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Chapter 21: Classified...
Day 1...
The next morning, Carris, Frost, and a team of engineers moved her armor to the armory. As she had been attached to his squad, it was moved to a section of the armory devoted to storing their gear that couldn't be housed in their lodgings. It was a small corner in the Armorsmith, with a few lockers and crates. Frost and the engineers struggled with her armor, so they eventually had to get a large cart used for carrying cargo. The armor weighed one thousand pounds, and even lifting it together was too much for Frost and the team. They placed it in a large crate and left the cart nearby, in case it needed to be moved again. It felt strange for Carris to be out of her armor; this was the first time all year she had been out of it. Taking it off without the help of trained armor technicians or a MJLIONR station was doable but difficult. Still, it was better to leave it on. She never got a chance to rest. Every time she finished a mission, it was time to leave for another one. That's what Spartans were trained for; round-the-clock, nonstop activity and aggression against the enemy.
Somewhat similar to their agenda was the purpose of this odd battle group. Frost had been explaining the fleet's creation and objectives. It had some real teeth to it. Most often, heavier UNSC warships operated on their own, acting as scouts to briefly engage Covenant ships and then call in reinforcements. Of course, this often got the ship destroyed and a good portion of the rescue fleet as well. But this one was powerful; an upgraded Valiant-class super heavy cruiser, a destroyer, two Paris-class heavy frigates, and a carrier. Orion-class assault carriers were not ships to be crossed. They didn't possess the mass of Epoch-class carriers, but they still packed a mean punch with double MAC cannons and the ability to produce and maintain weapons, vehicles, and other supplies. The self-sustainability of the task force impressed Carris, and she was not easily impressed by anyone or anything that wasn't a Spartan.
Frost was leading her towards the barracks. She didn't have a duffel bag with her; she didn't have any spare clothes or any possessions besides her armor. Her weapons were back on Farwater and she had owned nothing on Rasputin except for a small hygiene kit, though it didn't matter because the prowler was nothing but dust now. All she had were the borrowed clothes that were too small for her tall, toned frame. And, of course, a new hygiene kit; military issue toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, soap and shampoo. She was surprised the color of the soap wasn't olive drab.
"You're a Petty Officer Third Class, right?"
"Correct, Sergeant."
"Our ranks are pretty equal. You may be in my squad but I'm sure that you've seen more action than us. I won't boss you around."
"My experience shouldn't overshadow protocol. I'm attached to your squad, so I will defer to your leadership. Just consider me another member of the team," Carris said professionally.
"You got it."
Frost winded his arm around, grunting. "I almost pulled a muscle helping carry that armor of yours. I can't believe it took that many of us to haul the damn thing. How much does it weigh?"
Protocol dictated that she couldn't reveal that information.
"Sorry Sergeant, but I'm afraid that's classified."
He didn't seem bothered by the answer.
"Gotcha. By the way, Frost is fine, as long as you don't mind us calling you by your first name."
"Call me what you like."
"It'll make everyone feel more comfortable if they can. We're not exactly a saluting squad, know what I mean?"
Carris understood, but rank, protocol, and regulations were just as important to her and the other Spartans as shooting up the Covenant.
The marine walked up to the door to their barracks and grinned at her. "Home sweet home," he said as he opened the door. Carris stepped into the doorway and stopped. Her nostrils were bombarded by a miasma of smells; body odor, sweat, shaving cream, gunpowder, military issue soap, boot polish, and cigarette smoke. A cloud of the smoke hung towards the ceiling, drifting lazily in the fluorescent light. Heavy metal music was blaring loudly.
On the floor, two men were wrestling with their shirts off. She recognized one as the Scotsman who wielded a shotgun, and the other was the heavy weapons operator, a somewhat large Englishmen. On one of the beds sat Corporal Steele, smoking a cigarette and looking at a pornographic magazine. Sitting on his knees at another bed was the combat engineer, trying to piece a tactical pad back together and swearing loudly. On another bed, the young marine and the German lad were sitting cross-legged as they played a game of chess, tossing insults at one another. Finally, the only female member of the squad, the Air Force radio operator, was standing at one of the lockers in the room which had a small mirror on it. She was wearing shorts, a tank top, and a towel around her neck. She was brushing her teeth but would take the time every few moments to holler at Corporal Steele.
"Do you have to smoke that thing in here?"
"Why not?" He laughed.
"It stinks!"
"I think it smells rather nice."
"Those things are terrible for you!"
"Smoking's good for you, dear"
"Good for you!? Are you serious!? You'll get lung cancer!"
"They've got shots for everything now."
"No they don't!"
"Let me smoke in peace."
"At least stand outside in the hall and smoke it!"
"Make me."
Carris turned her attention to the wrestling match. The Scotsman had been able to gain the advantage and was now pinning the English one down.
"Tapout!" he cried.
"Fuck you!"
"Tapout!"
"Fuck you!"
The Englishman used one of his free hands to knock one of the Scotsman's arms away, causing him to fall. The grapple once again ensued. Their scuffling came up against the engineer.
"Watch it you fuckwits!" he snapped, but the wrestlers weren't listening, and continued to bump against him. After a tirade of swearing, the engineer finally joined the melee.
The chess game seemed to be civilized, aside from the immature cursing, until the young marine snatched up a bishop and hopped off the bed.
"Boom!" he yelled to an imaginary audience, "Boom baby! Yeah! He tries to take my king but I nailed him and got his bishop with my knight! Got your bishop, bitch!"
The German chuckled.
"Checkmate."
The young marine stopped prancing.
"What?"
"Checkmate. You left your knight exposed. I took him with my other bishop and now there's no way for your king to move because you boxed him in with your pawns. Check. Mate."
The young marine stared at him in disbelief for a few moments, before roaring and tackling him. Chess pieces flew around the room as the pair fell into the pile of arms and legs rolling about on the floor. Even the radio operator was knocked off her feet and flung into the roughhousing. Swearing and laughter mixed with the music.
After watching this for a few moments, Carris slowly turned to face Frost, who was standing beside her. He shrugged and smiled.
"Like I said, we don't salute that much." He went over to the music player and silenced it. "Alright guys, enough horseplay. Come on, knock it off."
He didn't raise his voice at all. Carris thought a normal sergeant would have ended the wrestling match with a few swings of his own accompanied by a long-winded reprimand. Instead, he spoke in a normal tone and in a matter of seconds, the squad had separated and were now sitting on the floor, panting and staring at him. Steele simply chuckled on his bed.
