Chapter 3 – Transfuga
May 24th, 2545 (10:16 Hours – Military Calendar)
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach
Csaba Mountain Region, Falchion Base
:********:
Reconsideration was required. Duncan knew that. What he didn't know was where it was due. Was it that he should reconsider his response to O'Reilly, or reconsider his relation to him completely? Neither one made him feel very comfortable and the inner debate it created had kept him quiet about the matter for the past two days.
Neither him nor O'Reilly had bothered talking right after they left the Havadi Goodwan coffee shop. Rather, they parted ways without so much as looking at each other, Duncan heading back to the starport and O'Reilly to wherever. The one place he knew his friend definitely wasn't going was back to his battalion HQ in Cygnus. That was too big a risk for someone who'd gone AWOL, not to mention that it was tactically suicidal for those who'd gone so far as to join a completely different entity.
That too was a reality Duncan found he wasn't ready to deal with, yet alone process in the heat of the moment. To think that this war could make even a person like O'Reilly, someone who'd been one of the more hardened and simultaneously easy-going sorts, give up on the UNSC completely.
A counterpoint that often rebuffed him as he considered those things was that he didn't know how he would react under similar conditions. As close as things had gotten for Epsilon in the past, they never once reached the point of total annihilation. The idea chilled him to no end that it very well could have happened to him. Had he not gotten his directions mixed up aboard Nassau Station, had he not boarded the Achilles at the insistence of Colonel Garrison or gotten that mysterious battalion reassignment later, things might've turned out a whole lot differently.
One thought that remained during the late-night flight back to Falchion, no matter how hard he tried to refute it, was the fact that at the end of the day O'Reilly had a point.
The UNSC abandoned him.
Him as well as everyone left in Karnak. The little news that Duncan got to hear about Draco III was that the UNSC ultimately lost the planet. However, there were reports of mass 'executions' of civilians by Covenant forces during the battle. What the Waypoint archives had failed to explain was how those executions took place, lending a lot more credibility to O'Reilly's story than the official report. Duncan struggled to imagine what that looked like, which was probably why O'Reilly hadn't spent more time on the details than he absolutely needed to. Said credibility meant that at the very least the naval forces of the United Nations Space Command had indeed left people behind. Though the claim they did it without putting up a fight was debatable, what couldn't be debated was that Duncan had seen it before. On Actium, the task forces operating in Preveza abandoned ground units holding out in Caerleon. He couldn't know precisely what happened to those thousands of men and women left behind. Needless to say, it was almost a certainty that none of them were alive today. The point stood that the navy battlegroups were forced to leave them. The counterpoint also stood that it was still abandonment.
The penultimate rebuke that further emblazoned the fires of his inner turmoil was a memory of what happened in Sabat. His recollections reminded him of the one-legged man begging for help as he'd shaken him off, of Reece and Colonel Mentieth moving in the scorpion to join the rest of the 1st Brigade, and of Shugart and Marty turning back to the battlefield as the Pelican's rear door closed. Everything down to the image of the explosion on the ground that seared itself into both retina and remembrance rebuked him. So did Actium's final image before the Babel jumped into slipspace.
He had abandoned them.
So had everyone else that got to leave Aquilla that day. Sure, the others chose that fate for themselves, but that didn't detract from the truth that those who left chose not to stand their ground with them. Maybe if they had, their combined numbers might have won them the day without having to sacrifice the 53rd. He didn't know that for a certainty of course. He was no Colonel Garrison, but he was tempted to think they could have done a lot more than turn their backs on them.
Like the bulk of the Greek forces that left behind the Spartans at Thermopylae, it seemed combat had changed so much across the millennia and yet not at all. Like them, everyone else simply didn't want to die for what had become a lost cause overnight. The guilt of that was admittedly what made him get up when Mars-Actual asked for volunteers. He wanted to see if he could somehow help those who were willing to do what he couldn't even bring himself to fathom.
