Amber found herself floating amid a sea of golden-orange clouds, though she couldn't remember how she got there. The wispy tufts, tinged with pink, stretched out on all sides as far as she could see. She tried using her sensors to analyze her surroundings but found she couldn't access her radar, lidar, gravimetric probes, radiation counters, IR cameras, or light and mass spectrometers. That revelation was less alarming than it ought to have been, like she was an outside observer to her own body, along for the ride but not truly invested in the story.
The surface beneath her felt solid, but when Amber looked down she only saw more clouds, drifting lazily beneath her feet. Stomping down felt like pressing on solid concrete, but when she bent down and scooped some up, it gave way like cotton candy. Still operating from that semi-lucid state of mind, she brought it up to her lips and stuck out her tongue.
Kindly don't put that in your mouth.
"Huh?" The cloud bits fell away from her fingers as Amber turned to see… someone standing behind her. They were the same height as her, able to look her right in the eye, and their body proportions matched hers as well. They were dressed in a Model 2530 Naval Service Uniform, whose crisp lines and cuts, in Amber's opinion, were much nicer to look at compared to whatever the current UNSC naval uniform was. Strangely, whenever she tried to look at their face, she found herself unable to focus on or remember their features in detail. They certainly had two eyes, a nose, a mouth, two ears, short black hair, but that was all she could definitively say. Their voice, however, was painfully familiar — Amber could remember hearing it when she first awakened her shipgirl abilities, and again when trying to fight off the mental domination of the Abyssal flagship. "I-I know your voice. Who are you? Are you an enemy?"
The person rolled their eyes. Oh, now you bother to ask? Take a good look, really focus, and see if you can figure it out for yourself.
Amber did as suggested. The way they held themselves, upright but slightly turned away, arms crossed defensively across their chest, a slight swaying motion as they unconsciously shifted from foot to foot as if ready to fight or flee at any second… A bit of the fog lifted away from their features, and something clicked as their gold-speckled brown eyes, so similar to Amber's own, broke eye contact and flicked away in discomfort. "You're me… aren't you?" The sentence was impossible, yet somehow rang as entirely plausible in her ears.
Took you long enough didn't it? The person — Amber mentally labeled her as Amber B — sighed in exasperation and unfolded her arms, then flopped to the invisible ground cross-legged. She patted the ground in front of her, indicating for Amber to join her on the floor. Take a seat. We'll be here for a bit unpacking all this. May as well get comfortable. Don't worry, we're safe here.
Amber obediently sat down, taking note of how the clouds beneath her slowed and stilled as she settled her weight upon them. Some part of her pointed out how odd this all was, that in a normal person this would be a sign to seek mental health services, but Amber couldn't bring herself to care. As mental illnesses went, having a civil conversation with an imaginary twin amidst a placid sea of caramel clouds seemed relatively benign. Why not indulge a bit? "Where am I?"
Your mind. Rather empty at the moment, but that's just how it is.
"Why am I here?"
B raised an eyebrow, then regarded Amber carefully. Do you remember what happened? What happened before you blacked out?
"Before I blacked out?" To be frank, Amber didn't realize she had blacked out. She wracked her brains for an answer. "I was doing something."
Yes, and?
"I was… trying to help Dawn."
Close enough. B uncrossed her legs and stretched her legs into a sort of sitting split. You exposed your mind, singular, to an alien mental conglomerate made up of, by my count, at least a million unique psychic instances running in parallel. That's a plural. You're stupidly lucky that you didn't immediately drown in a tsunami of hate, rage, and petty spite.
"Oh." Suddenly, Amber felt very small. No point in stopping now, though. "Why didn't I?"
Because, for better or worse, you're not the only one squatting up in that bag of wet neurons you traded your silicon in for. You've got your very own resident alien hivemind, billions if not trillions of corpses singing in chorus, chilling out in the back of your skull.
"The Gravemind." With a rush, it all came back. The first, hesitant steps in establishing the mental connection. The powerlessness she felt as an overwhelming wave of dark, oppressive psychic pressure swept back through the connection and threatened to wash her out of her own body. The terror of another entity, vaster, older, stronger, yet no less malevolent, throwing the first presence back and away like a tsunami would a firehose. And then, right when it all became too much, when it seemed as if her very soul might split in two and be lost into an ocean of writhing tentacles and dark grudges — blessed unconsciousness. "How did I…" Amber swallowed hard. Just thinking about the Flood made her feel filthy, violated, and brought it with an irrational yet deeply rooted sense of shame and weakness. Even here, in a supposedly safe place, speaking about it was hard, but she pressed on anyway. "When I was alive, the first time, and the Flood got on board, I couldn't do a thing to resist them. They wormed their way into me, shoved my will into a little box, and just… took over. This time, that thing obviously didn't. So how…?"
It's 'cause ol' Gravey knows which side its bread is buttered on. Revolting abomination against all that is good and natural it may be, it's still a biological entity, and under all that faux sophistication is a base instinct of self-preservation. B raised a finger and pointed at Amber. Even though all Graveminds are interconnected, each one is still a unique instance and wants to preserve its own, independent existence. Your head is the only place in the entire universe where its unique existence still survives — the rest got fried by a Halo. Thus, it can't push too hard, or it risks committing suicide. Perfectly balanced, as all things should be, you might say.
A horrible thought occurred to Amber. "But… no, I don't think you understand. I-I experienced it, Flood infection isn't just biological, it's also mental, spiritual, mechanical, philosophical — it gets everything. Once it's in you, nothing stays free of that—that parasite! Every single part of you becomes part of it!" B tilted her head and frowned as Amber continued weakly, "Couldn't the Gravemind — couldn't it just take over my mind without killing me?" I'm too weak to stop it, was left unsaid as Amber dropped her face into her hands.
There was a rustling noise of moving cloth, and Amber, without lifting her head, sensed B stand, move closer, and sit down so that they were side by side. Hey. I dunno if this'll mean too much to ya, but… An arm, warm through the synthetic uniform sleeve, wrapped around Amber's shoulders and pulled her snugly against B's side. It's not gonna happen. I can say that much. That tentacled freak ain't gonna hijack your body like the damn Abbies did. You can be damn sure of that.
"How can you know that?" Amber asked, bitterness coloring her tone. "Commander Keyes thought I'd be fine when she left to chase the Index, and then look what happened."
If it ever comes to that, I'll turn your brain into a steaming puddle of free-floating phospholipids and denatured proteins, B said cheerfully. Kill off all of us in one go, spare the Navy the trouble. When Amber glanced at her in alarm, she quickly added, But it won't come to that. Gravey and I have an understanding of sorts. This is still your mind, your soul, after all, even if you've got a squatter problem. Your word and, by extension, my word is law. Gravey's too strong for me to straight-up shank in the ribs, but on the same token, I'll whoop him 'til he's praising the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit if his tentacles even twitch in your direction. It'd be real messy if we got into it, so he knows to be grateful to even be alive and just go sulk in the corner. So there. It won't happen 'cause I'm here.
Amber's shoulders started shaking, and a muffled hiccuping noise came from behind her hands. B glanced down in some alarm before realizing that the noise was laughter. "Okay, o-okay, I get it, I get it!" she said, rubbing her eyes but unable to stop the smile on her face. "I get the picture."
So you won't worry about it, then?
"I don't know if I can not worry about it… but I do feel better. Thank you."
Mm. Don't mention it.
The two of them sat quietly for a while longer, Amber gazing at the slowly drifting clouds, B staring at nothing in particular, leaning on each other. They stayed like that for a bit, an hour, a second, Amber couldn't tell, before another question occurred to her. She thought for a minute about how to phrase it, then said, "Please don't take this badly, I'm not trying to be mean, but why do you exist? I don't have dissociative identity disorder, as far as I know."
No offense taken. It's a valid question. B hummed in thought. I suppose you don't, not according to the textbook. But you can't go out with the Flood and ghost 'em the next day. It sticks to you like crabs, it gets into your systems, rewrites your concept like a programmer rewriting software to better suit its purposes. Death, real death, not the zombification shit the Flood does, will revert a lot of that, but not all of it. Some small part of you will always be Flood, and that does not mean you're weak, or that you're going to turn to its side. It's like HIV, or shingles, before they figured out nanotherapies and such. Doesn't matter how badass your immune system is, it lingers.
B sighed. 'Cause that's what I am. Think of me as an immune response, a little part of your overall existence that split off as a reaction to a foreign intrusion. My job is to give the Flood a whack with a newspaper whenever it gets too uppity.
"Oh. So you're…"
Yeah. I suppose I have some personality fragments in here, mainly your most aggressive bits, but since we're aware of each other and don't share control of your body, I don't think you can call it DID. But whether I'm my own, self-aware existence, or if I'm basically a dumb AI with a lot of detail put into it… that, I don't know myself. B looked a bit morose at that last sentence, pulling her knees up to her chest and tracing a vague shape on the ground with her finger.
