1800 hours, October 3th, 2542 (UNSC military calendar)
Fleet Admiral Cole's office, Deck 1, Station Alpha, New Ghent.
Fleet Admiral Cole glanced at Ackerson as the ONI spook entered his office. Cole put down the datapad he'd been examining, and looked at Ackerson. "Colonel, would you mind telling me how the hell you got Halsey to give you her Spartans? I couldn't believe it when I learned about it." He stated incredulously, still trying to think of possible reasoning, even as he asked Ackerson.
Ackerson looked at Cole, then gave him a curt nod and a small smile. "Halsey isn't in UNSC space anymore. She's hosting seminars on AI technology on Sur'Kesh with the Salarians or working on reverse engineering Covenant technology. Parangosky put this proposal forward to the Security Council, and it passed with a majority vote. There are even talks of going public and using the Spartans as propaganda symbols to rally around."
Five members were on the council, that meant one or two had to have voted no. Cole surmised that one had to be Hood, but he couldn't think of the other. He put that knowledge away for now. He suspected ONI to have cut Halsey's connections to her allies in ONI while she was in Citadel Space, so she couldn't attempt to block the seizure of her Spartan program.
Ackerson glanced around, then took a datapad from his suit's pocket and activated it. He turned to look at Cole, murder in his eyes.
"I want to talk to you about what you told Matriarch Aethyta."
Cole tensed up, moments from pulling out his sidearm and unloading it. "Go on," Cole commanded, trying to decide how ONI had overheard. Had they bugged him? He hadn't broken any rules, technically, but could still be in significant trouble. Cole contemplated fighting his way out if Ackerson tried to arrest him.
Ackerson nodded. "ONI has surmised you were talking about your wife. At first, we were unsure of what to do, but then we found a satisfying compromise. One that we want you to tell your wife about."
"In line with the new reforms being passed throughout the UEG, Parangosky is planning to offer blanket amnesty to all insurrectionist elements, including your wife. We need soldiers and sailors, and we're not picky about how we get them."
Cole was flabbergasted. He tried to rationalize what he'd just heard. "Amnesty?" He asked. "Just like that? No trials for the terrorists, no court-martials for the deserters?"
Ackerson nodded, then spoke at length, sounding genuine. "Blanket amnesty. No questions asked. A new era of peace and unity is coming for humanity, Cole. The political cliques of old are powerless, the megacorporations have been broken up and put under military oversight, and new stable democracies are forming throughout our space. It is time we abandoned our old hatreds, made peace with each other, and prepared for the future together."
Cole was speechless. He privately wondered if Parangosky had turned over a new leaf in her old age. He was skeptical, but not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He nodded slowly. "I can contact Lyrene and try to convince her. But I can not promise anything. Her people will want something official, a news broadcast or the like."
"Already happening," Ackerson stated. "As I speak, Parangosky is on live television announcing the amnesty on behalf of the Security Council."
Cole was silent, then stood facing the holographic image of Chi Rho. He went through the bombshell Ackerson had dropped. Something was happening with humanity, and he would be careful in his next course of action. He turned back towards Ackerson and nodded. "I see where you're going with this. You can tell Parangosky that as long as she keeps pushing down on the corporate and political sectors, and bringing these kinds of reforms, I'm on her side." Cole lied. He had no intention of supporting Parangosky.
And he was sure that Ackerson knew so as well.
"Excellent. I'll be on my way, Fleet Admiral."
Cole wasn't oblivious to what Parangosky was doing. She was building a power base, increasing ONI's grip on humanity by improving humanity. But Cole couldn't determine if it was out of despotism, or enlightened absolutism. He doubted Lyrene and her people would agree on amnesty if it meant returning to UEG space, they would most likely want to leave for their own worlds. But some might take her up on the offer.
Cole thought back to seeing thirty spartans in a single room. Ackerson now controlled those Spartans, and through him, Parangosky did. That was a force that couldn't be contested meaningfully. Although he was sure that the Spartan Twos would side with Halsey, no matter what happened. He wasn't sure about the Spartan Threes.
ONI was also tracking his every move. If Cole wanted to get involved, he would have to get a message to Halsey, but do it discreetly. He hoped Parangosky was genuine, but fear gripped his heart as he thought over all the possibilities. And even if he acted, it would be for naught if Parangosky had widespread popular support. Cole mused that perhaps that was the reason for ONI acting brazenly. Maybe they knew that their actions would drive opponents to silence, while the people and the junior officers would support ONI.