It was apt then that he compared them to Spartans, especially considering what happened long before that last engagement in Sabat, at roughly the same time as Draco III. While Duncan was training the Spartan IIIs of Beta Company in a desperate bid to get back to the world he knew, O'Reilly's world was crumbling all around him. Worse yet, Duncan was personally guilty of the very same act that cost his friend everything he had, and upon which he'd built much of his criticism of the UNSC.
So, what right did he really have to sucker-punch him in the jaw?
Bringing up his family the way O'Reilly did had made him furious. But the Irishman was trying to get his point across as best as he could, and likely saw that as being the avenue to convincing him. It wasn't. However, Duncan was starting to understand more and more that he'd said those things out of frustration combined with the best of intentions. It just hit far too many pressure points all at once.
Upon arriving back at the civilian residential building in Falchion, he settled down on the bed and tried telling Erica what he could. At first, he attempted to sell her the impression that things went well. She didn't buy it. The truth, or what of it he was willing to tell, came out. He explained how they did get to catch up and how things went sour during their heated disagreement about the war. It was enough to convince Erica of the basic gist, not the specifics. Those were what he chose to leave out like what happened to O'Reilly on Draco III or that he defected from the UNSC as a result. It might've been too much for her. It was already too much for him. Out of concern, she told him gently that he should try to call him again, to make amends if he could. At the time he was too upset about the topic to give it any solid thought.
Yesterday saw him change his mind, prompted by a few reconsiderations on the matter later in the evening.
Today, he'd woken up with a clear purpose in mind. He took Erica and Noah out for breakfast at a local diner like usual. They enjoyed the time there with Erica and himself taking turns feeding slices of their omelets and pancakes to Noah. They wondered around together wherever possible while Duncan always making a habit of being the one to carry Noah on his shoulder. He decided to end things with a brief trip to the Real Time Environmental Training Center or RTETC. There he got permission from Captain Ortega to watch his squad conduct a live fire retraining session. Seeing Grunt and Elite cutouts getting shot down by precise DMR fire elicited amazed "oohs" from Noah that more than amused his parents.
Eventually, Duncan left them back at their room, telling Erica that he needed to contact O'Reilly again and 'make amends' like she'd told him to.
"Be honest about it, okay?" Erica asked. "He's your friend. He has been for a while now. Don't forget that."
Duncan provided her an affirmatory nod. "Will do, mam."
"Dunc?"
"...I'll try."
"Mhm. Good luck."
"Thanks. I'll need it." Duncan bowed out of the room and immediately headed for the Dante Building. A short walk of a few minutes brought him to the front lobby. A quick elevator ride to the 10th floor later, he planted himself in a communication's cubicle, switched on the display and typed in his information.
Waiting for him on his home screen, much to his shock, were four notifications. He expanded the window. There were two text messages accompanying two videocall requests. All four were from O'Reilly. He read the texts, the first being from two days ago:
"Come on, lad. Let's talk this over, start fresh."
The second was earlier in the day:
"Listen, I'm sorry that I brought up things I shouldn't have. I was wrong for it, seriously. Just come on, let's figure this out man to man, like old times."
"Man to man." He thought aloud, hovering his finger over the videocall option. "Alright Riley, let's figure this out."
He pressed it.
A few seconds of ringing was brought to an end by the appearance of a blur of motion. The camera on the other end was moving around. It was quickly brought up to show the concerned face of O'Reilly. He was standing outside in an open space somewhere, likely still in New Alexandria which the skyline behind him quickly made clear.
Seeing each other, neither spoke for a tense moment as they searched for what to say.
Duncan found it first. "Listen, Rile...about what happened back at the coffee shop, I really didn't want the meetup to play out the way it did, honestly. ...Sorry."
A look of earnest relief fell over O'Reilly's face as he nodded at his friend's words. "I'm sorry too, Sunny Jim. Honest, I didn't want things to go that far either. I was just trying to...convince you. I said it wrong though, I took it to places I shouldn't have. Can you forgive a hard-headed Irishman like ma'self?"
