15:00, December 21st.
Station Alpha, New Ghent.
John felt his hands tighten on the coffin's roof. Thirteen large coffins had been placed on the deck. Each marked with the serial number of the Spartans that the coffins were meant to represent. Almost half the Spartans sent to fight on Chi Rho had been killed during the fighting, and none of the bodies had been recovered. The Spartans who had survived having been forced to either abandon their dead, or set off their armor's power packs.
It had been the worst Spartan casualties of the entire war up until this point. Thirteen Spartans died in a single day, with another three being crippled for potentially years to come. He glanced at the wheelchair-bound Spartans observing the small ceremony. Black Team and Grey Team were the only ones that had gotten out of the battle complete, with the latter scoring the only conclusive victory in disabling target Gamma, allowing the Coalition to loot the city for all it was worth.
Red, Green, Gold, Omega, Alpha. None had come away without losses, and all the Spartans had lost limbs or taken heavy wounds. There was a profound air of loss in the air. John could feel his cybernetic heart beating inside his chest, the sensation an awkward one. The flash-cloned hearts made from John's DNA unable to match his augmented one. He'd seen the bucket filled with failed flash-cloned hearts that had rejected the augmentations, and been given the option of either staying plugged into a machine, or getting a temporary cybernetic.
He'd been lucky. Linda would in all likelihood never walk again. She'd been operated on for a week straight by the finest neurosurgeons in the galaxy, and still needed a stroller to walk.
Fred was going through the painstaking process of flash-cloning new eyes inside of his socket. According to the doctors, there was 'barely any optic nerve left to connect to.' requiring a slow and agonizing growing process where burnt optic nerve was removed, and the intact tissue was regrown. But at least they were alive.
He'd consigned himself to Kelly being placed with the coffins before him, when he learned that an experimental treatment from the Asari was being prepared. Last he'd seen Kelly, most of her skull had been removed, while dozens of microscopic syringes and probes, which simultaneously injected a cocktail of stem cells and nanites, while electrical impulses brought her brain back to life.
But it wasn't just the Spartans living through horrific wounds. Many soldiers from all armies fighting the Covenant were surviving horrific wounds to be sent back into combat. There were the new micro fabricator/flash clone tanks developed by the UNSC, that could grow a whole cybernetic limb in under a day. The Turian cyberneticist had earned an almost macabre reputation for stalking medical hospitals and turning soldiers who were little more than burned meat, into combat-ready cyborgs and sending them back to the fight. Soldiers discharged over a decade ago were being fitted with new cybernetics and equipment, and given their marching orders.
The UNSC had lost millions of soldiers on Chi Rho. And the soldiers who had survived the bloodiest meatgrinder in human history, were fitted with new cybernetics or given organ regrowth treatments, then given two weeks of leave before they were sent back into the fight.
The analysts had said Chi Rho was covered with so much fissile material and the orbit filled with so much debris, that the planet was functionally uninhabitable for decades. He'd watched a dozen ships crashing into the planet like asteroids from a window on the Trafalgar as it limped back to New Ghent.
'What had it all been for?' John knew the technical answer, he even agreed with it. The Covenant Forces gathered at Chi Rho were an existential threat to the UNSC and Humanity as a whole. It's destruction, or at least its retreat, was required to win the war. So why did it feel so pointless? Perhaps it was because the ground war was, in the end, only to capture new technology. And of the six cities, only one had been captured.
'Never again.' John swore. His hand curled into a fist as certainty filled him. Never again would he allow so many Spartans to die all at once. They'd do better. He'd be better.
Without a word, John tapped the roof of the coffin twice with the fisted knuckles of his temporary cybernetic. The hollow boom echoed from inside of the empty vessel. He then replaced his headdress and about faced to the door.
Standing there was Lord Admiral Hood. He looked tense.
"Sir?"
Master Chief," the Admiral stepped forwards "Could I talk to you? In private?"
"Of course, Sir."
