Author's note: Slowed down, longer chapter. I enjoyed writing this, much like I enjoyed writing its counterpart in A Noble Cause. The constant full tilt combat I have going on gets stale sometimes, so it was nice being able to shift gears, refreshing even. Let me know what you guys think, see if I should have more like this. Thanks for reading!
"Do you ever wonder what it would be like? If we hadn't been brought here?"
"Sometimes, but then I wouldn't have met you."
"...You're right. I'm glad I got the chance to meet you, Morgan."
"I know, Kat."
The Phantom touched down in the hangar bay of the Covenant CAS class carrier Shadow of Intent, hovering on a thin pad of air that let the unstable shape of its hull rest without burning the engines endlessly.
Morgan's helmet had come back over her head, sealing her in with the smell of stale sweat and her own breath, something that she had grown accustomed to since being ripped from ONI's claws only a few months before. She stepped down off of the side ramp, the drop only a few feet and more than manageable for her. The Master Chief, following the blue orb that had confiscated Cortana, was watching it like a hawk. Looking back to the Arbiter as his hooves clonked down onto the deck, he nodded in the direction of the retreating Spartan, his long neck craning down as his three fingered hand gestured to follow.
She didn't say anything further, only doing as she thought was best. It gave her time and silence, for the most part. Isolation would be a better term. The sound of dozens of craft in the bay, almost exclusively Phantoms, was loud, but did nothing to drown out the sound of the hooves following in her wake. She could almost feel the orange, lizard like eyes settling on her back, and likely the Master Chief's as well. He had been silent since stepping foot on the Phantom that had brought them here, and she hadn't pushed him. Not yet, at least.
Cortana had been with him during his deployment on the first Halo, before Morgan had taken her, before the injury that had put him on ice since before her arrival at Earth, and who knew how long before that. The first time Cortana had gone into the field had been with Morgan herself, delivering her to the Autumn and the Master Chief. It had only been a few months since then, but Morgan knew how quickly bonds could be formed on the field of battle, especially when someone lived in your brain almost. She had been there, done that, and Cortana held some spot in her heart. She could only imagine what the Chief was feeling after over a month of her being constantly in his armor, maybe even longer than that, only to wake up and find that she had been captured, lost, and gods knew what else.
There was no limp, no problems with his confident stride, nothing to even note that he had been wounded as he had. At least, nothing that Morgan could see. Jorge, as heavily scarred and injured as he had been from his helmetless moments on Reach, had shown his age. He was fast, as fast as any of the IIIs, but becoming Noble's walking support had forced him to give some of it up, armoring himself more than the standard and moving slower, using his brute strength and fortress like defense to tank whatever came against him. If the Master Chief was anything like that mountain of a man, she had no doubt that he was even more deadly than Jorge, and in his own way, even more than herself.
The Master Chief had foregone the customizations that the Spartans of Noble and other Cat2 teams, leaving it stock and streamlined, bereft of any attachments save for the armored pouches along his waist and hips. His skill alone was what kept him in the fight, and with a passing thought, Morgan decided luck had some play in it. Training as well. Her mind returned to Jorge, to Kurt, to how no matter how good the IIIs had been, the IIs would always be a cut above her and her siblings. The legend in front of her only added to that mythical reputation they had been given.
She stepped through one of the doors out of the hangar bay, the buzz of impulse drives and Elites working in the bay being muted by the door, fading away as the Spartans moved deeper into the bowels of the massive assault carrier.
The ship was a behemoth, larger than any Human vessel by several orders of magnitude, and at almost three and a half miles long, it was a city capable of space flight. These had been the lynchpins of Covenant invasion forces, holding legions of Covenant troops to drop on worlds that had no hope in fighting off that many genocidal aliens.
She frowned, looking back at the Arbiter. "So what happened after we got split up, when the Flood had us both under Halo's surface?"
He craned his neck down at her, his gait a flowing stride despite the waddle that his reverse jointed legs gave him. "The Prophets and their lies were discovered, our high council and many of our warriors were slain as the Brutes took action against my people. We learned much that day, and the help of your own warriors helped to stop the activation of the rings. Your… what is the term… Sergeant."
She cocked an eyebrow, her head tilting slightly. "Hair on his face? Big mouth? Always has a fire stick in his mouth?"
He looked confused. "Big mouth?"
"He never stops talking."
His mandibles opened in understanding, before he nodded again. "Yes, John-son. That was his name." His mandibles struggled to make the sound, spitting as he moved them into place.
Six nodded. "Yeah, that's him, and I assume Keyes was there, as well, since she's here and not dead somewhere on the ring."
"The female, yes. She personally pulled the index from the activation console, a brave creature indeed."
Six hummed to herself. "So you decided to throw in with us because you figured Humanity was your best shot at stopping the Prophets?"
He didn't answer immediately, orange eyes disappearing behind the membrane covering them, and then the leathery eyelids, before slowly opening again. "Because you were never heretics, never godless heathens barring our passage of the Great Journey. The Prophets had us make war on your people, to cover up their lies and the truths they hid from us. Billions of your people and my own died because of this, and now we can only hope to make it up by finishing what was started so long ago. We are together in this, now."
Morgan could feel the weight of his words settle into her mind, sinking in and leaving yet another weight on her. Everything had been because of lies, because of wanting to maintain a status quo. Her family, friends, everything, had been taken from her for little reason other than the machinations of power hungry old men. Nothing ever changed, it seemed, and she doubt it would in the future.
The Arbiter didn't prod her further as she remained in silence, merely stalking along as if he hadn't just unleashed a lifetime's worth of questions on her. 27 years of fighting with their collective backs to the wall, billions of Humans dead, and dozens of planets left as nothing more than glittering balls of glass, for what?
