Chapter 11
"Simulation complete, sir. Forerunner object designated 'Guardian' is neutralized with 0% losses amongst Infinity Task Force. Electronic Warfare suite neutralized defenses as predicted," the technician told Captain Lasky. They were on the bridge of the UNSC Infinity, and they had just completed their 5th simulated battle with a Forerunner Guardian. Each one had ended in success.
"Excellent work, Captain," Major Ackerson complimented. "The Guardian won't know what hit it."
Lasky frowned and resisted the urge to inform the ONI Officer that he did not require her approval. "Simulations are not the same thing as reality, Major," he reminded her instead. "They can only account for the challenges we can predict. While I have every confidence in the competence and professionalism of my crew," he said, aware of the technicians, officers, and various servicemen who were pretending not to listen, "real battles rarely go as expected. No battle plan survives contact with the enemy, after all."
"Of course, Captain," she replied dutifully. Lasky noticed that she always referred to him by his title rather than 'sir' or any other honorific. Another bit of proof that ONI did not like him very much. It was funny, how that fact would make most men too terrified to function.
Ah, well. Cost of doing business, I suppose, he thought wryly.
"Do you think we will be able to complete our journey now?" Ackerson asked.
Captain Lasky suppressed a sigh. "I believe that would be a bad idea," he answered. "As I have stated before, the political situation in this part of space is fragile. The UNSC's most powerful warship, and its accompanying fleet of frigates and fighter wings, could stir tensions beyond the point of control."
Major Ackerson was not deterred. "Surely we would be able to handle any potential trouble. I, too, have every confidence in the power and leadership of the Infinity," she argued, once again smiling that greasy smile of hers. This time Lasky did sigh. He couldn't help it.
"I appreciate the confidence, Major," he lied, "but I'm afraid my decision stands."
Ackerson nodded. "Very well, Captain. Unless you require my presence, I will go to attend my duties." It was more of a statement than a request. It made sense, considering she was in a different chain of command than the Captain, but it was still grating to hear on his own bridge. He nodded in consent and Ackerson left the bridge.
Captain Lasky looked back at the com-screen in front of his command chair and brought up an orbital image of Meridian. No...sending a single frigate to deliver Fireteam Osiris had indeed been the right call. ONI may be arrogant and ruthless enough to ignore the cost of such overt displays of military dominance, but he was not. He just hoped Locke hadn't ruffled too many feathers when he arrived.
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"Calling all cars, repeat, calling all cars, we have an Alpha-101 taking place in the 'Waterloo Pub,'" the station Security Officer said through the radio in Fred's vehicle. "Repeat, we have an Alpha-101 taking place in the 'Waterloo Pub'. All available units report to Sgt. Singh on-site. Repeat, all available units report to Sgt. Singh on-site. Over."
Fred's current partner immediately twisted the steering wheel, making an illegal u-turn and pushing the vehicle to its maximum possible velocity in order to get to the location of the reported riot as swiftly as possible.
They arrived within 5 minutes to find the street outside Waterloo Pub crowded with security vehicles. At least 50 officers were present, including Sgt. Singh. Singh began barking orders as soon as Fred, apparently the last of the responders, arrived.
"Alright, listen up!" he shouted. "I've looked at the security feed and it's bad in there. People are tearing each other apart. So far, this is the only reported incident of mass violence, but once word of this spreads it could set off more across the city. Governor Sloan has declared a state of emergency and recommended all civilians remain indoors until given the all-clear. For now, it's our job to settle these people down so that the EMTs," Singh gestured to the group of 4 ambulances that had just arrived on scene, "to begin applying medical services to the injured."
Sgt. Singh then ordered the officers to put on the riot gear that had been transported to the scene via a large Security shuttle. In reality it was all the same gear Fred had worn on his excursion to the mining site several days ago, just some armored plates strapped to the limbs and torso as well as a helmet, but every little bit helped.
More interesting was the non-lethal riot weaponry they would be using. Normally riots were confronted by tear gas and bean bag rounds. Here, though, Fred found that they would be using advanced auditory weaponry. Specifically, hand-held devices that resembled a rectangular sheet of thick metal with an attached handle and an unusual coating on the exterior side. Said device would project painful sound waves in only one direction, away from the user, making it a precision deterrence device. It was impressive, and far more expensive than the normal equipment. So much so that Fred was surprised they could afford it. He remarked on this to one of his fellow officers.