He was led through the Station towards the inner parts which had never truly been finished. They passed through dusty hallways with sputtering lights, and approached a small room. The door opened, revealing Doctor Catherine Halsey waiting for them. Hood nodded and led the Master Chief into the room, then motioned for him to sit down. "We've been waiting for you, Spartan. Have a seat." The Spartan was about to decline to avoid breaking the chair when he remembered he wasn't wearing his Mjolnir, but a dress uniform.
Halsey began. "Spartan. What I am about to ask you will sound unbelievable, but you'll have to trust me. For the good of humanity."
He gave an almost imperceptible nod, but slowly glanced around the room for any sign that this was an official meeting. He couldn't see the reason why he was talking just to Hood and Halsey, and certainly not why it was in such a remote room. No official meeting would be held in a room that was as filthy as the one they were in.
Hood nodded sternly, took a sip from a glass of water, then began speaking.
"I don't need to inform you that the Office of Naval Intelligence has been growing in power and influence as the war has progressed. You have seen firsthand their change from leading the Prowler Corps, to being in de facto command of battlegroups. But you do not know just the extent by which they have overstepped their boundaries. Their actions might make everything we fought for, for naught."
Hood leaned forward onto his arms, fingers crossed together. For a moment, the indomitable Admiral disappeared, replaced by a tired old man.
"In the last two months, ONI cells answering personally to Parangosky have been installing new politicians in positions throughout the UEG in preparation for the ending of martial law, and a transition to civilian government. ONI intends for nothing less than the complete subversion of the civilian government, by an ONI-run shadow government."
Hood sounded a hundred years older than he was when he continued. He sounded defeated, as if he had already given up completely. "The leaders of the Home Fleet, and the UNSC Army have already sworn themselves to Parangosky's new order. "
Then Hood said what the Master Chiefwas afraid of hearing.
"If Parangosky does not stop. I will need the help of the Spartans to put an end to this madness."
He stood completely still as Hood finished talking. Every muscle in his body, finely tuned to answer to his own will, froze. Slowly, Chieflooked between Doctor Halsey and Admiral Hood.
"That is treason. A civil war." His voice was tightly controlled and leashed, but even he couldn't keep the accusatory edge from his voice.
"Only potentially." Doctor Halsey tried to mollify him. She had always been good at that. "And only in the case that ONI itself has gone beyond their authority. Are you telling me that you'd stand for a dictator at the top of humanity?"
"No." Chief said, so low it was almost a growl. Almost two decades had given him a lot of perspective. He wasn't the naïve young soldier he'd once been. The Spartan's original mission statement had been to fight the Insurgents. But after the Covenant had appeared things had changed.
He didn't like this. War was easy. Even in covert actions, you knew who the enemy was. This... politicking stirred something foul in him. A disgusted coil in his stomach. He thought about every time he'd fallen foul of an Inter Service Rivalry or ONI Black Ops.
"Master Chief." Admiral Hood said, leaning forwards, resting his arms on the table. "Do you recall the Oath you swore? The same as I did?"
"To defend Earth, and all her colonies." Master Chief automatically intoned, repeating what had been drilled into him as a child.
"From enemies both foreign and domestic." Admiral Hood finished. "ONI may have become an enemy. An enemy of the UEG, the UNSC, and all of humanity. They're not the Covenant, believe me, I know how distasteful it is to be sitting here talking about fighting other humans while they're still out there, but we can not afford to simply close our eyes, put our hands over our ears, and turn away from this. ONI would use the war to control humanity, and put a boot on its face forever. Fighting for our right to live, only to let a shadowy cabal rule Humanity would render every sacrifice, every life lost fighting the Covenant in vain. It would be spitting on their graves."
The Spartan felt the urge to strike the Admiral for his traitorous words. A flash of anger jumped through him. Who are you to talk about sacrifice? You weren't on the ground as the Covenant turned the Outer Colonies into a mass grave.