What about something more personal? Her own life, of the other Spartans. Where would they be today if they hadn't been turned into last ditch efforts? She couldn't speak for the IIs, but all the IIIs shared that. Complete and utter loss, with orders to throw away the only thing they had left: Their lives. Would they have grown up to be scientists, artists, engineers? What would she have done? Would she have ended up joining the military anyway? She had no clue, and being honest with herself, she could only come across repressed memories from her early teenage years, things she had no answer to even with the revelation she had just been told.
Steeling her jaw so she didn't grind her teeth together and into dust, the Spartan forced it all back under a blanket to deal with when the war was over, or when she was dead. She doubted she'd ever come across the answers she wanted, or needed.
The hallway led down a winding corridor that left them against a closed bulkhead, one guarded by two Sangheili in the jet black armor of special operations, their armor shining against the overhead lights. The Master Chief, his reaction to them tamped down by decades of experience and sheer will, could only ball his fists up and unclench them to fight against the urge to throttle both of them.
Behind him, Morgan watched silently as they appraised him, mandibles spreading, before they caught sight of her and the Arbiter to his rear. Their behavior changed, the pair stepping back and crossing a single hand over their chest, and the door spread apart to admit them.
Six passed by both of them, the harsh overhead lights giving way to a dark room backlit by several screens and consoles, filled with more than a dozen gold and white armored Sangheili, almost all of them turning to see the Arbiter, and two of the legendary Demons. More than a few of them had seen dozens of the armored Humans fighting across the surface of Reach as it was invaded. Some, like the Arbiter, had seen one in the blue armor that Six wore now, at several of the major fights. Mandibles spread and stances changed as they saw two of Humanity's heaviest hitters enter the room, orange eyes dimmed in the low light.
Another stood out to her, a massive white armored Sangheili sitting in a throne hovering a few feet off of the ground, his left pair of mandibles missing. He radiated confidence and the aura of command, compared to the Arbiter to her right, who gave off an air of finality.
Fleet Admiral Hood and Commander Keyes both turned to see the Spartans enter, Hood nodding at them and Keyes showing a hint of a smile. Six and the Master Chief both saluted them as the blue orb that had led the way placed the device Cortana had been stored in on the table that filled most of the room, the beam coming from his 'eye' manipulating it in an attempt to fix its errors.
None of the Humans spoke, all eyes merely watching as the orb continued its work, and the silence was broken by the Elite missing its mandibles. "Will it live, Oracle? Can it be saved?"
The 'oracle' didn't stop its work, the mechanical voice coming from it sounding hesitant. "Uncertain. This construct has suffered too much trauma. Its matrices are… highly unstable."
Six felt a weight in her gut again, one becoming all too familiar these days. The deep voice of Lord Hood spoke up. "Maybe one of our technicians could-"
The big Elite in the gravity chair sat forward, hands on the arm rests as his voice came out brokering little argument. "That will not be necessary."
Hood frowned, closing his mouth with a click that Morgan could hear clearly. The frown on her face mirrored his own, albeit hidden behind her visor.
Suddenly, another light filled the room, an electric blue that had Morgan's eyes on it immediately.
"Morgan!"
Cortana's synthesized voice filled the air, her body appearing on the device as she sprang into life. It was the same as before, the recording showing an urgent looking Cortana, checking over her shoulder and always trying to hide something from someone that none of them could see.
"High Charity, the Prophets' Holy City, is on its way to Earth, and it has an army of Flood onboard. I can't tell you everything. It's not safe. The Gravemind… it knows I'm in the system."
It cut out, the body that belonged to Cortana stuttering and replaying several frames of her animation, showing how corrupted the message had gotten between its conception and their viewing of it. In the corner of her eye, Six could see the Master Chief's shoulders drop ever so slightly.
With silence in the air, she looked back at the Elite on the throne. "It's a message, nothing more."
He lifted one of his large three fingered hands, voice interested. "Let it play."
Her eyes sat on him for a moment, taking in the sight of his missing mandibles, before she looked back to the Oracle. At that, he went on, zapping the device once more and letting the message continue.
"It doesn't know about the Portal, or where it leads. On the other side, there's a solution. A way to stop the Flood without firing the remaining rings-"
Suddenly, her color changed, the electric blue giving way to a sickly green that had Morgan's eyes narrowing, her gut filling more and more with that nauseating weight. Cortana fell to the 'floor', agony in her voice as the last words in the recording went through, her still image staring at Morgan as if she could see the Spartan standing there.
"Hurry, Morgan… the Ark… there isn't much time."
With Morgan's eyes locked onto the still blue orbs that flickered in Cortana's hologram, the Oracle spoke up, apologetic. "I'm… sorry."
The big Elite from before, mandibles flexing as he nodded. "It is no matter, Oracle. We've heard enough. Our fight is through the Portal, with the Brutes and the Bastard Truth!" He slammed his fist on his throne, putting a period to his statement as the other Elites in the room raised their own fists, giving a roar of acceptance. These gold armored Elites had pledged their cause to him, to the Arbiter, and now they would see it finished.
They petered out, and Morgan finally broke the lock she had on Cortana as she heard a weary sigh from Lord Hood, looking at him through the reflection that he put on her visor. "Fine. We'll stay here, hold out as long as we can."
The Elite's shipmaster sat forward, arms against his knees. "Did you not hear? Your world is doomed." He stood from his throne, stepping forward enough that the two Spartans turned their bodies toward him, the Shipmaster sparing only a glance. "A Flood army, a Gravemind, has you in its sights. You barely survived a small contamination."
Hood's temper was fiery, finger up in accusation. "And you, Shipmaster, just glassed half a continent!"
The Shipmaster's voice was low and angry, tension filling the room like a fog. "A single Flood spore can destroy a species. Were it not for the Arbiter's counsel, I would have glassed your entire planet!"
Hood lurched forward, a fist raised and his mouth open, as if to go on, but he was stopped by Commander Keyes, her hand on his shoulder to hold him back, and to ground him once again. "Sir, with respect, Cortana has a solution."