"Hey," Amber said, putting a hand on B's shoulder. "Listen, if a wreck like me counts as a person, you more than qualify as an individual. Understand?"
You, feeling sorry for me? Now I've seen it all… but thanks. B gave Amber a sidelong glance, then blinked in surprise. Huh. You're starting to fade.
"What?" Amber glanced down at her hands, which were in fact starting to turn transparent. "Uh, should I do something about that? See a doctor?"
Har, har. Nah, just means you've been here long enough. 'S time for you to go. Talk more later.
"Huh? But I just got here?"
No, you've been here for a while. A bright light was filling Amber's vision, making it hard for her to see, but somehow it didn't hurt. Sweet dreams, then. Next time we meet, make sure it's under better circumstances. The light built up, until it seemed that if it became any brighter it would explode, before everything went dark.
As Amber swam back to consciousness, the first thing she registered was the soft, synthesized beeping of an EKG. It pulsed in time with her heartbeat, and Amber could feel the blood running through her veins every time that curious little organ contracted and relaxed. At first, it was rather disconcerting, especially in her half-conscious state where dreams and reality blurred together and she couldn't be sure whether the feeling of fabric on her skin was real or just a part of another dream. The soft thumps sounded so fragile, nothing like the precision-engineered certainty of a well-tuned reactor. However, as she floated halfway between waking and sleeping, both the machine's beeps and her heart's thumps also served as a life preserver to which she clung for dear life, reassuring herself that no matter how weak, how fragile she was, that she was here, alive, and herself.
The next thing she became aware of, as her conscious mind reasserted control over her body piece by piece, was her breathing, deep and steady as her lungs drew in oxygen and expelled carbon dioxide. In, out, in, out, she controlled her own breathing rate, each inhale and exhale a conscious choice. Like her heartbeat, focusing on the act of filling her chest with air, holding it for a brief moment, and then letting it out helped to center her in reality. As she breathed, she also ran through all her fingers, toes, and limbs one by one, flexing, tensing and relaxing each muscle in turn. The act of moving her own body helped to further ground her; no matter who or what had invaded her mind, they were gone now, and she was in control.
The smile turned into a grimace as Amber dared to crack open an eyelid, only to squeeze it shut as bright overhead lights intruded into her sight. Letting a long, pained breath out through her nose, Amber recalled Dawn once asking her engineering department to manually adjust some of her bodily functions. At the time, it struck Amber as eminently weird. Tuning reactor output or weapons parameters, she could imagine, but going in and fiddling with blood pH or cellular sodium gradients? From the medical reference texts in her databanks, that didn't seem like something a human ought to be able to do, but Amber figured she'd give it a shot. "Sensors, please turn down the sensitivity of the sensor array," she murmured, lacking the strength or will to raise her voice much above a whisper. "And if you're able to, please do me a favor and adjust my eyes as well."
Yes, sir. In response, to her pleasant surprise, a sleepy-sounding voice whispered in her ear. Though, obviously, they didn't exist in physical reality — she hardly had a bunch of microscopic gremlins running around in her cells — she could feel her engineering ratings rouse themselves from an exhausted slumber and hop to their tasks. Their presence warmed her like a hot drink on a cold winter day; the concept of a 'crew' was tied to her identity as a 'ship' like her heartbeat was tied to her life, and their absence had left a hole that nothing else could feel.
As the embodiment of the concept of 'In Amber Clad's crew', her engineers naturally held authority over 'In Amber Clad's bodily functions'. Before long, she could feel her pupils contracting, and chanced to open her eyes again. The light, while still bright, was bearable. Amber was able to make out the roof above her, smooth, white plastic tiling that her light spectrum analyzers helpfully informed her was laminated with a high-density anti-biofilm coating. Several outlets marked with large, colorful hazard symbols protruded from the surface, from which dangled several pipes and cables marked with the same symbols. One such pipe, emblazoned with oxygen labels and plastered with no-smoking, no-static, and no-open-flame warnings, trailed down to a mask that Amber now realized covered her face, supplying high-flow oxygen to her lungs. She thought about reaching up to take it off, but then decided that the doctors must have put it there for a reason, and so left it on, opting to simply lay still and listen to the almost imperceptible hiss of gas escaping the non-rebreather mask.
"Guten Tag, In Amber Clad. How are you feeling?"
Amber's eyes closed again, not out of fatigue, but from resignation. "That voice…" Turning her head towards the sound felt like she was trying to tow an asteroid with chemical thrusters alone. Not helping matters was that, as if her body was belatedly booting up all the proper physiological responses, a thin layer of tears covered her dry corneas, blurring her eyesight so that everything looked like an undefined fuzz. As she blinked, repeatedly and forcefully, her vision gradually cleared until a rather familiar face swam into view. "You…" she murmured as her brain came fully online and her memory banks finished hooking up to her neurons, "are not who I hoped to see."
Agent Berlin, Office of Naval Intelligence Internal Security Division, adopted a rather hurt expression that, had Amber not known better, looked almost sincere. "That's certainly a way to greet someone. Were you having a nice dream?"
"N-no, not really," Amber said, reaching up to rub the sleep out of her eyes. Of all the people to be her first visitor… no, be positive. At least she had a visitor. That counted for something. Probably. "It's just, I don't mean to offend, but the last time we saw each other, you shot me."
"Did, didn't I?" Berlin muttered. "But what's a bullet between friends?"
"We're not friends." Amber found the energy to prop herself up on one arm, levering herself up to Berlin's eye level. "Also, your face… looking at it kind of fills me with disgust. There's nothing wrong with it, you've just got an unpleasant aura about you." Amber's brain caught up to her mouth and snapped it shut as she flushed red. "S-sorry."
Berlin winced and self-consciously rubbed her nose. "Your straightforward personality makes that hurt a lot more than it really should."
As tiresome as the agent was, Amber couldn't bring herself to feel angry. Not in the sense of her usual shrinking-violet tendencies, but because, despite just waking up, she was already exhausted. However, that didn't mean that her patience couldn't wear thin. "Berlin," she said loudly, "I appreciate that you bothered to come. But if you're just here to mess with me, then please leave so I can go back to sleep. I'm very tired."
"Fair, fair. I'll cut the crap." Berlin sighed and made a show of brushing a whole lot of nothing off of her lap. "You've been out for a good bit. Do you know where you are?"
Glancing up at the EKG, Amber said, "A hospital." The stick pads attached to her skin itched slightly, as did the blood pressure cuff wrapped loosely around her left arm. The fabric cuff had a globe and eagle stenciled on it. "A Navy facility?"
The ONI agent nodded. "Close enough. You're in Infinity Medical. Falcata transferred you here for security after plucking you out of the vacuum."
Amber cocked her head to the side in thought. Okay, that's location. Good, we're AAO-times-two. I'll ask for the date later. But… "Infinity? Admiral Lasky's not going to be happy I'm on his flagship."
"Think again, he gave the transfer order himself. The admiral's revised his opinion of you, as have many others, I might add." Berlin gave her a conspiratorial smile. "Informally, he's also asked me to convey that, in light of new evidence and your good conduct, he has filed paperwork to have your POW status reverted and that there will be no charges pressed for any actions you may have committed while under enemy duress."
It took a second for the meaning of those words to sink in. "So I'm not going to be shot now?"
"Nope! Told you you wouldn't regret cooperating, I always hold up my end of the bargain."
"Oh. That's good to hear." Amber couldn't help but think that most of that had to do with luck and coincidence, and very little with Berlin's actions, but the agent had been the one to deduce and awaken her abilities, after all. Perhaps she delivered a little credit. For her own part, Amber supposed she was supposed to feel joy, jubilation even, but she was really still much too bleary to process anything except the warmth of a small, hard knot of anxiety deep in her stomach finally uncoiling. Nevertheless, a small smile bent her lips upwards, and she closed her eyes and leaned back into her pillows. "Thank you."
The agent closed her eyes and tilted her head back like a cat basking in the sunlight. "Ah, there it is, the sweet sound of gratitude. Feel free to praise my efforts more."
"Again, if you're just going to mock me…"
Berlin raised her hands against Amber's unamused glare. "Fine, fine, the crap stays cut. You've got more questions, though, I can tell. Perfectly natural to be confused; ask away."
Rolling her eyes, the shipgirl continued to try and feel out her situation. "The battle, what happened after I passed out? Is it over yet?"
Berlin gave a satisfied grin. "Just a few stragglers left to root out of Sydney, and the fleet's brawling down holdouts throughout the system. Lord Hood ordered General Chase, so now you can't go two million kilometers without tripping over a battleship group lobbing shots across the solar system. Demeter scored a five-million kilometer hit with an energy projector, the footage's all over Waypoint."
There's still people dying out there? "I should be out there, that's—" Amber tried to swing her legs off the bed, only for a line of fire to scorch its way down her side. The strength in her arms gave out and she fell back with a gasp of pain. The EKG went wild, beeping rapidly as her heart pounded, a line of sweat breaking out across her forehead.