"You can thank the Governor for that," the officer responded. "He decided that the normal tech would present an unacceptable health risk to the average Meridian citizen and managed to wrangle some better gear."
Fred nodded in understanding. The average person tended to underestimate the potential damage riot gear could inflict on a person. Bean bag rounds were theoretically non-lethal, but if they hit a sensistive spot like an eye, neck, or groin, they were quite capable of inflicting permanent damage if not death. Fred remembered the dread he had felt during his training when the instructors had used rubber bullets during live fire exercises, which carried many of the same risks. Tear gas was also problematic. In fact, the name "tear gas" was misleading as what the chemical weapon actually did was irritate the mucus membranes in human beings, particularly those involved in sight and respiration. They caused excruciating pain and irritation in the nose, mouth, and throat, which could interfere with breathing. Given the commonplace lung disorders, and the general increased wear that all Meridian citizens' respiratory tracts were victim to, it was rather wise that "tear gas" use had been avoided here. There was some danger of hearing damage, but that was far less threatening than interrupted breathing.
20 Officers, including Fred, finished gearing up and entered the building. The remaining officers would remain outside to be ready to respond to any other nearby events, with Singh acting as coordinator. The building was too cramped to allow for any more to move efficiently. There were other groups of riot police in the colony's other districts, ready to perform the same tasks. Fred was impressed by the efficiency and professionalism Meridian Security displayed in the face of a mass disturbance. Most places didn't do nearly as well in similar circumstances.
They entered the 'Waterloo Pub'. 10 Officers moved in first, crouching and carrying transparent riot shields to protect from blows and ballistic weapons. The second 10 walked behind them, ready to fire the auditory devices above the shield bearers and being prepared to crouch behind them if targeted by rioters. Fred was one of the ones carrying a shield, Singh having recognized his strength and durability.
They entered the building to find it engulfed in chaos. It had been packed with diners when the riot started, work having just let out, and hundreds of people were present. Many of them were now lying on the ground between the tables and active rioters, some unconscious, some simply bleeding or cradling broken body parts. Only a few of them were cognizant enough of their surroundings to notice the officers entering the building.
The Officer in command gave the order to activate the auditory weapons. Every rioting colonist not already incapacitated reacted in pain to the sonic waves bombarding them, waves completely inaudible to the Security force. Many turned towards the Officers, some viewing them as threats and throwing objects at them. The shield bearers did their jobs. Some rioters were able to push through the pain and move to attack. They were shoved back by the shields and occasionally struck with the hard plastic clubs the officers all carried.
Fred lifted his shield up, using his augmented reflexes to block a knife someone had thrown at the officer behind him. The sonic waves briefly bounced off his shield and hit him, but he weathered it well enough. Once the rioters had been driven towards the opposite side of the room the Security force split into 2 groups, herding them towards one corner. Several more officers entered the building then, moving in to subdue anyone too injured to move but not quite injured enough to be considered a non-threat.
After a few more moments of sustained bombardment the commanding Officer gave the order to cease firing. He instructed the civilians to lay down on the ground with their hands splayed out in front of them. The newly arrived Officers gestured and pantomimed the order for the benefit of those who could no longer hear the instructions. Some complied, but others resumed throwing things and some even attempted to rush the re-formed single group.
The commander ordered precision targeting of the troublemakers, not wanting to further antagonize those who had already submitted. Once again, the shield-bearers did their jobs. The aggressors were repulsed and eventually all of the rioters settled down.
Every civilian not already incapacitated was summarily cuffed with plastic zip ties. They could be removed at the discretion of the EMTs, under supervision of an Officer.
Fred quietly sighed in relief. It was nice to end hostilities without killing anyone for a change.
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Kelly resisted the urge to pace nervously while ignoring her latest unexplained headache. She and Dr. Halsey were among those who had responded to the emergency call for EMTs to immediately go to Waterloo Pub to offer treatment to victims of some sort of riot. She was worried about the civilians, to be sure, but she was also concerned that one of her siblings might be inside. She had spotted Fred earlier about to go in but she was confident he could handle himself, especially with competent back-up. John or Linda, however, would probably be alone, surrounded, and fighting people too crazed to know who not to engage in a fight.
