Chapter 9

"Children, you call them? They can pull a trigger just as well as veterans, and they have the spirit of a bull narthax. Call them children if you wish. I call them troops. Good troops."

— Colonel Marus Cullen, Warhammer 40,000

April 3rd, 2216

John-S2-15 was numb. They had sprung this on them just a few days ago, and just today, six hundred and twelve fourteen year old men had fled Sparta, and were making their way to Earth in an Alliance Craft Carrier. The fact that they had left Sparta wasn't what made John numb, it wasn't either, the fact that he was in a Carrier, the biggest ships to exist in the Alliance navy ever, aside from Flagships that is. No, it was the fact that he was going to Earth, and what he was going to do there, that made him numb.

Ever since he had arrived on Sparta, at age seven, and ever since he'd been trained to be a Supersoldier, one single thing had been consistently driven into his mind: Earth, or nothing. If the SIGMA Program couldn't defend Earth, they weren't fit to wear their uniforms, to wield their weapons. Earth was Humanity's home, his mother, it was as much hallowed ground as it was the single most important planet in the galaxy, in the Universe! It was Earth, or nothing. Earth took priority, the only thing that was more important than Earth, were Earth's children, the Humans.

The SIGMA II's, they had always been told, would be augmented twice. One time, when they were fourteen, and had begun their Marine training. The purpose of this was twofold, one: it was to turn them into 'baseline supersoldiers', so they could be deployed if they were needed, before their primary augmentations, and two: it was meant to prepare their bodies for the far more physically taxing ordeal of the bio-mechanical augmentation process. From what John remembered instinctually, his body would - among other things - have an incredibly enhanced muscular structure, making them more dense and strong, and with several drug cocktails his skeletal structure would be made three times as strong as an average Human's, as well as giving them hyper-advanced reflexes. His reaction time would be seriously decreased, his minds would work many times faster than average Humans, and his immune systems - among many other things - would be seriously strengthened, in preparation for his augmentations at Age Eighteen, which would turn him into the God of the battlefield he'd always been told he and his brothers would have to work to become. John found it interesting to note that, all of the information packed into the organic-computer he called a brain would send others' minds spinning because of the raw detail, but for him it was every day knowledge, like his muscles his brain had been stretched and worked to the breaking point day in and day out, only to become stronger for the experience and more capable of obtaining and storing knowledge.

The last of the II's had turned fourteen the week previous, and as a result, it was time to get augmented. The problem, however was that they would be taken out of commission for an indeterminate amount of time, given that they survived in the first place. The survivability rate for the First Round Augmentations was over 96%, but there was still a margin for error. So the SIGMA Ones, in a rare moment of Humanity, had decided that the II's had earned a break. A true break. They had three days on Earth, chaperoned of course, but still three days, anywhere they wanted on the Homeworld, to do damn near whatever they wanted, within reason.

John had thought of going to New York, to view Earth's Capital City, or perhaps to the England Space Port, Earth's largest Space Port. He had even considered going to Washington DC, or one of the other myriad of capitols of Earth's highly divided, and still existent nations. But all of his plans had been dashed, the second an address he'd almost forgotten about had been tapped.

He opened his smart-watch again, they were a few hours out from exiting Warp, so he couldn't send her an update message, but he could still access his own archived ones. Miranda had contacted him, on the email address he'd given her just a year ago.

The message was simple.

John,

Do you remember, the night we spoke to each other about my Father?

He's gone too far. I've discovered things about him, about what he's done, what he's doing, and what he's going to do, I need to escape.

I've got a plan in place… But I don't have anyone in this house that I can trust implicitly, so I've come to you.

I need help, John, can you provide?

- Miranda-S2-106.

That the young woman had called herself by her SIGMA moniker, and not by her proper name, had not been lost on the child-soldier. John's response had been quick, and to the point.

I will help as soon as I am able.

It is uncannily fortunate of you to have contacted me when you did, we are going to be at Earth within the next few days, to undergo our First Augmentation Procedure. Beforehand I shall have three days exactly to mull around on Earth, and experience and see just what I will be fighting for, for the rest of my life.

What do you need help with? Is this an urban-op? Are we going to be out in the country? What will the ROE be? What about our objective? You mentioned a plan, let's hear it.