Frost motioned towards Carris. "PO Carris will be lodging with us for the time being. Until we get her back to her handlers, she's another member of the squad. But that doesn't mean you can go pulling pranks on her in the middle of the night, Grant."
"What? Putting Bishop's hand in warm water is always funny."
"Bastard," muttered the big Scotsman.
Frost shook his head.
"Try to remember that she is also a guest. Okay? Be respectful, mind your manners, and if we go into battle with her, she'll have your back as long as you have hers. Read me?"
"Gotcha, boss," the engineer said.
Frost pointed to each one, "This big dude is Bishop, and the slightly smaller dude is Knight. This angry looking boy-o is Maddox, our engineer. This here is Grant, don't mention California or you'll be stuck listening to him for the next two hours. This lanky lad is Moser, and our radio op here is Langley. And you know Steele and myself."
Carris nodded in greeting. The squad stared at her for a few moments. She felt uncomfortable with so many eyes locked on her. Perhaps they were looking at the surgical scars. Most of them on her torso were concealed, though the white tank top and black shorts she wore exposed the long, aged scars on her legs and arms, that twisted down her limbs like snakes.
Frost motioned to a bed that was across from his and Steele's. Their two beds stuck out vertically from the wall they were against, while hers was seated against the opposite wall horizontally. "You can have that one if you like. One of the lockers is empty, so anything you have can be put in there."
Carris walked over and looked at the bed. It had been three years since she had actually slept in a bed. Most of the time she was able to sleep was during long Pelican rides, in starship hangars while waiting to be deployed-she even considered being put in the Cryo-bay a good rest. Beds though? She had practically forgotten about those. Small supply crates had been her pillows, and her armor and its temperature regulatory layer were her blankets.
On the sheets were a pair of fatigues, a pair of socks, and a pair of boots. She welcomed the sight of those; walking around in recovery patient flip-flops that were about an inch too short was beginning to get on her nerves.
"I hope these'll fit. Lieutenant Conroy's father was a tailor and taught him the trade before he enlisted, so he was able to fix you up a set overnight."
"Six feet, seven inches is correct," Carris said with a nod. In her armor, she stood an inch shy of seven feet. "Please tell the Lieutenant thank you."
"No need. He loves fixing uniforms. Even if you have the tiniest tear, he'll take care of it was admirable gusto. You don't even need to give him cigarettes or chocolate."
"Why would you give him those?"
"Those are our two greatest bargaining chips," Frost explained. "You want something special done, you gotta cough them up. But everyone in our MEU knows each other, so most of the time nobody asks for payment. It's the bigger stuff that you gotta pay for."
"Like what?"
"Like getting Playboy mags," Steele joked, flipping through the pages. Carris frowned. Those magazines weren't considered contraband although they weren't exactly befitting of the rules and regulations.
Carris was about to change into her new uniform when she noticed that everyone was looking her way. She turned slightly to face them.
"That's some armor you had on," remarked Knight, "what kind is it? I've never seen it before."
"That's classified."
The squad blinked but accepted her answer.
"Does everyone in your unit wear that armor?"
"Yes."
"What unit are you from?"
"That's classified."
"Why is that classified?" Grant asked.
"Our existence to the public hasn't been formally and fully disclosed."
"That gonna happen anytime soon?"
"No."
"Where you from?" BIshop asked her.
"That's classified."
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
"When did you enlist?"
Carris thought about that one for a few moments. She hadn't enlisted. In fact, she had been taken away. 'Chosen,' was the word Halsey liked to use. But Carris was no fool; she remembered when she was taken away and how.
"I was...conscripted," she said, which was a half-truth.
"When?"
"That's classified."
There was a pause.
"How old are you?" Knight asked.
"That's classified."
"Blimey, you're full of answers."
Everyone was quiet for a few moments. Finally, Steele asked a question that she was glad to answer.
"Got a favorite weapon?"
"Customized MA5B; drum magazine of one hundred rounds, extended barrel with a muzzle brake, and an ACOG scope."
The squad nodded, impressed. Frost seemed especially taken with the idea.'
"You basically turn it into a SAW. Not a bad idea considering we don't have a good supply of light machine guns in the UNSC."
"The MA5 series is highly customizable. The MA5B suits a SAW-role well because of its high rate of fire," Carris said.
Frost grinned.
"Hear that Grant? That enough evidence for you that the MA5B is better than the C?"
Grant waved dismissively.
"Accuracy and stability means more killshots. A higher rate of fire only helps with suppression."
"And draining Covenant shields," Carris reminded him, "and for taking out groups of lightly armored enemies. I've eliminated squads of ten to fifteen Grunts with a single expanded magazine on my MA5."
"See?" Frost said triumphantly, "MA5 kicks more ass than the C."
"The MA5C does have a slower rate of fire and a smaller clip, yes, but Private Grant is right. The added stability means the user has more control, and thus he can pull off more accurate shots. Short, controlled, three-round bursts can take down just as many Grunts as a sixty-four mag in a MA5B."
"How about that?" Grant shot back defiantly, "The C is just as good."
"Come on, Carris!" Frost laughed, "I thought you were on my side."
Carris cracked the smallest of smiles.
"The skill of the individual holding the weapon counts for a whole lot more than the weapon itself."
"Shit, ain't that the truth?" Steele chuckled.
Day 2...
"Why isn't Captain Waters following slipspace protocol? We should be in cryo." Carris asked. The team had settled down after a stint of training and were now occupying themselves. Grant and Moser had returned to their chess game, with Langley spectating. Bishop and Knight were enjoying some chocolate and cigarettes, sitting next to each other on the floor and chatting. Maddox, having worked on it since yesterday, had finished repairing Frost's tac-pad and had returned the device with a great deal of grumbling and cursing. Steele was looking at that dirty magazine again, and Frost was reading a French translation of The Art of War. Carris had read the same book when she was still in training. She found it odd for an NCO to be reading it, since officers who went to the big academies typically read such works. Sun Tzu surely was the most influential, seeing as how his work had survived into the 26th Century. Still, Frost was taking a step in the right direction. Carris hadn't sized him or his team up yet; their actions on Farwater weren't enough for her to form a proper opinion of his leadership and ability. But they were brave, that was for certain. Or crazy. Charging into a mass of Covenant and rolling from a Warthog was definitely not in the The Art of War.
