From Sir Gabriel: To create a better scene of Mendez and Sylvain's last moment together, I erased the idea of Sylvain arriving to the shuttle-bays, and instead had Mendez drive him directly to the Reach Military Complex. Unfortunately, I had published the previous chapter before I had noticed my error. To conclude, ignore the shuttle-bay dialogue, and replace it with the Reach Military Complex. I am sorry in advance for any confusion this might cause. Also, a lot of credit goes to Eric Nylund for the details of the augmentation processes. Without him, most of this chapter and future chapters could not be reality. Thanks for making two stellar books, E.N!
1600 Hours, April 5, 2551 (Military Calendar)/
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach Military Complex,
Complex Three, Planet Reach.
As the Chief Petty Officer dropped him off in the front of Complex Three, Sylvain snapped off a salute to his former instructor and physical trainer. Instead of returning the regulation-style salute to his graduate, Mendez thrust out his steely open hand out toward Sylvain.
Sylvain looked down at his gloved hand. The CPO must have been tired of saluting, and he wanted to show his pride for the capable soldier with a friendly handshake. He looked back up to meet Mendez's gray eyes, grinned, and firmly shook his hand.
"It's been an honour, Sylvain," Mendez exclaimed with sincerity. That was the very first time the CPO had called him by his name, instead of "trainee."
"Likewise, Mendez," Sylvain replied. And that was the first time Sylvain had every called him by his name, without adding "Chief Petty Officer," "CPO," or "Sir."
Mendez, with a feeling of respect for the young, cold fire-eyed soldier, muttered, "Goodbye and good luck, warrior." He hit the throttle of his LRV, and sped off over the hilly dirt road. When he turned his head behind him to get a last glimpse of his talented trainee, Sylvain was waving "farewell," to him.
That was the last time they would ever see each other again.
The outside of the Reach Military Complex was almost frightening, sending chills of fear up Sylvain's spine. It was not for the reason of its physical appearance; it looked exactly like every other military complex building. Cold, gray and white, sterile, pristine, and very, very professional. But Sylvain knew what went on inside of those thick walls.
Mainline Navy Personnel of the UNSC elevated members of ONI to near-mythological ranks. The main staff of the Section Three consisted mostly of scientists, and medical doctors, all with proper degrees and credentials to certify that they are the best minds in their fields. They worked on top-secret UNSC and ONI projects, trying to discover a possible opportunity to turn the tide of the Human-Covenant war in the Earth's favour.
But Sylvain knew of one certain development that went on within that building, and the certain spearheading witch of a woman: The Spartan-II Program, directed by Dr. Catherine Halsey.
Sylvain had heard a decent amount of the Spartan-II Program. Six years ago, when Sylvain was still training with the rebellion faction on Craft, a successful spying mission had been completed, and had recovered a wealth of information and data regarding the United Nations Space Command's secret weapon against the Covenant. It had began back in 2517, when a group of seventy-five children were selected specifically for the program. They were abducted in their sleep from their homes, trained extensively in combat arts, exercise, and academic studies. They had all been normal boys and girls until March 10, 2525, when their augmentations were set into gruesome effect.
Each child had material bone grafting, muscular enhancement injections, thyroid implants, occipital capillary reversal operations, and neural dendrite superconducting shields all placed or performed on them. Halsey wanted to create the fastest, strongest, and smartest warriors the UNSC had ever seen.
But there were serious repercussions to her ambitions. A total of thirty of the children had perished during the augmentation operations and processes; a term Halsey used to describe their deaths was "washed out." Twelve children had suffered side effects such as Parkinson's disease, bone pulverization and twisting, and permanent blindness. Only thirty-two of the young candidates had survived without being disabled or killed.
The more Sylvain thought about it was he stepped through the pre-entrance sterilizer and electric neutralizer, the more it hurt him to remember his war actions against a Spartan-II a long time ago. He tried urgently to forget about that day of terrible victory. Those resistance days were over. If he got out of this war alive, maybe he would start it back up again. But not now. Right now, he had a job to do: pay back those Covenant bastards for destroying his home planet.
As Sylvain trotted around the decoration-less lobby of the Section Three Complex, an officer wearing a neatly pressed black uniform stepped up to him, his eyes trained upon Sylvain as if he had been expecting his arrival for quite some time.
Sylvain checked the man's black enameled bars on his breast as they shimmered in the ambient lighting. He was a Lieutenant.
"Sir!" Sylvain quickly straightened his back at attention, and saluted.
"At ease," the Lieutenant said. His voice was firm, and strong. "Trainee Sylvain Reno?"
Sylvain answered back, "Sir, yes, sir!"
"Walk with me, young man," the Lieutenant ordered. He then turned on his heel, and trotted down the long, winding corridor from which he had first come. Sylvain followed right behind him.
This was completely unfamiliar territory. Never had Sylvain been inside of the Section Three Complex hallways, or anyone he had known besides Chief Petty Officer Mendez. Worry raced through his sharp mind. The unknown was waiting ahead, and anything imaginable could occur within these immaculate yet invisibly sullied and stained walls. If only they could speak, Sylvain thought.