Miranda's response had come a few hours later, in the middle of John's training run. He'd had to wait until bed to see this, but he hadn't minded.

John,

Simply put, it's an extraction mission. But not just me, if that had been the case, I could have left ages ago.

I can't explain everything over such a vulnerable method of communication, but a new element has entered my life that I must act upon. It's familial, and that is all I can say.

There will be two packages that must be delivered, me and the New Element.

I want to act under the cover of darkness. I've already got a cover story for you, I've been speaking with my father, playing the role of a teenage girl. I've dropped dozens of hints and outright statements about a boy I've met, you'll be named John Shatner. I've been rather obedient the last year - my Father thinks it's the 'military school' working its magic - and he decided to humor me, by allowing me to invite you over. His loss.

You tell me when you can get here, I can set up the date. You'll have to arrive early, around noon, we'll essentially be acting like normal teens for the day, my Father might be a little suspicious, given our age, but after a few hours of movies, music, and games, he'll back off. I've already worked up a story as to why you should stay the night, just make sure you inform him at one point that you're an orphan, and you'd like to allow the Home a day or two's break from having a teen in its care.

I'll send you a data packet with all the information you'll need, but for the most part your story is up to you.

As to the actual mission, that will be something we discuss over dinner. I've managed to set up a reason for my father to be away from the table for about an hour, we'll be free enough to speak openly, albeit discreetly.

The Rules of Engagement are mostly up to you, you're the one who's been doing this for his entire life, after all. Just try not to kill anyone that isn't armed.

Is there anything else you need to know?

John had been impressed, this was what Miranda was willing to say over the internet, so there was more than likely something even more complex cooking up within her mind. She definitely was a smart one, he knew.

I shall worry about how to get away from my handler for the day. I will be one of two going to Australia, so it should only take me a half hour to break free and cover my tracks. Just know, we will be operating on two timetables, yours and the Alliance's. The second I get out of my handler's sight, the entirety of Alliance Intelligence will be looking for me. I'll be a rogue Supersoldier. Plan for some sort of SIGMA Intervention in our little mission, They will send the best if they find me. This is the same government that sanctioned kidnapping kids and training them to become super soldiers, if need be they will execute me to save face.

As to the Plan and the ROE, I trust you've got the problems and inconsistencies covered.

I'll write you again when I'm in orbit. We'll be spending two Alliance Standard hours in Titan Station, in orbit around Earth, before our three-day shore leave.

- John.

And after he'd sent her a quick message, before entering the Warp, telling her that they were off, that had brought him to the present. He was in the Alliance Carrier, the Theodore Roosevelt, waiting for them to exit Warp, so he could beam a quick message to Miranda. He quickly shut his Smart Watch as Justin and George sat down next to him, trays of food in hand.

"Not hungry?" Asked George, his voice deep and thickly accented.

John shook his head, blankly staring at his food tray as he did. It was filled with the usual unappetizing slop, only good enough to keep you healthy and keep you going, nothing more, nothing less, its only saving grace was that it was actual food, and not the nutrient-paste the II's were given as punishment.

"I know the feeling." Said Justin, powering through the meal, as if on auto-pilot. "I mean… Earth!" He said, his voice full of awe. "It's… Earth!"

"Weren't you born there?" John asked absently, with a hint of curiosity in his voice.

Justin stared at John a moment, he blinked, "oh hell, I was." His voice showed no signs that he'd been lying, he had truly forgotten the planet he'd been born on.

George picked up the conversation after a few moments, "do you think they'll end up pulling the rug out from under us?" He asked, "reveal it all to be some kind of elaborate trick?"

"They damn well better not!" Justin said fervently. "I want to see the homeworld, before I get augged!"

John nodded. Few of the SIGMA Teens could believe it, they had heard legends of Earth, of the thousands upon thousands of years of history and warfare that had shaped the Human race into what it was today. Of the heroes, of the villains, of the stories and legends, of the simple fact that it was Earth. To the SIGMA II's, it was as much of a religious icon as God would be to a Christian. The only thing more important to a SIGMA II was Humanity itself, but if you asked one, Earth and Humanity could be considered one in the same.

"You've been kind of silent as to where you're going, John." George mentioned, as he too powered through his food like a machine.

