0115 Hours, September 8, 2525 (Military Calendar) /
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach UNSC Military Complex, Planet Reach
The sky was uncharacteristically dark. Positioned so far outside of any metropolitan areas, it was usually impossible not to notice the stars hanging in the sky. Tonight, however, there wasn't so much as a wink hanging above the top-secret Spartan training grounds.
Figures, he thought.
Things were different. His team was at half its former strength. His own body felt foreign to him. Tomorrow he'd be taken from the place he'd grown up. What did he care about one starless night?
Not even the stars want to see you now, his more pessimistic side answered.
He shook his head. Those cynical thoughts were becoming more and more common. He didn't like it. It wasn't like him.
One more change.
He crept out of the barracks, slinking from shadow to shadow. It wasn't as easy as last time. He had to duck lower. He had to devote more energy and thought to maintaining a fluid, silent motion. If he misjudged the force behind a step, it was liable to propel him a meter further than he wanted. Time moved quickly and slowly at the same time, and he wasn't sure what kind of nightmarish limbo that left him in.
He had only left the compound without permission once before. He must not have been noticed; the hole in the perimeter fence was still there. He slipped out silently, traveling low to the ground, staying as quiet as possible for several kilometers until he had buried himself deep within the great pine forests that filled the valley outside the facility's walls.
The Spartans would be lined up for roll call at 0600, and then they would be moved. Chief Mendez had informed them a few hours before, telling them to pack their things. The compound simply didn't fit their needs any longer. They needed something better.
He understood the necessity. He was excited for the challenges that the new location would bring. Undoubtedly, the Chief would have an entirely new regimen designed for them. Harder. Faster. Stronger. He was anxious to prove himself. They all were. He wasn't likely to ever feel "homesick" – one barracks was as good as another.
He started up the hill. He had a special place at the top - a small clearing in the midst of the dense pine forest that afforded an unimpeded view of the night sky. Only a few weeks ago, the hike would have taken him nearly five hours to complete. Tonight, he reached the clearing in less than one. His new strength and endurance were thrilling. All his life, he'd measured his success against his limits; the balances were now in serious need of recalibration.
He slowed his pace, nearing the clearing. In the dark he could pick out all of his favorite landmarks. The large stone on the southeastern edge. The great pine, for some reason larger than all of the other trees in the vicinity, directly across from the rock. The soft grass that grew between the two. The clearing was just as it was supposed to be. His clearing. At least that was still the same.
Except that it wasn't. There was something different. He could sense it. He just didn't know what it was.
Until it hit him. In the head. In the form of a pinecone.
Instinct took over. He could all but hear Mendez's voice shouting in his ear. If it isn't a bullet, it's a grenade. Keep it away from you. He planted his left foot and sent the pinecone flying back into the clearing with his right. Find cover; just because it wasn't a rifle on the first try doesn't mean they don't have one. He crouched low to the ground and sidestepped behind a tree.
Most importantly, the phantom Mendez shouted, always know where your enemy is. If they get a second chance to kill you, they will. Fred bit his lip in frustration. He had been distracted coming up the hill, he wasn't paying close enough attention. Got himself ambushed. Was this another test? He hadn't spoken to anyone about his plan – there was no way for the Chief to even know about Fred's clearing, let alone that he was planning to go there.
Then again, he would never say never. Mendez had gotten more from less.
The Spartan hit his closed fist against the tree in frustration. Despite his enhanced eyesight, he hadn't seen where the pinecone came from. He didn't know who was targeting him, and he didn't know their position. He didn't even know how many were out there. It was a rookie mistake – the kind of mistake he hadn't made since his age could be counted in single digits. The kind of mistake that could get him killed.
He peeked around the edge of the tree trunk he was braced behind and jerked back almost immediately, a pinecone burning through the air precisely where his head had been. Still, it was more than time enough for his purposes; he closed his eyes and did a quick mental calculation, tracking the lobbed weapon's starting point to the spot just behind the east corner of the stone.
His eyes shot open and in a flash he was on his feet. Whoever had decided that his clearing was the right place to ambush him was about to discover how sorely mistaken they were.
The Spartan tore through the trees, dancing and weaving his way around the foliage. Another projectile – heavier, probably a fist-sized rock by the sounds of it – loudly cracked some branches as it sailed behind him. He continued through the trees until he found the spot where his attacker's vantage point would be almost entirely obstructed by the rock before sprinting into the clearing. His assailant would only have two options now; hunker down in the relative "safety" of their stony cover, or step out into the open to face him.