The Lieutenant opened a door, and motioned for Sylvain to enter the room. Sylvain walked in, and the door was closed behind him. Inside was a woman seated at a collection of large computer consoles with her back turned to him. She had long, gray hair, and seemed to be a little aged. She was talking with an AI, one Sylvain had never seen before. During the courses of his extensive training, Sylvain had met with and spoken to a vast assortment of AI's. He liked how they each possessed their own personalities, as if they were human. But the one on the desk looked… different to him.
The AI was female. She had a slender "body," form, and a bright lavender coloured skin. She had a cropped slightly short "hair" style, Lines of code and calculations streamed, traveled, and blinked in a vertical motion pattern on her glowing "body."
Sylvain would not dare interrupt, nor would he even listen. He didn't want to listen. These Section Three spooks were exactly like fortune-tellers to Sylvain. They would give him a mission, and "guesstimate" the outcome. Eighty percent of the time, their hypotheses were actually correct.
Minutes passed, and neither of them had paid him any attention. Snuffing the irritation welling inside of his brash mind, he gently tapped the doorjamb with two knuckles. First the AI glanced at him, her expressions quite aggravated. But she must have identified him as scheduled to arrive. The look transitioned to an indifferent one.
Then, the gray haired woman slowly turned about, and, from behind a pair of thick-framed glasses chained around her neck, her icy-blue eyes met his fiery ones.
"Ahh, you must be the trainee, Sylvain Reno, yes?" the woman asked. Her voice had a bit of an air of superiourity.
Sylvain replied calmly, "Yes, ma'am."
The woman stood from her seat, and smiled a little at him. "Pleased to meet you."
The AI hopped to her "feet," and began inspecting the trainee. "A perfect genetic match with required genetics?" She questioned. "That's extremely unusual, and he is much, much older than the others were."
Genetic match? Others? What was the AI talking about, Sylvain wondered.
"That's enough, Cortana," the woman said after raising her hand.
"Well," Cortana murmured as her skin tone changed to a slight blue, "it's good to meet the prodigy."
This only confused Sylvain more. Prodigy?
The woman cleared her throat, and said, "My name is Dr. Catherine Halsey."
Just the introductions had made Sylvain's blood boil. He was standing in front of that monster of a woman who transformed a bunch of innocent children into unnatural, cold-blooded killing machines. She was the devious mastermind behind it all. She was the one who coined that awful phrase, "washed out." Sylvain wanted to scream at her until he suffered a fatal heart attack, but he remained silent, and nonchalant. But his rage grew and grew.
She grinned at Sylvain again, and asked, "I'll bet you are wondering why you are here."
Sylvain tried to squelch any tone of pure wrath and hatred in his voice, and managed out shakily, "Yes, ma'am."
Halsey placed her hands upon her hips. "Are you aware of the Spartan-II program?" she asked.
The desire to shout out everything he felt about the Spartan-II program surged through his brain, but he stifled it out. "Yes, ma'am. I am aware of a rather large amount of that… program."
Sylvain had almost referred to the program as a "sinister deed," but he had caught himself before uttering it. He hoped Cortana would not detect his quickly spiking blood pressure.
"Well, Sylvain," Halsey muttered grimly, "What you may not know is that forty two Spartan-II candidates had either perished, or suffered advanced side-effects. Only thirty were combat ready."
"And since 2525, three have been reported KIA, and one has been reported MIA. He didn't come back. The number of Spartan-II's is a mere twenty-six out of he seventy-five I intended to have. But it is not possible to train another."
Sylvain became even angrier as she gave her own story from her own perception. It was cold, calculating, and evil, showing absolutely no regard for the children she abducted and murdered with her demonic plots.
Unforgivable.
"That is why," Halsey sighed, "Section Three will be initiating the Spartan-III project. And after crosschecking a numerous amount of candidates, UNSC and civilian, we chose the best match for certain genetic markers. There is only one single candidate, and that is you, Sylvain Reno of Craft.
A Spartan-III program? As devious and dark as it may have seemed, and these were trying times for humanity itself, Sylvain had truthfully considered the notion of becoming a Spartan.
The memory of slaying the Spartan on Craft had replayed in his mind again. He could repay his debt to the others by joining them in combat. It was the least he could do for them, after killing one of theirs who had gone through so much already.
"For the Spartan-III candidates," Halsey informed, "we did not afford them the luxury of deciding if they wanted to be Spartans or not. However, Sylvain, you may."
Sylvain could feel the skin on his facing becoming hotter and hotter. Small pricks of sweat appeared from under his beret as he tried his hardest to repress the sheer, blind rage that screamed for sweet freedom. They would allow a twenty-four year old adult to decide, but not six-year-old children to?
Despicable.
But it was such a great idea. Sylvain could more effectively combat the dreaded Covenant forces, and repay his unofficial debt to the compatriots of the Spartan he had once killed on the battlefield. After deliberation, and a little bit of verbal coercing from Halsey and Cortana, Sylvain had reluctantly agreed.
"For Craft, I will do this."
May God have mercy on my soul, he thought to himself.
But no matter what Dr. Catherine Halsey ever did during the rest of her life, she could never redeem herself in the eyes of Sylvain Reno.
Never.