Master Chief felt his shoulders clench and his fingers curl into fists. He slowly stood up. "I should report you. You are inciting a soldier to commit treason." He could cover the distance between them faster than Hood's brain could understand what was happening and arrest him. He saw a flicker of fear in the Admiral's eyes.
"John," Halsey said, using his name, and putting an inordinate amount of something the Spartan thought might be concern, into her voice. John looked at her. "If you report Hood, you'll sign my death sentence."
In an instant, all the anger he'd felt building up inside of him fell apart. He didn't agree with what Hood was saying, but he couldn't bring himself to doom Dr Halsey. The thought he could cause her death, filled him with a profound sense of shame. John breathed deeply, and with a tremendous amount of self-control, forced his body to relax.
He didn't move. Didn't say anything. Didn't breathe. The seconds stretched out like an object caught in the event horizon of a black hole. But whatever emotion Halsey had put into words had brought the mounting anger he'd felt crashing down, leaving a gaping void. He couldn't report this meeting. Treasonous though it was. Halsey was right. He would sign her death sentence.
After a moment, John nodded his head. It was small, almost imperceptible to the non-augmented humans in the room. "If it becomes necessary, I will personally lead Blue Team in deposing Parangosky." Bile almost arose in John's throat as he said it. A part of him already felt like a traitor. There was no going back after this.
He got up and left the room. For the first time in his life, he didn't salute as he did so.
John finished sealing his helmet and walked into the freshly installed gym. He'd gotten equipped, and was going to take out some of his excess energy on the gym. Station Alpha was quickly becoming a great hub for the many militaries working together in the Coalition, and it was where the first combined technologies were starting to roll out. It had the best medical facilities, and the most advanced training equipment. And he intended to use the new High-G training arena the Turians had provided.
The Humans, Salarians, Turians, Asari, and Batarians he passed in the gym all gave him a wide berth. He walked towards the large doorway leading into the 'Artificial Gravity Training Area.' The two squads of ODST's and Turians who were about to head inside all backed off from the sheer menace that he inadvertently projected with his stride. He punched in his passcode, and stepped into the airlock, glanced over the weapon racks inside, and grabbed one of the large double-sided stun staffs, and stepped into the centre of the training area,
"Set gravity to three Earth Gravity. Set training robots to maximum difficulty. Enable weapon arms." He commanded.
He felt the increased gravity pulling down on him, even with his armor's eezo modifications fighting back. Training mechs with crude simulacra of Elite energy swords and Brute gravity hammers appeared from hatches in the floor, while large mechanical arms descended from the ceiling, equipped with weapons.
The hours passed with John barely noting their passage. He was too concerned with working off the anger caused by the conflicting thoughts in his mind. By the time that he finally started to feel the exertion, he was surrounded by broken mechanical arms, and torn training mechs. It had felt good to exercise after all the surgeries he'd been through.
"I take it there are no training mechs left?" A familiar voice came in from behind him. John turned around to see Samara standing at the airlock to the training ring.
"I'm done. You can take over the ring." John said.
"I was content to watch you destroying the mechs. It was quite a spectacle. The rest of the spectators were chased out by the Master Sergeant nearly an hour ago when the gym closed. He did not want to provoke you, and left."
"And you stayed?"
"He did not want to provoke me either," Samara said with a smile. "The mechs are destroyed, but I still desire to test my skills. Would you spar with me, Spartan?"
The Master Chief looked at the ruined training mechs, then nodded at the Justicar. He got into a defensive posture. "First blow across the chest."
The Justicar nodded and picked up one of the smaller training blades. A long and jagged Turian sword.
"There is great anger in you, Spartan," Samara said, slowly starting to circle around him. "Hidden under the surface, but ready to burst free." She stepped forward and aimed a series of probing thrusts at him, each aimed at making him show the reach and capabilities of his armaments. "You are discipline incarnate."
John lunged for the Asari, forcing her onto the back foot. She sidestepped and dodged a series of incredibly fast and brutal blows from the stun stick. The first two missed, and the third was parried aside by Samara, who suddenly stepped forward, twisted her grip on her sword, and thrust it towards his throat.
