Chapter Three: Sadistic Plans and Painful Regrets
September 22, 2552 0950 hours
Blade's Bunkhouse
UNSC Reserve Base Camp Hayes
North America
Laura had been curious when she saw the foreign DNA in Johnson's blood sample, and even more curious at ONI's vague request: usually they were very specific when they needed something from Medical.
"Lorienna, I need to get into ONI's records again; something about foreign DNA, non-Covenant?"
"On it," the AI replied confidently. After a few moments, she materialized with a triumphant look on her face. "Got it."
Laura scanned the documentation Lorienna had pulled, dark eyes flicking quickly back and forth across the terminal. Her eyes widened at the description of the Flood, even more so with the report the Master Chief had provided from Dr. Halsey, who had since disappeared. That explains the bloodwork and the physicals, she thought. They'd have to make sure no one was infected, but how does that tie in…Oh shit! There had been foreign DNA material in Johnson's bloodstream, material she had showed her mother. No doubt Dr. Gedeon had sent the results to ONI as requested, especially after requesting that the man be quarantined; he'd been in isolation for about a week. Laura remembered the medical file she and her mother had pulled when they ran the lab work before: Johnson's Boren's Syndrome had had to be taken into consideration. Now reading the files on the Flood, she realized what had happened: Johnson had been infected, but his condition had prevented a full genetic takeover. What will ONI do when they have this information? A chill ran down her spine when she realized their intent.
"Lorienna, where's Sgt. Johnson now?"
"ONI's moving him right now. Any bets on where he's going?"
"No time, just keep them busy until I get back."
Strapping what looked like a standard-issue sidearm to her waist and stuffing a black mask in her pocket, Laura headed out the door and towards the base hospital.
Isolation Quarters 0945 hours
Camp Hayes
"Sgt. Avery Johnson?"
"Yeah?" Johnson looked up from cleaning his sidearm.
"Come with us please. We have a few more questions regarding the Flood."
Johnson didn't like the sound of that, but he had no choice but to follow the two ONI officers. Putting his gun back together, he followed the men to the base hospital. Just as he was wondering why they were taking him there, the men motioned him into a small room just off the entrance.
"This will only take a minute, Sergeant," one of the men said as he filled a syringe.
"Hey, what's the deal? Why the--" Johnson didn't get to finish the question. The door burst open, a figure clad all in black burst in and fired three shots. Johnson had enough time to notice the masked face before the tranquilizer dart took effect…
Johnson woke up, and had no idea where he was. There were blinking lights everywhere, and the air felt cool. His head ached, and his sidearm was gone.
"Welcome back," a low voice murmured to his right; it sounded more like a hoarse whisper than an actual voice. Johnson's vision came into focus, and he saw a slender, black-clad figure seated near a computer terminal. Looking around a little more, he saw he was in some sort of command center, except for the prodigious amount of weaponry and medical supplies.
"Where am I?"
"You're safe, for now. You should be glad I was able to get to you in time, before those ONI bastards got started with you."
"Wait—you ain't a rebel, are you?" Johnson reached automatically for his sidearm, only to remember it wasn't there. The figure chuckled.
"Relax, Sergeant. We're on the same side, to a degree. I don't follow the same chain of command, but I fight for Earth same as you. I just don't always do as I'm told." The mysterious voice became grim. "You're lucky I don't, otherwise you'd be dead by now. Do you know why ONI wanted to kill you?"
"They told me they had some questions about the Flood," Johnson began, but the figure raised a black-gloved hand.
"They didn't have any questions, because they knew how you survived. You were diagnosed with Boren's Syndrome, which made you an unsuitable host for the Flood infection form. Simply put, the infection forms which tried to possess you failed because of the disease. ONI saw the results of your physical, pulled your records, and put two and two together."
"So why in hell did they take me to the hospital?" Johnson still didn't get it.
"What better place to perform a dissection?"
Johnson's blood ran cold. "You mean—"
"They were going to kill you to find out exactly how you resisted, in the hope of replicating your medical conditions and using it as a counter to the Flood. One life for billions, they think it's worth it. A blood sample would have been plenty, but they weren't going to settle for that; it's all or nothing with those pricks." A masked head shook from side to side. "Luckily I was able to get there in time."