Dr. Halsey put a hand on her shoulder. Somehow, she had seen Kelly's discomfort despite the Spartan's attempt to hide it. How did she do that?
"Take it easy, Carol, we'll be in there shortly" she said, using Kelly's cover name. This reminded the Spartan of exactly where she was and helped her refocus on the situation from a professional perspective. Kelly nodded. Dr. Halsey smiled.
Finally, Sgt. Singh gave them permission to enter the building and begin treating the injured. Kelly rushed to the door, Dr. Halsey practically having to sprint to keep up. What the Spartan saw inside reminded her all too much of similar scenes she had seen in the near-30 year long Human-Covenant War.
The injured and dying were everywhere. Injuries ranged from bruises to broken bones to what were clearly stab wounds. The cafeteria's stocking of non-disposable cutlery had saved space on trash, but had cost dearly today. She could already identify at least 5 fatalities just from the way they were lying on the ground; a living body just looked different than a dead one. Dr. Halsey pushed ahead of her and moved swiftly to the largest group of heavily injured civilians. There were a large number of them by the bar area. They looked like they had tried to pick a fight with a Sangheili, they were so brutally and efficiently neutralized.
Kelly began examining and treating injured colonists. Staunching blood loss was first priority, followed by closer examination and treating of other wounds. Kelly struggled to concentrate. She had to shake herself several times and refocus her vision on her task. She also lost track of which patients she had already treated before catching a glimpse of the bandages she had applied. Maybe she should move on to more powerful stimulants than coffee...
Normally Kelly would be making liberal use of biofoam, a compound injected into deep wounds that staunched bleeding, applied anti-biotics, aided in tissue regeneration, and generally kept a person alive until further treatment. It had saved countless lives, including each one of the Spartan IIs. Unfortunately, supplies were low on Meridian, meaning she had to save the biofoam for only the most dire cases.
She saw one such case when she noticed Michelle Cortez desperately trying to wave her over. Cortez had a gash across her forehead and seemed to be suffering from some bruises given the way she was moving, but was otherwise unharmed. The woman she was cradling in her lap, however, was...
Kelly's blood ran cold. "Doctor!" she shouted, only barely restraining herself from addressing Halsey by her true name. Her mother looked at her, followed her gaze, and rushed to her fallen daughter almost as quickly as Kelly did. Cortez got up, giving the 2 supposed medical technicians space to work. She hovered nearby, crying, and with a worried expression on her face.
Linda wasn't moving. She was clearly unconscious. Her breathing was shallow. Kelly couldn't help but remember Linda's near fatal injury during the fall of Reach. She told herself that her sister hadn't survived that just to die now.
Dr. Halsey only needed a moment to run a medical scanner over Linda before ordering Kelly to immediately administer biofoam. One of Linda's lungs had collapsed and the foam would inflate it enough for oxygen to enter. It wouldn't be enough for a regular supply, but it would buy time. Dr. Halsey moved Linda to the top of the list of colonists requiring advanced treatment.
"I'll have to stay with her now," Halsey told Kelly. "She'll need surgery, but we can't allow anyone but the 2 of us to perform it. It will be impossible to hide her augmentations from them. I'll clear it with the hospital. Right now I need you to continue treating the colonists. We can't both be hovering over 1 patient, and it's our duty to help as many as we can anyway." Kelly looked up from Linda in disbelief. She couldn't mean it!
Dr. Halsey put her hand on Kelly's shoulder and looked directly into her eyes. "I promise you I will heal her. I won't lose another one of you. I won't allow it," she said with absolute conviction. Kelly had to smile at her mother's almost arrogant self-confidence. She clearly believed she could accomplish anything if she needed to. It was no mystery where John got that part of his personality from. John...
Kelly tore her sterile gloves off, stained with Linda's blood, grabbed her compad, and sent a message to the Master Chief informing him of what had happened. She knew he would be by Linda's side as fast as he could sprint there from his current location.
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The room was dark. Wait...no, her eyes were closed. She couldn't quite remember why. It was hard to think...
She could tell she was in pain. Her chest and head ached, and she could feel a stabbing pain in her lung every time she took a breath. Yet...the pain didn't bother her. She could still feel it. It just seemed...rather unimportant.
Painkillers, she thought, her mind beginning to clear. Why was she on painkillers? She was having difficulty remembering where she had been. She could hear voices.
"Can we really afford to delay surgery?" one voice, a male one, asked. It seemed familiar...