"I'm thinking of hitting Australia." Said John.

"Australia?" Justin blinked, "what's there?"

John shrugged, "you always hear news about the United States, about Russia, or about China, or England. Even in the space-age, Australia tends to just do its own thing. I'd like to see what its like down under." He explained.

"Isn't Jin going to Australia?" Justin asked.

"Yup."

"So it won't be like you're alone." George gave John a light shove.

"What about you two?"

"I'm hitting England, of course." Said George, "it'll be interesting seeing the space-port in action."

"I'm going to Moscow." Justin said simply.

"What's in Moscow?" George inquired.

Justin chuckled, "well, from what I understand, outside of Eden and Titan, Russia's the Alliance's biggest supplier of the Alliance Navy's weaponry, they work almost hand-in-hand with the England Space Port... So I want to go see the factories at work." He responded.

The three continued idle conversation for the rest of the trip. As the ship rapidly decelerated, after exiting Warp Space, John finally thought of a new question. It was relevant to him, though these two wouldn't know, not until John 'deserted', at least.

"How many do you think will run?" He asked, silencing the conversation Justin and George had been having.

"What?" Said George, flabbergasted and outright dumbfounded at the prospect of a SIGMA II running away.

"How many do you think will try to flee?" John asked, "we've never gotten a chance like this… Some of us might run. Do you think any will?"

"No." Said George, flatly.

"Maybe one or two, but they'll come back after they realize that their cause is better than simple existing from day-to-day, like normal people." Said Justin.

A pause from John, "what do you think They'll do? If someone runs?"

"Keep it quiet, but hunt them worse than they've been hunting The Ghost." Justin stated, "you're scaring me, John. The hell are you thinking of doing?" He asked, seriously.

John stared hard at the table in front of him. Any number of things could go wrong with his mission with Miranda, but she'd specifically requested he act alone. He could be caught by the SIGMAs, he could be caught by Henry Lawson, he could be killed. Anything could go wrong, but he knew that they would hunt him the second he started his plan.

"Nothing." It ate at his very soul to lie to his two closest friends in the galaxy, "just… Something that's been nagging at me for a day or two, now." He paused, "forbidden fruits, and all that." A chuckle.

"Right…" George said, looking at John suspiciously for a moment, before he shrugged. "I think we've exited Warp, now."

The shuttle-trip down to Earth had simply been awe-inspiring, for Jin-S2-162, for John-S2-15, and even for their SIGMA I chaperon, Dave Stallone S1-141. Looking at Earth from orbit alone had instilled such a sense of pride, and of power, in the SIGMA Teens that nothing else could compare to it. They'd seen at two Orbital Defense Platforms as they descended down to Earth. The massive magnetic accelerator cannons simply screamed of the raw power possessed by the Human Race, and the drones that surrounded it, maintained it, and defended it, had made it seem only the more pristine and impressive.

The view upon atmospheric entry, however, was breathtaking. The Sydney Space Port was filled with private ships and military shuttles, coming home and taking shore leave respectively. The air was filled with helicopters, news-drones, and shuttles taking off and setting down as well, and the wet-ships coming into port in the distance gave John the most indescribable sense of past and present naval technology colliding. Then John had seen the city, and it had almost made him well up with tears at the sheer beauty of it. The skyscrapers, the planes, the cars, and the ant-like people, all working together to make a single, visual statement: Humans are beautiful. The architecture was amazing, the obelisk-like buildings worked beautifully with the smaller abodes that surrounded them.

John stepped outside, and after he adjusted his patrol cap, he, for the first time in his life, smelled Earth's air. There was an odd, partly synthetic quality to it, but John knew that it had been from the multiple global uses of Humanity's terraforming disks, which had forcibly cleansed the Earth's biosphere. But the air still smelled clean, for the entire six seconds before John smelled the saltiness of the sea air behind them. For a few minutes, as John followed Stallone, he felt the oddest sense of sensory overload, as it hit him like a ton of bricks: He was on Earth.

The home, of the Human race.

He was here, right here! Humans had evolved here, had come to power here, and had been born here, and it was for this they were fighting, every day! It was for this, that the Alliance Armed Forces were besieging Batarian slave worlds, even as John experienced the euphoric glory of the homeworld. The trio passed by a few dozen Humans, and several Quarians, before they exited the spaceport.