A slender, dark silhouette stepped directly into his path. Fred flashed a grim smile in the darkness, pleased with his ambusher's choice – they wanted a fight? He'd give them one. He only hoped they could put up enough of a challenge to make this interesting.
The silhouette brought their fists up in a defensive stance, most likely expecting him to slow down. He sped up. Leapt forward, his arms spread wide apart.
His opponent sidestepped the tackle so quickly he almost didn't register their movement. They collided with the stone, hitting their back against the hard rock – but they managed to escape him.
Fred tucked his chin, somersaulting back to his feet in a lightning-quick, if somewhat awkward, movement. He spun around just in time to duck under a jab aimed directly at his nose. He wasn't so lucky with the following uppercut.
Blood began to stream from his nose. His eyes watered involuntarily. He lashed out in a quick strike, felt his hand connect slightly, and then took a large step backward. He blinked rapidly, clearing the tears just in time to see another punch coming for his face. He closed his forearms, letting the hit bounce off of them. Before he had a chance to move, his opponent's other fist connected with his ribs in a powerful right hook. It was hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs, but he ignored the pain – there would be time for that after. For now, he had a fight to win.
He dropped his shoulder and drove forward, catching his attacker in the chest and wrapping them up in his arms. He brought his knee up into their ribs and then drove them backward until he smashed their back against the stone. Their hands came down in an overhead strike, colliding with his spine hard enough to loosen his grip around their midsection.
In a blur of motion too fast for him to follow, they twisted out of his grip. In a flash, they leapt forward and pinned drove their shoulder into his sternum.
They were fast, but he had been training in the fine art of ending a life since he was six years old; he was starting to think that tonight he might make good on that training.
"What are you doing here?" they suddenly barked in a voice that made him stop cold. He knew that voice.
He immediately recoiled, throwing himself backward to gain some separation from his opponent. "Kelly?" he sputtered, backstepping away from her. "What are you doing here?"
At the sound of his voice, Kelly's head popped up. The pair finally looked at one another.
Unwittingly, Fred's cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. He should have recognized her the moment their altercation began - none of Mendez's trainers could keep up with him with his augmentations, let alone outmatch him. There was only one person who was that fast.
Kelly leaned forward, her hands on her knees and her shoulders hunched. Her head dipped low enough that he could no longer see her face. Her shoulders began to tremble.
Fred rushed to her side. "Kelly, are you okay?" he asked. Her recovery had taken weeks longer than anyone else. For a long time, he had no idea if she would ever truly be back up to strength. She needed time. She was still delicate. Her shoulders were shaking harder by the time that he tentatively put a hand on one of them.
With a snap, her hand flew up and knocked his away from her shoulder. "You're the first person that hasn't treated me like a porcelain doll in weeks, Fred," she said. She lifted her chin to glare at him. "Don't ruin that now."
He took a step back with his hands up at shoulder level, and she gave him a cursory nod. Then her face split into a grin and she started laughing again.
"That was fun," she said, brushing dirt off her dark sweatshirt. "I haven't gotten a good spar in since before they shot us up."
Fred wasn't sure how to respond. She was laughing. Their fight wasn't pretend - his ribs were sore, and his nose was still dripping blood. She showed the telltale signs of stiffness and early bruising from his punches as well. But she was laughing. She seemed fine . . . good, even. She was definitely strong enough to strangle him in his sleep if she wanted to.
He wanted to worry about her, but he knew that was likely an unhealthy choice.
"What are you doing in my clearing?" he asked instead. He crossed his arms over his chest – an action that was now more difficult, he noticed with no small amount of pride, due to his increased muscle mass from the past few weeks' weight training. But for the moment he shoved that pride aside. This was his place, and he was determined to fight for its honor.
Kelly wheeled around smartly, striking one hand onto her hip angrily and jabbing a finger from her other hand in his direction. "'Your clearing'?" she asked incredulously. "Where did you get that idea? This clearing is mine."
He stepped forward, aggressively charging into her space. "Is not," he seethed. The retort was childish, but it was the best he could come up with at the moment.
Luckily for him, Kelly was feeling too defensive to notice. "What, do you want to fight for it? I'm more than willing to take my chances with the likes of you."