"We have no choice," another voice, older and female, answered. "If her cover is blown we will all be dead. If we're lucky. I've arranged enough treatment that she should be fine until I can arrange the surgery."
"There has to be a way to bump her up the list," the first voice insisted. Why couldn't she remember who that was? It felt so important.
"I can't because Meridian's medical system is painfully understaffed and underequipped," the second voice answered back. "There are only a few surgical suites on the planet capable of performing the surgery Linda needs and they're currently being used." The second voice took on a bitter tone. "Several of the wounded were Inner Colonists and, administrative employee or not, Linda's cover is as an Outer Colonist. There's no written policy, but there's an unspoken understanding. Priority treatment goes against us here. If I try to bump her up, it will get noticed. Not to mention the fact that I will have to be the one performing the surgery." The second voice paused before continuing in a softer tone. "I won't let her die, John."
John...John! The Master Chief! Linda suddenly remembered who the voices belonged to: Blue Lead, her leader and older brother, and Dr. Halsey, her creator and mother. She must have been critically wounded somehow.
Linda had a stoic personality and demeanor hardened by decades of war. She was strong...but it was still comforting to have them here. Not that she would ever admit it, of course.
"We'll have to take that risk," the Master Chief said, still addressing Dr. Halsey. "Hack into their system and do what you need to do."
The Chief was about to jeopardize their mission on her account. This was unacceptable.
"Don't..." Linda whispered, forcing her eyes to open. She could see John and Dr. Halsey standing on opposite sides of the bed she was lying on. Judging by the sterile room and medical equipment around her, she deduced that she was in a hospital. Linda suppressed a grimace. She disliked hospitals...
"Linda, we need to-" the Chief began. Linda interrupted him.
"I'll be...okay," she said, managing a higher volume this time. "I trust Dr. Halsey...and I can take this." Linda did her best to smile at him. "I have had worse, if you'll recall."
John smiled back at her. "...Very well," he said. "But if your condition worsens you're going to the top of the list. That's an order," he said, addressing both her and Dr. Halsey. The good doctor frowned, but nodded, accepting his authority. She clearly still didn't like being told what to do.
Linda started to remember what had happened. A UNSC fireteam had arrived...a squad of Spartan IVs. She had gone out drinking with Cortez, needing to finish developing her into an asset before going underground. Then...the colonists. The riot. She'd been wounded. And then...
Linda's eyes widened. "Blue Lead," she said. The Master Chief turned back to her. "Something happened...with Miller."
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Riots. No matter where I go, I see riots, Spartan Tanaka thought to herself.
They had just returned from scouting the mining sites. Locke had wanted to get a good look at them from the air rather than relying on surveillance footage from the frigate in orbit. They had visited all of the likely locations, taking photographs and various passive scans from high in the atmosphere. Scanning all of the sites had taken the better part of 24 hours. After it was done they returned to Meridian Colony's main settlement.
Which had suffered several riots that had been touched off by their arrival.
Tanaka went back to glaring at the back of Spartan Locke's helmet as they walked down the exit ramp of their Pelican. She'd told him to take the elevator. To be polite. But no. Like all the other federal authorities she'd ever dealt with, he just had to bulldoze his way towards what he wanted. Asshole.
At least the violence here was relatively tame. It had been limited to a few incidents of mass disturbance across Meridian Station. Local security had done an admirable job responding with non-lethal force. There had barely been any deaths. By the time the day ended the people had mostly calmed down and the local government was able to treat the wounded and start rebuilding. With little to no help from the UEG or UNSC.
Same shit, different day, Tanaka thought, remembering the riots of her youth.
She had grown up during the Human-Covenant War on the Outer Colony of Minab. She remembered the endless stream of refugees escaping the Covenant invasion, either trying to settle on Minab or trying to get further away from the enemy that had glassed their homeworlds. She remembered the endless makeshift ghettos and tent cities that filled every nook and cranny. Most refugees wanted to keep going but the only way to go from Minab was towards the Inner Colonies, who weren't interested in taking on such a burden. The issues of delayed visas and suspiciously extensive red tape were frequent topics of conversation on the news reports Tanaka remembered from her childhood.