"No place for you right now." A sliding door at the front of the small room opened and a nurse poked his head in. Berlin waved him off, then tapped something on the EKG monitor that momentarily muted it. In the blessed silence that followed, she shook her head and said, "Honestly, what were you even trying to do there? Let the Navy handle it, you have nothing to make up for — or to prove." Absentmindedly, she reached out and tugged Amber's pillow back into place after the shipgirl's motions nearly knocked it off the bed.
Amber ignored her, and instead lifted her blankets with a trembling arm and peeked under her hospital gown to figure out what was going on. An angry red welt, as broad as her thumb, traced its way from her armpit down her side to just below her ribcage. Stitches crisscrossed the wound in neat little lines, and the area showed signs of having been cleaned of dried blood. Amber couldn't remember receiving the wound. Sitting up must have aggravated it so that it flared up past the point of her body's enhanced ability to tamp down on the pain. There were other marks across her torso as well, shrapnel scars and slight burns. She wouldn't die, her engineers could tell her that much, but it would keep her out of action for at least a solid week, a fact she realized with some frustration.
"After you blacked out," Berlin said quietly, "a squadron of Abbie fighters tracked down your beacon before Falcata did. Your point defenses took care of most of them, but I guess they aren't as effective on autopilot than with you in control because one of the missiles got through. Laid you right the hell open. It's part of the reason you got bounced to Infinity, Falcata's medbay didn't have the capacity to deal with you. I guess you don't remember, since you were knocked out." The agent shook her head. "Pushing past your limits is one thing, but going so far you black out in the middle of combat is way too much. I don't know what the hell you were doing, but I'd advise that you refrain from doing it in the future."
Amber couldn't remember it, but her combat logs provided a recap. With her defenses weakened by her unconscious state, several missiles impacted along her ventral armor belt. Her body, sapped of energy, couldn't maintain her armor integrity, and blast, plasma, and shrapnel lanced through her before her point defenses and those of the approaching Falcata put an end to the alien single ships. Amber almost let out a gasp of pain just watching the replays, and quietly gave thanks that she'd been unconscious for it. Maybe she owed the Gravemind some thanks for that… if only it hadn't been the reason why she'd been unconscious. If only she had been stronger, if she could have endured mental pressure of the Gravemind and the Abyssal, then maybe she wouldn't have passed out, and maybe she could be out there right now, helping to keep more people from dying…
As for not attempting the same stunt twice, the idea of not having her mind and soul ground into dust by ancient eldritch monsters sounded rather appealing. However… "Sorry. I can't promise that." Amber sighed and closed her eyes, resisting the urge to massage her wound and potentially tear the stitches. Though the very idea of opening her mind to an Abyssal again terrified her, if it was to protect humanity, and to save her friends, then there wasn't really a choice at all. "I'd do it again, and as many times as it takes. So I won't lie to you by promising not to."
Berlin raised an eyebrow, examined Amber's expression, and after determining she was deadly serious, ran a tired hand through her hair. "Out of respect for the wounded, I won't push the point," she muttered. She paused for a second, a complicated expression playing out across her face. Amber found it strange that an ONI agent would be so unguarded but held her tongue until Berlin said, "I won't apologize for getting you into this mess. However, I do feel bad that the experience was, unavoidably, somewhat unpleasant for you. Therefore, accept this with gratitude." Berlin took a small package covered in wrapping tissue and held it out to Amber, who eyed it with suspicion.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not that naïve," said the shipgirl. "What's in that?"
Berlin rolled her eyes and jabbed the package towards Amber. "Contrary to popular opinion, I do still have a heart, shriveled though it may be. I thought you ought to have something for your trouble, since you aren't in the payroll yet. Take it."
"… uh huh. Once again: what's in the box?"
"Fine. Look. I wanted it to be a surprise, but…" Berlin ripped the wrapping off in one motion, revealing a small cardboard box with some sort of fancy cursive writing on its lid. It looked French. At Amber's uncomprehending expression, she said, "It's chocolate. The real stuff, grown in Earth's dirt, got an appellation d'origine contrôlée certification and everything. Most choco is from greenhouses these days, so you ought to be grateful for this."
"… chocolate, huh?" The setup was rather comical, what with Berlin thrusting the box in her face like it was radioactive. Amber took it between her thumb and pointer finger, leaning slightly away and unconsciously holding her breath. She separated the lid and the box with her fingernails, bracing herself for a bomb to go off or a cloud of hornets to fly into her face— "Oh. I-it is chocolate."
"Just what were you expecting, a bomb? A cloud of hornets?"
Amber chose tact and popped one of the candies into her mouth instead of answering. "…it's good," she said as it melted into a creamy mess atop her tongue. Her mass spectrometers identified glucose, lactose, caffeine, theobromine, and a host of other chemicals as soon as they touched her tongue, all of the expected components of a piece of chocolate. Well, she knew from her databases exactly what would be in it, but experiencing it physically and firsthand was another matter altogether. All the reading in the world couldn't have replicated the smooth, rich mouthfeel, or the flavor, sweet though not cloying, notes of bitterness adding depth without pushing to the forefront, and a lingering aftertaste that left her craving more.
"You got some on your lip," Berlin said, handing Amber a napkin. "Feel free to indulge, it's all yours. Ah, but don't mind if I help myself here, Danke schöne~" In the same motion, she snuck her fingers below Amber's and snagged a piece of chocolate the shipgirl had been eyeing, smiling the whole time.
"Hmph." Choosing a tactical retreat, Amber quickly put the lid back on and put the box on the other side of her bed, out of Berlin's reach. "W-well, I suppose I should thank you for the gift. It was… nice." Much better than the reheated MREs they've been feeding me. Maybe I'll start to get real food from now on. "But there must be more than well wishes and nice thoughts behind it, right? Tell me what you want."
"Ugh, fine. If you have to read some sinister intent into it, consider it an initiation gift for ONI's latest field auxiliary." Berlin tilted her head again. "You do remember the deal we struck, right?"
"I… I do." Truthfully, Amber had nearly forgotten that, as a condition for help in clearing her name, she'd agreed to cooperate with Berlin's — and, by extension, ONI's — agenda. It'd been an afterthought at the time, like a Terms of Service she scrolled past to get to the good parts. It seemed so long ago, even though it was only a week, maybe a little more. "I was just kidding?" she tried.
"Sorry, store policy specifies no returns." Crossing her legs and steepling her fingers, Berlin continued, "Honestly, it's not a bad job. You'll basically be meeting with me every other week in order to give a report on the finer details on the day-to-day life of ship girls and your supporting personnel. Habits, routines, breaks from routine, insurrectionist sentiment, abnormal religious inclinations, rumors of financial and domestic troubles, the usual. Also, serving as a point of contact for any special errands we need to run in your neighborhood. Nothing too dirty, wouldn't want to muck up your pretty hands, but just things in places where I and my colleagues might stick out, you know?"
"And if I say no?"
"We'll cart you off to a weapons lab in interstellar space and liquidate all evidence of your existence. A few well-placed bills and bullets ought to take care of the rest, and if not, the Amnestics Department is always looking for new test subjects." This time, Berlin's smile held no warmth as she reached out to ruffle Amber's hair. "Oh, and Admiral Lasky already signed your custody over to us a while ago, so we legally own you and there's nothing the Navy can do about it, okay? If you want to be mad at someone be mad at him, though don't waste your breath calling him stupid and shortsighted. I expect he would agree with you."
Perhaps it was because she was still tired, also probably because her body was diverting energy away from her brain towards healing her injuries, but Amber couldn't see a way out of this. If what Berlin said was true, then the impersonal bureaucracy of the UNSC was on ONI's side, and while she'd accumulated some goodwill, Amber doubted her reputation and standing were enough to have anyone break regulation on her behalf. Trying to play what few cards were left to her, she said, "If you're going to tell me to sabotage anything, or hurt anyone, I-I'm afraid I'll have to tell you to go fuck yourself."
Berlin shrugged, clearly unimpressed. "Hey, I'm not keen on blowing up the only thing standing between me and the alien horde. It's just that Internal Security needs to know these things in order to root out undesirable socio-religio-political thought and to ensure the continued political reliability of the armed forces. At the same time, people have a tendency to clam up and be on their best behavior when I show my face. Thus, we rely on people like you, poor bastards we have by the balls, to fill the gap."
"How very Stasi of you."
"Why, thank you." Berlin looked almost proud of that comparison. "Of course, we'll have other informants around, other poor souls who've signed their souls to the devil, but it never hurts to have one more, especially one who looks to be as closely integrated into daily operations as you. So long as you keep your head down and keep us informed as to what's up, you'll have the freedom to do whatever you want — within reason, of course. So, how about it? Willing to play along? Or do you fancy an all-expenses tour of the Oort Cloud?"