"And how in the hell did I get here?"
"Better you don't know," the voice muttered. "It'll be safer in the long run, trust me. Lie low here for a while, and I'll get you when it's done."
Johnson wasn't reassured." Where is here, exactly?"
"You're in an old bunker on the south edge of the base, underground. It was built in the 1960's, and ONI moded it back in 2520 as a staging point for one of their failed black projects. I've since commandeered it for my own use, and in case it's ever needed. It's the perfect hidey-hole, especially since ONI forgot about it years ago. Lie low here for a while; I'll let you out when it's safe." The figure got up and blended back in with the shadows.
September 23, 2552 1030 hours
ONI Building
Camp Hayes
The next day, ONI Section Three received a cryptic communiqué from an unknown source:
Sgt. Avery Johnson is safe, and he will not be returned until you agree to be content with only a sample of blood to be used as a counter to the Flood form. Do not ask how I know, it is enough that I do. I also know that there is no need to kill Avery Johnson only because of his possessing Boren's Syndrome, which is the only reason he survived. A sample of his blood will more than suffice. You will agree to these terms, and if I learn you have broken them, I will not rest until you are exposed.
September 27, 2552 0900 hours
Adams Medical Facility Room 201
Camp Hayes
Johnson woke up a few days after his captivity to find himself in a hospital bed. An elderly doctor entered the room, one whom he recognized as Dr. Gedeon, the woman who had given him his physical.
"How are you feeling today, Sergeant?"
"Fine, ma'am. How did I get here?"
"One of the local residents found you last night, out in the hills behind the base. She brought you in and asked us to keep an eye on you. Don't worry, you're doing just fine; I see no reason why you shouldn't be allowed to get up today." She checked a readout and nodded, seemingly satisfied. "You can go."
Taking that as his cue, Johnson got out of the bed and moved to the door, the elderly doctor following behind him. He made it out to waiting room and saw four large people waiting for him, as well as a pair of ONI lieutenants.
"Good to have you back, Sergeant. Any idea where you were?" the first of the lieutenants asked.
"Not a clue. Whoever saved my ass said it was better if I didn't know too much. And no, I have no idea who it was." Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you a damn thing, he thought angrily. Looking disappointed, the two lieutenants left, leaving Johnson alone with the Spartans.
"What happened?" the Master Chief asked. "Where did you go?"
"No clue. A pair of ONI men marched me over here on the pretense of askin' me 'bout the Flood. Shortly after, someone in black burst in and shot us with tranq darts or somethin'. Next thing I know I'm waking up in some kind of a bunker, and being told they were gonna kill me."
"Who was he? Did you see his face?" Fred asked.
"Masked. Couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman: when they talked they whispered for the most part. Tall, kinda slim, but that's all I could tell you."
"Why would ONI kill you though?" Fred didn't understand why ONI would want to do that.
"Because of the Flood," a soft voice murmured from the corner. The group turned to see the woman they knew as Blade sitting in a small chair, idly twirling a pencil between her fingers.
"What do you—" She raised a finger, stopping the Chief's question; the motion looked oddly familiar to Johnson.
"Mom found Flood genes in his bloodstream during his physical; she told me about it shortly after he disappeared, in case I knew any reason why he'd go AWOL like that. Should've guessed ONI would come after him; that's the way they are, after all." Blade stood up, smoothing wrinkles out of her fatigues. "Take my advice, Sergeant: watch your back, and don't trust anyone unless you know for sure they're legit. Keep an eye on the shadows; ONI has a nasty habit of lurking in the dark and trying to pull stunts when they think no one can stop them. But I guess you know that already." A mirthless smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she headed out of the hospital. The Spartans were about to follow when they heard the beginnings of a heated argument outside.
"Blade? What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see for myself if the rumors were true; you know how tales can spread around here," she replied as she glared at the two lieutenants.
"Really. Where did you take him? You had to have been involved."
"Oh really? And just how could I have known what you were up to? For that matter, what are you up to? ONI usually doesn't truck with Marines unless there's a damn good reason."
The officers refused to be diverted. "You were involved, Blade. You had to have something to do with it."