Hood turned back, a disbelieving look on his face and in his voice. "Cortana? Did you see her condition, how damaged she is? She could be corrupted for all we know, and her 'solution' could be a Flood trap!"
Keyes' face was set. "We should go through the Portal, find out for sure."
Hood's anger was back now, but it seemed different. There was no fire, only the weariness that his position and situation had put on him over the years. "What we should do, Commander, is understand – clearly – that this is Humanity's final stand. Here. At Earth. We go, and we risk everything. Every last man, woman, and child. If we stand our ground, we might just stand a chance."
The Arbiter, silent for the majority of the meeting, spoke up. "No. If your construct is wrong, then the Flood has already won."
Six looked over at the other Spartan, now hunched over the holographic table, staring at Cortana still collapsed in pain, her form frozen. She watched him tear himself away from the image, slowly, as he stood to his full height and looked directly at Hood. She could feel the weight of his gaze, even not directed at her. "We'll find Cortana's solution, Sir." He said, his voice hard, a promise more than a statement.
Hood looked at the Master Chief, his mouth slightly open as he decided whether or not it was worth it, then looked to Morgan, and finally back to the Chief.
"You trust her that much? Earth is all we have left..." He trailed off, eyes sinking to the floor as the reality of it all finally hit the older man.
"Sir, yes sir."
The Chief's simple response, hard as steel and backed up by the man's reputation, was as if saying it had already made it fact. It was one that Six was more than willing to put her name on too, and she stepped up, nodding as the Admiral looked back up at the pair.
"This is either the best decision you've ever made… or the worst. Hell of it is, Chief? I doubt I'll live long enough to find out which."
The Admiral shared a glance with Commander Keyes, and she pursed her lips, nodding slightly, before the old man left the bridge without another word. Keyes, with more to do than stand here among aliens and Spartans, followed in the older man's wake.
Six watched her go, feeling the eyes of Elites on her, especially the keen gaze of the half jawed Shipmaster that had returned to his throne. She looked back at him, and green eyes met reptilian orange. Nothing else was said, and Six knew this was no more her place than it was Keyes', but one thing had kept her from leaving without a second glance.
The blue glow that Cortana's still frame left on the holographic display table, and the shade it became as it glared off of the Master Chief's armor and visor, filled her gaze. She stood there, watching him, inspecting him, and it was as if the man inside had fallen asleep, standing hunched over her, committing his partner's image to memory.
Morgan, her breath leaving her in a slow, weary, wind, did all that she knew she could do. She flashed her status light, a solid green that would have grabbed the Chief's attention, and so it did. When he tore himself away from the AI in front of him, Six locked eyes with him through two reflective visors, and flashed her status light again. The green light said it better than she ever could have.
I've got your back.
Several seconds passed before one lit up in Morgan's HUD, one that flashed for the briefest of seconds, and the Master Chief returned to his silent vigil over Cortana's broken form. Nothing left for her to do, Morgan turned on her heel, moving quietly out of the bridge with the eyes of the Arbiter and the Shipmaster on her back.
The Spartan retraced her steps back to the hangar bay she had come in on, passing by several armed and armored Sangheili, wearing armor colors from the blue of the lowest minor to the silvers and blacks of their field commanders and special forces, all of them giving The Demon a wide berth.
She had her eyes on all of them, old habits dying hard despite it all. She would fight with them, do what was needed to put an end to all of this, but she didn't completely let her guard down. They merely returned her gaze, doing little else. They had been given a taste of their own medicine, their people slaughtered by the Prophets in droves as the knife was driven into their backs. They were no happier than she was to be working alongside an old enemy, but there was more at stake now than just old rivalries and bitter memories.
Things changed as she entered the hangar bay once again, around half an hour having ticked off on her armor's chronometer. The UNSC Forward Unto Dawn and Aegis Fate sat resting on the emergency landing gear that all frigate weight ships were given for barely powered landings, side by side in the hangar with more than enough room to spare. Ode to Autumn was halfway through the energy shield at the end of the bay, her heavy MAC guns cold for once in the presence of alien ships. A single Pelican sat off to her right, and the two gray uniforms that stood behind it were her targets. She moved for them, an older set of eyes catching her coming and muttering a word to Keyes, who turned to see the Spartan on her way over.
"Commander," she started, Six's helmet bobbing.
"Commander, Admiral."
Hood's weary face set its gaze on her, the cracks and lines in his aged visage showing less and less the confident commander she had seen on the Cairo, and more and more the tired old man he was becoming. Stress and loss had taken their toll on him, and Six wondered if she would live long enough to look like that.
He cut her thoughts short, his lips pursing before he opened them. "This is it, Commanders. I'll be staying here, trying to coordinate whatever we have left, keep Earth from falling." He looked to Keyes, his face softening ever so slightly. "Miranda, you'll have overall command of all Human forces on the ground, or space, wherever that damned portal leads."
Keyes, not missing that he had used her name, nodded. She was ready for the task. "I'll make sure we get it done, sir."
He turned his eyes on Morgan next, his blue eyes landing on hers, even if he couldn't actually see them. "Noble Six-"
She interrupted him. "Morgan, sir. My name is Morgan."
A ghost of a smile found its way onto his features. He remembered her request to keep her callsign, to try to keep the memories of her squad alive, and that she had given him her name instead implied something else. "Morgan. You'll be given on the ground command of whatever forces you need. If you think you know what to do, then you do it. Spartan intuition and instinct has saved our hides more times than I can count. I trust that the two of you will get it done. Come back to us, victorious, and maybe we'll live to see another day."
With that, the Admiral brought his hand up to the brim of his hat, saluting two of the many Humans he was sending on this wild goose chase, hoping that they would bring something back.
