TwentyFive
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John still disliked being on ships.
Scrubbed and recycled and cold, the air tasted too clean even through his helmets filters. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other; artificial gravity had a distinct feeling after having his feet planted on Earth for months and it left John unsettled.
It was the lack of control, though, that had John so restless.
He'd never liked ships.
Especially not after Sam.
Once John had passed his bag off to a waiting private, Kowalski led them on with purpose. Surprised faces and hastily snapped salutes greeted their procession through Gladiator.
"Did Hood keep my involvement secret from everyone?"
Cortana laughed, the sound uncurling coolly in his helmet. "I may have convinced him to keep it on the down-low until you agreed to take us to prom."
John quirked a brow. "Your analogies have grown stranger."
"I like to keep people on their toes." Her mouth curled into a smirk that was kinder than it appeared. "Speaking of, step on it, Spartan. Hood wants to start the debrief and get the introductions out of the way before people start getting rowdy."
"Expecting trouble?"
"The civilian representatives are a curious bunch," was all she said, something in her tone that had forewarnings humming in his bones.
"Hmm." John reconnected the external speakers. "Have you met the civilian representatives, Arbiter?"
"Not directly. Though, some of my subordinates do correspond with Dr. Santiago." Thel's long fingers flexed, like a raptor bird testing their grip on a perch, as he spoke. "It was she that adapted our healing technology to human physiology."
As in, John realised, the doctor that had essentially given Rene and Kirk their newfound freedom.
John steered the conversation elsewhere. "And what of United Front? She is a hybrid too. How deep does it run?"
"To the heart, Demon," an unfamiliar voice was the one to respond. "To the very heart."
"Shipwright," Thel greeted, though he did not slow his stride. "You would be better, Spartan, to direct your questions towards Jal'tiess. They were instrumental in United Front's conception and creation."
Kowalski didn't seem bothered by the addition. John drifted back to walk by the green-armoured Sangheili. "Shipwright isn't a title I am familiar with."
Jal'tiess rasped a noise that seemed like it was meant to be a laugh; their voice lacked the depth that John had come to hear from most Sangheili. Scarring splattered across their throat explained the oddity.
"Only recently has this title been reclaimed by my kin," Jal'tiess explained, "few titles beyond those of warriors and priests held any substance once the Prophets invaded our culture. Our healers were shamed, our architects made redundant. Historians, artisans, and those such as myself, all left in the dust in favour of the great journey."
It was hard, sometimes, to remember that the Sangheili themselves as suffered at the hands of the Prophets too. Not in the same way that humanity had, and it certainly did not excuse all that they had done, but it helped find a common ground.
John didn't understand the value of culture, but he understood that it mattered a great deal to others.
"Never mind such thoughts," Jal'tiess thankfully added after a moment. "Questions of the ship, you have, Demon?"
Thoughts of cultures gone, cultures destroyed, filled John's head with burning planets.
"Is she armed with Energy Projectors?"
"No." Jal'tiess hissed, mandibles flexing. "Such ideas were foolish when the proposals arrived. I stuck the idea from any person, Human or Sangheili, that worked upon this ship. Enough worlds have been burned in our wake; no ship I create will add to that misery."
"Good." John inclined his head a fraction. "We need more people that think this way."
"Hmph. There have always been people that think this way, Demon. They were either silent, or made to be." They rumbled, though it seemed a tired sound. "Such thoughts should not cloud our thoughts. Not today, at least. Questions of United Front, have you?"
John did.
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"She is beautiful," was all John could say in the end, once the time for questions had ceased.
Jal'tiess was pleased. "A question of my own, if I may, Demon?" John nodded. "Why do humans assign all ships to the female gender? Even those named after male figures."
Uncharacteristically, that took John a moment to process. In that moment, Thel professed, "This is a question that has long been on my mind as well."
"I," John said, "don't know."
And he didn't. Guesses could be made. There were thousands of incredible women from history; John could list dozens of warriors and generals from his own education. This knowledge did not offer an answer. A satisfying one, at least.
"Gentlemen, we are here," Kowalski smoothly interjected, her cool gaze discouraging further talk. "Master Chief, Arbiter, they're waiting for you."
With a salute, she turned on her heel and left. Jal'tiess followed with a cordial farewell.
"Have fun," Cortana hummed in his ear.
John didn't reply.
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The room was full, but those filling it were speaking in small clusters rather than seated for the briefing. Immediately, John was able to pick out the civilians, and the friction that Hood was concerned with. One man stood apart from the rest, idling on personal tablet and ignoring the many irritated frowns being directed his way. The other two were also plain-clothed, but engaged in a far more relaxed conversation with a pair of silver-armoured Sangheili.