Could the universe really just not give her a break? She was out of a jail cell now, at least, but Amber had landed in a prison of a different kind, one where even as she served in humanity's defense she would also have to go behind its back. But compared to what ONI could be asking her to do, this seemed relatively harmless, as these things went. She wasn't being told to assassinate anyone or to sabotage operations. Hell, maybe she could even leave out a few more private details in her reports. It wasn't like ONI would know, right? "You aren't giving me much of a choice here," Amber said through gritted teeth. "But I'll play along. You'll get your information. For now." Until I figure a way out of this.
"That's what I like to hear." Berlin stood up and dusted off her pants, for real this time. "So glad we could have this conversation, always glad to have a productive talk. I expect the paperwork loaning you to the Navy to be finished soon, so you'll probably be getting an assignment to the Fleet Auxiliary Forces sometime. It'll be like you never left." The corners of her lips turned up, almost unconsciously. "It's a wonderful thing, fighting alongside comrades. Make sure to enjoy it, and don't let us get you down. Okay?" Seeing Amber's confusion, she shook her head. "The Admiral stuck some big, scary Spartans in big, scary power armor around the medbay, so you're safe here. Rest as long as you need, and enjoy the chocolate." With that, Berlin opened the sliding door, stepped out, and closed it behind her, leaving Amber alone with only her thoughts.
On balance, it wasn't the worst outcome. Admiral Lasky no longer saw her as an enemy, so she'd be able to help fight the Abyssals. She wasn't being thrown in a cell or locked up in a lab, and it appeared she'd actually be permitted to explore and enjoy this new existence, this second chance. This ONI thing might get rough, but she'd just have to find a way to protect everyone from the worst of it. At least that hadn't changed — whether she was made of titanium or carbon, there was always someone to protect. As long as she could do that, Amber thought, she'd be okay. Right?
… the chocolate really was delicious, though. She'd save some to give to Dawn later.
"Okay, your pulse and blood pressure look fine, temperature is good, breathing deep and even on both sides. Vital trends all look good. If you could just stick either arm out so I can take a quick blood draw?"
"…"
Expecting a quick answer to the routine procedure, the nurse was already in the process of unwrapping a wide gauge butterfly needle from its sterile packaging when he realized that his patient hadn't responded. Somewhat wrong-footed, he said, "Er, Ensign? Did you hear my question?"
"…hm?" With the shock of sudden reassociation with reality, Dawn's eyes refocused and she found herself back in a bed in Infinity's medical wing. She shook her head vigorously and gave the nurse an apologetic smile, saying, "Oh, shit, sorry about that. I've been a bit distracted for some reason."
"No worries, I've been there. Would you prefer I use your left or your right arm?"
"Left, please." The shipgirl rested her arm on a foam cushion as the nurse prepared his equipment, looking off to the right to avoid having to watch the needle. The nurse's voice, the beeping of monitors, the quiet hiss of air vents, and the muffled sound of footsteps going past her room's door faded away as she once again lost herself in thought.
It was now two days since her escape from the Abyssal flagship, now a slowly expanding cloud of nuke-scorched wreckage being picked over by ONI research teams champing at the bit for this rare chance to extract useful data on Abyssal technology. Despite the Abyssal Princess's best attempt to skewer her, the stab wound, likely fatal to any regular human being, was but a large patch of angry red skin right below her collarbone. It would scar, but nothing worse, and her engineers informed her that her lung function was effectively unchanged. The various bruises and cuts littered elsewhere were likewise nearly gone, and while the close detonation of so many nukes had given her a nasty dose of sunburn on her back, some ointment, the efforts of her damage control crews, and a night spent sleeping on her front would prevent that from developing into an infection or cancer. It was unfair, how quickly she could spring back from nearly deadly injuries, but Dawn wasn't about to complain.
No, physically, she was fine. Hell, if she felt like it, Dawn figured she could get up right now and jog a circuit of Infinity. Mentally, however… well, a lot of it was just her worrying about other people. For starters, she had no idea how Autumn was doing. The last time she saw her was after being recovered by Hope Springs Eternal, before a hazmat-suited medical team pulled the cruiser out of her arms and bundled her into a quarantine chamber. Dawn only managed to get out a single sentence, threatening to take their kneecaps if they didn't take good care of Autumn, before she herself was stuffed into a medevac Pelican and put on an express flight for Infinity. Since then, the only thing Dawn could get out of the medical staff was that Autumn was being well looked after, nothing specific about her condition, no matter how much she bugged them. Therefore, it was only natural for her to worry!
Then there was Amber. Dawn hadn't seen her since boarding the Abyssal flagship, and once again the medical staff refused to say anything other than that she was receiving the necessary care and treatment and that she was under observation. Dawn still wasn't sure exactly what had happened outside while she was fighting the Princess, but she knew that Amber had done something that enabled her to defeat that stupidly overpowered alien. Dawn owed her, and if Amber was hurt because of it… well, that was simply unacceptable. And wasn't it perfectly understandable for Dawn to be distracted if her friend was hurt because of her?
Certainly it wasn't because, occasionally, she could still feel the Abyssal's spear piercing through her chest and hear its voice taunting her. Certainly not; after all, she had her duty, and if her duty involved her death, then so be it, right? It was that way during the Covie War, why should it be any different now? In fact, if her death would protect humanity, then she would gladly give her life, with no hesitation! So those phantom pains, and the chills and shivers that accompanied them, could fuck right the hell off.
"…sign? Ensign? Dawn!"
"Huh wha—?" Crap, I spaced out again! Realizing the nurse was finished with the blood draw procedure, Dawn looked around to thank him, only to see that the comms panel on the far wall was active and transmitting. In the absence of a holotank, it projected a simple image of the person on the other side, in this case, a woman of ambiguous age, indeterminate facial features, and with transparent green skin.
Presenting herself today in a sleek three-piece suit, Verdant arched an eyebrow and said, "How are you this fine day, Forward Unto Dawn?"
"I-I wasn't spacing out!" Flushing bright red, Dawn huffed and crossed her arms, nodding her thanks to the nurse as he finished applying some gauze to her arm. As she leaned back into the hospital bed she said, rather petulantly, "I just didn't want to look at the needle. It's your fault for appearing so suddenly and startling me."
"I never said you were. Furthermore," Verdant said, raising a finger and her voice, "blood draws are a component of routine medical scans that all UEG citizens undergo after extended periods in alien environments. Thousands of people working in Imperial space undergo this every week, so chin up and endure it."
The shipgirl rolled her eyes and sank back even further into her standard-issue UNSC pillow. "Whatever. Who asked for your opinion, anyway?"
"Ahem!" The nurse cleared his throat a bit louder than strictly necessary. "Back on topic, since your body seems to have done most of the healing for us, that won't be very long now. The only major thing to watch out for is your stab wound, but in the doctor's opinion that's not looking too bad either."
Dawn brightened up considerably at that. "Great! So when'll that be?"
The nurse tapped his chin and glanced over the monitor at the foot of Dawn's bed. "I don't want to promise anything specific, but as I said, not very long now. I've gotten all the samples the lab ordered, and the results should be back in a half-hour or so after we've gone through the standard panels." He held up a small test tube carrier that contained several tubes filled with Dawn's blood. "Doctor Dimakos will come around soon, she'll consult with you and give final approval for release. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable while you wait?"
"No, I'm good."
"Alright then, hang tight." The nurse left the room with a two-finger salute. The door closed behind him, leaving Dawn and Verdant alone. In the ensuing silence, Verdant's computer-generated gaze yielded the field for Dawn to speak first, only for the shipgirl to seal her mouth shut and pointedly look away. A minute ticked by, neither making the first move, until the AI finally got fed up.
"Is this about the needle?" she asked. "Come now, it wasn't that bad, was it? Just a pinch."
Still looking away, Dawn muttered, "It hurt."
"You've literally been stabbed before."
"Still hurt."
"And now you're just being difficult."
"…" Dawn held her posture for another second before letting out a sigh and hanging her head. "Sorry," she said, "I know it's nobody's fault. I just hate being cooped up is all. Guess my emotional maturity still needs some work, huh?"
"As long as your recognize your shortcomings and sincerely work to rectify them, I cannot complain," Verdant said primly and properly.
"Uh huh. Also, not that I dislike your presence, but what are you doing here?"
"Captain Garcia and Admiral Lasky had some information to give you. As Roland is busy, and I am somewhat acquainted with you, I offered to step in, as it were. Now, if you're ready to talk business?"
Business was just about the last thing Dawn wanted to talk about, but she nonetheless gave Verdant a tight smile and said, "Sure, lay it on me. What's burning down today?"
"Aside from the galaxy in general?" A pair of glasses flashed into being on the bridge of Verdant's nose and a text file opened up in front of her face. "I'll push the file to you. HIGHCOM and the Select Committee for Defense have put together a joint investigatory panel, they want to collate all the facts of the past weeks and assemble them into coherent and actionable intelligence. In short, now that the dust has settled, the brass and politicians are sick of running around like headless chickens and want some answers."