They returned the salute, and when the Admiral dropped his hand, he stepped back into the Pelican's bay and turned to watch them, the bay door closing slowly and sealing him away from them, until it lifted off and the Admiral was no longer visible to the pair.
Six turned to Keyes, towering over the shorter woman, and Keyes looked back up into the golden visor. "Miranda. If we're on a first name basis before we all go out to the unknown, then you can call me Miranda."
Six's helmet tilted slightly, but she nodded. "Morgan, then. Do we know yet what kind of forces are being onloaded for the fight ahead?"
Keyes nodded and started walking, gesturing for Six to follow. "Three frigates, all rearmed, restocked, and ready for a prolonged deployment. We've got six months worth of spare parts, ammo, and food calculated for the heaviest fighting we can load on. Hood is staking everything he can on this and for good reason. Each ship has a reinforced Marine detachment with armor and air assets and an ODST battalion has been embarked, spread across all three ships." A thought came to mind. "You've worked well with the ODSTs we've had so far, haven't you? Despite that rivalry they seem to hold against Spartans?"
Morgan nodded. "I have. More than a few have been friendly, easy to work with. I would hope that they could put that aside for what's coming."
"You and me both. I know that some ODSTs from the In Amber Clad survived the Ring, made it back home with us. Gunnery Sergeant Stacker was one of them, and he's already embarked on the Forward Unto Dawn, if you decide you want company for the ride."
The Spartan's helmet bobbed. "I could deal with him if you order it, ma'am. Johnson too, if he gets bored."
Miranda chuckled, the first since before Crow's Nest had fallen. "Fair enough." Her good natured smile faltered, however, as she remembered the final group of participants. "A team of ONI specialists is coming as well. Led by Captain Greer, your handler from the In Amber Clad. Do you still consider yourself under ONI's control?"
Morgan shrugged. "Hard to tell anymore. So many of us bought it at Reach, I don't even know if they still have us wired up. Are the Chief and I the only Spartans deploying?"
The older woman nodded. "If there were more I would have known before now, but yes. You'll be working together on whatever pushes we need to make, be the scalpel that opens up a section for the hammer to get through. Have you worked with him before?"
"No, not before today. I thought he had been put on ice, and that's what got me sent out instead of him."
"He was. Took a big hit before some of the survivors of the first Halo made it back to Earth. He flatlined more than once before they got him stabilized and hidden away. Cortana worked on him herself, dedicated a lot of processing power to fixing him up. They were still working when Cairo got hit and his awakening was pushed back. I saw him when I returned, but he had only been thawed out, not woken up."
"You think he's ready for whatever's on the other side?"
Keyes looked up at her, a look on her face that all but screamed 'seriously?' Six shrugged, her hands up. "You were out of the fire and awake for all but a few hours when Cairo started going up all around us."
Six frowned, but shrugged. "Point taken. Where am I being berthed?"
Keyes pointed to the lead frigate in the middle, the Forward Unto Dawn, and Six looked over just as the Ode to Autumn touched down on the hangar bay with all the gentleness of a sack of rocks. "The Dawn, officer's quarters just like on In Amber Clad, XO's berth, to be specific. When you get out of your armor, have it checked out in the armory. We're still a few hours out from departure so you have time enough to get food, a shower, whatever you can do. We don't even know how long the trip will be, so… get comfortable."
Morgan nodded, setting off for the Dawn after cutting the conversation to a close. Her chest armor was heavily damaged, and the loss of her motion tracker was fresh in her mind. She cursed herself, having gotten far too used to its presence, and when it went out her loss of situational awareness had nearly gotten her killed several times.
Just like Kat.
She pushed the thought away as soon as it had come in. Kurt had taught them to always trust their mind, their body, their instincts, and most importantly, that gut feeling. He had hammered it into their head, that technology could be broken and fooled, tricked and ripped away, but their mind and body would always be theirs.
It made her cheeks burn with irritation, frustration at herself, at her recklessness since Reach. She had been chasing the end of the war, chasing the little blip of light that was at the end of her tunnel, always running faster and faster to try and catch it as it retreated into the darkness that the unknown brought. Was she chasing a light, or was she chasing death? A final reprieve from what she called 'life'?
Morgan frowned, stopping at one of the makeshift ramps that led into the hangar bays, their elevators lowered to the floor for heavier lifting while one was cut completely for entry from the ramp. She walked up it slowly, in no hurry whatsoever. Running and fighting for far too long left her to force herself to slow down and take it all in, to rebuild her situational awareness. Hell, just to take a breath that didn't come as easy anymore.
At the top of the ramp, she saw Marines and ship personnel moving crates of ammo, food, parts, and more to their places before strapping them down with thick straps of material. A squad of ODSTs, clad in the iconic dark black armor with their blueish-purple opal cut visors, glanced up from where they sat among duffle bags and hard packs to see the Spartan entering, their visors locking onto hers as she returned the gaze.
She really didn't want to deal with them, or whatever their petty rivalry brought up, and she made to move past them, the exit to the hangar just behind and to their right.
One of them stood and moved closer, meeting her halfway. Morgan tensed up slightly as the rest stood, save for one that stayed relaxed, ready to back their comrade up. She hoped against hope that they weren't planning on accosting her so close to the end. A Spartan encounter before the war had ignited the flame of this feud, and she worried that another encounter would mar the end of the war.
He stopped, his heels snapping together as he saluted her, and Six returned it in an instant, her military bearing more than a reflex at this point, before she dropped it and he did likewise, peeling his helmet off.
Morgan felt a smile come to her face as she removed her own helmet from her head and hooked it to her belt. Green eyes met blue, and Morgan's pale, scarred features came face to face with Gunnery Sergeant Marcus Stacker's own tanned, leathery face, marked by the grin he was wearing.
He was the first to speak, his hand coming out ready to grab hers. "Done taking all the glory for yourself, ma'am?"