"Alright," said Stallone, "before we do anything, I've got to take you two to the Opera House." He stated, "that's non negotiable." He laughed, breaking the cold-soldier façade that Ducard had been working for years to create, unwittingly putting a sense of unease into the two child soldiers in his presence. John would say nothing about it, but it felt awkward, seeing what had once been an immovable object turn into what looked like a genuine Human being, where in orbit Stallone had been the spitting-image of a hardened spec-ops Supersoldier, now he looked like a regular man coming in with his kids for vacation; in a word, it was unnerving.

John and Jin nodded, Jin looked genuinely interested in visiting the ancient buildings, and while John put on a convincing face, he was honestly disinterested. Had he been at the England Space Port with George, or in New York with some of the other II's, he would have been secretly giddy at the prospect of visiting the ancient Human landmarks, but here, it was all a means to an end. So for two hours, they walked around, visiting landmarks and getting history lessons from Stallone, who knew so much that John had assumed that he either was a native-born Australian, or simply loved visiting here.

After two hours passed by, his Smart Watch made a nearly inaudible 'ping' noise, and the dust-machines stimulated the skin around it, to let John know that it was ten AM, local time. Miranda wanted him there around eleven thirty, and seeing as how John would need a cab to get there, he would have to leave now if he wanted to pickpocket enough money to get cab-fare.

"I'll be right back, sir." John mentioned, lightly tapping Stallone on the arm. "Bathroom." He explained.

"Alright, be back here in five." Stallone responded, with a nod.

John made for the bathroom, but after he left the eyesight of the SIGMA Operative, and his earshot, he quickly made for the nearest exit. Calling upon stealth training, John looked for a single moment, for a wealthy-looking man or woman from which he could 'appropriate' funds to make the trip to Miranda's. In seconds, he found his target, a seventy five year old middle-aged man, with a rotund form and a loosely fitting jacket. John inhaled deeply, and then exhaled, before he flowed within the crowds, and the people. He was five feet tall, but he was still short enough to blend in perfectly. He reached the man, and knew a distraction would be needed for a perfect extraction.

John looked around, and saw a woman in a dress, and high-heels. The dress was violet red, and looked like it would be easy to trip in. Easy excuse, John thought, before he violently - but silently - stomped on the back of the dress. The second he knew the woman would lose her footing, he let go and faded back into obscurity. The woman fell with a loud yelp, and suddenly everyone's attention was upon her, and her unfortunately upturned skirt. The Rotund Man specifically had taken a liking to the view, which distracted him from the fourteen year old's hand in his jacket-pocket. John quickly removed his hand, wallet gripped loosely in it, and then placed the thickly packed wallet in his back pocket, and nearly froze at what he saw next.

A small girl, a small Asian girl, had witnessed the entire thing. John took one look at the Rotund Man, who hadn't noticed him, then he looked at the Asian girl. She stared at him, wide-eyed as if she'd been enraptured at what she'd just seen the child-soldier do. Not breaking stride, John put one finger to his lips and made a 'shh!' sound, before he melted into the crowd behind him. The Asian girl never made a peep about him, or what she'd seen, and in minutes, John made it outside.

The fresh, salty air smelled beautifully to John's nose, but he didn't waste a second admiring it. He had about three to five minutes before red flags would be raised everywhere, so he had to make that small window of opportunity count. As John walked, slowly but surely, two things began sinking into his mind. The first being that he was actually doing this, he was deserting the Alliance Military, the only life and the only family he'd ever known, he shuddered to think what would happen when they found him. The second thing that began sinking into his mind was the noise of the city. His surroundings were so loud it almost made his head spin, he was used to military bases on Sparta, which were quiet save for the noise of the local wildlife and the sounds of SIGMAs - I and II - training. There were so many people around him that John was slightly overwhelmed, for the first few moments it was hard to discern who was a threat and who wasn't, through the noise of the city, but after a while he applied himself and was able to block out a lot of the noise, to focus on the important things: Threats, his Goal, and any possible pursuers. John walked a good eight blocks from the Opera House, and when he judged he was a suitable distance away, he called for a cab. Twenty two seconds passed before one stopped for him, and he climbed in the back.