"Waters uses slipspace travel as a time for us to cool off after heavy combat or close calls like that one," Frost explained as he flipped through the pages.
His voice had departed from the somewhat formal yet light-hearted tone from earlier. There was something darker and serious in his voice now. Carris was confused. What would have shifted his mood in a split second? Was it questioning the Captain? Perhaps he was extremely loyal and didn't appreciate an outsider criticizing his commanding officer. Waters certainly seemed to be an officer a soldier would be happily loyal to. From her short stay on the ship, Carris had gleaned that Waters was fearless and crafty. She made liberal use of emergency thruster, utilized unorthodox formations that required finesse, and was more aggressive than the typical UNSC battle group commander. As well, she was particularly tender towards the crew, relaxing on multiple regulations in return for high performance. Most commanders wouldn't take such a risk, but it seemed to be paying off. Morale on the ship seemed rather high. Most ships Carris had been on were manned by emotionless, veteran crews, who had been burned out by the war. This conglomerate of marines, ODSTs, sailors, and airmen were in high spirits; when she had been walking in the halls with Frost, she had seen only smiling faces. Some were even pissed that they retreated from the larger enemy fleet that had arrived. They were aggressive and raring for a fight. That was good; UNSC forces needed to be fierce. Almost two decades of war on the losing team had caused widespread blows to morale. Seeing personnel in high spirits brought a certain feeling to Carris's chest, though she couldn't quite place it. Happiness? Pride? Excitement? Maybe all of the above?
"Having the crew functional during slipspace puts a drain on food resources."
"I'm Alone is pretty self-sustaining. We have extra cargo stores. Batavia also had its own production facilities. We can produce vehicles, ammunition, hell, even some food on the go," Frost explained.
"I see. I forgot that there was a carrier in the group."
"Our battle group is designed to be out in the field longer, engage the enemy whenever possible, and act as a QRF. We have a lot of assets at our disposal that normal ships don't have."
"Including us," Steele remarked.
"Damn right," Grant exclaimed.
Carris quirked an eyebrow.
"Are you a special unit?" she asked.
"That's classified!" Steele said obnoxiously.
"I understand."
Frost leaned over and socked Steele in the shoulder. Steele only snickered.
"Don't listen to him. He's just being an ass. Our unit isn't classified. We're the 89th MEU, one of the Earthen Youth Programs."
"Earthen Youth Programs?"
"Yeah, not everyone's heard of them. Eight years ago we were given the choice to enlist."
"Coerced to enlist," Steele mumbled.
"Strongly encouraged to enlist," Frost corrected vehemently. He put down his book and turned and looked over at Carris. He sat cross legged and rested his arms on his knees. "Colonel Hayes, our commanding officer, put it together. He wanted kids to partake in advanced training for three years before forming MEU-sized forces. Whole idea was to create better prepared, better equipped, better trained, front line units that were above the normal rank and file."
Carris blinked.
"You were kids?"
"Yes. Well most of us anyway. I was thirteen. Most of us were in the thirteen to sixteen range, though Grant is a younger outlier and Knight is older than all of us."
"And you were given a choice?"
"Pretty much, yeah. I mean, they obviously wanted us to join so there were a lot of bonuses for the family if the selected child was allowed to participate. But they didn't have to."
Carris looked away from Frost and stared off. They had been kids too, taken away from home, put into an advanced training program, and trained to be elite troops. The similarities shocked her. The one glaring division, however, was that they had gotten a choice. A choice? She hadn't been offered to join or not. Granted, the marines' training didn't involve a risky augmentation process that changed the participant's body. Who would volunteer for an operation with no rewards. Maybe the successful augmentation was a reward in itself but not all would agree. Still, these marines had been given more agency in the matter. Although she didn't regret becoming a Spartan and wasn't embittered by her induction-in fact she couldn't remember ever paying it much thought ever since she had become entrenched in the Spartan II program-it brought a level of indignation within her that she hadn't ever felt before.
"Why did you accept?" she asked.
Frost shrugged and smiled. It was a sad sort of smile, soft and reminiscent of something long past. He had the look of a storyteller about him, Carris decided.
"I was just kind of lost back home. Maybe I didn't have the words for it then because I was thirteen, but I think that's the only way I can describe it now. I enlisted to find myself. Not that I didn't have a good home life or anything."
"Unlike me," Steele snorted, "I enlisted to get the fuck away from my folks."
"That's it?" Carris asked.
"Didn't have any other options, now did I?"
Carris nodded and looked at the others.
"What about you?" She asked.
"My dad and mum were marines; they died when I was fourteen, and that's when I enlisted. Didn't seem right to just sit out the war in my uncle's fancy mansion while my folks had died fighting the good fight. So I joined up." Bishop grunted. Carris couldn't remember her parents, but she could at least understand his decision.
"I was tired of everyone telling me what to do with my life," Maddox said, "so I did what everyone told me not to do: I enlisted." Carris hadn't known Maddox for very long, but she surmised from his temperament that his decision made sense to him.
"Did it for my wife and boy. One way or another, I knew I was going to get drafted. It was also tough trying to find a job that could support my family. So I went ahead with it and now they live on my back pay," Knight said. Carris found that noble, though she wondered what his wife do if he died in the field of battle.
"I felt I had a duty to enlist," Moser said. That was reasons enough, Carris guessed.
"A Godly duty," Grant joked, earning a playful punch in the shoulder from Moser. Carris looked at Langley.
"No one was enlisting where I lived. Everyone who was enlistment age was willing to just sit the war out. That pissed me off to no end, so I enlisted," Langley said. Anger was something that Carris didn't feel too often but she understood that it could be fuel for someone else.
Everyone looked at Grant then. The young marine thought long and hard, before shrugging with a relaxed expression.
"Can't remember."
The squad sniggered and tittered with laugher. Carris didn't find it all that funny. Though, these soldiers had known each other for a long time. They were more attuned to one another, and would obviously understand one another's words and humor more than an outsider. She imagined that if they saw her interacting with her fellow Spartans, they'd be indifferent or confused by their exchanges. She almost laughed. Exchanges? The Spartans were tight lipped, even with one another. To think, the most advanced soldiers of humanity were shy.
Some time passed. She felt tired, even though she had gotten a full rest in the medical bay. It was the first time in years that she had actually stopped. There was nothing to do. No orders, no missions. She lay flat on the bed, wearing her fresh fatigues, and listened to the odd conversations of the other soldiers in the room, and soon she fell asleep.