Duncan at length nodded, the embers of a smile returning to his face. "I think I can. Can I also get a bit of that too for trying to punch your jawbone all the way to Sol?"
The smile was mirrored by O'Reilly as he laughed, shaking his head at the idea. "No-no, I swear I told you that that was a freebie. If I'd wanted, I could've squared you off with a good one-two before you could even blink, boyo."
"All I'm hearing right now is 'You beat me to the punch'."
"Yeah? And I'll beat you to it next time so don't try it, you hear?"
"What was that, you said...'I won?' Hey, thanks pal."
"Tell you what, if anyone kicks out your teeth in the future and I'm there, I'll let them get in a few proper ones first before I decide to help you out."
"Sounds good to me since I almost gave your dentist a migraine."
The two shared a long laugh, having to restrain themselves to calm down. The tension dissipated all the while, settling into a renewed sense of two friends making jokes off the other.
Duncan shifted around in his seat, an unconscious fidgeting in response to the question that he asked right after. "How about another meetup?"
O'Reilly's laughter died down, replaced by a silent seriousness. "What?"
"How about it, another meetup?"
"...You sure about that?"
"I'm sure. I want to hear more about this group you're with. I at least want to know what made you join up with them." He shrugged. "Who knows. You might change my mind and convince me to rethink everything from before. Might."
O'Reilly considered it as he scratched his stubbly beard. "Well, if you don't try to push my teeth into my brain with that fist of yours again, I think that might be a good idea."
Duncan held his hands up. "I'll keep these to myself this time, promise. Let's just have a meetup like we planned before. I already talked it out with Erica so I can just take a flight to you in another hour."
"Erica, huh? Hey, quick question, how long is she expecting you to be gone?"
"At least till tomorrow. Why?"
"...That." O'Reilly cupped his chin in thought, "should be enough."
:********:
The flight from Falchion to New Alexandria was faster than he remembered it being the last time. It was for the most part a blur, mainly because he spent most of the time thinking. He weighed his options from the point that he departed his transport all the way to the sidewalk in New Alexandria where the taxi dropped him off. The conversation he was soon to have held the bulk of his attention so that he wondered about the streets and highways barely thinking about the throngs of pedestrians, blinking traffic lights or corresponding vehicles that formed the evening traffic.
It took him a little under ten minutes to reach the place where he and O'Reilly were supposed to meet. As he walked on, he came into a wide public square named 'Memorial Square' by a few signs. The grounds were paved in most places save for where grassy lots were setup. Hundreds of the city's denizens were either passing through or bringing in kids to hang around the grassy areas.
Duncan made his way down a paved path hemmed in by white magnolias and small pine trees. Every so often he would glance at the people walking along, standing in place or sitting in benches besides the metal fencing that ran the length of the path. They moved leisurely, chatting with who he figured were friends, family or close interests. None of them seemed to have a care in the world, unlike him since he moved forward with a preset determination in each stride. He was aware of his reason for being here probably better than anyone else.
What he didn't expect was what he would find once he reached the end of the path.
The square had an inner area. It was diamond like with a width and length of equal diameter. It was around five hundred square meters of nothing but paved walkways surrounding a small pool. The translucent water inside the pool rippled out from a three-dimensional, diamond-like shape nearly three-meters tall. The structure was made of a black-granite material with its tip pointed upwards. Barely visible outlets near the top released low pressure water so that it rippled slightly, glistening within the evening light in its descent down the facets to the basin below.
The feature that drew in his attention and held it was a smaller detail that he could only have seen as he stepped closer.
On the frontmost face of the object there was an engraving:
"This sight is dedicated to the victims of the January 6th Bombing of the Molnar Colonial Bank Regional Headquarters which claimed the lives of over 670 people. Their loss will never be forgotten, but the memories of the legacy they have left to us will endure."
- New Alexandria Municipal Authority (Dedicated May 6th, 2544)
It was a memorial.