"Where're you heading to, kid?" Asked the driver, in an accent that was far more apparent than Miranda's, but a lot less thick than George's. John recited Miranda's address from memory, which made the man laugh. "You got the money for a trip like that? That's an hour's drive." He stated.

In response, John pulled out the wallet, and greeted the man with two hundred dollar Alliance bills. "Speed and discretion, my friend." Said John, before he adjusted the cap on his head, and nodded to the driver, who'd taken the money.

"Speed and discretion…" The driver muttered, disbelievingly, "right…" He shook his head, whistled, and then hit the accelerator. John knew, as much as he would want to, he couldn't take a nap, the second the Alliance figured out he was gone, the airspace would be filled with drones looking for him. John surreptitiously checked his pistol and the belt, the pistol was still there, tucked underneath his loosely-fitting dark red shirt, and the belt was tightened against his waist, the four magazines all safely secured in their pouches, and all fully loaded.

John patted his gray combat-pants, leaned his head back, settled his eyes on the rearview mirror, and settled in for the ride.

Six minutes had passed, before time John's Smart Watch pinged, and it wasn't from Miranda. He'd ordered the cab to stop, so he could place the watch under its front wheel. The watch was destroyed when the cab went forward again, as was anything else John had on him that could be tracked by Alliance Intelligence. He'd been raised on how to track enemies through every means possible, he would in no way make this easy on his trackers. After that, the cab-ride had been more or less smooth.

The child soldier would be the first to deny his fear, however, when he heard the sonic boom of Alliance Air and Space Force Jets scream overhead. It had taken them a lot less time to scramble the military, it seemed. Throughout the drive John noticed a myriad of Alliance tech, dutifully searching the country for their missing SIGMA. It surprised John that the Alliance was being so brazen as to deploy Alliance and Australian fighter jets and reconnaissance drones, yet on the ground they were settling for military checkpoints. He had, after seeing what he recognized as a troop-transport shuttle descend through the atmosphere, honestly expected to see tanks and armored infantry vehicles barreling through the streets.

The cab driver, on the other hand, was a lot less subtle about his fears. On more than one occasion he outright demanded that the kid tell him if he had anything to do with 'why the Alliance was shitting themselves', but John had prepared for that and each time he told the driver that he should watch the news more often, that rebel scouting ships had been seen on the outermost edges of the Sol System, and that the Alliance was just conducting exercises. The driver had been curious as to how 'a twelve year old' could know that, and John told the man he was fifteen and in the Alliance Army ROTC, ending the Driver's arguments.

When the ride was over, John had narrowly guided the driver through three military checkpoints, and had given him an almost literal crash course on avoiding tracker drones, eventually having to give the man another hundred dollars to ensure his silence when all was said and done. But now he was at Miranda's home, and when the cab left, and he got his first look at it, his jaw almost dropped.

The house - if that was even an appropriate term for such an abode - was enormous. The front lawn alone was as big as six of Delta Company's barracks, the mansion was effectively in the middle of nowhere, but Lawson obviously had personal transports, ready to get him wherever he needed to be in minutes. John stuffed his dog-tags in his shirt, adjusted his patrol cap, and walked up to the locked gate at the entrance of the home. Immediately, an armed man made himself present by halting the SIGMA Teen. John's mind, upon seeing the gun, immediately went into combat mode.

John knew that, with a single kick to the gut, the Guard would double over in pain, giving John time enough to grab the man's pistol and clobber him on the back of the head with it. Should the guard be more trained than his tired, slightly vacant eyes suggested, he would most likely be able to resist the first kick, in which case John could grab his arm, twist it, have the man bend himself over. John could then quickly dislocate the arm, break it in to places, and retrieve the man's pistol, before a quick kick to the back of the legs brought him to his knees, and a kick to the base of the spine killed him outright. John thanked himself for deciding to wear his steel-toed boots, instead of his regular ones.

"Can I help you?" Asked the guard, completely failing to see the combat-ready look in John's deep blue eyes.

"My name is Jon S -" He caught himself, "Shatner."

The Guard's face lit up significantly, "you're that boy that little Miranda's been talking about the last few weeks, aren't you?" He gave John a once over, and whistled. "Damn, son, what's your secret?" He asked, indicating John's well-toned and developed frame.