Day 3...
Carris saw the face of a dead man and gasped. She shot up, sweating, gasping for air. She didn't know where she was. Something was holding her hand, and something had its hand on her. After blinking a few times, she found that Frost was staring at her and Steele had taken her hand. Both of them looked concerned.
The room was dark. Only one dim light was on. Some of the other squad members were awake, while two or three still slept.
"You okay?" Frost whispered.
Carris breathed slower, taking longer, deeper breaths. She needed to calm down. She felt stupid. Years of grueling training, years of combat, years of experience, had all netted her a great deal of control over her mind and her body. Little could phase her. She did not act brashly, did not disobey orders, did not act on emotions or feelings. Everything she did was calculated, by the book, correct-controlled. That is, until she fell asleep. When she slept for more than a few hours while out of her armor, she was plagued by nightmares. Sleep was the one occasion when she didn't have control and it made her angry. Even after the augmentation process, the nightmares didn't stop coming back. It was like a plague.
Her eyes drifted down to her hand, locked firmly with Steele's. She looked at him, confused.
Steele smiled, almost shyly.
"You kept reaching out for something. Almost knocked Frost's lights out."
He relaxed his grip and she slid her hand out of his. She assumed it was out of a soldierly bond; she had seen dying men reach out and their friends take their hands before. It made sense.
"Bad dream?" Frost asked.
"It was nothing," Carris stated bluntly.
"Didn't seem like nothing."
"It was nothing," Carris repeated, running her hands through her black hair. "What time is it?"
"A few minutes shy of oh-five-hundred."
0500? How long was I asleep?
Frost seemed to noticed her surprise. "You were out cold for most of the day. You just slept and slept and slept. You stirred a couple times but you didn't even get up when we went to our meals. We saved you a little food. But you just wouldn't get up. It's like you hadn't slept in a year."
"Not far from the truth," Carris mumbled. She felt uncomfortable. Having nothing to do was still strange. "I'm going to the armory."
"What for?"
"Target practice."
Carris stood up. She was still dressed in the fatigues, though her feet were unclad. She grabbed the pair of socks and began to slide on the boots. Frost was watching her for a few moments before he clapped his hands together.
"Alright, rise and shine everyone. We're grabbing an early breakfast and then we're hitting the range."
Everyone groaned and swore and complained. Frost was standing no nonsense. "On your feet before I drag you of your beds. We can sleep when we're dead. Now come on."
Carris was surprised.
"Sergeant, there's no need to wake the squad. I'll go by myself."
Frost smiled. It was warmer, happier, more boyish, but still possessed a hint of that sadness. Perhaps that was just the way it looked to her.
"We're a team. When one of us goes, we all go. We go together, no matter what."
Carris was about to respond that she wasn't a part of the team, but it felt rude. So, she nodded in agreement. Maybe the company wouldn't be so bad.
The team dressed in their fatigues and headed to the mess hall. Carris was hungry and she had graciously declined the food they had saved for her. It hadn't fared well overnight. Spending days in the field on dying planets didn't exactly make her picky. Plenty of times resulted in her eating moldy food. However, she had the opportunity to have some real food, and wanted something warm and fresh. Eggs-she hadn't had eggs in two years. Sausage, she hadn't eaten a sausage in three years. Bacon? She hadn't had bacon for seven years. Hopping from ship to ship, dropping onto planet after planet, meant she could never sit down and enjoy a full meal. No matter the occasion, even if there was a lull in the fighting, she would have to just grab what she could and keep on going. The more she thought about it though, the more she considered the reasoning behind it. There was at least a few times that she could recall where she could have taken the time to sit in a ship's or a basecamp's mess hall and have a full meal. One time she had done so, and all it did was earn her strange stares and a few jeers. Being ostracized was never a real concern of hers, yet all it took was one time of derision to keep her from entering a mess hall again.
She walked between Frost and Steele, with the others around or behind them, yawning and grumbling.
"The mess hall is open?"
"It's always open. It stays open all night long," Steele explained, smoking on a cigarette, in violation of multiple ship safety protocols. "Smells like they have French toast this morning."
"You like french toast?" Frost asked.
"I've never had it."
The squad all stopped.
"Never had french toast?" Grant asked.
"Not even when you're were a kid?" Knight asked.
"If I did, I don't remember," Carris said with a small shrug.
"Well if this your first time, gotta do it right. Après moi," Frost said with a wave of his hand. He began walking towards the kitchens. Carris watched him for a few moments. She turned to Steele.
"What did he say?"
"Don't know French?"
"No."
Steele snickered.
"You stay with us long enough, you'll pick a little up. For now, I'll leave you in suspense."
Carris sighed and followed Frost, while the others went and found a table. The mess hall was quiet, with only a few personnel occupying the tables around them. They either sipped coffee or slowly ate a meal. Some were too tired to even look up. One or two were even asleep, their heads down on the table or propped up on one hand. Others looked at her suspiciously. Carris didn't look back but she knew they were looking. Anywhere she went, wherever she was, they would stare, whether or not she was in her armor. She did her best not to care.
Frost was standing at one of the doors at the kitchen, talking with one of the officers in charge. The officer was middle aged, with a weathered complexion and brown hair that was starting to gray. He had stubble on his jaw and he seemed somewhat bent over. Carris could see that he had a robotic prosthetic right arm, judging from the odd texture of his sleeve, though she could only see the metal hand poking out from the sleeve of his tunic.
"We're not busy, obviously," he said in a tired voice, "so I guess it's okay if you want to cook. We already made a fresh batch of French toast, but if you want to make it from scratch, go right ahead."
"Thank you, lieutenant."
The lieutenant looked up at Carris, and she looked down at him. He smiled a little.
"Never had French toast, huh? That's gotta be some kinda crime," he laughed dryly and quietly, walking back to oversee his staff.
Frost waved again, motioning for Carris to follow.
"You're...cooking me breakfast?" Carris asked slowly.
"Sure. If you've never had it before, best try it at its best. And I make damn good french toast."