No wonder he felt that he recognized the place when he first walked in. The revelation was immediately discomforting, especially as he eyed the area around him full of people hanging casually about.
This pool, this entire square, was constructed upon the cleared foundations of the Molnar building.
The memories flashed through his mind quickly like lightening striking a tree full down the bark. There was the towering piles of rubble and hot-red structural beams jutting out like a crown of thorns in different places, the screams and cries for help of persons buried under the rubble. There were the agonized faces of those they rescued, and the expressionless ones of those they couldn't, the heat that pricked his skin from the uncontrolled firestorms, and the omnipresent, acrid odor of ash that threatened to suffocate him inside his armor.
"Hey, Sunny Jim, over here!"
The voice thankfully broke him from his innermost thoughts. He turned to see O'Reilly hailing at him from where he leaned on the memorial's encircling wall.
Duncan made his way over and the Irishman slapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome back."
"Good to be back, although I hope I don't end up having to floor you this time around.
"Like I said before, you'd be the only one getting floored." O'Reilly threw a fake elbow lunge at his jaw which the two laughed off as they came to lean on the wall. "Now, look, I already told you ma'story. What I'm about to tell you now is going to be hella complicated so just keep an open mind, alright?"
With another nod in response, O'Reilly began. "When I told you we have a place of our own, one where Erica and Noah could be safe," He leaned in so that his voice was barely above a whisper. "I meant that we have a planet of our own. It's our personal refuge, a hideout if you would."
Duncan struggled to contain his own shock at the very idea and he kept his voice at the same level. "What do you mean you've got your own planet?"
O'Reilly shrugged. "It's a work in progress. I can't tell you much more than that besides the fact that I've been there myself. I can say from firsthand experience that we've got a place that can survive this war."
"I'm going to need a few more details than that, Riley."
"Like I said, that's as much as I can give, about that topic at least. I can only say more when you agree to signing up with us."
"Right. And who's us again? That was one question I never got answered last time."
"They're...we're..." O'Reilly scratched at his beard as he looked for a good explanation within his watery reflection. "We're something like...handymen."
"Handymen?"
"As in we come in handy a lot for a lot of different things...for a lot of different people."
Duncan moved closer. "Come on, let's get specific here, Rile. What kind of things? What kind of people?"
"Security." O'Reilly admitted. "That's our main focus. We carry out ops that require people with guns who know how to use them better than anyone else around."
Duncan arched a brow. "Handymen, huh?"
"We come in handy."
"So who hires you? Employers, I mean."
"Security contractors who need additional hands, transporters trying to get a shipment somewhere safely. We make sure things stay civil."
"...Like mercenaries." Duncan's question came out more like a statement of fact than the inquiry that it was supposed to be.
"...Basically. We're guns for hire."
"And who hires you most?"
"Whoever's the highest bidder for our services."
Duncan swallowed as he dared to press further. "So, what's the name you guys go by?"
"Can't say. Not yet."
"Not until I sign-up."
"You're catching on, boyo, you're catching on."
Duncan thought it over a little, balancing the possibilities in his head. He thought of Epsilon and wondered what they would think if they knew he was in this situation right now, and what they would say. "It sounds...doable."
The grin already on O'Reilly's face grew. "Doable enough to sign-on?"
"...Maybe."
O'Reilly turned about to face him, leaning on his elbows against the wall. "We don't do maybe's, Duncan. Or at least I can't tell my boss that. It's either a yes or a no, straight and simple. Here and now, make up that sharp mind of yours. I know you'll make the best choice."
"What happens if I say 'no'?"
The ex-ODST shrugged. "Then I leave you alone to keep fighting that war you believe in so much."
Duncan put his hands on his hips pensively. "And if I say 'yes'?"
He didn't think it possible for O'Reilly's smile to widen any further, but it did in an almost Chesher cat-like manner. "Then I'll bring you to my people, get you introduced n' show you the ropes. Keep in mind that we're more a community than a fighting force. We're self-sustaining and we allow our people to bring their families to the place we use as our base of operations. That way they can be sure their folks are safe while they're off on the job."