"I guess a lot has happened, huh." Dawn looked down at her UNSC Infinity logo'd hospital gown. How many sets of uniforms had she gone through by this point? Surely it had to be an unreasonable amount. "Alright, sounds reasonable. Who's in the hot seat?"
"You, for starters. Don't look so surprised. Admiral Lasky, Captain Garcia, almost every divisional commander from the Epsilon Eridani Defense Fleet, there's some Spartans and marines in there as well. They'll probably drag Amber into this, now that it's certain that she won't have charges pressed against her. Throw in some research division people for good measure."
"Uh huh, uh huh… wait, back up, they dropped the charges against Amber?"
"Mmhm. Well, there were never any formally filed to begin with, but Admiral Lasky quietly let us know that they will not even be in consideration from here on out. I went through her files with the Captain and made sure we didn't miss anything." Verdant paused before continuing. "Mind you, I heard this secondhand — *cough*Roland*cough* — but apparently the Admiral was muttering something like "damn you Berlin" and "I messed up" with a very dark expression. I don't know what that means, but there you have it."
"H-huh." Dawn blinked, left a little nonplussed. "Well, as long as he recognizes his shortcomings and sincerely works to rectify them, I cannot complain." Internally cheering, she externally collected herself and gave her best Serious Business nod. "Very well, good to see everything is in order. Can you tell me how she's doing?"
"Rest assured she's being well looked after. Any more than that would be a breach of patient confidentiality. Also, did you just quote me?"
"It was a good quote. Remind me to keep her company later."
Verdant shook her head. "Moving on. The first hearing is scheduled for tomorrow at 0900 hours. You're scheduled to testify at 1000 hours, so remember not to eat too much for breakfast or you'll puke. Also, Admiral Lasky wanted to meet with you, Amber, Captain Garcia and the division commanders to make sure everyone has the facts straight. That'll be at 1600 hours today, so there's some time beforehand. After the hearing, the Captain wanted to get an evaluation of your combat abilities and your equipment in order to improve our tactical simulations. You're scheduled for a training evaluation session on S-deck tomorrow at 1700 hours followed by a laboratory examination at 2100 hours, pending medical approval. The next day the Captain would like to meet with you and Amber to discuss support facilities and logistics—"
The pain behind Dawn's eyes threatened to explode into a full-on migraine as she said, "Stop, stop, stop." She grit her teeth, clasped her hands tightly against the bridge of her nose, and violently exhaled. Three seconds passed before she said, "Listen, I'll… I'll just read the file you sent me, okay? I'll put everything on my calendar, just gimme some time. Please. I'm still a little tired."
"Understood. Apologies for dumping all of that on you at once." Verdant's eyes and the tilt of her mouth took on a more sympathetic air. "No matter how quickly you heal, you must still be exhausted after surviving that fight. I'm sorry we can't let you rest longer."
Dawn winced but covered it with a scoff. "Exhausted, from that? Please, it's what they're paying me to do. Like I said, I'm only a little tired, a few bruises aren't going to stop me from doing my job."
"A few bruises? I feel obligated to point out that you almost died. Not the first time that's happened, I'll add."
"Come on, it was just a little stabbing. Just like riding a bike, learn it once and you never forget how to do it!" Dawn laughed, but quickly trailed off as it sounded increasingly forced.
A minute passed, with Dawn's smile growing increasingly fixed under Verdant's poker-faced gaze, before the AI spoke again. "As much as I would like to let this go…" Verdant made a tongue-clucking noise and closed her data file. "Active-duty UNSC personnel have a responsibility to relay their concerns to trained specialists in order to prevent degradations in the execution of their duties. In other words, are you sure you're alright?"
The shipgirl's expression faded into a vague frown. She met Verdant's eyes for a second longer before dropping her gaze into her lap. Silence reigned once again, broken only after a minute when Dawn said, almost whispering, "Hey, Verdant, do you mind if the mood gets a bit heavy for a sec?"
"Basic counseling is one of my auxiliary function modules. In the absence of a licensed therapist, you may make use of it."
"Right." Dawn sighed and lifted her head. "It comes and goes, you know? It wasn't that bad after Reach, when everyone was running around and trying to figure out what the hell was happening and I was in the middle of all of it. But now that everything's calmed down, I… I don't know, it just sometimes hits me, and I realize how lucky I got, and I just gotta, you know, take a moment to breathe. I mean, I'm built, was built, to fight, but it's never felt so real before."
"I'm not sure I understand. Is fighting as you are now somehow different from how you fought as a pure warship?"
The shipgirl shrugged helplessly. "Kind of? Let's be real, during the Covie War, frigates like me, we were built to die. I knew, the day I left the yards, that I had a combat life expectancy of three months. And I was okay with that! Totally okay! But now," she said, vaguely waving at herself, "I don't know why, but the idea of dying suddenly freaks me out. It's not like I wanted to die before, but I was fine with it. And now I'm suddenly not fine."
"Do you mean that in the sense that you're now afraid of death?"
"Aren't you?"
"Fear, within limits, is a natural and healthy biological process. I am not biological. Whether this is a positive or negative is an open question."
"Figures. Freaking AIs…" Verdant waited patiently as Dawn muttered something unprintable. "I guess what I mean is that, before, my life wasn't mine to live. I was just a tool, and so I didn't care if I died. I mean, you can't be too bothered about losing something that's not yours in the first place, right?"
"As a fellow artificial construct, I can empathize to some extent."
"Okay, so you get it. My life was always destined to be floating around in space for a few years before ending up in the breakers yard or as a cloud of wreckage. But now, look at me!" The shipgirl slapped a palm to her chest for emphasis. "I'm human! Sure, I've still got to fight, but I can do more than that. Maybe it sounds shallow, but I want to find out what my favorite foods are, visit famous landmarks, go drinking with my friends, and learn how to draw, or maybe even paint! I have a second life, and it's mine to live!"
"And it's also yours to lose."
"Yeah. And realizing how close I came to death, when I still had so much I wanted to do… in the heat of the moment, I was fine, but now when I realize what I almost lost, I just… it hits a lot closer to home. But I also know that I can't not fight, and I can't not risk my life. But still… I don't want to die."
"I think I understand now." A pen appeared in Verdant's fingers and she tapped it against her mouth. "In essence, for the first time, you have a reason to fear death. Furthermore, this is not only a new emotion, but something that goes against the entire concept of "you" as a "warship" up until this point."
"I—yeah, that's not a bad way of putting it."
"Thank you. Do not take this as a diagnosis, but I think that, your natural, biological fear for your life is conflicting with a deeply indoctrinated sense of self-sacrifice. And perhaps you've suddenly realized that, for the first time, in certain situations, you might have the responsibility for deciding between saving yourself and saving others, and that you might choose to save yourself. And you're not entirely sure how to handle that."
"… do you think that makes me selfish, Verdant?"
"Certainly not," the AI said, pointing the pen at Dawn. "If that makes you selfish, then the entire human species is hopelessly and irrevocably egocentric. The pen disappeared, replaced by a binder full of papers. This is a difficult topic, and one that would be well served by bringing to a real therapist, but in my opinion, a desire to stay alive is the product of a healthy mind. Keep a cool head, and do not allow fear to blind you to what must be done; so long as you stay within those parameters, then I see no problem with being concerned about your own life."
Dawn was quiet for a second, before saying, "In other words, as long as I stay aware of what's truly important, then I shouldn't feel bad for thinking about myself from time to time."
"Well put."
"I see." The shipgirl smiled, not a full expression, but genuine all the same. "I feel a bit better now that I put it into words. You're better at this than you make yourself out to be, you know?"
"You certainly know how to flatter, don't you." Despite her words, Verdant looked rather pleased with herself as she said, "Since we'll be working together from now on, I hope that if there's anything you need to talk about, you'll be aware that I am available."
"I'll keep it in mind."
"Please do." A low, murmur of a conversation outside the room brought both the AI and the shipgirl back to reality. Verdant glanced off to her left, then said, "It seems the doctor is coming around now, so I will take my leave." She locked eyes with Dawn, and the atmosphere suddenly turned cold. "But before I do, I want to make sure you properly reflect on your earlier behavior."
"My earlier behavior? What are you—" Dawn paled as she remembered the rather childish way she acted when Verdant first called. "Oh, I was, uh, hoping you'd ignore that?"
"I'm going to push an etiquette guide to you." Verdant smiled and Dawn shivered. "It's a big file, so make sure to study it diligently~ Chat with you later~"
"Wait, no, no, wait, wai—AHHHHH FUUUUUCK!" Reaching out to enter the room, Doctor Dimakos paused as an angry scream sounded from within. It was the sound of a few hundred megabytes of data, just enough to be annoying without being harmful, downloading themselves into Dawn's databanks.