Morgan chuckled quietly, feeling it in her gut, and her own hand came up to clasp his forearm. "Someone had to finish the job since you decided you were done fighting for a bit."
The two held the grip for a few moments more, neither really wanting to let go, but they both did as Stacker's smile faded, losing none of its genuineness. "I'm glad you're alright, Commander. Congratulations on the promotion, by the way."
She shrugged, her cheek touching her armored collar. "Just another title that lets me do my job with less road blocks."
"Yeah? Ain't seen many Spartan officers. Highest I'd seen before you was the Chief, and I never saw him personally. I did see him come off that Phantom you rolled in on. He back in action again?"
"For now, and hopefully one of us doesn't get knocked out as soon as it all pops off again."
Stacker frowned a bit, his voice lowering so the ODSTs that he had left only a dozen feet away didn't hear more. "His reputation speaks for itself, ma'am. You think he took that hard of a hit and something's not wrong with him?"
She shook her head, narrowing her eyes at him. "I don't know what happened, only that he was out of the fight until just recently. Anything else is either classified or need to know, and I haven't warranted it yet. He's not limping or any more messed up than the rest of us, so I'm fine with letting him lead the way."
He looked back into her eyes, a soft huff being heard only by Morgan, enhanced hearing picking it up over the sounds filling the bay. "Roger that, ma'am."
She glanced back to the ODST's, her eyes rotating even while her head didn't. One of their helmets twisted slightly, as if speaking to one of the others, before swiveling back to look straight at her. They didn't trust her. "How many others made it off of Halo before everything went pear shaped?"
Stacker's expression darkened, and he seemed to age a few years in the several seconds of silence that stretched out. "Just me and Maldini. We got picked up after landfall and you went off on your own. Pelican managed to get us back to the ship for redeployment and we immediately moved deeper inland. Commander called it 'The Library'. We were supposed to guard her, several other regular squads were farther out, multilayered net and all that. Started getting calls about some green popcorn shit and then everything went to hell in an instant."
Six's eyes narrowed, her mouth setting into a thin line of realization. "The Flood."
The Gunny nodded. "Yeah, but something else beat them to us. A group of Covie specials came in, had the Arbiter leading them at first thought, distracted us just long enough for the Brutes that were with him to knock us all out or worse. Right before I blacked out, I saw some massive fuck all Brute with a hammer, real elaborate, have one of his boys snatch me up. Woke up later in a prison cell with Johnson and Keyes. Maldini was kept elsewhere until they gathered us all up."
"The Covenant don't usually take prisoners, Gunny."
He only grinned at her, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Well, they did this time. Loaded us up on Phantoms right about the time the In Amber Clad decided to lawn dart into the walls. Carried us somewhere, like they needed us for something or another. Johnson was real tight lipped after the Arbiter ended up busting us out. I wasn't inside for whatever fight went down or whatever happened, but a handful of ships dropped down and sent more Phantoms to pick us all up, bring us back to Earth."
"Helluva way to get back."
"Wasn't like we had much of a choice. Last flight out and all that."
Morgan hummed, agreeing at least partially, but she had to put an end to this, as much as she didn't want to. "I need to attend to some things, I'll leave you and your boys be."
Stacker nodded and crossed his arms, turning and walking with her as she made her way past the group of ODSTs that he had left on their packs. They all watched her go, and none said anything, but she noticed one of them give her a bob of his head, one that said hello, if nothing else. She returned it, some of her fears assuaged for now.
She held her hand up, waving back over her shoulder until the door closed behind her and sealed out the cacophony that filled the hangar bay. She forced herself to walk slowly, to take a breather for once. There wasn't anything she could do on a naval vessel, short of get in the way or fight off boarders, and neither was high on her list of 'to-dos'.
The armory was located near enough to the hangar bay that it was a short walk even at her slow pace. The doors split open to reveal half a dozen Marines working at putting ammunition and weapons away, all of them looking up to see who had come in. One immediately stood up, recognizing the iconic Mjolnir armor, even if he didn't know the woman wearing it. "Sir! Spartan in the armory!"
His call out to whoever it was rang off of the metal walls, bouncing back and forth and bringing a grimace to Morgan's face. He glanced off to the left, where another Marine, much older and noticeably grizzled, stepped out from behind a stack of ammo crates wiping his hands on his fatigues.
His eyes met hers and once again she found herself staring down someone more familiar than she'd expected to see here, and his words were a mix of amusement and confusion.
"What in the hell did you do to my armor!?"
The southern accent that seemed to permeate the Corps' combatants was deep and rocky as the Master Gunnery Sergeant from Cairo station put his hands on his hips, eyes roaming up and down the battle tested and damaged Mjolnir, disapproval in his gaze.
Morgan's smile was shallow and sheepish, her shoulders rising in a shrug as she unclipped her helmet from her waist. "Broke it in, handled real well until that 'new car smell' you told me about was gone. Everything was downhill from there." Dropping the helmet onto a nearby workbench with a meaty thud, she looked down at the shorter man as he latched onto it, inspecting it for damage. "Anything you can do for me?"
He glanced up, eyes critical as he gave her a look that all but screamed 'expensive', but he let the helmet lie. "Maybe, maybe. Got a shipment of replacements just a few days ago, so count yourself lucky." His eyes settled on the melted spot on her chest plate, a sigh passing through his nose as he gestured to the reinforced workbench. "Yeah, leave it all here and I'll sort through it best I can. Keep the undersuit until you can get replacement fatigues. I don't want you stripping down in my damned armory again."
Six gave him her most winning smile, which wasn't much given her lack of any protracted facial expressions that weren't frowns, and Master Guns held back a grimace as several of her facial scars stretched more than he expected. "You're a peach, Guns."
He shook his head, shooing her away as he grabbed a set of tools from one of the crates. "Flattery ain't gonna get you nowhere, Commander, not if you keep trashing this armor."