Just before the tip would have impacted and locked his armor down. John leant backwards and to the side, seeing the blade narrowly pass alongside his helmet.
"Training is important. It keeps us from going soft, or from growing idle." He said as he got into a defensive position, backing off and switching to a double-handed grip, and looking for a new opening. As he did so, Samara changed her own posture, each minute movement done to counter or prepare John.
"There is more to it than that." Samara said in her typical aloof tone of voice. "There is anger in your actions. A desire to work out frustration and rage." The Justicar flashed blue, and moved forward in a blue blur that would have been impossible to track for any human.
But he wasn't a normal man. As his heightened reflexes and training kicked in, he saw the biotic energies slowly gathering around the Justicar as she began to slide forward, moving like a ball of blue energy towards him. He kept track of the position of her weapon before she'd launched herself. He looked at the blur of blue energy, noting the strand that had been where her weapon was before the 'jump', and brought up his stun stick to block the strike.
Samara slid past him, slamming into the glass wall around the training area, thrown off by the speed and fury of John's parrying.
"Your technique is lacking, John. A Turian or Asari would have struck me a dozen times if they were as fast as you." Samara said, a kind face smiling back at him from behind her helmet. "Is this your first time in an arena like this?"
"Yes." John said. "The Turians requested a close combat arena." He grabbed the stun stick like the pugil sticks he'd used as a child, remembering the barked orders and strict discipline imparted on any Spartan that was defeated in a training duel. He moved forward, thrusting the stun staff like a spear, and almost grazing Samara before she moved aside in a flash of blue energy, and parried a series of quick strikes. Samara slid backwards, expertly using her biotics to manipulate her own weight and friction and move as easily as if she were skating on ice.
John stopped his attack, got into a defensive position, and prepared to let Samara close the gap. She was too fast for him to get a good hit in, so he resorted to letting her make a mistake. "The UNSC doesn't operate on any high-gravity worlds. Only NAVSPECWAR and Army Rangers are trained for it.
"You should count yourself blessed then. High-G warfare is some of the most gruelling there is. I have seen Commandos flattened the instant their Hardsuits failed." Flickers of blue light began to gather around Samara as she talked, her weapon in a guarding position as she slowly circled around John. John kept his eyes on her, and began to prepare for her to charge.
He wondered if he could win true close quarters combat against the Asari. He had no doubt he could beat the Asari at marksmanship and brute strength. But he'd seen what happened to those Brutes and Elites that were caught unshielded by the Asari's biotic abilities. If she Warped his Mjolnir armor, he'd likely not survive.
John stopped moving, and tightened his grip on his weapon. His grip was so tight, the weapon cracked slightly. Minute movements kept him facing the Asari. Samara shifted her hold on the weapon to one hand, tensed up her free arm with biotic energy sparking around it, then got into a position to sprint. John prepared for the flash that would precede the Asari's charge.
The instant he saw Samara's form shimmering, he struck out with the weapon. A blue blur shot past him. The staff shattered violently at the impact, breaking apart under John's grip and slamming onto the deck, accelerated by the artificial gravity. He turned around to see Samara standing but shaking, then collapsed as her armor simulated a lockdown upon being struck with the stun staff.
John was about to walk up to Samara to help her up, when he noticed that his right leg had locked up. He quickly glanced at his HUD, which marked a thin but deep cut that if it had been real, would have cleanly cut off . He'd taken a 'cut' across his thigh that would have cleanly cut off his leg, and left him to bleed to death in seconds if untreated.
"You are the first to beat me in a duel in many years, Spartan. I will treasure this experience." The Justicar said as she got to her feet. "Disable arena." She commanded, and the artificial gravity returned to Earth Gravity. The Asari removed her helmet, her eyes quickly narrowed as John didn't say anything in response..
"You are curious, and I appreciate working alongside you." The Justicar said. "But your every movement and word. I have seen Synthetics that were more… alive."
