out fast. They were pressured to act like their peers. They too fell to the comforts of alcohol, cigarettes and sex, when it was available. They swore just as much as the men, laughed at and made their own vulgar jokes. It was simply the lifestyle. Either you could mold to it, or you couldn't.
It seemed rather clear to Halsey that Private Klein had blended in almost seamlessly with the rest of the Corps. But what was her objective when it came to John? She had been drunk in this case and obviously found him attractive.
Maybe Halsey was being quick to judge, maybe she would emerge from John's room any moment, having just said goodnight to him.
She waited. And waited. Nothing.
"Fast forward to the morning, please, Keira. 0930-1030."
The film zipped ahead, then stopped. She fixated her eyes on that door, her chest feeling tight. Finally, it hissed open, and Private Klein emerged, looking rather disheveled and panicked, her sweater under her arm. She hurried off down the hall. Not five minutes later, John emerged, heading in the opposite direction.
That's why he was late.
Halsey leaned back in her chair, sighing once more, staring at the video long after John had disappeared from the frame. Disbelief was written all over her face.
"Doctor? Is that all?" Keira inquired.
"Yes. I've seen all I need to see."
It was a bumpy ride into Lacerta's atmosphere. The Pelican was packed, jammed full with two squads. The Marines sat quietly, being jostled occasionally by turbulence. The interior was lit only by red light, making it rather dark.
Natalie found herself seated between Amy and Carter. Her lip bulged with a wad of tobacco, and she spit occasionally on the floorplates. Myles happened to be sitting almost directly across from her, although so far he had avoided making eye contact. His expression looked rather miserable. If he hadn't been enjoying some tobacco himself, she imagined he would have already had something to say about her spitting.
With each lurch the Pelican made, she felt her stomach churn uncomfortably, likely due to having not eaten anything. If I puke, she thought, I'm aiming as close as I can to Myles' boots. The idea of it made her smirk.
She glanced up to towards the hatchway door, which still remained closed. John stood there, almost motionless. Although there was an empty seat designated for him, so far he had refused to take it. He had one hand on the bulkhead to steady himself when the Pelican rattled its way through a turbulent air pocket.
The Pelican made a quick drop, and Natalie felt her stomach contract. She pressed her fist to her mouth, closing her eyes for a moment to try to will away the nausea.
"We've reached a safe cruising altitude. Opening the back hatch," the pilot announced.
The hatch slowly swung open, allowing in a flood of light and fresh air. It seemed to instantly soothe Natalie's stomach. She squinted, taking in the view. In the distance, a turquoise ocean glimmered in the sunlight. Lush green forests lay below, with rivers snaking through them. The city, she guessed, must be ahead. It looked peaceful. No Covenant carriers, no glow of flames in the distance, no smell of smoke. Not yet, at least.
John took a step forward, peering down out of the hatch. He took notice of a flock of birds, swirling their way through the trees, their movement appearing panicked, threatened. Surely it wasn't their Pelican disturbing them…
A familiar sound tore through his ears – plasma fire. Not a second later, an explosion shook the entire Pelican. Instantly, it lurched sickeningly to one side. Those who weren't strapped into their seats were thrown to the floorplates, Natalie included. An alarm from within the cockpit began to scream. Chaos erupted from the Marines, fear spreading like wildfire.
"Banshee!" The pilot cried. "He got us fuckin' good! I'm losing the starboard engine!"
Quickly losing altitude, the Pelican's engines roared as the pilot tried to keep her level. They were gaining speed. Natalie struggled to pull herself up off the floor, but gravity began to fight against her, her limbs feeling heavy. Panic was erupting all around her.
"Can we jump?" someone demanded.
"Not unless you want to die!"
The starboard engine began to whine, competing against the shrill beeping of the alarm. It sputtered once, twice, before choking out completely. Dropping quickly, the Pelican began to spiral. From her spot on the floorplates, Natalie looked out the back hatch, seeing a blur of clouds, blue sky and the smoke billowing from the engines.
"Close the back hatch!" Myles screamed to the pilot.
"I'm trying! The hydraulics aren't responding… I'm losing all control! Strap yourselves in. Prepare for a crash landing! We're going in hard!"
The Pelican's tail collided with a tree, jarring all those inside. For a second, Natalie was airborne, before crashing back down onto the floorplates. Uncontrollably, she slid backward toward the open hatch. The interior rushed past her, then disappeared out from under her altogether. She opened her mouth, letting out a shrill scream. At that very second, a hand closed around her wrist, jerking her body to a stop. Her arm felt like it was about to be pulled from her socket. Behind her, the world was spinning as the Pelican continued to plummet.
John had one hand on the hatch, the other clamped onto Natalie's wrist. Gravity was against them. The muscles in his arm began to burn under the strain, his boots were slipping on the floorplates.