He donned a spare white apron and began working. Carris watched at the beginning, but soon he began asking her to help. She had been taught numerous survival skills; how to hunt animals, skin them, and then properly cook them. She had learned which wild flora to avoid and which were safe to eat. She knew how to find fresh water when there was none. But never had she learned how to cook in a kitchen. Frost showed her how to make the egg batter for the French toast. Carris mimicked what he did, breaking eggshells and using measuring cups. He also added some cinnamon to it, a dash of sugar, and a bit of maple syrup. Carris had never smelled cinnamon before; it had a bittersweet sort of smell to it. The syrup was very sweet smelling, as was the sugar. They had never eaten anything like this when she was in training in Spartan program. It was strictly military-issue rations, which didn't offer anything sweeter than the chocolate bars. It reminded her of being young, though she had few memories of that time. Everything smelled good; it was the first time she actually felt excited to eat something.
"Where did you learn how to cook?" asked Carris as she dipped some of the bread into the large pot of egg batter.
"My mom taught me," he said. "I have four sisters and none of them ever learned how to cook. They couldn't sit still long enough, my mom said. But I stayed put long enough to pick a few things up."
"Do you like to cook?"
"You bet. Never get enough chances to. It's relaxing. And food you cook yourself always tastes better than when someone else cooks it." He frowned comically. "They say some psychological studies show your brain tricks you into thinking food tastes better when someone else makes it because you didn't have to work for it. But that's bogus to me; anything you make yourself tastes far better."
Carris chuckled.
"Does that mean it'll taste bad for me?"
Frost laughed a little.
"I hope not. That'd be mighty embarrassing for me."
Carris scooped the bread out with a pair of cooking tongs after it was soaked in the batter and placed them on the black griddle. The french toast sizzled as she set each one down. Frost was leaning on the counter, watching.
"Good," he said, somewhat tired. He was smiling as he watched the bread fry. "I remember one time we got pinned down in this hotel in a city. Completely cut off. We had to wait for the rest of the MEU to come back and pick us up. The Covenant didn't realize we were up there. The building was at least forty stories high; it was one of those ultra fancy hotels, you know? For the super rich? And so we're milling around trying to find a spot to lay low when we come into the hotel kitchen, and they had been cooking steaks prior to the Covenant attack. So I grabbed a few of those big suckers, turned on the stove, and whipped us up some fresh steaks with a pinch of dill weed and salt. One of the best meals I ever cooked."
"What makes you say that?"
"We hadn't eaten anything for two days up to that point. Maybe it was because of that, or maybe it just tasted better because we thought we were gonna die. Maybe they were just plain good. Who knows?"
He sighed, happily. "I can still smell those steaks cooking on the stove. Can still taste them too. The salt, the dill's underlying flavor."
Carris smiled. He had a gentle voice, with that hint of sadness and mystery. It was a storyteller's voice, for sure, she was certain of it now. She enjoyed it.
"Quite the story.
"We got a lot of them," he said. They were quiet for a time. He flipped the bread over, letting the other sides cook. The bread was yellow from the egg batter, but was now turning to a beautiful brown. Carris eyed them hungrily.
"You ever cook with your mom?" Frost asked then. Carris was surprised, and stopped stirring the batter in the pot for a moment.
"I don't remember my mother," she said. That was the truth.
Frost nodded.
"The last time I saw my mom was five years ago, when I was sixteen. Before that, I hadn't seen her for three years. Sometimes, I feel like I don't remember her. I have trouble visualizing her in my head sometimes." He nibbled on his bottom lip for a moment. "I guess I'm trying to say that I understand."
Carris was quiet for a time.
"It's good to meet someone who does," she said quietly.
The Spartans had never really talked about their previous lives. There wasn't much to discuss. They had been kids; their lives had barely started. But some of them had families. Some of them had friends. Some of them came from good homes, bad homes, or no homes at all. Carris honestly couldn't remember. She couldn't remember when she forgot about Tribute, or her mother and father. All she could remember was the school and the teachers who would get angry at her. As close as the Spartans were, they hadn't spoken of the past. Sometimes, they never spoke at all. Emotions and thoughts didn't come up like one would imagine. 'Normal,' wasn't a word that applied to them. The shyness she sometimes found humorous was more severe than she realized, at least when she really thought about it. Bondship was there, but it was a different kind of bondship.
"Ah, here we go," Frost said, taking the slices of bread on the griddle off. Carris quickly replaced them with a few more while Frost prepared a plate. He put a little bit of butter on each, then stacked them in the center of the plate, and finally drizzled syrup all over it. He snatched a fork and knife and held the plate up to her. "Here, try it. Be honest."
Carris gingerly took the plate. Frost grabbed a nearby stool and set it down for her. Carris sat down slowly while he grabbed another. He sat across from her, looking at her eagerly.
She eyed the French toast, hungry. She took the fork and knife and cut a small piece off, making sure to douse it in the syrup pooling on the plate. After holding it up and looking at it for a few moments, she ate the small piece. It was sweet, with a little hint of bittersweetness from the cinnamon, and it warmed her belly.
"Mmm," she sighed, instinctively. Ignoring her surprise at making such a noise, she smiled at Frost. "It's very good. It's delicious."
Frost clapped his hands together.
"Excellent! Hold on, let me grab the guys." He went over the door and leaned out. "Hey fellas, she likes it! Come on in and get some!"
The squad came shuffling in and began lining up for some french toast. Frost went and got some sausages and some fruit from the other side of the kitchen. Sitting on the floor or on a crate or on a stool, the squad chowed away. Frost came and handed everyone a mug before returning to stove. Carris thought it was coffee, but upon taking a sip, she was surprised to taste chocolate. She had never had it before either, but decided that it was a day of firsts, so she gulped it down, finding it a nice complement to the french toast.
Soon, everyone had finished and now the squad was cleaning up. Carris and Frost stood side by side washing dishes. She had a small smile on her face. She felt full and relaxed and...happy. The kitchen smelled of french toast and she could still taste it on her tongue.
"Thank you for breakfast, Frost," she said.
"No problem. Maybe when you go back to your pals, you can whip them up some french toast and impress them with your mad cooking skills."
Carris chuckled. She imagined Fred or Joshua or even John trying french toast for the first time. She imagined them having the same reaction as her. Well, maybe not John.
"I think I'll need some more practice before I try it on my own."
The mess officer came back in and watched them for a few moments.
"Thanks for cleaning up," he said, leaning in the doorway leading to another part of the kitchen.
"Thanks for letting us cook," Frost said. He looked at Carris, then seemed to smile a bit wider. "Hey, sir, do you think you could let us cook our own Thanksgiving dinner? It's in a few days and I know you're going to be doing more than few big roasts. But do you think it would be okay? We'd be out of your way."
The officer grinned.
"I don't see any harm in it. You don't like our cooking in here?"