"I want to join the military." John stated, not technically lying.

"Well, doesn't everyone at your age? Doesn't mean you've got to turn yourself into a bloody Spartan to do it." He chuckled, and activated his Smart Watch. John quickly adjusted his cap and looked to his right, pretending to admire the flowers that adorned the large, oddly prison-like wall that surrounded the mansion. In reality, the Smart Watches cameras were all linked to the Alliance Satellite network, and one single red flag was all it would take for a battalion of Orbital Dropping Death Dealers to drop in on him. "Yeah, this is Chuck from the entrance gate." John noted the man's name, "I've got that Shatner kid, here to see Miranda."

A new voice, that definitely was not the voice of a mercenary, a private guard, or anything of the sort, responded. "Send him in."

Chuck opened the gate, but placed his hand on John's chest, stopping him from entering. John, whose mind instantly went to the eight different ways he could effectively remove the man's ability to use the hand for several weeks, repressed every instinct in his body, so he would look up into the guard's eyes.

"Word of advice, Shatner." Said Chuck, "make a good first impression." He nodded, and then bade John inside.

Inside the wall, John saw a beautiful landscape. A well-trimmed lawn, with over a dozen shaped hedges was within. Two fountains - one with a replica of Michelangelo's David in it, and the other with a replica of The Thinker - were on either side of the stone-brick path, which winded straight to the front door, but couldn't pass up the opportunity to curve around some of the more pretty hedges and flower-bushes. Of course, John, while he did see the beauty in such displays, all he truly saw here were things that could be set ablaze to make a distraction, cover from incoming fire, and possible things to hide behind, should he have to sneak around.

John took his time, despite every single seven-year ingrained instinct in his body telling him to go straight for the door. John even paused for a moment to admire David. He would have called it a mistake, seeing as how Henry Lawson appeared behind him not a moment after he stopped to look at the figure, but in the back of his mind, he knew it only helped his story.

"Have a mind for the arts, I see." Said the deep-voiced, official sounding man.

John looked at Henry. The man was tall, at least five feet, eight inches, perhaps even six feet tall. He had electric blue eyes, and dark black hair which was obviously dyed down to make it such an all-absorbing shade of black. He had a face which screamed of self-confidence, and told John that the man knew he had power over many things. The man's suit also reeked of copious money, and the man's deep voice conveyed a sense of authority; but John had lived with Ducard for seven years, and Ducard was known amongst the II's as being the harshest of them all, so anything this Human could do would pale in comparison to what Ducard could do. Or, to be more specific, what he would do, after he caught John and got his momentum going.

"Yes sir." Said John, clippedly. His voice was no where near as deep as the businessman's next to him, but it was going through its change, and the baritone was making itself present, and John's combat experience - both in the training field and on the battlefield - had given it a rugged, almost throaty quality.

"I prefer Da'Vinci's work, myself." Henry mentioned, "have you ever been to the Sistine Chapel?"

"I live in a shelter, sir. The best I've been able to see is the Opera House." Said John, knowing full and well that said Opera House had probably been locked down by SIGMA Forces, N7 Special Operatives, and probably whatever the Australian Military could provide, which was essentially everything, given that there weren't any major conflicts going on, on the Earth, at this point in time, aside from the few Counter Terrorism operations that the Russians and the Americans were dealing with; an interesting fact, John knew, because Earth's history had been rife with conflict and warfare ever since the beginnings of organized society, case in point, he remembered learning that during the twentieth century there was a collective twenty minutes in which there was no conflict going on against any two nations. Earth's 'peaceful' era had only truly began after World War 3 had ended and Humanity had nearly tied the noose around its neck.

"Right, I forgot." Henry's disinterested tone suggested he already knew. "Well, I've been there. The centuries-old paintings are still as amazing as the day they were created. Nothing can compare to them."

"I'm more a fan of Depla'Zhan." Said John, naming the first famous modern-artist his Internet searches had provided him with.

"The Quarian artist?" Henry sounded surprised, as he placed his hands behind his back. "What is your favorite piece, of hers?"

John grinned, "the Second Contact War. The painting of a SIGMA helping a Migrant Fleet Marine to his feet."