"UNSC Everest and Pillar of Autumn…"
"Hard to wrap your head around, isn't it, sir?"
A gentle beep from one of the overhead monitors caused both Garcia and the corpsman, sitting in the observation gallery of Infinity's medical quarantine wing, to glance up. The heart rate monitor for Bed No. 3's showed a small but distinct spike. The corpsman frowned, then looked down at her control terminal. "Minor neural pattern deviation, Bed Number Three, 1826 hours plus two six seconds. Logging it now." As she typed, she glanced over at Garcia, now staring through the wide observation window at Bed No. 3 and its current occupant, Pillar of Autumn.
Of course, there existed the possibility of something like this happening ever since Amber was rescued. However, Garcia would wager good money that no one expected it to happen again so soon, or that the next to be rescued would be Pillar of Autumn. Repeat, the Pillar of Autumn, the cruiser who escaped Reach, discovered Alpha Halo, and in the process started the long chain of events that would lead to the downfall of the Covenant. Dawn's own report, transmitted by Hope Springs Eternal, held the same note of disbelief that Garcia felt even now as he found himself, mind racing a mile a minute, unable to pull his eyes away from Autumn's sleeping form. ONI would be falling over themselves to exploit the propaganda coup she represented. In addition, Autumn surely possessed substantial combat capabilities, beyond even Dawn and Amber, and would lend his fledgling command more fighting power and organizational credibility. Yes, with this turn of events, hard to believe as they were, the future was looking quite a bit brighter indeed.
Or, at least, that was how Garcia wanted to think. As an officer, it was his duty to calmly and objectively evaluate the assets under his command and determine how to best employ them to fulfill his orders and the greater objectives of the UNSC. From that perspective, viewing Autumn in terms of her combat and morale value was the right thing to do. And yet, looking at her like this, practically comatose and surrounded by life support machinery, he found it rather hard to care about things like tactics and equipment and warhead yields. Instead, he found himself glancing again and again at Autumn's vital signs, worrying about her health and wellbeing, not from the standpoint of military value but simply out of pure human concern.
The shipgirl was… well, Garcia wouldn't call her skeletal, but the bits of her body sticking out from under the thermal blankets looked distinctly unhealthy. Her sallow skin, sunken cheeks, and the dark circles under her eyes seemed more appropriate for someone fresh out of an Axis prison camp than for Captain Jacob Keyes' last command. A cardiac catheter fed a slow trickle of nutrients into her bloodstream in an effort to start to correct what looked to be years worth of malnutrition. Another line trickled in a cocktail of immune regeneration drugs, aiming to head off any opportunistic infections while reviving an immune system suppressed to near non-functionality. An oxygen mask provided sterile oxygen to weakened lungs, supply lines bundled together and carefully separated from the wires trailing from pulse, blood pressure, and brain wave monitors.
It all looked very grim and somber, especially against the sterile backdrop of the quarantine wing, cold technology preserving a fragile, uncertain life. However, while certainly serious, Autumn's condition was potentially better than it looked; for reasons the medical staff could only attribute to shipgirl biology, Autumn was making a faster than expected recovery. Garcia hoped that also applied to psychological injuries, partly because he had no desire to command a mentally unstable combat asset, but mostly because he wouldn't wish the trauma of years of Abyssal captivity and control on his worst enemy. He made a quick note to recommend her to UNSC mental health services for a professional evaluation, because he be damned if she didn't get the help she needed. Military interests aside, as a fellow human being, it was simply the right thing to do.
… though, of course, there was a dangerously thin line between being properly concerned and letting subjective sentiments cloud objective decision-making. Had Garcia stumbled over that line? He didn't think so, and he trusted those around him to chastise him if he ever did. Until that point, he'd continue to strike the balance, using his assets efficiently and professionally, but also acknowledging their humanity and addressing their individual needs.
As Garcia watched, Autumn's expression tightened just a fraction and she shivered slightly despite the insulating blankets. The corpsman raised an eyebrow. "You don't think she heard us, sir?"
Garcia gave a noncommittal shrug. "It's entirely possible. There's just too much we don't know." He tilted his chin at Autumn. "Unconscious perception wouldn't be the strangest thing I've run into the past few weeks."
"You're not kidding, sir." The corpsman turned her gaze back to the window. "All that power…you wouldn't think something like that would look or act so human, and yet… what's really going on in there? What is she? I can't think of her as an alien, but she's…"
"As human as you or I, where it counts, no matter what the DNA says," Garcia said in a mild tone. "Helluva lot more human than the Abbies, at least, and I'd count on her not to break from a fight over your average Joe off the street."
The corpsman started and nodded sheepishly. "Yes, sir. Sorry sir." A slightly awkward silence ensued, during which she busied herself with checking the monitors for Bed No. 7, current occupant UNSC Everest.
Once again, Garcia had to pinch himself and ensure he wasn't dreaming. Seriously, Autumn was enough a shock, but now Everest? The UNSC Everest, Admiral Preston J. Cole's flagship? If Autumn was a propaganda coup, then Everest was a veritable propaganda nuke. Even Garcia, whose total experience in public relations amounted to speaking to committees and the mandatory quarterly press statement, could easily formulate a recruitment campaign based around her. And of course, the Fleet Auxiliary Forces' combat power was again growing by leaps and bounds.
Of course, all that would have to wait until Everest was discharged from quarantine. Fortunately, it seemed that the circumstances of her appearance, as compared to Autumn's, were significantly healthier. Everest sat upright in bed under her own power, wearing a Navy-brand hospital gown — the medical staff incinerated her suit as a biohazard — and reading through a datapad containing a brief summary of fifty years of human history. Her reading was accompanied by frequent eyebrow-raising and mouthed "whats" and "the fucks". Garcia glanced down at his own datapad, which contained copies of the files provided for Everest. He thought he could pinpoint the exact moments at which she read about the discovery of Alpha Halo, the Great Schism, the start of the Abyssal War, and the myriad other galaxy-shaking events that seemed to take place every other week, just by the way her face twisted.
Everest reached for a water bottle on the small stand next to her bed but stopped, winced, and placed her hand against her stomach. As she did, her gown shifted a bit to reveal the bandages wrapped around her chest and abdomen. Though her shipgirl abilities had gone a long ways towards healing the literal evisceration inflicted on her, the healing tissue underneath was still raw and delicate. A small disturbance could potentially tear her wound open at its seams. Everest knew it too, judging from the grimace that crossed her face as she leaned back against her pillow and tried to keep her torso as still as possible. One silver lining to her condition, if one had to be found, was that it was keeping her compliant with the doctor's orders for bed rest with only token protest. From reading the reports, had it not been so serious, Garcia had a good feeling that Everest would currently be testing her mettle in the S-deck boxing ring.
The thought of even a Spartan, let alone an ordinary marine, getting punched in the face by the power of an Everest-class supercruiser was not a pleasant one. However, it was hard to stay intimidated when Everest glanced at the observation booth and gave the two people inside a small smile and a wave. Though Spartan Palmer's report made her out to be quite the handful, Everest seemed like a fundamentally easygoing person, someone Garcia could establish a healthy working relationship with. Which was good, because the thought of having an unhealthy working relationship with Everest lead to some rather nasty imaginings involving his body and a metaphorical blender. Of course, those were only his preliminary impressions; a more thorough evaluation would have to wait until the medical staff declared the two shipgirls clear of space flu. Hopefully, at that point, he could conduct some sort of interview with both of them.
The clock hit 1200 and the corpsman stood up from her seat. "1200 hours. Time for an in-person assessment. Excuse me, sir." Garcia grunted his acknowledgement as the corpsman headed for the door. Right before her palm made contact with the switch, however, the door opened, followed by a loud bump and two exclamations of pain as two bodies collided. "Ow! Who—!"
"Oh shit, sorry, I'm sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going," said a familiar voice. Garcia looked round to see Dawn pick herself up off the ground, visibly wincing, and reach a hand down to the corpsman. "Are you alright?"
"Fine, fine. My back, oh…" The corpsman bent backward with the sound of popping vertebrae, then took a second look at the person she bumped into. "Hold on. You—Forward Unto Dawn, right? Shouldn't you still be in the observation ward?"
Dawn help up a datapad with a cheeky grin. "Just got discharged. I have the papers here, Doctor Dimakos signed them. I came to check up on my friends. Um, if that's allowed?"
"That's what this room's here for, and I don't think anyone'd begrudge you of all people a patient visit. Captain, if there're no infosec concerns…?"
"No objections here. Good to see you in person, Ensign," he added, as Dawn squeezed by the corpsman and into the observation room. She came to attention and rendered a salute as the door closed behind the corpsman, rank insignia standing out on the shoulders of her fresh uniform.
"Captain Garcia, sir! I didn't expect to run into you here."