There had never been enough supplies for everyone. Between the Covenant glassing agrarian worlds and interrupting trade, food was hard to come by throughout the Outer Colonies. Even commandeering private land and demolishing nature preserves to grow crops wasn't enough. Combined with poor living conditions, resentment among many of Minab's native citizens, and their inability to seek shelter in the more secure Inner Colonies, the hunger produced many incidents of mass violence.
Tanaka had grown up in a world of constant danger from her own species. The local law enforcement and Army units were unable to really maintain order and the UEG was uninterested in sending help. You could generally avoid riots if you knew where to hide and didn't have a family to worry about, like Tanaka, but there was no avoiding the scumbags who preyed upon the helpless. From muggers to corrupt police, human predators had been an omnipresent plague. Even after the War ended things were still unstable at best on Minab. At least, that's what she had heard. She had enlisted as soon as she had been old enough, looking to escape through military service. She had no interest in ever going back.
Locke led them to a vehicle he had rented from the local government. Apparently he didn't feel like calling up Security so he could hijack another of their vehicles. Fireteam Osiris piled into the vehicle and went to the Administrative Building. Tanaka wondered what Locke was going to try to bully out of the local leadership this time.
The secretary in front of Administrator Adomar's former office maintained an impressively welcoming face when they approached her. Tanaka would probably be shouting at them to go away and that she had better things to do than listen to them bitch.
"Ah, Spartan Locke. How can I help you?" the secretary asked in a mildly cheerful tone.
Whatever they pay you, it's not nearly enough, Tanaka thought to herself.
"It's my understanding that there have been some incidents of violence while we've been away," Locke said.
"Yes, most regrettable," the secretary answered in a more somber tone. Tanaka thought it seemed genuine. "Thankfully the Security forces managed to handle it rather well. It's mostly over now"
"Be that as it may," Locke began. Tanaka felt a spike of dread. What was this ONI prick going to demand? "I wish to offer any assistance we can."
Tanaka did a double take.
The secretary blinked. "I...thank you for the offer. What did you have in mind?"
"Primarily I was thinking we could use our Pelican to shuttle some of the more critically wounded to the frigate in orbit. We have a full medical suite onboard," Locke answered, to Tanaka's shock. "We won't be able to handle many, but it should take some of the load off of your hospitals."
"I...yes, I think that would work," the secretary answered, seeming as surprised as Tanaka felt. "I'll give you the comm number of the medical administrator and you can arrange it with him." Locke nodded and the two of them made arrangements.
Some time later Locke and the rest of Fireteam Osiris left to head to their temporary quarters elsewhere in the Administrative Building. On the way there he opened a private comm channel between him and the rest of his team. "Contrary to popular belief," he said, "ONI agents do not surrender their souls during basic training."
Tanaka wasn't entirely convinced of that. She doubted Buck was, either. If Locke were really so nice he wouldn't have caused so much trouble in the first place. Plus, it's not like this erased all of the bad treatment men like him had inflicted on places like Meridian. Compared to that, treating a few injured colonists was a cheap band-aid. Still, it was a pleasant surprise that her squadleader at least knew how to act human from time to time.
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What am I doing? John asked himself.
He was currently walking through the intensive care ward of Meridian's main hospital, a floor down from Linda's room. He was going to visit someone he had previously contemplated killing. He was going to visit Yao Miller, former Insurrectionist bomber.
The hallway was busy. Volunteers rushed this way and that, performing whatever menial task that needed performing, thus freeing up the regular staff for more important duties. The civilian population had turned out in massive numbers to support their injured comrades. Fred had arrived before John left Linda and he said that many of the uninjured rioters had themselves volunteered after they had been processed.
The Master Chief marveled at the industriousness with which these civilians stepped up to aid their community. He saw people removing waste bins and cleaning bed pans with hardly a complaint. From what Fred had related, such efforts were mirrored all over the colony. Repairs should be completed, and full work resumed, within a few days. Was it guilt that drove them? Did even innocent bystanders feel some responsibility for what had happened?
Then again, the entire system had impressed him. Apparently Governor Sloan had merely improved upon an already detailed and efficient system of disaster management which had already been put in place by Administrator Adomar. Said efforts had proven prescient as Meridian began experiencing repeated incidents of civil unrest over the following years.
John wished said efficiency extended to the surgery list. Even with the unexpected assistance of the UNSC forces it would still likely take days for Linda to get the surgery needed to return her to combat readiness. Apparently, they would have to clone an entire new lung for her and implant it. Such a procedure would normally be nothing major. Kelly had actually had several organs replaced in this manner. The problem was that they needed very specific equipment to do it, and that equipment was in short supply. In the meantime...