A dark-skinned captain approached, offering a hand to Thel first, and then John. "Arbiter. Chief. Good to see you aboard," he said, "Admiral Hood will be overseeing the launch from the command deck. He'll join us shortly after departure."
"Thank you, Captain Oston," Thel rumbled. "How does your project fare?"
"Ask me later, after I've had a drink. You'll get a far less diplomatic and far more honest answer." Oston folded his hands at the small of his back, smiling matching the dry humour in his response. "Honestly, I knew it would be a rough road, finding volunteer candidates for Human-Sangheili teams. Speaking of, Chief, I'd like a word after the Admiral's debrief."
"Of course, sir."
John felt The United Front hum to life, a soft, almost gentle, shudder running up his legs as the ship came to life. As they pulled away from Gladiator, the room grew quiet.
"Today," came Hood's baritone, "we embark on a joint venture that will speak of our Alliance. Human and Sangheili, working together for the betterment of our joint futures. Do yourselves proud. Hood out."
Cortana called out the countdown. Slipspace welcomed them, smoother than any jump John had experience before. Not long after, the Admiral entered the room. Hood looked better than he had some months ago. Not younger, but hale.
"Let's get this meeting underway," Hood announced to the room at large, taking a seat at the oval table that dominated the room. "Please, be seated."
Save a majority of the Sangheili and John himself – he seriously doubted the ability of the chairs to hold his significant weight – the room shuffled around the table.
"Hood wants you to keep an eye on the civilians," Cortana said, quiet and confidential. "Before today, none of them have even encountered an alien species."
"And?"
"Reynolds is a dick." A pause. "I'm quoting several people word for word, before you respond to that."
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As the meeting drew to a close, John concluded that Reynolds was indeed a dick.
Nicholi Reynolds represented the largest mining and manufacturing conglomerate in human history, his business once stretching across dozens of colony worlds and asteroid mines. His mouth was perpetually held in an arrogant slant, and his words were so often baited to start arguments. Despite this, he was vastly intelligent and was the largest power behind sourcing material for housing and rebuilding the human fleet.
Politically, it made sense for Reynolds to be here.
Logically, it was an idiotic decision to allow Reynolds to attend, let alone speak, at a summit with representatives of the group that had destroyed 90% of his business.
The others weren't too bad. Representing the farming and environmental commission was a wizened man named Harold Ritbelli, and he reminded John faintly of Mendez. Stern and quiet, evaluation in every glance. John wasn't sure if he liked the comparison, but he respected Ritbelli's calm demeanour.
The last civilian representative was Dr Arabella Santiago. She, of all of those here today, was the only one John instantly liked. Perhaps he was biased, knowing that Arabella was, at least in part, responsible for providing Kirk and Rene with a treatment for their bone ossification.
Not once during the meeting did John speak. Nor was he spoken to. John was a presence, more so than a voice, here.
Most of those at the summit would know John by sight than by sound regardless.
Though keeping his visor facing Hood, John glanced around the room as Hood spoke his final words.
"Do not forget what is at stake," Hood intoned, hands spread carefully on the table, "we cannot afford to fail. Dismissed."
Distaste curdled Reynolds smirk into a sneer as he pushed past a pair of Sangheili, and John watched with brewing concern at the representatives open hostility. This voyage, at least, warranted better behaviour.
As the last person filed out, save Oston, John joined Hood at the head of the table.
"Despite the circumstances," Hood began, tone casual but no less commanding than it was when he spoke of building the futures of generations yet to be born, "it is good to see you, son."
John shook the extended hand, and then popped his helmet off. If the move surprised Hood, who was perhaps one of three living people that knew the face behind the visor, he veiled it well. Oston blinked twice, and settled into the chair on Hood's left.
"Likewise, sir."
"Captain Oston and I would like your help with a project. We'll be arriving ahead of schedule so that we can send our teams down for some recon." Hood steeped his hands, leaning back into his chair. "Those teams, will be Alpha and Omega."
"Our shiny new human and Sangheili teams," Oston explained when Hood indicated for him to take over. "Each unit is comprised of three humans and two Sangheili, all volunteers…and all of the volunteers we got, that passed psyche evaluations at least."
John had heard whispers of such a venture before he retired.
"We'd like you to shadow them, get your thoughts on how they're working. Or, not working." Oston huffed a small laugh. "You're the only person we've got that has any kind of real experience working heavily with Sangheili, Chief. If we can make Alpha and Omega work, and work well, it would be one hell of a victory."
"To be perfectly honest, Chief," Hood sighed, sounding as old as he looked, worn and spread thin, "we weren't going to reveal this initiative for months yet, but the summit presented an opportunity."