John tensed up, but did not show it. Was the Asari that good at reading a person? If she truly was a thousand years old, her sense of perception could be that accurate. But he did not suspect "I have passed all my psychiatric evaluations and medical exams." John responded helpfully. "I am in peak physical condition."
Samara shook her head. "Not that way. You look around you, expecting an enemy in each hallway. You speak slow and cautiously, every word carefully chosen, and primarily of military vernacular. Your every movement and action is that of someone who had such a thing instilled in him. There are no flaws."
John felt the tiniest bit self-conscious at the way Samara read him, and he couldn't help but agree. Every aspect of his behavior had been instilled in him by the stun-sticks and disciplinary actions of the Spartan Project. He thought over a response to what Samara had said, and responded with. "Only the best are chosen."
"Then it must be a great honor to have been selected for such a duty." She said with a soft benevolent smile.
John thought back to his first day on Reach, and the stinging of the instructor's stun prods. He had been chosen. He appreciated the chance he had been given, even though he knew that what had been done to him was morally wrong. "Yes. It was."
Samara gave a brief smile, then stepped out of the arena. John began cleaning up.
John was about to return to the medical wing to visit the other members of Blue Team, when Colonel Ackerson stepped into view. He had apparently been waiting outside for him.
"Sir." John saluted Ackerson.
"Please follow me, Spartan." Ackerson said quickly. Any ideas of John visiting his fellow Spartans in the medical bay disappeared as he obediently went to follow his newest order.
Ackerson took him to one of the meeting rooms that was normally used for small strike teams, and John immediately began to suspect he had been seconded to a small unit of some kind. He went along, even as a sense of paranoia began to dawn on him.
A withered old Marine with a large patch of scar tissue on the right side of his face was leaning into a chair. The wound indicated the man had been shot from below, and blown off a good chunk of his face, and potentially brain. A suicide attempt? John had seen the aftermath in the darker chapters of the war, when Marines took their own lives rather than let the Covenant take them.
Next to the marine sat a Salarian with a cybernetic arm. The Salarian was covered in the typical STG stealth suit, and had an air of unease about him.
"Colonel Ackerson. You do not have the necessary clearance to command a Spartan Deployment."
Ackerson held up a hand, and offered John a small data crystal. John took the crystal and put it into his MJOLNIR armor. There was a brief pause. The security Clearance he'd just been given was beyond anything John had ever seen. "I did not know Cerberus Clearance existed." John said. "No regulation or field manuals mention it."
"That is the intention, Spartan." Ackerson said. "Its existence is a cooperative between the Assembly, and Section-Zero of ONI. Less than a dozen people know it exists."
"The Assembly?" John asked.
"An ally. That is all you need to know." Ackerson said. Ackerson motioned for the Marine. "Zaeed. This is John-117 of the Spartan-II Program. John-117, this is Zaeed Massani of the Spartan-I Program. You will be cooperating going forward."
"Hah! Nice to see those augments and drugs actually got put into something worth a damn. Good to meet you, John." Zaeed chuckled but didn't get up.
The Salarian that had been sitting next to Zaeed stood up, offering John a handshake, which he returned. "Strong grip." The Salarian remarked, clutching his hand with the other. "Kirrahe, Special Tasks Group. A pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise." John said, before sitting down, much to the discomfort of the chair he was using.
Ackerson coughed, got into a proper authoritative stance, and then began speaking. "I have brought you together for a very special assignment. One whose existence is known only to the highest Echelons of my branch of ONI, and the STG. To discuss a threat that was recently rediscovered by the crew of the Circumference Prowler, and defeated only barely." Ackerson said. He activated the holographic display, and brought up a large image of what looked like an emaciated corpse, stuffed full of glowing blue cybernetics, and with patches of what looked like purple flesh.