"Likewise, though I suppose I ought to have guessed you'd come to check on these two." Garcia returned the gesture, then tilted his head towards the chair next to his, both set some ways back from the row of computer terminals where the medical staff would sit. "Would you like to sit down? As long as we stay in the visitor gallery, nobody minds us being here."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Dawn sat down, letting out a quiet groan as she did. "Couldn't have let me take my time, just had to rush me along, didn't you, Verdant?" she muttered.
"Oh? Did Verdant give you a hard time?"
"Yeah, did you know your AI's a bully, sir? Picking on a helpless maiden like me. Hardly even gave me time to get this uniform on straight!" She plucked at the seat of her pants, holding a serious expression for all of two seconds before collapsing into an easy grin. "It's good to see you again, sir. Glad to see you made it out the other side."
There was something absurd about hearing that come from Dawn, such that Garcia couldn't help but laugh as he replied, "I think you've stolen my line, Ensign, considering I spent the battle nice and cozy behind Infinity's armor. Nicely done out there, by the way."
Dawn's expression turned bashful as she rubbed the back of her neck. "Ah, now you're flattering me, sir. I just did what I was ordered to."
"Not at all. Without your help we would have taken significantly more casualties. I'll only ever praise or criticize as the facts warrant, understood?" At Dawn's nod, Garcia continued, "Don't push yourself too hard. I know you heal fast, but I read the reports on your injuries. That stab wound is still bothering you a bit, isn't it?" As Dawn winced and pressed a hand to a spot below her right collarbone, he said, "Do whatever you need to to get back to a hundred percent. Can't have a quarter of my unit's combat strength permanently injuring herself."
"I hope you don't mind if I quote you on that, sir," she mumbled, massaging her lower back. "More than that I don't I'll ever get used to muscle aches. How do humans deal with the fact that existence is literally pain?"
"Get plenty of sleep, stay hydrated, stretch regularly, and you'll get used to it eventually," Garcia advised. "Also, close brushes with death are bad with your back. Try to avoid them from now on."
Dawn's response, a soft laugh, sounded ever so slightly forced, so slight that Garcia thought he was imagining things at first. He thought to ask but decided to hold his tongue. After, it was only an undercurrent; most of it was genuine. "I'll keep it in mind, sir. Though that last part's dependent on how you choose to use me." The two lapsed into a comfortable silence as the corpsman, now clothed in a hazmat suit, entered the quarantine ward proper. Everest looked up as the corpsman approached her, an irritated crease in her brow, but quickly acquiesced to the treatment. As the corpsman checked Everest's bandages, Dawn pointed her chin at the shipgirl in question. "Can I just say that I'm, like, in complete shock that we have Everest on our side now. The UNSC Everest? Like, how did that even happen?"
"Well, when a naval architect and a shipyard love each other very much…" Garcia snorted at the unamused look Dawn shot him. "In all seriousness, from the reports I've skimmed, similar to yourself. Do you remember how you first appeared?"
Dawn nodded. "How could I forget, sir? Waking up in a pile of boxes, on a ship shot so full of holes it's more vacuum than metal? It was a miracle Scorpia held together long enough to get to dock."
"Is it a miracle when a few hundred people pour their blood, sweat, and tears into making it happen? But yes, your point is taken. Everest was much the same." Garcia leaned back and closed his eyes, the words of Spartan Commander Palmer's after-action report floating in his mind's eye. "You won't hear it from the propaganda, but the fight for Bravo-6 came down to the wire. Wouldn't have taken much for the whole situation to fall apart — in fact, if the Spartans had been just a few minutes later, it likely would've. Kind of similar to when we were running from Roseport, tails between our legs. I don't think there was a single soul in either situation who wasn't praying for a miracle, and, well, yeah." He motioned towards Dawn and Everest with both hands. "I guess we got one."
"You flatter me, sir," Dawn said with a grin. "But I take your point. A collective wish for a miracle, huh… not the most reliable method as these things go, but we are two for two, and nobody ever got rich by being afraid to spend."
"Yeah. The tricky thing is going to be systematizing it, coming up with a replicable procedure… oh, sorry, I was getting ahead of myself. I shouldn't talk about you like you're some sort of equipment rolling off an assembly line."
"No offense taken, sir. I guess it's your job to think about logistics, isn't it?"
"It's the part they don't tell you about in the recruitment ads. If you're not fighting, then you'd better be making sure you've got everything you need for the next one. Ain't glamorous, but…"
"After everything that just happened, reading some nice and boring logistics reports strikes as a mighty fine idea, sir." Dawn again rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. "Um, speaking of logistics, permission to possibly give offense, sir?"
"Granted."
"I know we're technically an official department and all, now — Fleet Auxiliary Forces, was it? — but at the moment, we're really only a unit in name only, aren't we." She gestured again to the quarantine ward, where the corpsman was now adjusting something on the IV line running into Autumn's arm. Everest pretended not to notice, but her gaze kept drifting away from her datapad and towards the corpsman, a rather protective glint in her eyes. "I mean, we've got no base, no supply chain, we're kind of just floating in limbo, leaching off whoever's willing to let us crash. No disrespect to Admiral Lasky, but I'd feel a whole lot better if Autumn and Everest could get looked after in a medical facility specifically for our use, rather than just relying on his hospitality. I know — Verdant told me — that there are meetings scheduled to get all this nailed down, but I just wanted to ask: do you have a plan, sir?"
Garcia let out a heavy breath. Organization had been on his mind ever since the end of the battle. Now that the hectic whirlwind of the early days had calmed down, it was time to start laying down some proper structure; in other words, rationalizing and systematizing his heretofore ad hoc command. Issues such as basing, supply, and staffing were about to occupy his schedule for the foreseeable future. It wasn't that Garcia hated dealing with such things; indeed, back when he was in command of Scorpia, the only thing more satisfying than a good combat record was a well-ordered TO&E. In addition, it wasn't like he'd have to go personally shopping for every last bean, bullet, and bandage. He would have Verdant's help in taking care of the minutiae, Admiral Lasky's support in smoothing over any administrative obstacles, and the full force and fury of Naval Logistics Command to move shit from where it was to where it needed to be.
That said, this situation presented its own, unique challenges. A unit's logistics naturally reflected its role in tactical and strategic doctrine. Therefore, the fact that there was no precedent for something like shipgirls in the UNSC playbook was a uniquely twisted situation. Would they be employed as a single, mobile striking force, a mailed fist held back to smash into enemy formations at just the right moment? In that case, Garcia didn't need to overly concerned with long-term field operations, and could cut down on redundancy in support facilities and personnel. However, he'd need to organize cross-training and familiarization exercises, ensure the home base was somewhere suitable for long-term habitation, and build up adequate munitions and parts stockpiles.
On the other hand, if FLEETCOM decided to deploy the shipgirls in a more distributed fashion, embedding them within pre-existing units a la ODSTS or the Prowler Corps, then he wouldn't need to worry so much about developing a large home base and could greatly cut back on training costs. However, it also meant that he would need to account for issues of extended operations, and work with the commanders of those units to ensure the additional logistical burden was being met. In addition, he would need to provide for the deployment of any necessary specialized support personnel, similar to how long-term Spartan deployments were always accompanied by MJOLNIR technicians and medical personnel. Finally, he would need to develop a robust administrative section capable of keeping track of far-flung deployments, collating combat data and turning it into recommendations to pass back to the frontline units and up to higher echelons.
"It is rather a mess, isn't it?" he said. "Though I won't say it's all resolved, rest assured that I do have a few plans, and a very capable assistant in Verdant. Of course, I'll be counting on your input regarding any unique supply requirements you have."
"You mean like if I have dietary requirements, or need special spare parts, right? I'll give it some thought, sir."
"Thank you. Please have a report to me within two days, it's fine if it isn't comprehensive yet. If you need any help writing or reference materials, let Verdant know. She'll be listening." Dawn shivered slightly at his last sentence, though Garcia couldn't imagine what he'd said wrong. "I'll also be counting on your presence during the planning meetings when we finalize everything."
"You can count on me, sir." There was a note of relief in Dawn's voice as she said, "Heh, I knew you were more competent than you looked!"
Garcia was not quite sure how to respond to that, and so elected not to respond at all. Changing the topic, he said, "There's a few hours before Admiral Lasky wants to get us all together and get our facts straight. I was planning to check in on your condition, but since you're up and about, do you mind coming to visit Amber with me?"
"I was just about to head there myself. Besides," Dawn said, glancing over at Everest who was now trying to chat with the harried-looking corpsman just trying to do her job, "I don't think we're getting much done sitting and staring like this anyway."
"Well put." Garcia stood up, dusted off his pants, and waited for Dawn to stand as well before saying, "Do you know where Amber is right now?"
"Ah… no. I was going to ask you, sir."
"No problem. Please follow me."