"You're own personal doomsday shelter." Duncan thought aloud.
O'Reilly nodded. "And think of this as me rolling out the welcoming mat for you. So," He clasped his hands together in a business-like fashion. "What'll it be?"
Duncan slowly straightened up. He took in a breath and mulled over the external and inner dialogues that had all worked together to bring him to this point. He exhaled and gave his answer.
:********:
The hotel was just as unassuming as Duncan expected. Located in downtown New Alexandria, it was built at the base of one of the city's many skyscrapers, though in sharp contrast it only stood at 10 stories.
Him and O'Reilly walked out from the taxi that had transported them the last few kilometers to their destination. They crossed the sidewalk, headed up the stairs and slipped over a wide veranda to the front doors.
Inside was a different story. Coming into a foyer, they walked on red carpeted flooring interweaved with golden vineyard patterns that traced their way to the front desks. Multiple chandeliers helped light the space where guests were speaking with floor workers standing behind adjacent counters to the left and right. Room and suitcase arrangements were being made, and a few bellhops dressed in nifty red vests and black pants tugged gurneys of baggage to the elevators.
Duncan whistled. "Can't judge a book by its cover, I guess. How'd you guys even manage to afford a place like this?"
"Grit, hard work and determination."
Duncan gave him a disbelieving look. "Really?"
"Hey, listen, I can't tell you the exact specifics myself. I'll let the boss break that down for you once we get up to the room."
They headed to the rearmost counter. As they did, Duncan pushed further on the topic; "Yeah, about that, so what's the boss like?"
"He's a nice guy, pretty well-liked by everyone. Oh, and so you won't get creeped out by this later, just know that he smiles a lot."
"...Well, that's...not creepy at all."
"You'll get used to it. In fact, I think you already are."
Duncan, though never showing it, caught the slightest hint that his friend was suggesting more than he was about to let on directly. Once they reached the counter, he watched O'reilly check him into the hotel as a guest. The process took less than a minute before they were on their way to an elevator.
They came off on the 8th floor and went left down a lengthy hallway lined with room doors and decorative lamps mounted on vibrantly tan walls. Coming to a stop at one of the very last doors, O'Reilly knocked once, stopped for a full five seconds then knocked twice.
"Who is it?" A gruff voice called from the other side.
"It's orange bandit, who else."
"No, not you, I mean the blue-eyed guy next to you."
Duncan quickly realized that whoever it was, they were able to see him just fine. He finally noticed the peeping hole at the upper center of the door but made sure to look as relaxed as possible. It was no easy feat given that he still didn't exactly know what was waiting for him on the other side of the door. If he made any wrong moves, they could very well end him with a high-powered weapon.
O'Reilly glanced at him then back to the door. "Oh, this is him, the guy I was telling you about."
There was a pause. "So, he agreed then?"
"He's here, isn't here? I wouldn't have brought him if he didn't."
There was another brief silence in the hallway punctuated by the ticking of an antique clock mounted to the nearby wall. Then the calm was undone by the undoing of several locks.
Duncan felt his breathing become markedly more strained upon seeing the door open. Standing just behind the threshold in what looked to be a short corridor was a man in a simple civilian attire: white shirt, black jacket, jeans and tennis. But he could tell right away that he wasn't a civilian or anything remotely close. For one, he had a chiseled jaw and a sharp, arrow-like nose, both marred by several scars that looked simultaneously like burn marks as well as something a knife could do. His blonde hair was buzz cut remarkably close to UNSC regulation length. His dark eyes, which were encircled by a similar darkness that gave him the unintentional appearance of a raccoon, narrowed in suspicion. The last giveaway was his firm grip on an M90 shotgun, keeping the barrel pointed down at the ready position.
Ready to blow him away at a moment's notice, Duncan thought, swallowing hard.