John examined it closely. The photograph was dated as from 2492. The date immediately reminded John of the nuking of Far Isle Colony. It was a pivotal event in human history, and a catalyst for the Insurrection. A spark of curiosity nagged at him. "Is this an Insurrectionist weapon? A supersoldier initiative?" John asked as he examined the image. The eyes of the creature were different. A timeless look of horror and suffering that seemed to leap off the image. A suspicion started to dawn in the back of his mind. Something about the look of suffering in the face of the creature made him feel a profound sense of unease.
"That's just like the damn bastard from Slipspace." Zaeed Massani muttered. "A human version of one. But I would never forget that damn glow." Zaeed cussed incessantly, and John filtered it out. He had trouble believing someone like him would be brought to an important meeting this quickly and easily. "The damn things aren't new? Well that's just damn amazing. I was hoping I didn't have to face more." The Salarian just looked annoyed at Zaeed's outbursts and continued to look at the pictures.
Ackerson nodded. Then changed the holographic projection to a short video of what looked like a swarm of the cybernetic constructs swarming across a barricade manned by soldiers in black unmarked BDU's. The soldiers fought heroically, firing into the oncoming swarms of cybernetically twisted humans. To John's distaste, there were even children amongst the swarm.
"2492. One hour before a tactical nuclear bombardment destroyed the colony." Ackerson added. "This was a week after the colonists discovered a hitherto unknown alien ruin." Ackerson flicked through to the next image. "The people who came in contact with the technology were... changed."
John thought he'd seen disgusting sights during the war. But the images of what appeared like an oncoming rush of what looked like a screaming mewling mass of cybernetically converted children, twisted and fused together into creatures straight from nightmares, charging into a crowd of civilians, still shook him to the bone. Zaeed looked visibly shaken, and glanced over at John, a look of disgust written plainly across his face.
"This" Ackerson said, pointing at one of the converted humans. "Is why the Far Isle colony was destroyed with nuclear weapons. And all knowledge of the event thoroughly covered up. Humanity has known about alien life since before the Human-Covenant War. But knowledge was suppressed to avoid a panic."
Ackerson began moving through one image after the other, each of them showing some new kind of twisted bio-mechanical monstrosity, each a more corrupted version of humanity than the one before it. "ONI-Cerberus was created to safeguard humanity from this. We had hoped that this was an isolated event. Some ancient weapon from a long lost civilization. By the time the crew of the Circumference encountered the entity aboard their ship, Cerberus had been reduced to just under half a dozen members."
Ackerson sat down, looking over at Zaeed and Kirrahe, then at John-117. "I am assigning these two to help in training the Spartan III's. Listen to what they have to say, and train your Spartans to destroy these things. You will be given complete control over the training of the Spartan Threes. You will report directly to me about your progress."
John glanced at Kirrahe. The thought of an alien helping train the Spartans seemed almost ludicrous. But he also immediately thought of what the STG agent could potentially impart in his trainees.
"That would take away from training to fight the Covenant, Sir."
"Are you soft in the head?" Zaeed almost yelled at John. "We're talking about a damn… thing! That turns people into damn cyborg zombies. We can fight the Covenant. Hell. We can win. But that?" He pointed at an image of what looked like a dozen humans twisted together into some biomechanical siege engine battering down a doorway. "Damn. I'm not cut out for this."
Ackerson ignored the outburst. "The Spartan Twos are spent, Master Chief. But their experience and guidance can help create the strongest fighting force in the galaxy. I trust you to prepare the Spartans to fight those things. I'm giving you a Carté Blanche to train them to the best of your ability. Whatever resources or talent you need, I will move heaven and earth to provide it."
"Why is Kurt not involved in this meeting?" John asked. "He is the Lieutenant of the Spartan Threes, and in charge of operational deployments."
"Because I am keeping this as secure as possible. Less than twenty people know about this. Me, the head of the STG, you three, and the survivors of the Circumference. And I want to keep it that way now we know these things can impersonate others. You are in charge of training the Spartans. He is in charge of organizing them. He doesn't need to know the full extent of this. Not yet. "
John glanced away from Ackerson at one of the monstrosities on screen. He then looked back at Ackerson. "We'll be ready."
"Good." Ackerson grinned.
