1556 hours, July 7, 2601 (Military Calendar)\
Sole system, Orbiting Sangheili refugee and military backworld
Private office of Jerrod B. Johnson., UNSB Mobil Command Center
"-and after the Covenant were officially engaged by the Spartans the animosity seemed to be forgotten. Everything went normally after that. Well, as normally as it could have under the circumstances, sir."
"I see."
"But sir... about his suicide. Something wasn't right. Considering the past and record of ONI section III, I think we have cause for alarm-"
"Enough, Spartan."
Spartan-109 shut his mouth, and stared straight ahead. Despite being 90 years old, he stood at attention as he had for the past hour; his back to the door of the black man's office. Head of air and space engagements and advancement, Jordan displayed all of the qualities he had inherited from his father and then some. A brilliant tactician and resilient and tenacious fighter, he earned his reputation and command of the UNSB air forces quickly.
Jordan had his back to the Spartan. He was wearing a formal black suit, but a Sweet William Cigar was clutched in one hand, a lazy trail of smoke drifting upwards. Strictly against regulations for this ship.
The Naval Captain turned around to face Alex, and returned the cigar to his mouth; clenching it between his teeth. He puffed out once, and slowly pulled it away.
"We have enough problems to worry about right at the moment, Spartan. When this is over, I will investigate. But right now, all I can do is say that you need to get into your armor. You're going to be at the memorial, as well as the signing of the treaty. This is a big step, and we need big names. The Sangheili are the only allies we have right now, and they are our best hope of survival."
"Yes sir."
They stood in silence for awhile; Jordan looking over Alex with a frown. Finally, Sergeant Major Avery Junior Johnson's son dismissed the Spartan.