"Somebody fucking help him, dammit!" someone screamed.
"I can't fucking move!"
John weighed his options, thinking quickly. He wasn't going to let her go, and even if he did, there was no chance that he wouldn't fall out right after her. Taking a deep breath, he released his grip on the hatch.
At once, John pulled Natalie to him, holding her tight against his body. The terrified screams of the Marines in the Pelican quickly disappeared they plummeted. She screamed against his chest plate as they crashed through the forest canopy. Branches raked and clawed at them, some snapping underneath their weight.
The forest floor came rushing up to meet them. John landed feet first. Pain instantly shot through his legs, and he collapsed, dropping Natalie. They both landed onto the ground with a groan.
Her own panicked breaths were loud in her ears. For a moment she didn't move. In the distance, birds twittered. She could just see the sky through the trees. Leaves were still fluttering down around them. She could feel all of her limbs. Felt no excruciating pain. I should be dead.
She sat up. She knew without checking, the wetness she felt on her face was blood. Looking over, she saw John lying motionless next to her. His head was turned slightly in her direction.
"John," she spoke, her voice trembling. She crawled over to him. "John!"
His head turned, and then he pushed himself up off the ground. She could only stare in disbelief as he got to his feet.
"What the fuck!?" she cried. "You should be dead. I should be dead. We both should be fucking dead!" The last sentence was almost a scream. She felt tears welling in her eyes.
"I'm fine." He extended his hand out to her. She took it, and he helped her to her feet. Her knees felt wobbly. She looked around, taking a couple of unsteady steps.
"My rifle…"
"It's gone. Use your sidearm for now." John sounded so calm.
She turned, staring up into his mirrored visor. She could see her reflection. Blood was running down her face from a scratch on her cheek. There was also a cut on her lip. As if John was reading her mind, he reached up and gently touched her chin, turning her face to one side to examine her injuries.
"You'll be fine, too. You likely have a mild case of shock. Take a moment to orient yourself, then we have to find our Pelican, look for survivors."
Survivors. The word gave her chills. She thought of Amy, Myles. Numbly, she gave John a nod.
"I'll be okay. Let's move."
When the Pelican crashed, no one was killed. But those who hadn't managed to get strapped into their seats before the landing had been badly tossed around. One marine fractured his wrist, another his arm. Those who were strapped into their seats suffered only bruising and discomfort.
Slowly, the marines climbed out of the back hatch of the Pelican. The nose of the dropship had dug itself fairly deep into the ground upon impact. One of the wings were completely gone, lost to a tree branch. Smoke billowed into the sky from the engine as flames licked into the air. The windshield had smashed. The pilot had the worst of it – he was the last to be helped out, his face wet with blood, the glass having cut his face and neck.
Amy pushed her way through the troops, looking for Myles. She felt sick to her stomach, still in shock. A piece of glass that had flown back from the cockpit had cut her face. She could feel the blood beginning to dry on her cheek. She could still see the image in her head of John and Natalie disappearing out the hatch, gone in a second.
She found Myles, standing motionless a few feet away from the group. His helmet was in his hand, dangling from his fingers by the straps. He was staring back in the direction they had come, a dazed look on his face.
Her lip quivered, anger building up inside of her. Tears were welling in her eyes. She reached out and touched his shoulder. When he turned, her fist made contact with his face. The impact seemed awfully loud, and her scream louder:
"YOU FUCKER!"
Immediately, everyone was staring at them. Murmurs of disbelief and gasps of surprise could be heard, but all at once fell silent, waiting for the fallout. Myles was stunned. He took a moment to absorb what happened, he turned back to face Amy, blood running down from his lip.
"That was for Natalie!" Amy screamed. "I hope you feel real fucking good, treating her like that! She was our friend, Myles! We grew up together, for fuck's sake!" Tears started to roll down her face. "And… now she's dead!" Her voice broke, and she turned away from him, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth in an attempt to smother the sobs that threatened to come.
Myles stood motionless, feeling the blood running down his lip. He could feel everyone staring at him, waiting for him to react. He felt sick, and realized Amy was right. He tried to remember the last words he had spoken to Natalie. He'd been cruel, spiteful – just because he could, just because she'd been with that Spartan, and he couldn't have her. Now, no one could have her. He opened his mouth, but shut it, unable to think of appropriate words. He wiped the blood from his lip, smearing it across his face.
"I don't fucking believe it!" Someone shouted.
Myles turned, and saw the Spartan and Natalie emerging from the treeline. Upon seeing Amy, Natalie rushed forward, meeting her friend halfway with a hug. Amy's face was white with disbelief.
"How in the fuck!? You're okay!" Amy blinked away tears, wiping at her face. She looked Natalie up and down. Save for a couple of scratches on her face and neck, she appeared to be unharmed.