With his work cut out for him, he turned away, getting to work on the helmet first to check its internals. Morgan, to her credit, made it out of the armor fairly quickly, dull thuds going through the bench as each piece of the almost half ton armor was set down neatly.
At the end of it, she was left in only the form fitting black undersuit, and she stretched her shoulders as the power armor came off of her for the first time in what felt like forever. There was little more she could do here, and she turned on her heel, moving through the armory and back out into the Dawn.
She felt different. She had grown used to the armor, to being sucked into the sealed undersuit and the heavy powered armor. Spartans grew accustomed to it quickly, many of them seeing it as a second skin that was more of a home than they'd ever get. They grew to feel naked if it was gone, and she was no different, but now that it was off, she felt as if she could breathe again.
Halting her movement, she stood in the hall, slowly leaning against one of the bare walls as it sunk in somewhat. Her armor was her home, her defense against an angry universe, her very being. Without it, she was just another Human, one ripped open and turned inside out and trained into the ground, but still just a Human.
She looked down at her hands, spreading her fingers out and turning them over and over, trying to see the skin beneath the black undersuit, but she couldn't. The air in her lungs left through her nose, slowly, heavily. Green eyes questioned what she didn't know how to answer. What would become of her after this was all said and done? Would she bite the big one on whatever the 'Ark' was? Would she make it out somehow and finally put an end to all this? What would she have to live for if not war?
Us.
A voice sounded in her ears, but no words had come out. She was alone in the hall, and she glanced over her shoulder quickly, but saw nothing. The voice echoed off the back wall of her mind, and she frowned.
Live for us, Morgan.
Kat. Of course it was. Kat would never leave her mind. Not completely. Morgan's heartbeat rose above its normal steady rhythm, the sound of her sister's voice getting to her again. She thought of the dead woman often, if only just the image of her face coming up, but rarely did she hear that voice.
The others, they never slipped into Morgan's mind like she did. The memories were there, but it seemed like Kat didn't want to be relegated to just what had been, but wanted to stay with Morgan, just like she had when they were children. She had always been stubborn, and it felt like her ghost was determined to keep that up.
Morgan questioned the voice, demanded answers. Why? Why should she have to keep going in a world that either stopped for all of them or that she had no place in? She couldn't just throw in the towel at the end of all this and finally take her rest?
Idiot. When will you learn?
Black eyebrows knit together over the green eyes, and Morgan huffed, shaking her head. Was she really going to argue with a dead woman? Was she losing it? Probably. She hadn't had a good rest in years. Or had it been days? She didn't remember anymore. She didn't even know if she had eaten recently.
Her hand came up from where she had let it drop to her side, the black material feeling like cold scales against her forehead as she swiped away a few loose strands of hair that had come out of the bun she had left it in. They were matted to her forehead, the climate control in the armor not having been enough to keep the sweat from hitting her.
She forced herself to get moving again, aiming straight for the quarters she had been assigned. She knew where they were. The Dawn wasn't much different from the In Amber Clad, save for changes in role and payload, but it was similar enough she could find her way around after her two week stint in slipspace.
An elevator ride and a maze of turns later saw her step into the small room. Keyes had been forced off of the In Amber Clad on Halo, but she wouldn't be leaving the Dawn. She'd had enough ground pounding for the year. With the XO deposited elsewhere, it had let the Spartan gain control of the room, something she didn't know how to feel about. She didn't need much, a cot and a blanket. Not even that really. But here she was, in a room with more empty space than she knew what to do with, even her own personal bathroom.
The room had little in the way of amenities. A bed, a desk and console for use in whatever she needed, a chair that looked far too frail, and the door to the bathroom. Having long ago lost her modesty, the Spartan peeled the black suit off and left it in a pile near the door. It fell to the ground with a dull thud. Even the bodysuit weighed nearly 80 pounds, something she noticed immediately as it came off of her. She felt light on her feet, and the cool breeze of the ship's climate control passing over her body let a sigh of what she imagined was contentment pass through her.
Her eyes looked at the bed, where a set of fatigues sat, folded neatly and ready for her to put on. She wanted to just clear it off, crawl into the bed, and wake up pretending it had all been a dream, but she had been pinched and poked more than enough times to know that this wasn't a dream, just a nightmare.
So the shower won out. She stepped into the small bathroom. A sink-toilet combo and a shower just barely big enough for her to stand in, much less turn around in, filled the small room almost completely. Space was at a premium on warships, after all.
Pale white hands reached for the shower knob, turning it on and letting it heat to barely above freezing before stepping in and letting it wash away some of the dirt and grime, the sweat and the smells of the trials that had come knocking at her door. She stood there under the water, relaxing for a bit. She was in no hurry. The ship still had hours before they were set to cast off, still onloading more vehicles and weaponry.
But all good things had to come to an end. She turned the water off after five minutes, not in the mood for warmth, and stepped out. Water dripped down her body in small rivers, the constant pattering of droplets hitting the deck assaulting her ears, but she didn't care.
Her attention was on the mirror above the toilet, one that showed her pale appearance, haggard without looking like she had aged. Her hair, longer than regulation but kept up in its bun almost always, was slicked back from the water, trailing down in a wet mess that ended just above her shoulders. Dark circles had started forming beneath her eyes, and she put a wet hand to them, her fingers brushing against the discolored skin. They stood out heavily against the pale white flesh that made up all of her body. Her eyes roved downward, taking in the sight of multiple raised ridges of white flesh, and other areas that had the angry purple or sickly green of bruises fresh and old. Her chest, where the plasma bolts had splashed against her armor, was an angry red even now, leading from her collar bone down her right breast. Her fingers came up to brush against it, and she felt the telltale sting that it brought, but it was nothing that would stop her from touching it if she wanted.
