The Seraph's Broken Wings
By: Sinead
Chapter Five
Willow groaned, coming to. Her husband was holding her against his chest. She blinked at their state of dress. Or lack thereof. It really didn't matter about what they wore or didn't wear around each other anymore. It never really did. The cell was almost familiar, the smell the same as she last cell she had been in. "Love . . ."
"We're back, but not the same cell. And not in High Charity." He snarled something inarticulately.
She turned into him for warmth as well as comfort. "At least we're together."
"Claim is Claim. They dare not interfere. But I know that they will. Forgive me, in advance."
"I always have, and I know that you don't have a choice in it." She paused. "I hope our children are all right."
"Leader would have gotten them to the places and people that they would need to go to and meet."
Willow pondered that for a moment, then asked, "What is that supposed to mean, Dragon?" She always refused to call him by his birth-name, even though the High Council of Elites had insisted that they had been at fault, begging his forgiveness, and had all but given him everything that he asked for. And that included his birth-name and everything that had been his before he had been given the Mark. Including letters from his family stating that they still accepted him, no matter what the Hierarchs said. That they would always support him. He had never known of those letters, and had gotten back in touch with his parents, brothers, and sisters as soon as he was able.
"That, Demoness, means that I disobeyed a direct order from UNSC. As I am in higher standing with them and Leader is now below me, he argued that I should order him to bring the children to a certain old friend of ours if anything happened to us. I gave in. ONI can either step over or walk through that pile of excrement they thought they had shoved to one side, and deal with your Spartan-bred children." He snickered slightly. "And they'll have to deal with their biological father."
The mother sighed. "I see a large problem about to erupt violently. And nobody's going to like the outcome."
"What are you saying?" His voice had grown worried.
"If ONI disregards the children, they'd be better off. If they take interest, and especially if Section Three takes interest . . ."
"Lords of Light, Gods of the Rings . . . no . . ." He hid his face. "What have I done?"
"Set off a time bomb," Willow replied, not letting the Elite go. "And our children, those wonderful twins and triplets, they'll be the explosion." She kissed the side of his face. "And it won't be pretty for ONI and the UNSC when they find out that my triplets are every inch as stubborn as their father."
"And as wily and intelligent as their mother."
The cell door opened.
"You have your orders, Master Chief. Dismissed."
"With all due respect, Ma'am, I will not allow this to happen."
"And with all due respect, Spartan One-One-Seven, you have no say in this situation. The decision is final. Dismissed."
Simmering, the man turned on his heel and left the chamber, seeing the triplets and the Elite twins, a mix of other Elites and the Spartan-IIIs behind them. As soon as the Chief had returned to the complex, they had taken to calling his son "Junior," or plainly "Orion," so as not to confuse them. However, the latter nickname seemed to be sticking rather well, and the teenager seemed to like being called as such.
But when John called his son by his first name, a certain spark of light shone from his eyes, filled with pride that they shared a name, that they were related, and most of all, that his father treated him as an equal.
"I have to talk with you five in private."
Phaedra saw the anger below the surface, threatening to roar forth. She looked at her siblings, and they followed with her in the lead, directly behind her father. John Orion and Pandora were behind her, matching their pace to hers, and Yukae and Sibilee were behind those two. They were brought into a room which, judging by the hissing pop the door made as soon as it closed, was soundproofed. John looked at his children. "They're drafting you."
"What?" Pandora hissed. "How? Into what section?"
"Into the Spartans."
All five went silent. Yukae asked, "Does that include us?"
"No. Just the triplets. Leader will be training you two to become as formidable as both he and your father are." He struggled to keep his face impassive, but saw that Phaedra was watching him with a certain look that meant she could see he wasn't really "all right."
"Dad, tell us what else is wrong. Tell us as much as you can," she insisted, taking his hand in hers, feeling it dwarf her own hand when he closed his fingers around hers gently.
"You've all been training your entire lives. They were waiting until you were nearly completely grown before . . ." and here he swallowed. "Before they put your through augmentation."
Pandora and John Orion seemed to become statues, their faces shocked. Pandora was the first to speak. "But wouldn't Mom and Arbiter know about this? Don't they have any say in it?"
"They would. If they were here. ONI Section Three are manipulative–"
He said a few choice words, seeing his son blink, then grin. "Well. So that's where I got my inclination for learning as many cusses as I could."
Yukae chuckled, Sibilee grinning. They looked at the Master Chief, and Sibilee spoke. "So we are to be under Leader's 'gentle' tutelage."
John nodded. "And to complete two teams of three, he said that Boratamee will be training with you."
"One Spartan, one Elite team?" John Orion asked.
"Possibly. Or mixed." He rubbed his hand through still-thick hair. "I don't want any of you to be under Section Three. There aren't many more people of integrity left in there."
"How do you mean?" Pandora asked.