"Geeze, you didn't have to bring your whole piece out with you." O'Reilly said. "What if someone else here sees you carrying that thing, huh?"
"You're missing the point here, J." The man said firmly, not taking his eyes off Duncan. "I don't know this guy and I don't trust him yet. You do, I don't."
"Alright, alright." O'Reilly gestured between the two of them. "Duncan, this is Quinn. Quinn, this is Duncan. Now, why don't you let us in so we can get him more affiliated with everyone else."
O'Reilly took a step forward and Duncan followed him. But Quinn raised his shotgun just enough so that it pointed at the latter's feet, stopping them both midstride.
"Oh, come on-"
"What's in the bag?"
"Huh?"
Quinn nodded at Duncan's backpack. "That looks mighty big. Mind showing me what you've got in there?"
It was less a question and more a command. Figuring that much out, Duncan took off his pack and handed it over.
Quinn held it one-handed. He still refused to put the shotgun down to check it with his other hand and called over his shoulder. "Hey Al, get up here."
In response, a figure trotted down the corridor. Duncan could see that the man coming to them wasn't much of a man or at least hadn't been one for very long, appearing in his late teens or early, early 20s. The guy sported a head of short-cropped auburn hair accompanied by a lightly freckled face. He had a jeans and T-shirt setup similar to Quinn and the hazel-hued, wide-eyed disposition of a kid seeing the world beyond his bedroom for the first time. That wonder seemed to grow at spotting Duncan, only to fade a little as Quinn shoved the bag into his hands.
"Check it. Make sure there's nothing in there."
The kid named Al looked it over. "Seriously, that's why you called me out here? The guys are-"
"Just shut it and check it, alright?"
Al sighed in defeat and started rummaging through the several zipped compartments of the black, leathery pack. "What am I looking for exactly?
"Anything that's suspicious."
Al's confusion became evident on his face while he pulled aside one very suspicious shirt after the next. "Like?"
"Wires, listening devices, weapons, secret sections, anything that can cause us trouble."
"Got it."
O'Reilly tapped an impatient foot on the floor. Duncan stayed quiet while Quinn watched him stoically, his finger right on the trigger.
After sifting through nothing other than clothes, water bottles and starship food, Al settled on the last and smallest compartment on the front. He was about to come up empty when his hands caught a hold of something that made that curious gaze come back. He pulled out what he found. Quinn took a look as well out the corner of his eye.
Duncan stiffened, knowing exactly what he'd pulled out.
They were five solid-state pictures printed on a paper format. One was of Erica in a beautiful red dress at a ball, standing with hands on hips and smiling at the camera. The other was of a newborn Noah dressed in baby clothes and lying asleep on a special cot, red-faced from his most recent transition out of the womb. The third was of Erica holding a five-month-old Noah in a park. The fourth was of Duncan in his graduation uniform. He was holding Erica in his arms on Nassau Station while she was still pregnant. The last was of him carrying Noah as he was now in one arm, hugging Erica at his side with the other. They were outside the Dante Building, smiling while she used a pad to take an overhead picture.
Al's face screwed up a little in examining the images. He glanced between them and Duncan, his face reddening more in embarrassment each time as it dawned on him what he had actually pulled out.
"Oh...ugh, sorry man, really."
"It's no problem." Duncan lied, using a patient smile to hide his rising anger. He closely watched the auburn-haired kid placing the pictures back. Quinn kept an eye on him, although at that point he could care less.
Al at last shook his head. "He's got nothing on him."
"You sure?" Quinn asked sternly.
"Positive."
The shotgun wielder took another long look at Duncan before gesturing at Al to give him back his bag. "Welcome to the crew." He said and nodded them inside.
Duncan followed O'Reilly's lead down to the point of shadowing his steps. He heard Quinn shut the door and slip the locks back into place. The buzz cut blonde quickly gave him a quick pat down. Feeling more assured that way, he and Al led them down the corridor.