"I've seen that piece… Did you notice how the reds on the faces of the Human Marines suggested the rage and anger of the invasion of the Earth?" John was silently praying Miranda would show up soon, he could talk endlessly about weapons and war, but he only had two good points to make about Art and music.

"I was more a fan of the blue of the sky behind the Human Defensive Line." John said, surreptitiously scanning behind Henry for any sign of Miranda, he found none. "It suggested that Peace followed the Alliance forces, while the reds on the other side of the supersoldier suggested the chaos that would follow Turian occupation."

"That is interesting…" Said Henry, "so how did you meet my Daughter?" He asked bluntly, "I'm amazed a Shelter could provide enough for one of its occupants to go to such a prestigious private academy."

Miranda had been prepared for this, John recited what he'd been given, "I passed a… Well, you could call it a scholarship test." John supplied, "my foster parents begged me to take it, because they didn't want my mind to be wasted at a public school. To make a long, surprising story short, I passed." He paused, "I met Miranda at lunch one day. She was sitting alone, no one was speaking to her, so I thought I would introduce myself."

Henry looked at John for a few moments, "who raised you?" He finally asked, "you have an American accent."

John could have cursed, he hadn't thought about that, though thankfully, the answer was as simple as the question. "A few American Immigrants raised me." He said, "I picked up the accent when I was six... Never dropped it." A beat passed, "where were you raised, sir? You don't have an accent either."

"I was raised in the United States." Henry revealed, before deftly changing the subject away from him. "That is an interesting choice of attire…" Henry mentioned, completely changing the subject. "Do you plan to join the Alliance? That looks like the casual dress uniform of a Marine…"

John very suddenly remembered the extensive satellite presence above Earth, and almost cursed out loud. He wanted to go inside, and he wanted to inside now before one satellite got lucky and caught a glimpse of him.

"My real father was a captain in the navy, during the Second Contact War. My mother died of mercnary attack. I kind of wanted to find a higher calling than a desk job at the nearest Bank of the Alliance." John made up.

And, to John's great pleasure, that was when Miranda made her entrance. "Johnny!" She called, before her arms were suddenly wrapped around John's right. It took every bit of John's training to repress the shiver that had threatened to make itself known, at the utterance of his name. Aside from their serial and class numbers, a SIGMA's first name was sacred, even moreso with the SIGMA II's. Whether Miranda knew it or not, she'd just mutilated one of the very few things John could call his own. "I see you've met my father!" She smiled, giving John a quick, reassuring squeeze on his forearm before her gaze drifted to her father. "I told you he was a nice boy, father!" She said, her accent thick and her tone high.

"He seems like one…" Said Henry, "shall we head inside? Alfonse will be mowing the lawn, soon."

Inside, John was put into a state of awe, trumping the state he'd been put into when he saw the lawn. The house was as enormous on the inside, as it was on the outside, perhaps even more so. This house alone redefined what John understood as 'interior design', John knew it as metallic, blank walls, marble floors, and rows upon rows of bunk-beds, lining the walls. Inside Miranda's home, the ceiling was high enough that John couldn't have seen it clearly, had his eyes not been trained to notice the subtlest of details at the most lengthiest of distances. There were paintings everywhere, and the dark blue paint on the walls seemed to give the home a cool, inviting, comfortable feeling. In the foyer, there was an enormous, crystal chandelier, and though John knew it was for light and for show, all he saw was something he could drop to distract everyone from his movements. A few yards in front of them lay a large, grand staircase with a dark green rug covering the furry carpet. The ground, John noticed, was not at all dissimilar to the marble used at the base, so John knew that a single, hard, fast impact with it would knock any normal Human out cold.

"So before you two run off to do… Whatever it is teenagers do these days…" John was far too trained to keep a straight, silent façade, to allow a snort to come through. This man knew perfectly well what Humans did, there were at least three security cameras in the foyer alone, and given Miranda's previously rebellious tendencies, John could only guess how many were in her areas of activity. "I must ask, John -" John suppressed a shudder, he could accept Miranda, Ducard, or any of the SIGMA I's and II's calling him by his first name, but he neither knew nor respected the man to his right front, so he did not feel the man deserved the right to call him by his first name. "- what is your favorite subject at school?"