"You have heard of Dr. Catherine Halsey? She was one of the original founders for the Spartan-II project." He shook his head. "She passed away many years ago. Her niece is now the head of the next project. The girl has some honor, but not her aunt's acute sense of being manipulated."
"Will there be any others in this program?" John Orion asked.
And the Master Chief nodded, a small smile coming back onto his face as he gathered Phaedra into his arms, embracing her, looking at his other daughter and son. They came over to him as well, needing that embrace that only a father can give to his children.
Pandora lay in the hospital bed, her sister in the bed closer to the wall away from the door. "Phaedra?"
"I'm still awake."
Pandora swallowed. "I'm scared."
"So am I."
Silence for a moment, before the identical girls looked at each other. Both had been shaven, both had lines drawn upon them for the incision marks. The only difference between them was that Pandora had a neural interface and a tattoo on her left arm. Phaedra was going to be getting her interface with this long surgery, so that wouldn't be much of a distinguishing factor anymore.
The three siblings Pandora grew up with all had the same tattoo, all on the same place upon their arms. It was that of an eagle with lightning in one talon, arrows in the other, the Spartan's symbol, with an energy sword standing vertically behind it. The Mark of Shame was below the handle of the sword, reminding all who would see the tattoo that there was indeed a fate worse than death.
"Dor . . . I've seen the risks of these procedures."
"So have I. Yukae hacked into the system and showed me and our brother."
"Did Sibilee see?"
"No. He would have had to be sedated until we were back upon our feet again. He'd never stand for . . . for all the pain that we'll have to go through."
Phaedra sighed, looking at hands that were carefully marked, leading to arms that had long lines upon them for the ceramic reinforcements, and silence prevailed once more. The nurses came in, hooking up IVs, each looking none-too-happy. Pandora asked why.
The elder of the two replied. "Because it's a shame that kids like you have to follow in the footsteps of those who should know better by now. You shouldn't have to hold the world on your shoulders."
Pandora smiled up at the nurse. "We're not going to. Not right away, at least. The 'Threes are still in duty. We'll be learning from them."
The nurse smiled, reaching over to rest a hand upon the seventeen-year-old's shoulder. "You're a brave kid for even accepting what will be happening to you."
Phaedra and Pandora smiled at each other, before replying simultaneously, "Because we're our father's daughters, that's why!"
The older nurse chuckled, pushing the younger one out and closing the door, turning to face them. "Six of the other surgeries have already gone through. I know you're the Master Chief's daughters. Your brother was one of the first two."
"How is he?" Phaedra asked, Pandora not wanting to speak, lest the slight shaking she felt her hands doing reached her voice.
"Sleeping. Your father's with him right now."
"Any . . . did anyone . . ."
"One. So far." She sighed. "The injections for boosting muscle growth reacted badly with him, causing cardiac arrest. They revived him three times, but couldn't get him back on the fourth."
"Who was he," Phaedra demanded.
"Randall."
Phaedra sighed, feeling the sedative start to kick in. She lay back, not fighting the sudden lethargy, watching her sister close her eyes a moment before she did. All that Pandora could wish for was that this would bring them one step closer to rescuing their mother and their Elite father. That was the last thing that passed through her mind when the world tuned into a warm, black haven.
"Torilian Vouzaku'amee, what are you."
The Elite struggled to raise his head, but couldn't. They couldn't touch his Claimed, so they took it out on him, trying to break his mind. That is, while the Prophet was watching. When he wasn't, and when he wouldn't be, then Willow would be part of the torture. He hoped that the Prophet would remain interested in watching his torture just that bit longer . . .
His voice was low, panting in his complete exhaustion. "I am . . . an honored member . . . of the Brotherhood of Elites . . ."
Another sharp punch in the gut. He coughed blood. Again, the question. "Torilian Vouzaku'amee, what are you."
"The Arbiter."
Brute hands gripped his left ankle, digging strong fingers into his flesh, ready at a moment's notice to break the bones. "Torilian Vouzaku'amee, what are you."
He roared at the Brute before him, "I am the Arbiter of the Brotherhood!"
The hands jerked . . .
The bone held in place, but bruising already started to cause the join to swell.
Again, the Brute tried to break the Arbiter's ankle, but . . . again it failed. A blood vessel burst, but blood immediately started to reroute itself up stable vessels, allowing that one to collapse and being healing itself. He felt the distinct shifting of pressure. And Arbiter then spoke. "Who are you."
"Perdition, son of Tartarus. And you'll pay for killing my father." He turned to the other Brutes. "Take him back!"
The next thing Dragon knew, his head was upon his wife's lap. Her hands were resting upon the sides of his face and her tears were falling onto him. He sat up and embraced her, whispering, "He couldn't break my ankle."
"Glad that you listened to me for once about that procedure, are you?"
"Yes. Yes I am. Are you?"
"More than definitely. I don't have to hear you whine about as much pain as you normally would have been in."
They rested in companionable silence.