"No sir, you're the best chefs in the UNSC. It's just a special occasion, for our friend here."
Carris was a little surprised and a little bashful, but she still smiled. The lieutenant continued to grin.
"Alright, well, no problem with me. Come in and cook whenever you want. Just make sure you clean up afterwards."
When the mess officer left, Carris turned to Frost.
"There's really no need to go through all the work."
"Ah, nonsense. It'll be a pleasure. Besides, I think the squad would have a lot of fun cooking together. Anyways, ready to hit the armory?"
Day 4...
Carris stirred. She could hear something, or someone, whispering in the dark. The barracks room was dark, but by no means quiet. Bishop and Knight were snoring, and Grant was mumbling his sleep. Although, he wasn't the one who had woken her up. Carris had already gotten used to them. The whispering voice was new.
Several minutes passed and her eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was completely dark. Her eyes scanned the room. Then, she realized it was coming from Steele's bunk. Steele was still laying in bed but Frost was sitting on the edge next to him. He had a hand on Steele's forehead. Carris, laying on her side, remained quiet and listened.
"Just can't stop thinking about it," Steele mumbled. He sounded almost like a child who had woken up from a nightmare. Frost had the voice of a consoling brother.
"About what, Lou?"
"About Skopje."
"Because of what you told Waters?"
"Yeah. I never paid it any mind until after that."
"What's bothering you? Bad dream?"
"Yeah. And just thinking about it all the time."
"That was years ago, Lou. It's behind us."
"I almost got you killed, Nate."
"No, you didn't."
"Yeah, I did. You could have died on that long walk. From the cold, from your wounds, from rebels. You could have even gotten hit by a car in the street-"
"Lou, come on, that's silly."
"Bugger me, mate. You practically killed yourself to save me."
"I'd do it again."
"No way, mate. No way I'm letting you do that."
"You don't have a choice in the matter. I make my own decisions."
"No. Next time if my ass is laid out, and I'm dying, you leave me. You just keep going, okay?"
"Not gonna happen, Lou."
"Nate, listen to me. If that happens, you just keep going. I won't let you get killed just to save my sorry ass."
"We're pals, Lou."
"And that's why I want you to keep going. Just leave me, alright? Promise. If it comes down to it, you keep going. Promise me, Nate."
"Lou..."
"Promise. Swear it."
"Lou, I can't."
"You can. And you will. Swear it."
Frost sighed, resigned.
"Will it get you to go back to sleep if I do?"
"Maybe."
"Fine. I swear it."
"Promise?"
"Want me to pinky promise?"
"Just promise."
"I promise."
"Say it."
"I promise to keep going."
"If?"
"If you get hit, I promise to keep going."
"You're a shite liar."
"Yeah, I am. Now go back to sleep."
"Don't know if I'll be able to."
"What if I just sit on the floor next to the bed? Would that help?"
Steele rolled over.
"Maybe."
Frost reached over and messed up Steele's hair.
"Okay Lou. Goodnight."
"Night."
Frost went to his bed, took the blanket and pillow off, then walked to the side of Steele's bed closest to Carris. He sat down, putting the pillow behind his head and draping the blanket over himself. He was soon asleep. Carris watched him and Steele for a time, pondering the exchange.
The next morning, Carris was finishing up in the bathroom. Showers were something she had learned to live without. She never exactly got dirty; the armor prevented any kind of muck from clinging to her skin and the layer that regulated her temperature meant she hardly ever broke a sweat. Still, the suit began to smell after a while, no matter how well the suit worked. So she welcomed the showers. It was a period of time, no more than ten minutes, that completely cut her off from the rest of the world-the ship being the rest of the world. Standing under the hot water, unable to hear anything going on outside, provided her with an opportunity to think. Being alone with her thoughts was something she was accustomed to, but being out on missions around the clock was hardly a time to ponder and mull over the thoughts entering and exiting her head. As the water cascaded over her pale, toned frame, her mind wandered over what she had heard last night. She had seen rugged soldiers sob and embrace one another after terrible battles, but never had she seen something like that. A man contemplating, no, preparing for his own death and demanding, extorting a promise from his squad leader-his friend. No Spartan had ever talked like that. Death was something that was far from their minds, until it came. Spartans never died though-that was the saying at least. The other Spartans could wield that phrase like a shield, but Carris thought it was foolish. Everyone died, some sooner than others, including the Spartans. Perhaps they all said it to soften the blow of a comrade's death, but it did nothing for Carris. She tried to place herself in Frost's boots and imagine what it would be like for a friend to say that to her. Out of all the emotions that began to course through her, sadness was the dominating one. Sadness and anger. How dare you, why would you put that weight on my shoulders? You know, no matter what, I'm coming back for you. Don't think about death or else it'll come for you; prepare to live, to fight, not die.
Carris shut the water off once she was clean. Her instincts told her to clear her head of those thoughts, that it was distracting. But she couldn't bring herself to. They clung to her like dirt to wet skin.
After drying off and dressing in her fatigues, she went out into the barracks. Everyone else was already cleaned up and dressed. They were beginning to file out.
"Come on Carris," Frost said with a small wave, "we're going to eat."
"Right behind you," she said. But she wasn't. She targeted Steele, who was lingering on his bed, tying his boots. Carris made her wave over to him and held up a hand just as he stood up. The Englishman, with his thick, combed hair and trim mustache, quirked an eyebrow.
"Something the matter?" he asked, tapping a cigarette out of a packet. He took one out and put it between his lips, but didn't light it. Carris supposed he had some sort of oral fixation. He offered her one, but she shook her head, her black locks sliding back and forth with her.
"What was that, last night?"
"What was what?"
"Between you and Frost. I overheard you two speaking. He spent the night on the floor next to your bed."
If he was surprised, he didn't show it. Steele shrugged nonchalantly.
"Nothing. Just some stuff."
"You said nothing, and then said it was stuff. Which is it?"
The corner of Steele's mouth began to curl into a smile. Her observation seemed to amuse him. But he kept his lips pursed around the cigarette.
"Stuff."
"What's stuff?"
"Whatcha mean?"
"I don't understand what you mean by stuff. I've never heard someone speak like that."
"For real?" he chuckled. "It was some...emotional stuff."
Carris frowned and sighed.
"Maybe you should focus more on getting ready for the next fight."
Steele snorted.
"We're in slipspace again. We won't be exiting the jump for another four days. Is there some fight I don't know about it?"