Duncan got to see up-close how different these two were stature-wise. Though O'Reilly was roughly the same height as himself, Quinn was brawnier and a bit taller. Al on the other hand was short, being barely above his own shoulder. He could understand one of them being a gun for hire but not the other who looked like he should still be in high school. Then again, he remembered that Zack had dropped out of high school to immediately join the ODSTs and wondered if he should write off someone like Al just yet.
They came out into a more open area. Judging by the commodities, it was a large, conjoined space with a living room, kitchen and bar. There were several white sofas in the living room all arrayed around a holo-projector unit on the wall. A dozen people sat there, mostly men with a few women among them. They were dressed in civilian clothes and watching Waypoint's Evening Show host Daniel Romello, a slick-haired guy in a matching suit. He was sitting behind a glassy desk while conveying the latest happenings in the inner colonies. A few more of the room's occupants were lounging around the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge and pantry. The rest were sitting at the handful of stools setup in front of the bar. They poured themselves drinks of golden tequila, honey colored cognac and silvery vodka into waiting glasses.
Everyone was busy watching, eating or drinking. But shortly after Duncan was in the room, he had every eye honing in on him.
Just then a nearby door opened. The toilet on the other side was flushed and a man stepped out. He was dark-skinned, brawny, strong-jawed and about the same height as Quinn. He saw the four coming. His brow furrowed at spotting the newest addition and he stepped in their way. "Woah, woah, who's this guy?" He gestured at Duncan.
"He's our newest recruit." Quinn said reluctantly.
"Yup, he's part of the club now." Al quipped beside him, slipping his hands satisfactorily into his pockets before meandering off to the kitchen.
O'Reilly stepped up. "I brought him in and convinced him to sign up. He's clean, Al already checked out his stuff back at the door. Now can you move, Hask?"
The guy didn't budge as he sized up the newcomer.
It was only the voice of another that caught his attention. "Leave him be, Haskin, let him through."
The voice was even and calm, like someone who was relaxed. It was also firm enough to bend the will of the man in front of them, making him move aside. Duncan thought it too familiar for his liking.
Quinn brought them to the front of the living room before returning to his post at the door.
Duncan took a look around, trying to figure out who had spoken.
Suddenly the holo-display behind him winked off. He managed to see the man above whose hand the holographic control display was being emitted.
Even sitting down, it was obvious he had an average height and decent build with the atmosphere of discipline and undiscipline held on a leisure balance of calm. His caramel hair was buzz cut like many of the others yet also slicked back. His beard was still scraggly and well-combed. But what remained his most recognizable features were those sleepy eyes. They emitted more suspicion than exhaustion as they settled on Duncan. Last was the honest smile presently on his face that widened imperceptibly, just as it had during their first meeting on Miridem.
"Good to see you again, Duncan." Captain Stewards remarked as he kicked his feet up on the sofa. "And how've you been this last year or so?"
There were a few confused looks from the people sitting around the kitchen, bar and living room. Al and Haskin were among those who turned from what they were doing to tune into the conversation. It was only O'Reilly, the one the captain was talking to and Stewards himself who appeared unconfused.
Duncan's mind became blanker than a clean sheet of paper. He struggled to collect his scattered thoughts. Memories came flooding back of the op at Misriah Armory's manufacturing and storage facility on the outskirts of New Memphis, of how he first met this very same man at the facility's private maglev station. He couldn't recall Stewards ever having any interaction with him specifically. Why then was he acting like he was so familiar with him? The most he could honestly recall feeling towards the captain was an impulse that was both unexplainable and unthinkable. Now, he was remembering it with full clarity and was starting to understand, if just barely, why he'd gotten it. Now he knew for a fact or could at least reasonably presume that everyone in this room, some of which he recognized when he first came in, were indeed members of the same affiliation, O'Reilly included.