John's response was an automatic, "Alliance Military History."

"Really?" Questioned Henry, "It makes sense, given a boy your age and of your…" He looked at John, "appearance." John couldn't fault the man there, for seven years he'd been taught how to look, eat, and present himself. Shoulders squared, back straight, neck straight, hands at sides or behind the back. "But… I would have pegged you as more of a…" He paused for a moment, John didn't give the man a single opportunity to doubt his story, his face was straight and his expression blank, if a little challenging. "Engineer. Are you certain you wouldn't rather go to college? I happen to know quite a few people I could influence, perhaps get you a scholarship."

John grinned a one-sided grin, though it didn't reach his eyes, "no thank you, sir. It's a military life, for me." He said honestly.

"Alright…" Henry nodded, "Miranda, you know the rules. I have to meet with McGraw -"

"Yes, father." John could just barely detect a hint of satisfaction in her voice, as she cut her father off, though he couldn't tell if it was because she'd interrupted her father, or because something was going to plan. "Come on, John!" She said, grabbing John's arm and dragging him up the stairs.

"Ducard… What… Exactly… Did you just tell me?" Slowly, and very methodically, said the Alliance Director for Augmented Affairs, the man who, among many other underrepresented duties, represented every SIGMA Operative serving under the Human Race.

Ducard-S1-99 repressed a sigh. This had been the first time the words he had just uttered, had ever been uttered, so it stood to reason that the Director of the most powerful military branch in Human history, had to hear them again.

"Director Trent… We lost a SIGMA Two. We can't find him." The SIGMA stated, almost feeling the rage radiating across time and space. "He escaped his handler around eleven thirty in the morning, local time. Five minutes after he failed to report as ordered, we pinged his smart watch, which he promptly ditched as he headed north, further inland." The SIGMA Explained, "we have sub-orbital UAV's, local satellites, Alliance Satellites, Local and Alliance Intelligence, literally everything I could get my hands on in three hours is searching for this boy, N7 and local special forces included."

"And you haven't found him?!"

"Sir, he's a SIGMA... Albeit in training, but a SIGMA nonetheless. He won't make it easy for us to get caught, you should understand this more than any politician alive." Ducard said, holding ground. "We have a general area in which he might be located and a possible location at which to find him, but thermal scans showed no conclusive evidence... Save for a discrepancy in the EM field."

This piqued the Director's interest, "a discrepancy?"

"Yes sir, a discrepancy." Ducard repeated, "we're still working on cracking through, but apparently Henry Lawson has something he doesn't want the Alliance to see, and paid top dollar to make sure of it. It has raised our suspicion levels and we've dedicated a SO-UAV to watch the premises, but we cannot legally invade the home without concrete evidence... Not unless we want to create more friction with the Earth Governments."

"Fric- damn it." Trent's head sunk into his hand; ever since the Systems Alliance and her colonies had become a larger economic powerhouse than Planet Earth, they had essentially broken away from the former 'Leash Holder' nations that had been funding it, so no one Earth Nation could dictate what the Human Systems Alliance did, and so the Alliance could more freely act as guardians and representatives of Earth and her children, the Humans. This had, understandably, caused a great amount of tension between the UN and the SA, said tensions were still sore even now, so many decades later. Even the Alliance's victory in the Second Contact War hadn't done anything to ease the tensions, the UN hadn't focused on the fact that the Alliance had pushed the Turians off of Earth about as quickly as they had arrived, but instead they had focused on the act that the Turians had made it to Earth, had the Alliance Armed Forces 'done their jobs', they wouldn't have made it in the first place. The list of debates and creators of friction went on and on, a book could be written about the political tensions between the Alliance and the United Nations.

There were several minutes of silence, as the Director thought of what he could legally do, and how he could properly stretch that legality so no trigger-happy nation could have grounds to declare war on the Alliance, a very real political possibility that had nearly been attempted after the conclusion of the Mercenary wars. Finally, the Director spoke again. "I want you to find him, Ducard. I don't want the Alliance's darkest secret going public, kill him if you must but do not do anything that could spark a Civil War between us and the United Nations, being split three ways would spell death for the Alliance and everyone therein." He instructed, before he cut the comms-link.