The Chief arrived at his destination. Miller's room. He was unsure what he was expecting to learn in this visit. Whatever it was, however, he needed to know it. They both did. He opened the door and stepped inside.
It was a small room. Unlike most others in the hospital, it only contained one bed. It seemed to be a converted storage closet of some sort. There was no window, and only a single chair and table by Miller's bed. The Chief set his compad down on the table, careful to place it so that the built in camera had a view of the patient. Linda would be watching a live stream of the conversation. They both wanted answers.
The kid looked bad. He was covered in bandages, both arms were in casts, and his face...The Chief hadn't seen a face so brutally damaged outside of Covenant POW camps. And people tended not to last long in those. The Chief sat down on the only chair.
Yao Miller opened one eye, apparently awoken by the Spartan's entry. His other eye had swollen shut; it was entirely possible that he would never see out of it again. The Chief could tell he recognized him.
John asked a simple question: "Why?"
Miller chuckled, but only for a moment. He quickly grimaced in pain and fell into a coughing fit. He recovered after several seconds. "Why?" he asked, after clearing his throat.
The Master Chief nodded. "Why?" he repeated. No other words needed to be said. Miller knew what he was asking.
"'Why' what?" the kid asked anyway. The Chief suppressed a pang of annoyance. He was about to reiterate when Miller surprised him by continuing to talk. "'Why would I save you buddy?' Oh, don't look so surprised. Everyone knew who she arrived with and who she ran with. Your little circle tends to stick out." The Master Chief frowned. If the average colonist had deduced more than he expected maybe they would have to go underground sooner than he thought. Of course, it would have to wait until Linda's recovery. Miller continued.
"You probably think I'm some kind of barbarian, right?" the former Insurrectionist croaked. "Some kind of murderous savage, out to destroy civilization to bring about total anarchy, right?"
"Something like that," the Master Chief answered.
Miller snorted. "Figures. That's all anyone sees," he said. He paused for a moment. "Let me tell you a story." he said. "The story of my life."
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I grew up on an Outer Colony. It's name was New Westport, not that anyone cares.
The Insurrection had been an inter-stellar problem for decades and everyone on New Westport had heard how it was going. The terrorist bombings. The nuclear detonations in civilian population centers. It had begun to slow down with the Covenant's assault, but even invading aliens weren't enough to stop all of the lunatics from fighting. It had been all over the news. We'd just gotten through about 10 years of civil unrest. People were tired of the Insurrection, and they were scared it might come back. My parents were scared, my friends' parents were scared, everyone was scared. I was just 13 at the time, too concerned with getting the latest video game and wondering when my balls were gonna drop to care about politics. But even I could tell how scared everyone was, and that rubbed off on me.
Apparently the UEG was as scared as the rest of us, because they sent a whole lot of UNSC Marines to keep an eye on us. I remember my home town got a whole base's worth stationed within 5 minutes of the place. They set up military checkpoints, started doing background checks, the whole works. Everyone was really happy about it, at first. The marines looked like they could handle any rebel threat. Families would bring coffee and pastries to the soldiers manning the barricades. Officers would give talks at the local schools. Hell, I remember one time I saw a marine, all decked out in armor with his buddy holding his rifle, playing catch with a couple of kids even younger than me. Everyone just wanted to feel safe. And we did.
That didn't last too long, though. The Feds were gettin' real paranoid. The background checks started gettin' more and more 'invasion of privacy' like. The searches, arrests, questionings, all that started gettin' really out of hand. Started gettin' so you couldn't go a day without some Marine gettin' in your face about something you said or did that seemed suspicious. Not to mention the checkpoints. I had to state my name, home, family, and show my ID at least a dozen times a day just to get to and from school. Then we started hearing rumors of people being tortured for information. Some people came back from arrests with weird scars on their bodies that they wouldn't talk about. That really freaked me out.