Getting no answer to his original question, Stewards raised a hand in his own defense. "Yeah, I know, this must be a shock to see a face that you didn't expect to see again. Believe me, it's a surprise to me too. I don't think much of my people even remember you. Can't blame them though since Harper always had you all with your visors on. On that note," Stewards rose in his chair and leaned in. "How'd your platoon fare after Miridem?"
The memories the question brought up were both cold and bitter. Duncan fought them down, feeling like he didn't owe him any explanation. Still, he gave it.
"We're more of a squad now than a platoon."
The answer hit an unexpected mark and he saw Stewards' polite smile dim somewhat. "I see...I'm sorry. You have my condolences."
No matter what he thought of the man, Duncan could sense the earnestness in his words. They caught him off guard in more ways than he was expecting: primarily that a mercenary would care about Helljumpers he only knew for about two weeks.
"You know," He continued. "I used to tell our newest additions whenever we got them about what you guys did at that maglev station, how you fought alongside us. I even told it to O'Reilly a while after he joined up. And what do you know, as it turns out he just so happened to know you and connected the dots at that coffee shop."
Duncan peeked back at O'Reilly who offered a confirmatory nod. A number of the guys in the room, especially Al, began looking more closely at the newcomer. They eyed him with increasing curiosity the way a kid would at seeing the fairy tale character their parent told them stories about suddenly coming to life.
"When Riley initially told me that he could bring an old friend to our side while we were here, I told him to go for it. Low and behold, it was you. I was hoping you'd bring happier tidings though. It's sad to hear what actually happened after we left. I liked you guys; I really did. However, I'm guessing that you didn't leave the ODSTs because you lost comrades. I think you came here of your own accord looking for something else. What might that be, per say?"
Duncan allowed a bit more of an answer to slip through his guard. "I came because I want to find a place where I know my family will be safe until this war's over." He glanced at O'Reilly. "I was told you could give me that."
Stewards rubbed his chin in consideration. "We can arrange that, no problem. The thing is..." He sat straighter. "I don't trust you enough for that yet."
"What?"
"Sure, you're quitting the ODSTs and the UNSC by extension. That's good and all but you're still fresh."
"What do you mean 'fresh'?"
Stewards held out his hands in an offering gesture. "Listen, we love to bring in new people to our cause, especially when their ex-UNSC. It just proves our point more and more each time. Even so, we don't tend to take people right out of active duty. We like to give them a grace period to think things through, usually a few weeks or months after they've already abandoned the job. In a manner of speaking, you still smell like MREs, four o'clock wake-up calls and HEV propellant."
"So then, you're not letting me join?"
Stewards waved his hand, dismissing the idea. "Oh no, we don't throw out the harvest just because it's fresh off the field. Quite the opposite. The only thing is that we won't be able to bring your family, not until we know you're a trustworthy element in our ranks and able to pull a bit more weight than just your own. We want to make sure you're really with us on a level of professional fraternity and fellowship. You get me?"
Duncan pinched at his forehead which had become wrinkled from how hard he was furrowing his brows. The impression he got about bringing Erica and Noah was completely different from the reality. Sadly, O'Reilly hadn't lied at all and merely told him that the captain would give him more details. He certainly was, mostly the ones he didn't like. "I'll have to prove myself to you then?"
"At least once on your first mission." Stewards agreed. "After that, depending on how you perform, your wife and kid can have arrangements made for them. You see, we can't just have folks dying on the first mission or showing up once then abandoning their folks in our care. It's a co-equal relationship."
"And I have your word on that?"
The captain leaned forward even more. "Only if you seal the deal with me now and make it official." He held out his right hand.
Duncan cautiously approached it. That memory came screaming back to him again like it did at La Grotte, an unexplained and unearned impulse that had noticeably dulled overtime. He used his will to suppress it. With the same hand that had unconsciously reached towards his rifle back at that station, nearly acting on the overwhelming impulse to kill him, Duncan grasped the man's hand and shook it.
Steward's smile widened. "Welcome to the AMADDS, Duncan. I'm looking forward to working with you."
Transfuga – Deserter