1927 HOURS, APRIL 24, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /
VALLEJO CITY, PLANET BALLAST, EPSILON ERIDANI SYSTEM
"Keep walking Fred. Just a few more steps."
Aside from the footfalls of six people, the soft-spoken mantra was the only sound to break the silence permeating the tunnel.
Strange shadows - the product of twin lines of emergency lights that ran the length of the tunnel at ground level - danced along the subway walls on either side of the small group, keeping pace with them as they slowly made their way through the defunct track. To avoid drawing any extra attention to themselves, the faint green light strips were the only source of illumination in the otherwise dark tunnel.
Progress was slow, even with a Spartan on point and at the rear of the group. Fred led the group through the dark passageways. He was followed by Graham, the begrudging scientist walked with his hands bound in a set of Alpin's zip ties. Behind the ONI operative, Ellsworth limped slowly, his right arm slung over Alpin's shoulders, and his left arm supported by Alex. Alex had her right arm around the injured man's lower back and her left hand was up near her shoulder, tightly gripping Ellsworth's.
For the first time, Fred noticed the glint of a wedding band on their clasped left hands. He realized now that he had never learned the engineer's last name.
"We need to stop," said the woman in question, breaking the monotony of their travel through the tunnel. "He needs to rest for a minute."
Fred consulted his mission clock. They were behind schedule, but within acceptable parameters. He nodded. "Tighten up," he said, "we'll stop for five minutes."
Alex immediately led Ellsworth to the side of the tunnel and helped him sit down. Kelly moved forward and knelt beside them before removing one of her gauntlets. She reached out and gently prodded Ellsworth's ribs for a moment.
True silence kicked in at that point, not even broken by Alex's quiet mumblings of encouragement. It was heavy. Fred's ears started ringing, unaccustomed as they were to the idea of soundlessness. In the quiet, his mind began to scramble for a distraction.
How could he have neutralized the Knight faster? How could he have protected Ellsworth? What was he going to do to make up for it now that he failed, and the young man could well die? The questions continued to roll into his mind, unbidden and distracting.
"You were going to tell me how you got your name, remember?" Kelly asked, her melodic voice breaking the oppressive silence. Not for the first time, Fred's mind clung to the tone and timbre of her voice like a drowning sailor clinging to a life raft in a tempest.
"What?" Ellsworth hissed in discomfort as the large woman continued prodding his injured torso.
"When we were staking out the park a few hours ago, you asked for a raincheck on the story behind your name. I'm cashing it in." The Spartan said it so nonchalantly, she may as well have been discussing the subject over breakfast. Not behind enemy lines on an occupied world.
"Is now really the time?" Ellsworth grumbled. "I don't mean to complain, but it hurts to breathe."
Kelly nodded, though Fred doubted any of the others could see the movement in the darkness. "Yes, now is the time," she said. "I need to feel how your broken bones move while the muscles in your torso move to make sure they won't slice you up beyond repair. If you talk, I'll get a better understanding of it. Besides," she added with a ghost of a smile in her voice, "I'm bored, and you owe me a good story."
Ellsworth exhaled slowly, saying nothing for several seconds, seemingly focused on his breathing. Fred wasn't sure if he would comply or not. But then, Kelly could be very persuasive. She almost always got her way.
"My dad was always sick when he was little," Ellsworth finally began. "He had an auto-immune disorder, and his body just refused to be healthy. There were treatments for it, but Grandma and Grandpa were poor farmers and never had the kind of money to be able to pay for it. They eventually resigned themselves to the idea that my dad might not grow up."
He paused, letting out a cough that sounded concerningly wet. His entire body jolted when he coughed, and his face screwed up tight in a grimace. After a few moments the tension across his face subsided and he continued. "Dad was the second kid. One night Grandma heard Dad's older brother praying, saying he wanted to trade places with Dad. She kind of brushed it off, but then one day Dad suddenly started getting better. He stopped getting sick, he started being able to play outside, and his tests started coming back showing huge improvements."
Despite himself, Fred listened intently. Looking around he saw everyone was actively listening to the story. Even Graham seemed to be paying attention as Ellsworth continued.
"The weird thing was," Ellsworth said after a while of silence, "Dad's brother suddenly started getting sick. According to Grandma, Dad got better at the same rate that his brother got worse. By the time Dad turned six his immune system was running even better than average, and his brother was dead."
"They all took it differently," the young man continued, wincing as he took a misstep. "Grandma called it a miracle until the day she died. Grandpa threw himself into his work for a long time as a distraction, but he was always protective of Dad. Dad always told us about how his brother saved his life, and Mom insisted that they name me after him."