Cole cursed himself as he put the dots together. Or what he believed the dots were.
What if what ONI was involved in wasn't meant to be secret, and they were leaking parts to gauge responses and reactions? Their real plans might be hidden within further layers of secrecy and enigma. Right now, their actions were working. Increased popular support for the UNSC and ONI. While the younger generations of officers were proving to be appreciative of the changes that happened.
Could ONI be trying to provoke a response? What if they were acting just brazen enough to gain the support of ideological partners, while also giving their opponents just enough reason to begin planning against ONI, thereby justifying their removal from power?
Cole couldn't see what had motivated ONI's actions, and he grew increasingly agitated. Every conclusion he might draw could be one that ONI was expecting, or at least able to respond to. True. Ackerson might have made a mistake in contacting Cole. But the stakes for Cole were still too high to hedge his bets on. Perhaps he was playing into their hands by becoming paranoid enough to consider not involving himself?
Or Ackerson had indeed made a mistake, and Cole would instead play into ONI's hands if he didn't react to what he had heard.
Cole sighed, resigning himself to remaining uninvolved from any power struggle. His responsibility was for his wife and his soldiers. He'd do whatever was best for them.
-
1800 hours, October 4th, 2542 (UNSC military calendar)
Spartan Branch Offices, Deck 1, Station Alpha.
"John! It's good to see you again!" Said a voice that sounded to John as if it came from a distant memory. He turned to look at a bald ONI Officer with lightish-brown skin and short-cropped hair rolling towards him in a wheelchair.
"Fhajad," John said, instantly recognizing the Spartan washout. Fhajad had been a good friend of John during the Spartan training program, a skilled technician, and the top of his class in theoretical physics. John hadn't seen him since the Augmentations had nearly shattered his femurs and given the young man Parkinsons Disease. He extended a shaking hand to John, who grasped it firmly but gently.
John got down on one knee to be face to face with his old friend. "It is good to see you again." He noted that Fhajad had the rank pins of a Warrant Officer, and he immediately got to his feet to salute the man. "Warrant Officer Fhajad, apologies for the outburst."
"It's fine. I had hoped to see you when I was assigned to the Spartan Branch." Fhajad smiled. "Colonel Ackerson has been bringing together all the other washouts to assist in the Spartan Branch."
"All of them?" John asked. "Does that include the ones in Neutral Buoyancy Tanks?"
Fhajad nodded. "Even them. Come, I'll bring you to Cassandra-075. They just finished installing her tank." He leaned his head back into his chair, and the wheelchair rolled towards a side room. John couldn't help but notice the constant violent twitching by Fhajad as his superconducting nerves misfired. If not for the ceramic ossification of his bones, Fhajad would most likely have torn himself apart with his twitches, even with metallic frames around his limbs to inhibit the movement.
They entered a room containing a large tank filled with a thick viscous gel, in which a horrifically disfigured human floated. She had once been a spry young African woman, a skilled fighter and a quick thinker, with beautiful black hair that she had learned to braid herself. But her color and hair were gone now, leaving a mass of exposed bone, dark skin, red meat, and superconducting nerves. She was hooked in to the tank with wires fitted into slots across her spine and nervous system, while mechanical arm kept her spasming body in place. Her arms and legs were horrifically deformed, each of them different in size than the others, bent at odd angles where the ossification process had shattered and locked them in awkward angles, and swollen in areas where the muscle growth catalysts had failed. Cassandra's head was permanently bent to the right by a mangled and twisted spine, with a third of her skull replaced with a clear prosthetic that showed her brains, and the cybernetics inside of them that kept her alive. Cybernetic eyes looked out of the tank towards John, and Cassandra twitched. She extended an arm that looked more like a cancerous tentacle and placed it against the glass.
"Hello, John." A mechanical voice said from a voice modulator at the base of the tank. "It is good to see you again." A mechanical arm extended from the side of the container in line with Cassandra's movement inside of it, offering itself to John, who shook it firmly.
John couldn't help but feel terrible for Cassandra. She was a mass of deformed flesh in a tank, fed through tubes, and connected to the outside world with cybernetics. He could scarcely imagine how he would have responded to such a thing happening to him. It spoke volumes about Cassandra's spirit that she hadn't asked for euthanasia. "It has been too long, Cassandra. Fhajad tells me you will be joining the Spartan Branch."