There was a minority of people who were into that 'Triad' thing. Y'know, that cult that popped up about 50 years ago or something? They were pretty cool. Always goin' on about 'transcendence' and 'freeing your mind' and other crap, but they were decent enough people. Always attended city meetings and gave money to the local charities. I remember this one old lady; always had the best stuff at Halloween. The commander of the UNSC forces must have had a real hard-on for 'em, though, 'cause he started having them harassed almost constantly, way more than the rest of us. Strip searches, mass raids, bastard even herded them into their own isolated ghettos, tellin' them where to live and where they could work. People didn't like that so much.
Then there was Red Thursday. It was a holiday, celebrating the arrival of the first settlers on New Westport. Real national pride stuff, y'know? Well, a lot of people decided it would be a great time for a rights march. Hundreds showed up to march down the main street in town. It would lead us right past the UNSC headquarters; we wanted to send a clear message.
Noone was violent. There were no guns, no molotovs, no bombs. Just a bunch of people protesting unfair treatment. I was there, too, all swept up in the movement. I barely even knew what the goal of the march was, but everyone was there. Everyone was upset. I figured, go with the flow, right?
I remember it so clear...We were just coming up on the UNSC headquarters. I looked up and saw a bunch of armored soldiers on the roof. I found out later they were ODSTs using BR-55 rifles, but all I knew at the time was that a group of about 5 guys in scary gear were on the roof pointing guns at us.
Then they opened fire.
Twenty people were murdered that day. Another thirty were injured. The UNSC didn't even make any arrests. They tried to sweep it all under the rug. Noone forgot, though. Noone on New Westport.
Especially not me.
I was one of the lucky ones. I got away without a scratch on me, minus the scrapes on my hands from when I tripped. I remember staring at them for hours...just looking at my scuffed up, bloody palms. I realized something, then. I could either get killed for nothin', or get killed for fightin' back. I chose the second option.
What, you don't believe me? Don't gimme that look. Go look it up if you don't believe me, if you can find any records of it. 'Glassed planets have bad records,' that's the excuse I hear every time I try to look up what happened back then. Fuckin' coverups...
Anyway, where was I? Oh, right, the big decision. It wasn't hard to find an Innie group to sign up with. After the massacre everyone wanted to fight back. I was actually sidelined for months because there were so many adults that wanted to fight.
The adult volunteers stopped coming, eventually. At first I thought they were cowards, abandoning the fight. Now, though...I think they probably had families. Lives to go back to. Spouses and kids they didn't want growing up without 'em. I didn't have those things. I had an uncle who was taking care of me, but at 13 I just didn't get what I was risking. What I was doing.
They say the scariest thing about a terrorist is that you never know when or where he's gonna strike. Well the reason that you never knew where we were gonna strike was because we were too dumb to know where we should strike. Some of the other cells were better at picking targets, but we were mostly dumb, angry kids looking to fight back. I remember gettin' a handgun, sneaking as close to a checkpoint as I could, firing all my bullets at once, then just running away. I got no idea if I ever hit anyone. I know a lot of my buddies did the same and got shot in the back by marines, though.
Eventually, they figured out that I would be really good at making explosives. I'd always done well in chemistry and engineering classes. I'd take commercially available chemicals and some lab gear stolen from school and cook up some home-brewed death. I was so proud of my skills...hah. I was probably the only person there crazy enough to do it.
I was just so damned angry...angry and scared and in too deep to quit. But then, I did. I turned myself in.
What's that? 'Why?' Hah-hah. Well...
For a while everything seemed great. The bombs were going off, Feds were dying, all was right with the world. Then, one day, I messed up. I must have screwed up the chemicals because it went off no more than 30 seconds after I handed it off to the guy who was going to plant it. It must have been too unstable, and the guy shook it or something. All I know is, one second I'm walking away from a job well done, the next I'm lyin' on the ground with my ears bleedin' and ringin' and wonderin' what the hell happened.
Then I looked around me...
Before this...I'd never seen one of my bombs go off up close. I'd never seen any of our attacks up close. I'd read about it on the news, see it on broadcasts, but even when there was live video it all seemed so...distant. Like I wasn't really hurting people so much as images on a screen. Numbers on a page. There's a...separation...in killing from afar. Makes it easier. Like you're not hurting people, you're hurting enemies. Then you see it up close...
I remember it even more clearly than Red Thursday. The screams. The crying. I remember people clutching bloody stumps where their limbs used to be. I remember one guy pressing his hand to his belly trying to hold his own guts in. I remember a woman clutching a little kid, bawling her eyes out...I don't know if the kid lived. Everywhere I looked I could see exactly what I had been doing from a groundside seat.