"You know what I mean, Corporal Steele."
"Just Steele. Corporal makes me sound fancy."
He started for the door. Carris followed.
"Corporal isn't a high rank."
"Is to me. Never thought I'd come that far. I've been promoted and demoted so many times they ought to just put a zipper on my stripes."
Carris smiled, almost chuckled. She was not used to the dry, military humor that marines possessed. Spartans didn't crack many jokes.
"Are you some kind of troublemaker?"
"Oh, I wouldn't put it that way exactly. I just don't have much respect for the higher-ups."
"Higher-ups make sure that discipline is maintained, that we have good orders, and-"
"Please tell me you don't believe that horseshit," Steele grumbled, lighting his cigarette with a silver plated lighter. "Haven't you ever gotten a bad order? Colonel Hayes-that's our CO-ordered me and my squad to stay behind in some half-finished base to set off a nuke with barely anytime to get out ourselves. We almost didn't make it; I swear the shockwave was right behind us while we zoomed off in the fucking Pelican."
He shook his head. "Fucking Hayes. He's a bastard. Bugs me how practically all of the marines in my unit worship him. A lot of them call him 'Father'. Can you believe that shit? Father? Like they don't have a real dad? Fucking bullocks."
"You're a very vulgar marine," Carris said matter-of-factly.
Steele grinned up at her and then lit his cigarette.
"Thank you for noticing."
"You're not supposed to smoke on starships. There are codes against lighting combustibles."
"Combustible? Not like the cigarette is gonna explode. Waters doesn't give a damn and it's not like the smoke is gonna make some computer go on the fritz. I only smoke in the mess hall and the barracks. And sometimes the armory. And the hangar..."
He trailed off, sighing grumpily. Carris said no more. She didn't want to badger him, though the soldier in her wanted to snatch the cigarette and stub it out.
They walked in silence for a few moments. Steele took a drag on the cigarette, puffing out a cloud of gray smoke. The smell bothered Carris; she wasn't used to it. Most of the other squad members smoked quite liberally too, which made it worse. Whatever brand Steele smoked, however, the smell was particularly foul.
"Frost saved my life a long time ago."
Carris looked down at him.
"What?"
"I'm answering your damned question." Steele was staring straight ahead as he smoked and walked. "He saved my life a few years ago. Almost killed himself in the process. I was practically dead. During a special op we took a fall off a cliff. Well, we jumped really. Broke both my legs, busted myself in a bunch of other places. Frost basically broke his feet and ankles but the son of a bitch just tied his boots tight and somehow carried me for twenty miles. Twenty. Miles."
He took a long drag and exhaled raggedly. "I owe him."
"I haven't known you all for very long, but I imagine Frost would disagree."
"Yeah. Says I don't owe him a thing. I do. You bet your ass I do. The last thing I need for him is to get killed trying to save my sorry ass. So last night I made him promise to go if something like that happens."
"I don't think he'll keep it."
Steele snorted.
"Neither do I. But he's never broken a promise. He values promises; truth."
"Truth?"
"Yeah, he values truth. Big time. He needs to see the truth in what he does. He won't do it if he doesn't see the truth in it. If he can't see it, well, he doesn't want anything to do with it."
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean."
Steele seemed to change then. He was walking somewhat slouched, hands jammed into his pockets. But then he stood up straight, like he was at attention, one hand went to his side and another took the cigarette away. For the first time in the few days she had known him, he finally looked like a real soldier.
"He's a...good man. He believes in truth, and honesty. He's...honorable I guess. I don't fucking know how to put it, this isn't exactly my forte."
He had spoken clearly and sternly. It wasn't something he had rehearsed, Carris could tell, but the words meant something to him. She could see then, at that moment in the deserted corridor of the I'm Alone, he loved Frost. Two brothers, that's what they were. Two strange brothers, that was for sure. Frost was a trim, by the book looking fellow at six feet, with an average build, a professional looking fellow. Steele stood a bit taller and was lankier; he always seemed laid back and disinterested with whatever was going on. Quick to humor, unlike Frost, whose own attempts at being laid back seemed to be a bit awkward sometimes. He was better at it than Carris, though she considered that wasn't too hard to do. Still, Frost and Steele made for an interesting, strange pair. Sometimes they acted like children, other times Steele was Frost's sarcastic sidekick, and other times they bickered like a husband and his wife.
"He's a better man than me," Steele said, his normal posture returning.
"You're a loyal friend."
He chuckled and winked at her.
"I get that a lot."
Carris smiled a little.
"You two are a very odd couple though."
"Hm?"
"You seem to be polar opposites. Yet, you're..."
"Thick as thieves?"
"What's that mean?"
"Means that you're good pals. Never heard of that phrase?"
"No. But I understand. You have a special...friendship."
Steele looked at her slowly.
"How did you know that we were fucking?"
"What?!" Carris looked down at him, confused. Steele laughed.
"Ha, the look on your face! No, love, no, he and I are buddies, you're right."
Carris sighed, slightly embarrassed. Steele continued to snicker. After a while, he said, "Uh, we're not into the cock, by the way."
Carris nodded, trying to stomach his language. She had heard cursing before but he was especially foul. All the same, she wanted to say something funny back, but she wasn't sure what to say. It seemed like the sociable thing to do. Socializing wasn't one of her strong suits-she was again reminded how her fellow Spartans weren't exactly chatterboxes. Her mind searched quickly for something to say.
"Yeah, sure," was all she managed to say, trying to sound sarcastic. She was surprised to hear Steele laugh.
"Do I have to prove it to you?" he joked back. Carris tried to keep the banter going. She was actually enjoying herself.
"I'd like to see you try," Carris taunted.
"Aw yeah, watch this."
As they got closer to the mess hall, some sailors were coming out. Among them were a pair of women, one younger, the other a little older. Steele grinned and smoothed his hair a little. Steele sidled over to the group with his arms outstretched, targeting the younger girl first.
"Excuse me, Petty Officer, would you care to grab dinner with me tonight in the mess hall."
"Yeah right, Steele." she laughed.
"Come on, I'm really charming. What if I said there'd be chocolate and wine."
"I'd still say no."
"And why's that?" he said, putting a hand up on the bulkhead. The girl didn't seem annoyed, though not overjoyed.
"Because I'm engaged."
"Oh, I see. Well congratulations, Petty Officer."
"Thank you, Corporal."
Steele turned to the older woman, who looked to be nearing her forties.