His began to breathe heavily, the laborious intake of air caused more by his frustration than the exertion of their altercation. He did want to fight her. For several breaths every ounce of his being was shouting at him to tackle her. Banish her from his place. Protect it.
But when he looked at her arms, still skinny and in need of exercise, and her shorn scalp that had lost all trace of its blue dye from their childhood, all he could think of was how gut-wrenchingly terrified he'd been, willing her to wake up when so many of them hadn't. Suddenly he didn't want to fight her anymore.
But he couldn't let her know that.
"You're not worth my time," he said, stepping away from her and dismissively waving a hand in her face. "Besides, the UNSC just spent thousands of credits keeping your sorry butt alive. I wouldn't want to waste all those resources."
He waited for a biting retort, planning his own response all the while. The retort didn't come.
When he looked at her again her shoulders were slumped. She stared at him, tears welling in her wide eyes. "Really?" she asked in a small voice. "Is that what everyone thinks of me now?"
Fred suddenly felt awful. That stupid cynical voice had escaped his head and wormed its way out of his big mouth, hurting Kelly. He opened his mouth to apologize.
Then, before he was entirely sure it was even happening, her left fist collided with his chest hard enough to throw him back onto just one foot, his other leg stretching out for balance. She reached out a foot and swept his balancing leg, sending him sprawling on his back.
"Well, that's what I think of your opinion!" Kelly crowed, her faux tears replaced by the widest grin he'd seen her wear in days. She danced closer to him and leaned down to look him in the eyes. "Honestly, Fred, if all a girl has to do to get your guard down is shed a few fake tears, you're not going to last ten – "
The rest of her taunt was lost to the night air when he grabbed hold of both of her ankles and pulled them high in the air. She landed hard on her back, and in an instant rolled over and jumped on him.
They wrestled in the grass for several moments, until finally they each fell to their backs, chests heaving as they gulped in air. Their match came to a momentary draw.
Several minutes of silence passed between them. Fred regained his breath but didn't bother to renew his defense of the clearing. There wasn't much point – he had a precious few minutes left to him before he needed to head back down to the barracks anyway. He didn't want to waste his last night in his place. Kelly seemed to agree.
"Why are you here, anyway?" he finally asked when the silence between them started to become uncomfortable. "I didn't think that anyone else knew about my spot."
She laughed again, a surprisingly pleasant sound so soon after their most recent kerfuffle. "I always thought of it as my spot," she answered. She was quiet for a beat before continuing, "I heard the news that we're getting relocated at muster call tomorrow. I don't know the next time I'll get to see this place. I had to come."
Fred lifted his head to look at her. She was laying on her side, propped up on her elbow, staring up into the sky. "Me too," he said quietly. "Everything's going to change tomorrow – again. But this place is always going to be here. At least in my head it will be." He laid his head back down, and silence fell upon them once more.
He didn't mind the company. The clearing may have been his favorite place, but he finally realized that he didn't want it all for himself. And if he had to share his place someone, he was glad it was Kelly. He'd die before he ever admitted it to her, but he felt more like himself around her than anyone else. The worst moments of her recovery – when no one was sure whether she'd make it or not – had been difficult for him. Even with his blood drying on his sweatshirt, he was glad she was there.
He was working up the nerve to say something to that effect when her whisper startled him out of his concentration.
"Look," she said, pointing up. "The stars are coming out."
Sure enough, the clouds were beginning to clear. The stars shone through the night sky so brightly that they dazzled his eyes. So separated from the light pollution of the populated areas of Reach, there were more stars in the sky then he could begin to fathom. He soaked up the sight of it.
A cold breeze blew over the trees, and the pair of stargazers instinctually inched closer together to share their warmth.
"Look," Fred said awkwardly, glancing at Kelly. "In the spirit of teamwork, I'd be willing to compromise. We can share the clearing."
Kelly thoughtfully tapped her chin. "It is still my clearing," she said slowly, "but I suppose I could allow that." She turned to him and flashed a bright smile, their faces close. "Our clearing it is, then," she said.
She stuck out her right hand, and he shook it with his own. They laid their heads back down in the soft grass, each relaxing their grip on the other's hand without completely releasing it.
'Our' clearing, he thought. One more change.
Feeling the warmth from her calloused fingers pressing into his own, he decided that he didn't mind it.