Her eyes looked up, torn away from the patchwork of scars and blemishes brought on by a lifetime of war and the training it required, her body nothing more than a collage of old battlefields at this point. They instead looked at something else: themselves.
She had heard the quote during training, learning to read body signs both in and out of armor. It came back to her now, and she realized that she had never understood it until now. "The eyes are the window to the soul."
Her lips moved as her reflection echoed the words that she had spoken. Those green eyes, shared between herself and her twin, were dark. They were little more than green rimmed holes, voids that peered deeply into the remnants of the stubborn little girl she had been, sitting angrily at head of an empty dinner table. The fire had gone out long ago, dimming to only an ember that had flared when she was assigned to Noble. Then it was crushed under foot, like a cigarette smoked down to the filter and left on the cold ground.
You were cute when you pouted.
Her eyes searched for the voice again, her lips setting into a tight frown. Was Kat going to bother her forever now? Would she never have a moment of peace again, free of the ramblings of a woman long buried?
No
A sigh. Should she start talking back? It seemed as if Kat could hear her thoughts, no point in making herself look crazy, talking to herself out loud.
The voice didn't answer this time, and she rolled her eyes. Figures. She could almost feel the blue eyes staring holes into her naked back, full lips quirked into a smirk that had always both irritated and amused Morgan. Now it was just an irritant.
The Spartan shook it all off. She needed sleep, she needed to get the undersuit back, she needed food. Too much for her to want to actually do, but needed doing nonetheless. She stepped out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of water that dried rapidly in the current of the climate control system. Already, she was mostly dry, save for her hair. A towel came from one of the footlockers built into the frame of her bed, and she dried the rest of the water off of her before finishing her hair.
She dressed quickly, the fatigues one of the largest sizes they had but still tight against her frame. Her muscles pulled the fabric tight, feeling like the undersuit without the pressure seal. It was comforting, in a sense. Her hair, still damp, went into the tight bun it had been in earlier. Looking down at the fatigues, she saw that there was nothing in the way of identifying marks, save for a patch on the shoulder that had the ship patch of the Forward Unto Dawn sewn into it and the rank insignia for a lieutenant commander. The name tags were missing from it, and she could see the holes in the fabric where the stitching had been removed.
Gathering up the undersuit she had dumped onto the floor, she held it under her arm and left, just as she had come in, and retraced her steps to get back to the armory.
Entering it, she saw the marines had cleared out, save for one. The Master Gunnery Sergeant stood, still hunched over his workbench, but judging by how the armor she left had been moved elsewhere, she assumed he had finished with it.
Rapping her knuckles against the metal wall, she saw him jump, startled, before turning around to shoot her an angry look.
"I'm gettin' too old for this surprise shit," he muttered, but stood completely and crossed his arms, leaning back against the workbench.
"Awake, alert, and alive," she replied, giving him a half smile as she walked over to him and deposited the undersuit on his bench.
He frowned at it, but didn't move to work with it yet. "Took ya long enough."
An eyebrow raised, Morgan giving him a questioning look. "You would have had it sooner, but I recall you having a 'no stripping rule'."
He eyed her with a pointed look, but didn't comment on it further, switching the topic over to the armor pieces on the workbench. "You chose a good time to come in for a tune up. Armor was just as wrecked as when you brought the Mark V set in. Chest plating had completely failed. Another hit there and it would have burned through with enough energy to reach the other side. Heating was enough to melt the motion tracker down, completely scrapped it. Helmet took some hard knocks too, ran a components test and the diagnostics weren't picking it up, but you were about to lose dorsal and side cameras. Another hit and you would have lost them completely."
Reaching down to grab something, a cylindrical object that had several small copper tubes coming from one end, he held it up to her. "Vent capsule for the hydrostatic gel layer. Quarter full, means you were riding it in deep this time. If it hadn't vented properly you'd have gotten real hot, real fast."
He dropped it on the workbench, frowning at it. Morgan mirrored the frown, her eyes tracking the cylinder. "Any idea what caused it to start venting on me?"
He shrugged. "Can't tell for sure with the facilities on hand, or the team of techs required for the kind of work, but probably happened under that big scar you put on it. Multiple hits in the same area and it's a miracle you didn't get cooked like that. Armor's thick, but it's not that thick."
She frowned deeper, remembering the angry red splotch on her chest. "Yeah, about that..." Master Guns looked up at her, questions in his eyes that she avoided. "Anyway, my new armor. Tell me about it."
His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, before he gave up the non-verbal interrogation. "Same specs as before, Songnam did some tricks and got their setup right this time, since we had the prior information to go off of. Came prepainted and ready to go."
Turning to a locker that was resting against the wall, he keyed in his biometrics, the door hissing and sliding open to reveal the same Mark VI armor that she had worn, but brand new. The color was the same, the deep blue that it had been before it was covered in blood alien and otherwise, not marred by the deformed titanium plating that had covered her chest. Scratches and blemishes were long gone, all shiny new titanium, sanded down to a matte surface to prevent glinting in the light.
The shoulder pauldrons were still the same bulky Commando variant, providing all the protection she could want or need. The armored collar remained as well, welded onto the chest plate with perfect accuracy, as if it had been designed like that. The rack for shotgun shells remained, but was no longer an empty rack, replaced by one that had holes for shells, as well as another mount beneath it that held armored pouches to carry more ammunition. She approved of that, at least. Dual scabbards for knives hung ready, one on either hip, and both were already filled by the standard combat knife, honed to a razor sharp edge by industrial forges. The wrists both had mounted electronics, one being a tactical pad that provided a dedicated overview of the battlespace and on the opposite wrist a GPS/INS system for navigation. Her armor could do both, but dedicated utilities were good backups in a pinch. An antenna rose up just behind the left shoulder pauldron, short and made from heavy duty titanium.
She pointed out the antenna. "What's that for?"