"Oh spare me the speculation. For your information, I haven't left the base once in the past week; check for yourself if you don't believe me." Ok, technically that's true, she thought as she grinned inwardly.
"Ok, we'll accept that…for now. But if we find out you were behind this—"
"You'll do nothing to me that hasn't been done before, so I'm not overly worried." She smiled sweetly as she elbowed her way past them and headed for her bunk. They think their so smart, but this was nothing compared to facing off with Ackerson, she thought as she moved off. There was a briefing in a couple hours, and she wasn't looking forward to it.
September 20, 2552 1130 hours
UNSC High Command Facility
Sydney Autralia
One Week Earlier
"So, Colonel, this mission you're proposing? You really think one of your SpecWar teams can pull this off?"
"Positive, General Strauss. In fact, I think I have the perfect candidate for the mission," Ackerson purred silkily. "If you would be so kind as to turn to the last page of the mission brief, her CSV is there."
After a moment's silence Admiral Hood spoke, "Colonel, are you sure this isn't an attempt at revenge for her informing us about ONI's cover-ups?"
"No sir," Ackerson replied in an oily voice that belied his irritation. "As you can see, her record speaks for itself. She's accomplished nearly every mission she's been given, all of them high-risk operations, and has more kills than any non-Spartan team. In my opinion, she's the best candidate for the mission."
"As you said, her record speaks for itself," Strauss nodded. "However, I think it would be best if she had assistance on this particular mission."
"Of course, sir. In fact, I have the perfect team in mind."
September 27, 2552 1100 hours
ONI Building
Camp Hayes
The Master Chief and his team followed General West and Colonel Ackerson into ONI's building on base, and down to Ackerson's office. Apparently there was a special mission planned, one that would merit a special type of backup. Stopping in front of his office door, they noticed Ackerson frowning in annoyance.
"Blade was supposed to be meeting us right here. She's late."
"Oh, I doubt she's that late, Colonel," West countered. "Knowing her, she's probably securing the area—she's been quite paranoid lately, almost as if she was expecting an assassination to occur."
"She knows where she needs to be. I'm not going to wait for her." Ackerson opened the door and everyone entered the office. The first hint of something wrong was when the lights refused to turn on.
"Damn. Maintenance," Ackerson paged, but there was no response. Apparently the com was dead as well. Trying the door, the Master Chief found it locked. For all intents and purposes they were trapped in the room.
"What the hell is going on in here?" Ackerson's voice sounded worried. The Spartans understood why: somehow, someone had slipped past security and trapped them in here. Their biochemically altered eyes saw a shadow behind the desk, but that was all. A cold, familiar voice chuckled in the shadows.
"You're not afraid of the dark, are you? I would have thought you'd be used to shadows by now, with all the black ops you're running." A cold laugh sent the hairs up on the Spartans' necks: they felt trapped and vulnerable, something they'd never expected in a military installation. Out of habit they grouped together in a defensive formation.
"Blade! What the hell are you up to, playing these mindgames?"
"Hardly mindgames, Ackerson. I'm actually testing the effectiveness of your security system, which is practically worthless. My niece and nephew have better security on their rock collection, and all they do is bury it in the backyard. You've been locked out of your own computer system, and I have complete control. Shall I demonstrate?" The lights came on a little bit, enough for Ackerson and West to see the shadow sitting at the desk, polished black combat boots resting on top. Behind the group, the door's lock clicked as the locking mechanism was released. In spite of the increase in lighting, the face of the intruder was still shadowed (due in part to the angle of the lighting), but the voice was unmistakable. A slight glint caused the Spartans to notice a combat knife being twirled in one hand, sometimes changing direction but always smooth and constant.
"What exactly are you doing?" West asked. The Spartans noticed he was much calmer than Ackerson, and that he spoke respectfully to the mysterious shadow. The same thought ran through each of their minds: he knows the intruder, but how?
"At the moment, twirling a knife and shaking my head at how pathetic ONI's security is. It was easy to get in the door—all I did was doctor a pair of contact lenses and playback a tape of Ackerson's voice. Then I used intrusion software to crack Ackerson's password and took over the system. Anyone with half a brain could have done it, although it helped that he used an extremely simple encryption scheme."
"And the combat knife?" She didn't recognize the voice immediately, but she saw the face--Fred, SPARTAN-104.