There was a strange twinge in Fred's chest. Daisy and Ralph were the first ones to find out about the flash clones that had replaced each of them. It would be a lie to say that Fred had never wondered about his – whether it had died, if his family had mourned, if it somehow beat the odds and lived a long life. As it turned out, the clone did exactly what it was intended to do; take a young child's place just long enough to avoid suspicion, and then die. He didn't know if he felt pity for the clone or not. It had a purpose, just as he did. From an objective standpoint, it would be difficult to determine whose life's mission was the more unsavory.
He had to wonder – if this Ellsworth family was the one into which he was born, what circumstances precipitated this miraculous recovery? Perhaps an agent from the Office of Naval Intelligence, wracked by the guilt of their involvement in the abduction and replacement of a small child, had arranged for a younger sibling to receive the treatment necessary to save his life.
The Spartan doubted the act could be attributed to someone higher in the program like Dr. Halsey. Not only had he never seen her express any feeling of guilt or remorse over the more morally ambiguous factors of the SPARTAN program, but she also couldn't have risked allocating funds as reparations to any of the families of her candidates without drawing attention. Others, like Mendez, wouldn't have had access to that kind of funding. Besides, he hadn't even met the candidates until they were on Reach.
The whole situation painted a large question mark in his mind, though it was one he would never investigate. In all honesty, he would rather believe it was all just a coincidence. There had to be hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of Ellsworths spread across the Orion Arm. It was completely feasible that there were other Ellsworth families on Ballast itself. This could all just be one great big circumstantial confusion.
His practical mind, however, refused that explanation. That many ducks didn't walk in such a tidy row by accident.
"So where is the rest of your family now?" Alpin asked, breaking the silence. Fred found himself grateful for the intrusion on his thoughts.
Ellsworth sighed and slowly raised a hand to rub it across his face before hissing sharply and changing his mind. "Grandpa and Dad died when the Covenant found Ballast a few years ago. Dad was a police officer and Grandpa was a retired CMA reservist, so they both went out and fought. Grandma went a couple of years later, and then Alex and I got my mom and little sisters off-world."
Kelly let out a low whistle as she replaced her armored glove. "Moved them off-planet?" she asked. "I can't imagine that was cheap."
Alex tipped her head to one side and looked at the floor. "I'm an only child, and my parents were pretty well off. They died when Freddy and I were in high school, and his family took me in. We used my inheritance to pay the tickets for the girls, and we have been working to get enough money to follow them."
She looked at Ellsworth and tenderly rubbed the back of her hand against his cheek. "It seemed like such a good idea after the Covenant," she said. "It seemed like they'd be so much safer closer to Earth. But now we just don't know."
Another heavy silence fell among the group. Heavy, but not as oppressive as before. Still, Fred wasn't a fan. Too much time to think.
"It's time to go," he said. His voice sounded strange to his own ears. He brushed the thought aside. "We don't want to get locked out because we were late for curfew."
Alpin leaned down to help Ellsworth rise as gently as possible, though the man still grunted and winced his way to his feet. As they struggled to prepare to move again, Kelly came to Fred's side.
"Quite the story," she said quietly, watching Ellsworth. Her hand bumped against Fred's again. For a reason not even he was sure of, he pressed his own hand to hers, taking some comfort from the contact.
"Very entertaining," he answered her. "It's time to get going. Take point, I'll hang back."
Hands still pressed together, her index finger slipped around until the pads of their fingertips touched for just a moment. She then withdrew her hand. "Copy that, Lieutenant Freddy," she said, her crud-eating smile all but visible through her helmet.
Fred shook his head and tapped his finger on the trigger guard of Ellsworth's SR-85, which was currently replacing his ruined DMR. "Call me that again and I'll shoot," he warned.
Kelly dismissively waved her hand at him over her shoulder and cockily sauntered away, taking the lead position of their tiny convoy. The others filed in behind her, Ellsworth moving at a slightly quicker pace following his rest. Alpin appeared to be relishing his infrequent opportunities to jam the barrel of his rifle into Graham's shoulder blades whenever the scientist slowed his pace.
Fred let a small smile cross his face at the sight. While the mercenary's loyalties may not have aligned with his own, it was obvious that Alpin was no advocate of those who betrayed his team's confidence. There was some hypocrisy in the fiery haired man's reaction, but Fred was willing to let it slide for the moment.
The Spartan stayed still for several minutes to allow the rest of the group to gain some distance from him. After all, he was no use as a rearguard if he didn't allow enough space to warn the others of danger. As they disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel, he was left once again with his own thoughts.
Far and away his least favorite companion.
Absentmindedly, the Spartan plucked the combat knife from its makeshift home on his left thigh's magmount. He began walking, twirling the blade in his hand and trying hard to rid himself of the image of a young boy pleading with deity for the life of his little brother.
0210 HOURS, APRIL 25, 2559, (MILITARY CALENDAR) /
UNSC PROWLER DUSK, IN ORBIT AROUND PLANETOID DEMOS
Captain Lash awoke with a start from yet another nightmare. Ancient alien weaponry and massacred UNSC fleets. The surreal panic of the dream was already fading, but it had been such a frequent vision that the imagined experience was seared into his memory. Red lights were aglow in his quarters, and an alarm sounded just loud enough to make his tired mind ache. The captain jumped from his bed and snatched up his personal comms set.