"And how about-"
"I'm married."
"Right then. I'll just sod off then."
"Good idea."
Everyone laughed, including at Steele. A few more friendly words were exchanged before the group mustered by. Carris waited until the group had passed before she came over.
"I didn't actually think you'd do anything. I was only kidding."
"Really? Please, I'm a man of action."
"Technically we broke frat regs."
"Fun, wasn't it?"
"It was more fun to see you embarrass yourself. But you could have gotten into trouble; that could have been labeled as harassment."
"Ah, they know me. The sailors on this boat are good sports, anyways. After a month of being cooped up with us, they know when we're joking or not. I was just trying to be goofy really. Not really trying. Besides, I've chatted with them before. I know they're taken."
"Sounds like you're just trying to cover for inept social skills."
Steele laughed.
"You've got me pegged, Carris," he chortled jokingly. Carris smiled. "You're funnier than I thought you'd be. More talkative too. You're full of surprises."
Carris nodded. She was surprised at herself. It felt good to joke and laugh. It seemed like it had been years since she heard a joke. She couldn't even remember attempting to tell one herself or kid around with another Spartans. There had been no laughter during training. Just training. No time to talk or socialize, no time for anything.
As they grabbed their meals and joined in with the group, Carris sat silently and watched the squad joke and laugh and sing and argue. Sometimes they whispered, sometimes they yelled. Their humor was crude, sometimes it was sarcastic. Sometimes they talked about sex and other times they talked of home. Their conversations ascended and descended and spiraled out of control. Everyone talked over one another and then there would be one speaker governing over all of them. Stories unfurled and developed and ended. Carris listened and watched. She felt lonely among them. There had been nothing like this before. Everyone in the mess hall on Reach had always been quiet. No one stayed up late at night and whispered to each other. At times like this, she realized she had missed something. She had never gotten a chance to be a part of this.
"I'm thirty-one," she blurted out. The group stopped talking and all looked at her, surprised and confused.
"What?" asked Steele.
"I'm thirty-one years old."
"I thought that was classified."
Carris looked down into her drink and then looked at all of them.
"It is."
"We are not your kind of people
You seem kind of phony
Everything's a lie"
-Not Your Kind of People by Garbage
Author's Note: Hey everyone, it's been a while. As you can tell, things didn't go as planned for how I wanted to post my chapters. I'll explain.
My original upload and writing plan was ruined by the whirlwind of returning for second semester. I thought I had everything I needed, turns out I didn't, and I was just slammed with work. Compounding the issue, my fiancee has been very sick since we've come back. I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but she has a chronic illness and a host of other medical conditions. I've had to spend more time taking care of her this semester than last one. The good news is, she was able to get a small surgery that fixed a ton of problems; she's fully recovered from the operation now and I have more time on my hands as well. Believe me, I was on care duty around the clock. I had no time to write. As much as I love you guys and love this story, I've got to take care of my fiancee first. And I apologize for the lack of transparency. I try to strive to keep you all in the loop and I utterly failed; I honestly couldn't take anytime to use my computer for anything but my coursework. All of my time was divided between work and my fiancee. I wish there was a moment where I could have posted a little announcement or something to fill you in, and I'm sorry that I couldn't. But I am back with a few chapters here that you'll hopefully enjoy and were worth the wait. I wouldn't get your hopes too high about more chapters coming out soon, but hopefully this and the next two will keep make things a bit more bearable.
As always, I appreciate and cherish and love you all. Thank you to all of the new folks for favoriting and following. If you comment or don't comment, it doesn't matter; if you come by to read, I'm grateful for your time, your patience, your devotion to the story. If any of you wish to speak to me, remember that you can PM and I'll get back to you as soon as you can. Our conversations don't have to just reside in the comments section.
Aaaaannnnnddddd speaking of comments...let's just see who commented.
chase8999: I...don't know what to tell you man. Maybe you should just take a break from the time machine. Please. PLEASE. Just don't blow anything else up okay. PLEASE, for the love of all things good, don't blow anything up, including people. P...please? ...are you even listening?
Alpha HighBreed: I understand your point about the naval battles, so let me explain. Now, I'm sure you've read the Halo novels and other expanded universe work. A lot of what I understand about the space battles come from the games and from the book, The Fall of Reach. A good book, but my least favorite segments were the space battles. The author, in my opinion, took too much time to describe certain things about the space battles in an effort to inflate and pad the battles themselves. Starships battles in my eyes aren't ocean-based naval battles, where heavy cruisers can fire away at each other for hours. They're fast paced, dirty fights with a lot of movement, and a few bad hits can utterly destroy a starship, even if it has shields, so conclusions to battles come quickly in my opinion. That's how I pictured them and that's how I've chosen to write them; I'm not going to write a bunch of fluff just to draw out the time of the battle. I'm confident in myself enough that I can bring as much enjoyment/drama/tension from a naval battle scene in a few sentences than entire blocks of text. Eric Nylund is a fantastic writer and really brings the Haloverse to life in his work, but I felt that he just had a lot of unnecessary filler and descriptions for scenes/actions that needed only brief descriptions for the reader to understand. As well, I want to make them quick to emphasize Vivian's tactical skill, to show that she's got an edge above the usual starship captain. The I'm Alone is an advanced ship, but its greatest weapon is Vivian's mind. Vivian's ability to quickly destroy Covenant ships and adapt to situations shows just how competent she is.
And bro, Mass Effect is my shit. Every once in awhile, you just gotta do a playthrough of the trilogy. ME1 to ME3, all the DLC included. Infiltrator class, paragade, romance Jack or Miranda. The games are just too great.
Potential antagonist? Brother you gotta let me know what you're thinking. You can keep me in the dark like that, I'M THE WRITER FOR PETE'S SAKE. Joking aside, I'm might interested in this potential antagonist.
WHO'S NEXT?
MightBeGone: After reading this chapter I think you'll agree with me in saying that Carris is definitely going to be a wild card. She's sort of in the middle, know what I mean? Struggling to understand and actually enjoying these whacko marines but also holding the establishment (the UNSC) in high regard. We'll just have to wait and see how it plays out.
Caver Floyd: A very interesting individual; I take it you have a little affinity for history? I myself study maritime history, its my concentration. Always nice to meet someone with a little love for the past.
Well, Mr. Floyd, you saw through my master plan. Already before I started composing Chapter 21 I had planned for Carris and the squad to have this weird conversation. You must be a mind reader my good man.