"I am. Kirk and René have already been installed at our new base. I was sent here to help with planning your next mission." The mechanical arm swiped itself across John's faceplate. "It is better than being a calculator. I am happy to help the Spartans. However, I can."
"You are a Spartan, Cassandra. Never forget it." John said. "Where have you been since the augmentations?"
"Here and there. ONI moved me around to wherever they needed me. It is good to be useful. But don't let me get in the way. I am sure you have work to do." Cassandra's mechanical voice said. "It is time for my maintenance." She pressed a button on the inside of her tank.
A pair of technicians entered the room, noticing John and Fhajad. They saluted Fhajad and eyed John warily. Then moved over towards the tank. "I'm sorry, but you have to leave. Cassandra needs her daily maintenance performed, and we need to sterilize the room for that."
"I'll visit you when I can, Cassandra," John promised. "Stay strong. I'm sure Halsey will get you out of that tank as soon as possible."
"I lost hope for that years ago, John," Cassandra said, her voice tainted by grief.
John left the room. It had been good to visit Cassandra. But he couldn't help but feel disappointed at Halsey for not getting her out of the tank already. Surely Halsey could have created a treatment program already?
"I have to return to my post. Kurt is down the hall in his office." Fhajad said, pointing a shaking arm at the doorway to Kurt's office.
"Thank you," John said, moving up and knocking on the door to Kurt's office.
"Come in, Spartan." Kurt's voice said. John guessed Kurt had heard the footsteps and correctly identified them as a Spartan's.
"Lieutenant. I have an important matter to discuss." John-117 said as he entered the office set aside for Kurt-051.
Kurt was wearing an officer's uniform, looking up from the pile of paperwork on his desk. He motioned for a heavy chair. "Please call me Kurt. Have a seat, John." Kurt actually smiled softly at John, causing him to tilt his head at Kurt's almost casual attitude. He glanced at what Kurt was working on. John saw standard crew assignments and logistical forms Kurt had been signing.
John took the seat, the reinforced chair straining under the weight. "Lieu- Kurt. I am happy to see you alive." John swiped to the right on his faceplate, a Spartan smile. "But you have secluded yourself in this office, doing basic paperwork instead of joining our training exercises. Almost like you are avoiding us. What happened, Kurt?"
Kurt looked pained, leaning back and forming a pyramid with his hand. "The formation of the Spartan Branch is a tiring prospect. But you're right, I have been avoiding the Spartans. I feel guilty you didn't know I was alive."
"ONI hid your death," John said. "You were always the most moral and sociable Spartan. Your choice as the trainer of the Spartan Threes makes sense." John leaned forward. "But why do almost half of them show signs of PTSD? What happened to Alpha Company? Emile started insulting a Turian officer and then showed blatant insubordination. How did someone like him become a Spartan?"
Kurt sulked, his stern gaze cracking, and signs of deep emotional trauma seeping through. John was taken aback. Kurt had always been the most emotionally stoic Spartan around, even if he had been perhaps a bit too easy to make friends with the technicians and pilots that ferried the Spartans around.
Ackerson's voice came in from behind John. "They died. All three hundred of them." The Colonel had appeared in the doorframe, a datapad clutched under his arm.
John got up reflexively and immediately saluted Ackerson. "Colonel Ackerson, Sir."
"At ease, Master Chief," Ackerson said. "You aren't one of Halsey's pets anymore. You are a soldier under my command. Only salute me when in public. I don't want blind obedience."
"Sir?" John asked, confused by the remark he was a 'pet.' "What do you mean, pet? The Spartan Twos are the finest soldiers in human history. We aren't toys."
"I will explain everything, Master Chief John-117," Ackerson said. "But first you need to verbally agree to not break codeword classification in accordance with the Wartime Articles of Secrecy" He held up his omni-tool, holding it towards John.
The Master Chief had done this kind of thing before and knew exactly what to say. "I, Master Chief 117, verbally agree to follow Codeword classification in accordance with the JAG 4465/LHG protocol, and the Wartime Articles of secrecy." He spoke into the omni-tool, reciting the words from memory.
"Thank you, Master Chief." Ackerson nodded.