John immediately knew who to find as trainers for the Spartan Threes. A Justicar, and a certain Sergeant with an aptitude for colourful metaphors.
11:00, December 29th
The Field of Heroes. Ethiopian administrative zone. Earth.
Fleet Admiral Cole let out a sigh of grief as the ODST's placed the coffin containing what remained of Admiral Karandis down upon the platform. He'd been wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair specifically to offer his respects to his friend. The UNSC had requested that the Turian Admiral who'd led his species' first battles against the Covenant be laid to rest in a place of honor upon Earth, inside a monument dedicated to the battle for Chi Rho, and the Turian's family had agreed.
It was a courtyard large enough to fit a dozen tanks from end to end, with a large tomb at the center of it. Each of the twelve solid granite slabs had been etched with nanoscopic precision to recount the name of every human who had died in the battle. Nine million humans. Seven and a half million of whom had died in nuclear fireballs as the Covenant detonated their reactors to avoid the humans capturing their cities. A million and half who had died in the bloodiest meatgrinder in human history.
He glanced at the soldiers around him. Nobody had come out of Chi Rho better than they entered. The sheer amount of loss and suffering had cast what felt like a permanent shadow over the UNSC. Even with the sun shining brightly, and the bands playing patriotic themes, there was little optimism.
The Coalition had lost a staggering amount of its elite forces.. New soldiers could be recruited, new regiments raised. But the experience of seventeen years of war had disappeared in a single year.
The UNSC had millions of soldiers in the Army, but its vaunted Marine Corps and ODST were battered. Sixty percent of the ODST's had died, and forty percent of the Marine Corps. As the best orbital assault forces in the UNSC, they had taken the bulk of the losses.
Honor after honor, title after title. Every Chief of Staff in the UNSC had taken their turn in giving a speech about unity and respect, about cooperating against a common foe, and placed the highest medal their part of the military could hand out, onto Karandis's coffin.
He felt a hand grip his, and glanced to Lyrenne Castile. His wife who had finally returned to him after decades away. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and just enjoyed the moment together. She and the rest of her Insurrectionists had taken the UNSC's offer for a full pardon of actions committed, and returned to humanity.
Ever since ONI had discovered her identity as an Insurrectionist she'd been on the run with her fleet of fellow Insurrectionists, but she had never stopped loving him. And he had never stopped loving her. Even as she and the rest of her rebels cannibalized their colonies to become a migratory fleet, she'd tried to reach him and convince him to join her.
There were so many things he wanted to say, to talk about, and to do with her. But at the moment, all he just wanted was to hold her hand, and be close to her. Just the fact she was there filled him with a renewed purpose.
There was an awkward gap between Lyrenne's scruffy and ill-mannered Insurrectionist Captains who were attending the ceremony, and the UNSC Captains who just weeks before would have tried to kill each other on sight. But the sudden arrival of the Insurrectionists while the Covenant was in the process of retreating, had earned them a great deal of respect. Two-thirds of the Insurrectionists in the battle for Chi Rho had died, and their names had been carved on the stone as well.
"I heard there's a new colony being founded. Through the Relay." Lyrenne said softly. "We could sign up for it. Go to Eden Prime and build that farm you always talked about. You, me. Enjoying our twilight years together on a farm. My Captains will be taking their pardons and joining the UNSC, so I no longer have that commitment."
He squeezed her hand harder. "I'd like that. I wanna make the most of my time remaining. I've done my part." He looked at the nearest stone wall. "Too much. Perhaps."
"There's a Turian movie studio that wants to make a biopic about you," Lyrenne said. "Something about an Admiral working himself to death just really tickles their fancy." She chuckled. "The royalties for that probably beat a navy pension."
He smiled a full joyous smile for the first time in years. "That sounds wonderful. I'll tell Hood tonight that I'll be taking that retirement. It's about time I got some rest. Just you, me, and maybe a small dog." He closed his eyes and felt the sun shining down upon him. It was a good day to be alive.