I think I spent an hour throwing up.
After that...I just couldn't do it anymore. I turned myself in. They tried me, convicted me, were probably gonna throw me in prison for life. Then the Covenant showed up. A few days later New Westport was dead, and the UNSC had bigger problems than figuring out where to lock up some traumatized kid terrorist. They let me go, tellin' me they'd be watching. Whatever. I didn't care anymore. About anything. It wasn't until I got to Meridian, until I was surrounded by people screwed over by the UEG or the UNSC, that the anger started cropping up again.
So. You wanted to know why I'd save your buddy, right? Why a guy who's tried to hurt you time and again would bother? Well, maybe I never wanted to kill ya. Maybe I just wanted to teach ya a lesson. Maybe the idea of seeing someone else die because of my old cause made me have a crisis of conscience.
Or maybe it was just instinct. What the hell do I know? I'm just a broken, dumb kid, who's done more bad in his life than good.
So, now you have your answer, for whatever it's worth.
Now leave me the hell alone.
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I don't know what to think.
Linda was lying in her bed, listening to the Master Chief and Dr. Halsey talk. Halsey and Linda had been listening in on Miller's story via the Spartan's compad. When Miller had gotten to his stories of UNSC atrocities, however, Halsey immediately grabbed her own compad, set it in her lap, and began typing away as fast as she could with one hand. It turned out she was looking up evidence of Miller's story.
ONI is good at coverups, she had said, but there are always places to find the truth if you know where to look. I may have...neglected to mention a few to my superiors while I was still working for them, she finished with a bitter smile.
It turned out that Miller had been telling the truth. The so-called Red Thursday massacre had been a very real thing. It had happened largely as Miller reported. And it hadn't been unique. Before, during, and after the war the UEG and UNSC had committed numerous atrocities without any semblance of justice meted out. Many of them, Halsey said, were directly sanctioned by ONI.
The Office of Naval Intelligence is unfamiliar with schools of problem solving that don't involve draconian oppression, she had said.
This was too much. The UNSC was supposed to be the protector of humanity! The Navy, Marines, Army, even ONI, were all supposed to work towards the good of the people. Yet, here they were, causing the same kind of horror that any enemy would be proud to inflict. Even on Meridian they could all see the casual neglect and abuse that colonists often suffered. Linda felt lost.
The Master Chief. He would know the answer. He could make anything make sense. He'd been there since the beginning, had saved her on Reach. He could help her see.
The Chief was actually pacing the floor. He almost looked like he was struggling to keep a neutral expression, but that couldn't be. He already knew what to do...
"Chief..." Linda said. Her leader kept pacing, seeming not to hear her. "Chief," she said louder. He still seemed not to hear her. "Blue Lead!" she said as loudly as her injured lungs could take.
"Not now, Blue Two!" he snapped. Linda shrunk back as if struck.
"John!" Dr. Halsey scolded.
The Master Chief looked between the 2 of them, seeming not to focus on either. He seemed to be kilometers away in his own head. He suddenly moved to leave the room.
"I'll be back shortly," he said over his shoulder. He was out the door before Dr. Halsey could grab him.
Linda felt lost. She didn't know what to do, what to think, and now...now she felt like her leader had abandoned her.
What is going on?
Happy new year, everyone! Hopefully it won't be as bleak as this fic is becoming. This was seriously hard for me to write, it was so depressing.
Note: I tried to imply early on that Linda had come to rely on the Master Chief a bit too much for her own psychological stability and I hope I did a good job of paying that off here. Don't worry, she's not going to collapse into a puddle of tears and stereotypical female weakness. I haven't lost sight of her character and the strength she has. However, everyone has their weaknesses. There's no shame in that and if done right it makes a character more sympathetic. Please, let me know how I did.
Note: I'm not an expert in riots, but I tried to make the defusing of the one we see plausible. The tech that they use is based on real-world riot control technology. Also, the brief commentary on "tear gas" was very real. People underestimate just how devastating it can be. It is, after all, a chemical weapon.
Note: Miller's backstory is heavily based on (or ripped off of, if I'm being honest) the life story of Shane Paul O'Doherty, a reformed IRA bomber. He co-wrote an article on that I found incredibly insightful. I'll include the URL here. I highly recommend you guys read it.
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Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
Slipspace Anomaly