"So, as I said. You are part of a prototype group of supersoldiers created by Doctor Catherine Halsey as a flight of fancy." Ackerson stated. "Any project that kills or cripples half of its soldiers is a prototype at best, and a failure at worst. You have seen the broken bodies left behind by the augmentation procedures. And worst of all, no new Spartan Twos were created. Your record still speaks for itself. But there is no shame in saying that as an attempt to create a new type of soldier for humanity, the Spartan Two program failed. You're prototypes that never had direct successors. And if it were up to Halsey, you would have been the last."
John slowly nodded. There was truth to Ackerson's words. The Spartan Two program had failed to produce more than a single batch of soldiers and had produced more dead or crippled Spartans than fully augmented individuals. But it still hurt vaguely to hear Ackerson say it. "You said Alpha Company died. How have I never heard of a whole company of Spartans?"
"Because Alpha Company was created to die, Spartan. They were created using the lessons from the Spartan Two program, the lessons Halsey blocked at every possible opportunity, and tried to bury. The Spartan Threes were sent time and time again against impossible odds to buy the UNSC the time it needed. Without Alpha Company, the Citadel would have only met glassed rocks."
It all became clear. "And the ones who joined us are the only ones who survived," John confirmed. "That explains the psychological conditions." The thought of three hundred fallen Spartans disturbed John, but he didn't show it outwardly. He wanted to know where Ackerson and Kurt were going.
Ackerson grit his teeth. "That is true. These Spartan Threes are those singled out for extraordinary capabilities and given advanced training and Mjolnir armor. You can thank Lieutenant Kurt for the initiative, he came up with it."
John was not surprised. Kurt always had a distinct eye for capability and talent.
"They are the last survivors of two-man kill teams deployed against the Covenant. But their recruitment was also different. You see, they were volunteers. Orphans left behind by the Covenant."
That shook John. "Orphan volunteers? Not conscripts like the Spartan Twos?" The thought rankled him, it felt like taking advantage. But them being volunteers struck a chord with John.
Ackerson put a hand on John's shoulder. "No. They weren't ripped from their beds like you and used to fuel the mad fancies of a woman like Halsey. They were orphans, given a chance to fight back against the Covenant. Their deaths were a sad necessity, but billions have been saved by their actions. Precious time was earned that made the future of the Spartans possible. Your future." Ackerson sounded excited, filled with purpose and drive. John almost felt inclined to agree with the Colonel.
John was silent, deep in thought. "Why do you keep deriding Doctor Halsey? Without her, you wouldn't even have been able to start the Spartan Three program. Is she not involved in any of this? What about the technicians and doctors that aided in the original Spartan Two program?"
Ackerson crossed his arms. "The staff is involved, but she is not. In fact, she has been blocking every attempt to create more Spartan Twos. The only reason more Spartans were created is thanks to me going behind Halsey's back to set up the Spartan Three program. We used improved technology that didn't kill a single Spartan Three during their augmentation, and we used the very best personnel available to train them. We are even bringing back many of the crippled Spartan Twos to aid in the Spartan Branch."
"I have talked with Fhajad and Cassandra. It is good to see them working with other Spartans again." John said. He paused, then added. "But what is this about Halsey stopping the creation of more Spartans?" He glanced at Kurt for confirmation. He was inclined to disbelieve anyone other than a Spartan who spoke ill about Halsey.
Kurt nodded gravely. "I didn't believe it myself. But it's true. She tried to lock access to any data on the augmentation procedures and sabotaged every attempt to create a second generation of Spartan Twos. I checked it multiple times, John. Colonel Ackerson is speaking the truth here. She even transferred the washouts far away so she wouldn't have to look at them." Kurt sounded angry.
John felt conflicted. He had nothing but respect for Catherine Halsey, but couldn't help but feel betrayed. Half of the Spartan two trainees, the closest thing he had to a family, had died during the gruesome augmentations. And to hear that Halsey had refused to create more, to let their deaths mean something, hit a part of John he didn't know he still had in him. He felt angry and disappointed at Doctor Halsey, for not creating another generation of Spartans. But that anger felt like poison to his very being, to the view he had of Doctor Halsey. He felt a sickness in his stomach that he'd never truly felt before. An emotional pain he didn't know he still had in him.
John paused, then said. "Then, Halsey was wrong. We need more Spartans. Humanity needs more Spartans to defend it." John looked at Ackerson. "My Spartan Twos will show you what we are capable of."