"And the protestors are getting worse." The room drowned in blue as Cortana flared into brilliance on the display module in the centre of the table. Code streamed down her form in endless loops. "Three more red flags were raised today, Admiral. An official request from the United Nations Commission to push forward was just sent to the admiralty board. As of now, the clock has been set."
Again, Hood sighed, but it clattered in his throat with the depth of his frustration.
"Well," Oston said, "shit."
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After being dismissed, John headed for his assigned quarters. Scuttlebutt had already worked its way through the halls, and John was greeted with few – at least, few obvious – stares as he made his way for the ranking officers quarters.
His room was solitary. Small blessings, he supposed. On the bed, his bag was waiting, alongside a standard issue personal tablet. After unpacking his few belongings, John checked the tablet for messages. There was one from Thel.
An invitation to spar.
John grinned.
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The gym was largely empty. A cluster of humans were by the weight sets, a trio of Sangheili were in a far corner, and on the mats in the centre of the room were Thel and Fleetmaster R'tas.
Few had the opportunity to observe Sangheili sparring, so John took his time approaching. Bulky as they appeared, Thel and R'tas flowed from one strike to the next. For all of John's experience in the field, these were not stances that he was familiar with. They seemed old. Movements that existed long before Covenant weaponry changed how they moved, stood, and fought.
With a growl, the R'tas swung his leg out an under, attempting to unbalance Thel's footing. Thel launched himself forward, arching his spine so that the momentum carried them both over to the point where the other was pinned.
"I concede," R'tas rumbled gustily. They parted, and he went on to say, "The old ways suit you more and more."
Thel clicked his mandibles in amusement. "Perhaps."
They saw John. "Spartan," the Fleetmaster greeted cordially after a moment of consideration, "my pride in myself hopes you best Arbiter, yet my pride in my kin hopes to see you bested too."
With that, R'tas left the mat.
John didn't know how to respond to that.
"I am pleased by your acceptance." Thel flexed his spine in a sinuous roll. Several cracks echoed alongside the soft scrape of metal armour. "For many years, I thought of what a battle might occur between us, Spartan. Though, never did I consider it would be a match between comrades."
"As friends," John corrected, not unkindly.
Thel blinked, and then he laughed. It drew the eyes of all those few in the room. John paid them no mind.
"Indeed, John," Thel echoed, arms coming up and hands curling into loose fists, "as friends."
Cracking his knuckles in a, frankly, childish display, John grinned behind his visor. "Good. As your friend, I hope you don't take offense when I win."
There was a soft "ooooh" from the cluster of marines.
"Were it so easy, Spartan."
And the fight began.
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Sweat dripped into John's eyes.
He blinked the annoyance away, and rolled under the leg hurtling for his head.
Heavy as the MJOLNIR armour was, it danced with John, hardly hindering him as the spar went on and on and on.
A crowd had gathered, a mixture of humans and Sangheili, and they were not quiet. Roars of approval and dismay echoed through the room whenever John or Thel managed to grapple the upper hand for however briefly.
John darted left, then right, and swung his fist for Thel's gut. Rather than dodging, Thel knocked the strike aside and, gripping his arm, hauled John over his shoulder.
Though the gel layer distributed the force of landing, John still wheezed as the breath was knocked out of him. Still, he rolled to his feet. Copper coated his tongue, the small cut in his inner cheek still bleeding a steady stream. They parted, took stock as they circled one and other.
"Surrender?" Thel panted, chest heaving and rusty eyes bright.
"Never," John said, and leapt forward.
As neither had their shielding active, when Thel met him halfway their armour shrieked with the collision. The noise rang hollow and higher as John let his weight drop, gripping Thel around the middle. With all of his strength, John stood and hauled his taller opponent up-
And up-
And over.
They both landed with a clatter, flat on their backs and head to head, and lay still.
"Draw?"
John laughed breathily, savouring the burn in his limbs and lungs. "Draw."
They climbed to their feet and shook hands.
There was silence, eerie after so much noise, before the stunned crowd was swept up into a cacophony of shouts. John almost recoiled when, after Thel returned to R'tas's side, a fair few people crowded around him, words of awe spilling into the air between them.
"Never seen a move like that, Chief."
"That was damn impressive, sir."
"You just lifted him clear over your head-"
"Good show."
"-and wham! Down you both went."
John accepted the praise, the excitement, but his heart had yet to slow and the marines pressed closer to slap his back and shoulders. Unless they were in the field, marines tended to keep their distance. Everyone did.
"Thank you," John said, voice steady, and he managed to keep it that way until they drifted away.
Parts of the human crown turned to their Sangheili compatriots, flush with adrenaline from the fight and eager to talk. A red armoured Sangheili returned the enthusiasm with deep laughter and tales of famous spars. John overheard others organising weekly matches.
"I think," Cortana said in amusement, "you may have just improved inter-species relations."