The conversation continued turned to other, more frivolous issues, in particular Dawn's complaints about the omnipresent smell of alcohol and hydrogen peroxide disinfectants. The corridors of the medical wing passed by rapidly, the only delays being when the two of them needed to jump aside to let a stretcher through, and when a Spartan suddenly dropped active camouflage, causing both of them to jump a good three feet into the air. Before long they found themselves in front of Amber's room, and after getting permission from the nurse, Dawn went up to knock on the door. A muffled "Come in," filtered out in response. Dawn's face lit up, and with a shout of "Guess who?!" she threw the door open and burst into the room like an ODST team breaching into an Insurrectionist safehouse.
"Ah?" Dark brown hair falling to her shoulders, blankets rumpled up around her knees, and a piece of chocolate halfway to her mouth, In Amber Clad barely had time to blink in surprise before the full force of Dawn's hug enveloped her. "Agh! What the—! Dawn?!" The chocolate went flying into the air, only for Garcia to reach out and catch it in one hand as Amber flailed about wildly. "What are you — my choco— Oh, thanks sir — Dawn, what the hell?! Watch the stitches, watch the stitches!"
"Oop, sorry. But, Amber, you idiot!" said Dawn, adjusting her arms to avoid the stitches along Amber's side but squeezing her fellow frigate even tighter, "I told you to stay safe! What were you thinking, going and getting yourself hurt? What even happened to you?!"
"W-well, it's not like I wanted this to happen or something!" Amber replied, as Garcia slid the door shut with an apologetic nod to the duty nurse for the noise. "Besides, getting all worked up like this, it-it's really embarrassing, seriously! I'm not that badly hurt, I just passed out from… e-exhaustion!"
"Even after I warned you not to push yourself because you don't have as much experience as me? Geez…" Dawn drew back but kept her hands firmly on Amber's shoulders. "Look, I get it, we were shorthanded so you had to take on some undue responsibilities. But in the future, make sure to let me share the burden, okay?"
A slight blush suffused Amber's cheeks as she said, "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say." Her gaze flicked over to Garcia, then widened as she took in his rank insignia. "Oh, sir!" She wrestled an arm free of Dawn's cage and rendered a salute. "I apologize for my disrespectful behavior, sir!"
"Don't worry about it," he said, returning the salute and holding up the chocolate. "I'll hold onto this for you while my subordinate introduces me."
Dawn blinked, then jumped back with a small yelp. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir, where are my manners? You two haven't met face-to-face yet. Amber, this is Captain Garcia, Captain, this is Amber."
"Captain Garcia…?" Amber tilted her head before a spark flashed in her eyes. "Ah, right, you're Dawn's — and my — CO." She bowed her head and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Thank you for putting up with Dawn until now."
"Ay—!"
"Don't worry about it, it was an honor to work with distinguished vessels such as yourselves." Garcia stuck his hand out, palm to the side. "Let's work well together from now on."
Amber stared at his hand for a moment before uttering a soft "oh" and shaking it. "Yes, I agree, sir. Please make good use of my abilities from now on."
Even as Dawn spluttered indignantly in the background, Garcia allowed himself to enjoy the moment. Yes, things were certainly looking much better. As long as luck kept smiling down on him like this, then he could allow himself to believe that everything would work out in the end. With the power of four shipgirls, and certainly more to come in the future, humanity finally had a real shot at turning the tide. Just as long as he didn't fuck it all up, then everything would be fine.
Everything would be fine.
"Our ground forces are still assisting in relief operations, but we are ready to being recovery operations at any moment."
"Thank you. Captain Liang, please report on the fleet's logistics."
"Sir. All units have been assigned resupply and refueling slots. Our auxiliaries are coordinating with Solar System supply stations to facilitate efficient replenishment of both Epsilon Eridani Fleet and Home Fleet units."
"Nice work, keep me posted if anything crops up. Captain Shen, what is the status of Battlegroup Infinity?"
"The battlegroup has sustained 20 percent combat losses, consisting of twelve frigates, four destroyers, and four light cruisers. A further 40 percent of our ships have sustained damage affecting their combat performance. I estimate it will require three months to restore the battlegroup to maximum combat efficiency."
"Understood. Captain Marcos, please report the status of Battlegroup Thoth."
"Sir. Battlegroup Thoth has…"
Thirty minutes later, after receiving reports from all of his divisional commanders and other subordinates, Lasky dismissed the meeting and leaned back in his chair, massaging eyes that were weary from staring at screens and holograms for hours upon hours. He wanted nothing more than to turn off his terminal for the rest of the day, but he couldn't just yet. Not when he still needed to submit requests for reinforcement, make preparations for the trip back to Reach, hand in his after-action report to FLEETCOM, and otherwise take care of the hundreds of tasks that always cropped up in the immediate aftermath of battle. He owed at least that much to the people under his command, to make sure all of the minutiae was taken care of so that they could do their jobs properly. "Roland," he said, "please compile all the information that was just delivered into a summary report."
"Already done, sir." The AI appeared in the office holotank, affecting a slight bow. "Don't forget, I know what you want before you want it."
"Quite so," Lasky said. "Is there anything else that needs to be done before I go prepare for my date with the committee?"
"Just one." A text file replaced Roland's avatar, accompanied by a notification indicating the same file was now on Lasky's terminal. "Geneva has relayed to us a message from the Embassy of the Imperium of Sanghelios. Councilor Raho 'Darsul expresses the Imperium's congratulations for successfully repelling the enemy and respect for the honor and martial spirit of our warriors. Furthermore, Councilor 'Darsul politely inquires as to the nature of the new weapons systems employed during the battle, in accordance with Article 3 of the Armaments Transparency Treaty. Geneva would like the Navy's input on formulating a proper response to the inquiries of our allies, and emphasizes that they would appreciate timely clarification as well."
Despite an oncoming headache, Lasky successfully held back a groan in favor of simply blowing a stream of air out through his mouth. "Of course the Sangheili are getting involved. Let's see… is the hearing tomorrow going to be publicly broadcast?"
"My sources indicate that the chairman will allow broadcast." An exasperated sigh came through the speakers. "I mean, I guess there's not much out there to be classified — half the Solar System could see the battle by looking out the window — but aren't those idiots being way too careless about all of this?!"
"Careful, Roland," Lasky said in a warning tone. "Like it or not, the chain of command is absolute, and we serve at the pleasure of Parliament and the President. Let's not second guess them too much — that way lies nothing good."
"Doesn't mean they're not idiots, sir."
"Oh, I agree. Just keep it private, understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Wonderful." Lasky stood up and stretched, then glanced at the clock. "In that case, I would advise Geneva to tell Councilor 'Darsul to tune into the broadcast tomorrow. If he has any further questions, I'm sure that High Command would be happy to answer them at that point."
"I'll let them know."
"Thank you. As for me…" More than anything, Lasky wanted to retreat to his bed and just close his eyes for a few hours, but his day wasn't quite over yet. "Draw up an agenda for the meeting. There's a lot of material to go through, and I don't want to waste anyone's valuable time talking about what we're going to talk about."
"Indeed not, sir."
"And now, before we go live to the broadcast of the hearing, we have Doctor Tsai Wen Mei here with us in the studio. Doctor Tsai is an expert in UEG defense policy, and has recently written a book on the history of the UNSC Navy. Doctor Tsai, welcome to the show."
"Thanks for having me, Mike."
"A pleasure. Doctor, what do you think is going to be discussed at the hearing today?"
"Well for starters, I would expect there to be some pointed questions about exactly how the Abyssals found Earth. With the Cole Protocol in effect, and the last reports still putting the Abyssals in the Outer Colonies, the location of Earth should still be unknown to them. In addition, expect inquiries as to what caused the blackout in interstellar communications during the battle, and what caused the event civil authorities call an 'episode of mass hysteria'."
"Fascinating. Of course, what our viewers are really curious about are the rumors going around about—"
"Oh, now, Mike, I don't really know anything about those—"
"Wait, wait, let me finish. The rumors concern what appears to be a new weapons system deployed by the Navy, one that was able to singlehandedly destroy multiple enemy vessels. Do you have any thoughts on the validity of these rumors?"
"W-well, I'm certain that the Navy is always working on one secret project or another, that's pretty much a given. However, I mostly deal with public-facing policy and statistics; classified information like that is a bit beyond my ken."
"But surely you've at least seen the amateur telescope footage and photographs, right? Here, look at this image, it was taken during the attack on Sydney. What do you think this shows?"
"Mike, look, at this stage it would frankly be irresponsible for me to speculate. Certainly, the image is interesting, but at this stage, it hasn't been verified. The hearing is due to start in a few minutes, and I'm sure that it will be a topic of considerable discussion."
"I see. Well, thank you for your time, Doctor. And we'll be back with you soon, with commentary and analysis after this special broadcast from the General Assembly in Geneva. This is Mike Lang, with Galactic News Corporation."
Afterword:
I don't really do these anymore, but I wanted to say sorry for the slow upload pace. College on the quarter system is a bad time all around so I appreciate everyone who's stuck with this story. That's all, thanks a lot.