"Lash to Bridge, report." He poured himself a cup of something strong enough to clear the cobwebs from his mind.
"Massive Tachyon signature detected, Captain," the heavily accented voice of Ensign Volkov answered. "You're needed on the bridge immediately."
Lash groaned. A quick consultation of his clock confirmed his sinking feeling that he had gotten no more than four hours' sleep. He downed the contents of his cup in a single gulp.
"Copy. On my way," he answered.
The captain hadn't even bothered to change out of his uniform, instead collapsing in a tired pile atop his bed the moment the Dusk returned to its holding station near Ballast. As such, he made a single half-hearted attempt to smooth a few of the wrinkles from his tunic as he stormed to the bridge.
Waters was already there by the time he arrived, the commander nursing a steaming mug of stimulant himself. Lash nodded curtly to the XO before taking his place at the command bench.
"Volkov," he said to the young ensign manning the communications station, "Tell me about that Tachyon signature."
The ensign, a massive figure standing nearly two meters tall and possessing muscled shoulders so broad they somehow seemed to stretch even her custom-fit uniform, turned to address him. "It matches the outline of a Guardian, Captain. All projections show that it can only be one thing."
"That's exactly what I was hoping you weren't going to say," Lash muttered. "Call Commanders Durruno and Yang to the bridge immediately, and wake Freitas as well. We might well need all hands on deck for this one."
As Volkov turned to follow the captain's orders, Waters spoke up. "What are you planning, Captain? We certainly can't take on a Guardian alone."
The captain shook his head and pulled up some readouts on his data tablet. "Open attack would be suicide, and we still have a job to finish." He looked to the officer manning the navigation station. "Lieutenant Pierre, prepare a course back to Ballast. Volkov, activate the satellites immediately. When Commander Yang arrives, begin preparing an encrypted transmission for Blue Team. I want it ready to launch the moment the Guardian leaves the system."
Waters thoughtfully tapped his chin. "We'll be cutting their mission time by more than twenty-four hours, sir. What do we do if they aren't ready?"
Lash sighed and rubbed his eyes. "We might be asking the impossible, but our hands are tied. If they aren't ready, we'll have no option . . ."
No option but to leave them here.
He detested the thought. He was no stranger to the legends surrounding the Spartans. He had seen what a team of Spartans could do against insurmountable odds. He read the reports about the Unyielding Hierophant, he knew what the Master Chief did between the Halo constructs and the conflict on Requiem. He knew well what Blue Team had done for humanity. To abandon them at humanity's darkest hour was practically to abandon any hope at all.
Then again, he once saw a planet literally deconstruct itself into a cloud of deadly Sentinels that melted an entire Covenant fleet. Blue Team had walked away from that incident unscathed.
Spartans didn't only make the impossible possible, they made it doable.
"They'll be ready," he said with conviction. "And we're out of options. Engage cloak."
The bridge grew eerily quiet as the crew waited in suspense. No one dared to breathe loudly for fear of detection. Lash felt his forehead begin to bead with sweat, despite the ship's climate-controlled automations. Seconds stretched, and every officer aboard the bridge found themself praying after each breath they took that it wouldn't be the last.
After minutes that felt like days Volkov finally announced, "Tachyon signal dissipating! The Guardian appears to have changed course."
A collective sigh of relief traveled across the bridge. Lash felt a smile teased the corner of his mouth as he finally moved to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. He was troubled by the thought that Guardians were capable of changing course mid-jump, but he set that aside for later. "Bring all systems back online," he ordered. "They may have taken the bait, but we haven't bought ourselves much time. Alert Blue Team of the change of plans immediately."
As the bridge burst into activity, Waters leaned close to Lash. "How do you think they'll handle our last little surprise?" he asked.
Lash smiled. The Dusk had tarried a few hours more near the gas giant Absalom, spreading its entire compliment of armed HORNET tactical mines amongst the twenty-one satellites that represented the faux Battlegroup SAFADO. The suggestion came from Lieutenant Commander Durruno, who had proven to be an excellent tactical mind in addition to her navigational skill. If they were incredibly lucky the mines might damage the Guardian, though if all they managed to do was humiliate the Created Lash would count it as a success.
"It would have been bad manners to skip out on our welcoming party without even leaving a gift," the captain said with a grim smile. "Let's hope the fireworks don't disappoint."
Author's Note: You didn't really think I'd never get around to telling you who Ellsworth is, did you? It took more than a year but you're finally in on the secret! I hope that it was worth the wait. As a warning - we're about to hit the falling action of this story. I might actually manage to finish my first multi-chapter story. I am so grateful to have had your support so far.