The troops gathered around her, in equal awe. Comments buzzed about the miracle of her survival, but when John joined the group, the mystery behind it seemed to wither away. Another capability of the Spartans was unveiled – the ability to fall great distances and speed, apparently without being injured or killed.
Myles stood rooted in his spot, his lip pulsing painfully with each passing second. So, Natalie wasn't dead. He felt relief – the guilt that had beginning to plague him slowly began to melt away. But here he was, with a bloody mouth, no thanks to a Private. They had been childhood friends, yes; Amy had been emotional thinking her friend was dead, yes; but did that make it okay to punch him as she had? In front of everyone who had been onboard their Pelican? No.
He stared at Natalie and Amy in their happy reunion. Smiling, Amy laughing. At once, however, she turned and met his gaze, sudden dread spreading across her features. Natalie followed her gaze, and he watched her expression alter upon seeing the blood on his face.
"LT," Amy started towards him. Curiously, Natalie followed.
"Amy, did you…"
"Punch me? Yes she did," Myles finished, glowering down at them both. "It's a chargeable offense, striking an officer."
"I know. I apologize. I thought she was…"
"Unfortunately for you, she's very much alive. Although I don't quite understand how." Myles met Natalie's eyes briefly. "You have both succeeded in being administrative burdens for me if we ever get off this planet. Now, I have not one but two conduct reports and charge parades to organize. You both need to get your fucking emotions in line and start thinking like Marines."
"Yes, sir," Amy replied. Natalie simply nodded. She still felt dazed. The last fifteen minutes of her life had been a surreal blur. The girls watched as Myles turned and stalked off. Sergeant Philips quickly hurried after him, no doubt as to inquire about what had happened.
Natalie met Amy's eyes.
"You fucking idiot," she said quietly.
"Now you're not alone," Amy smirked. She wiped self-consciously at her cheek again, which was still shining with tears. "He deserved it, whether you were fucking dead or not." She sniffled. "Broke my record, bitch. I haven't cried since I had to say goodbye to Wayne when I was going off to boot camp."
"Alright, listen up!" It was Myles. "Now that our last two passengers of the Pelican have miraculously appeared, that means we won't have to go scouring the forest for their bodies." He paused, finding both the Spartan and Natalie in the crowd. "Our bird is down, but our objective hasn't changed. According to the pilot, we only have about a mile or two to go and we'll reach our original DZ. Should only take us about twenty minutes. Keep alert. Loose file formation. Let's move!" He paused for a moment. "Master Chief – I want you with me and Philips."
There was a shuffle as the squads organized. 1 squad stepped off first. Those in platoon HQ, Coddington, Philips, as well as John, followed along behind. 2 squad filed in after them.
The forest was humid and lush. Sunlight glittered through the canopy. Tropical birds serenaded them as they walked. Dry dead leaves crunched underfoot – normally a concern, but if any Covenant were nearby, they would have already been alerted to their position due to the crash.
"So, how did you do it?" Myles spoke, his voice low. He glanced back to Master Chief.
John thought a moment about not answering. He didn't like talking on patrol. But little murmurs of conversation could be heard both ahead and behind him. He wouldn't be the one breaking the silence.
"My armour allows me to be able to fall great distances without injury. It absorbs most of the impact."
"Hmf. Must be nice."
"Two less deaths on your watch, Lieutenant. I would say so."
Myles glanced back at him again, letting out a scoff, grinning. His lip had fattened quite noticeably. John suspected it was from the crash. He still had dried blood on his chin.
"Ah man, you're fuckin' quick with the retorts." The smile faded. "On second thought, instead of marching along with me, wouldn't a super soldier like yourself be better off tailing our formation, making sure no Covenant are on our arse?" He didn't wait for a reply, gesturing back with his thumb. "Get the fuck out there. Now."
John wordlessly fell back out of formation, and hurried back toward the rear. Myles met Philips' eyes.
"Sassy fucker, ain't he?" Philips remarked.
"Not very punctual, either."
"I noticed. For all the praise the Spartans receive, this one is living up to the negative rumours. Just a little arrogant, it seems. Showing up when he likes, talking to you how he feels..."
"Yeah, don't even fuckin' get me started. I've got enough to charge him if I didn't think it would be a war in itself. They're protected, the Spartans. Remember the story about the Spartan that killed the ODST years ago? What happened to him, I wonder? Not a fuckin' thing. If I tried to charge Master Chief, I'd get nowhere. Even though he's getting drunk, fuckin' Privates and showing up late; disrespecting me every time I turn around…"
"Wait, what?"
Myles nodded, grinning. "Oh yeah. If he and Klein hadn't survived that fall, it wouldn't have been much of a fuckin' loss."
He watched surprise flash across the Sergeant's face for a moment, but he said nothing. Onward, they marched.