He moved around her, peering up at it. "Put that one on there myself. Extra radio-communications gear to augment the armor's systems. Extends the range by about 10 miles, and increases tight beam comms power. But, more than that, it's a redundancy, among other things they've added. More knives, more navigation and tacticals, and now more comms. Like it?"
She shrugged. "More backups means I won't end up getting knocked out as easily. I'll swing whatever hammers you give me, Guns."
He scratched at his chin, trying to think of other things that had changed, but nothing was important enough to bring up that she hadn't already seen. It was the same armor as before, with minor additions. "Well, you already know how it all works. Nothing big changed on it aside from the additions you can see for yourself. Minor shield strength improvements, almost negligible. But other than that, you should be golden."
She nodded, clapping him on the back gently, afraid of breaking his shoulder. "Much appreciated. Help me fit it out?"
"If you ask nicely, maybe." He joked, but gestured for her to take the armor pieces off with him.
The two worked quickly, laying out the parts together just like they had on the Cairo. Twenty minutes had the armor pieces out and sorted properly, laying on the floor in a loose shape of what they should be fitted on. Morgan, ever aware of his rules, took the undersuit and stepped into an separate room where crew served weapons were kept, and emerged several moments later, sans fatigues and once again in the sealed undersuit.
The armor went back on as quick as it had come off, slotting onto her easily. With the Master Gunnery Sergeant doing all measurements and fitting changes as they went, it never felt off to Six. He was a master at his job, and he had earned the right to be called 'Master' many times over.
The helmet came back down over her head with that same smell as the first set, that 'new car smell' that he seemed so proud of. At least it didn't reek of stale sweat and her own breath. Looking down at him from her place in the armor, she nodded at him, her fatigues held under one arm.
"Thanks for the help. I'll keep it nearby."
He waved her off, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the cleaned workbench. "Just another day on the job, Commander."
"Regardless. It's nice to have some support every now and again."
A nod, and he agreed with her. "Speaking of support. Got another one of you in here to work on. Hasn't shown up yet, but I'll be waiting for him."
She turned to face him fully, her head tilted slightly. "The Master Chief?"
"The one and only."
Frowning inside of the helmet, it was hidden from view. "What does he need done?"
"Proper diagnostics and shielding tests. Armor can do it all by itself, you know that, but control samples need to be taken in case of a one off success that fails every other time, and I don't like leaving shit like that to chance. You lucked out, and your armor was already tested. Besides, Keyes ordered it herself, got the work order on my pad," he said, gesturing to a UNSC datapad sitting on the corner of the bench.
Morgan hummed quietly to herself, the sound not transmitting through her helmet speakers. "Thought so. Call me if anything comes up. You know how to reach me."
He spread his arms, pushing off from the bench. "Aye, ma'am. Don't trash this set on the way back to quarters."
"No promises."
Morgan left the armory and its master behind, feeling that familiar tug that the armor put on her. It was powered up, and moving was as easy as if she was wearing nothing. It was easy settling back into an old rhythm, but she could feel the added weight of the comms gear. It was barely noticeable, being nothing more than an extra feather on her shoulder given her augmented strength, but it was there.
She started for her quarters, but thought better of it and changed heading for the mess hall, grabbing one of the chalky protein bars that she loathed but knew she needed, scarfing it down before she had even made it halfway back to her room.
Her quarters were just as empty as she left them, and she went through the process of taking it off and stowing it in a corner, the magnetized boots and pressurized gel layer forcing it to keep its shape and not lean or slide anywhere, even during heavy maneuvers. The fusion pack had enough power that, should all life cease to exist, it would still be there, ready to go, for another thousand years.
The bed frame squeaked underneath her as her heavy form plopped down on it, and with that simple rest, it felt like the weight had increased, all lightness of having the armor off gone. The mattress sagged under her weight as her feet swung up and onto the bed, her head coming down to rest on the pillow. Her hands came to rest on her stomach, interlacing fingers as she lost herself to her thoughts again.
Comfortable?
Her guest was back, and she frowned at it. She didn't deign to reply, and it seemed to catch the hint. Kat was never one to give up so easily, and Morgan listened, waiting, but nothing ever came. Why was she hearing Kat again? She had heard the woman's voice under Crow's Nest, when the building had come down around her, the voice calling out as if trying to wake her up. It had been put out of her mind at the time, little more than an unconscious dream brought on by the fall. But now, she was coming back. Whether it was to haunt her or to watch her back, Morgan didn't know.
Years separated their meetings. Morgan had been ripped away from Beta Company to be little more than a hitman for ONI, and Kat had been shuffled off to Noble. They had both gotten along with other Spartans in their company. That was a given. They were all on the same side, all family, bonded by shared circumstances, but they had always been closest to each other. Even when she had first deployed to Reach on assignment to Noble, they had all been wary of her but Kat.
She remembered the circumstances behind her predecessor's death, and how Kat had blamed herself for it. Carter had as well, but given Kat's planning of the mission, it had hit her hard. Still, she was more than happy to see her sister's return, and shared none of the hesitance that all but Carter had displayed around her. She remembered that first meeting being one of the few times near the end that Kat had smiled with nothing but sincerity, and not at a dark joke or mention of their impending deaths.
It left a hole in her heart, just thinking about it, but that was all she had of them anymore. The memories, bittersweet though they were, would be something she carried with her to the grave.
Morgan let her eyes bore holes into the ceiling, foot idly tapping against its counterpart as she counted the seconds. The smell of the room was wafting into her nose, sterilized steel mixed with her own scent from earlier and even now, barely different but noticeable enough. Sitting there, with only herself and Kat's ghost for company, she waited. Either the war would be over in a few days time and she could move on with whatever life she had left to live, or Kat would be facing her rather than haunting her.
With a mind not meant for these choices, Morgan weighed the chances, and decided that she didn't know which one she wanted more.