"Even easier. Strapped a sheath to the inside of my boot and covered the handle with my pant leg. Security didn't even check me for hidden weapons. Oh so pitiful." She chuckled again, apparently finding the whole situation amusing.
"This is our backup?" Fred whispered fiercely, and the other Spartans nodded coldly. Unfortunately for them, the shadow heard, and seconds later the combat knife landed in the wall just above their heads, quivering ominously.
"I don't do backup. I work alone," the voice snarled, her tone less cold and more acidic; the change in demeanor was surprisingly abrupt. She leaned forward, revealing a familiar, if scowling, face and dark hair pulled back in a tight braid. Her dark eyes glinted dangerously, especially when she looked at Ackerson. "What the hell kind of scheme are you up to this time—planning on using them to do your dirty work?"
"There's an important mission coming up and the Spartans need your help, since you have a decent strategic mind, and apparently lots of time on your hands." Laura smirked at West's assessment of the situation, as well as his attempts to defuse hostilities, but the faint smile didn't reach her eyes. She swept her boots off the desk, keeping her eyes fixed on the group.
"If you people would send me out to the front, I wouldn't have so much spare time. So what's the job, another of Ackerson's suicidal black ops? Give me the details, and I'll have it done in about a week."
"We need you to capture a Covenant cruiser, intact, and bring it back for analysis," Ackerson had finally regained control of his emotions.
"No problem. Just give me a day or two to gather supplies and I'll head right out. Which system do you want me in?"
"You're not going alone on this one, Blade. Even for you, this is high-risk. You'll be providing backup to the Spartans."
"I don't do backup, Ackerson. Either I go alone or I don't go at all. Besides, what on Earth makes you think I'd even want to go with them, even if they were willing to add me to their tight little group?" Her voice hardened noticeably as her angry eyes swept the room. "I know the way your twisted mind works, Ackerson. Even if this suicide op you're trying to send me on succeeds, I'll just bet that I wouldn't be allowed to come back from it alive, if I went with your Spartans. No way in hell am I going to die by human hands." Rising with surprising suddenness, she crossed the room to where the Spartans were standing, and yanked her knife out of the wall. She fixed them with an icy glare, and her voice lowered the temperature in the room by about twenty degrees.
"You just stay the hell away from me, unless you want to see exactly what I'm capable of." She turned on her heel and walked out the door. West was the only one who seemed unperturbed by her exit.
Ackerson scowled. "She won't be defrosting anytime soon, not if I know her. The biggest mistake in ONI history just made her biggest mistake—she rejected the best op anyone could offer her." He walked out the door, still angry, leaving West and the Spartans alone.
Laura stalked through Camp Hayes, angry at Ackerson, angry at the Spartans, angry at life in general. The nerve of him to send me as backup to the Spartans! What makes him think I'd be so stupid as to go along with whatever he's planning? Her face knitted into its customary scowl, she almost didn't see the small group of Marines nearby wince as she barreled past them. Unfortunately, she heard what they had to say quite clearly.
"Who's THAT?" Gotta be a rookie, fresh out of boot.
"Oh, that's just Blade. She's one of ONI's SpecOps soldiers. Somehow she managed to worm her way out of front line duty, and she stays here unless ONI sends her on a mission. Everyone here's convinced she's trying to get out of real combat duty."
"So she's a traitor?"
"Pretty much, yeah. Don't let her hear you say that though: the last person who called her that to her face was in the infirmary for two weeks."
Laura had heard a lot of conversations like this recently, and it bothered her more than she let on. Stalking past the group, she headed for the base gate. The guard on duty tried to stop her, but one look at her face made him shut his mouth. He looked at his partner.
"Wonder what got into her?"
"It's Blade. She doesn't need a reason for anything she does."
West looked at the Spartans as they stared after Ackerson's departing figure.
"She just needs a little time. Personally, I don't blame her for being suspicious. Once she starts trusting you, which may take awhile but not forever, she'll be less angry and suspicious around you."
"Sir, if I may ask, who is Blade?" Linda asked. She found herself curious about this young woman who preferred to be on her own; for Linda, it was like looking in a mirror, except for the hot temper.
"Haven't you found out yet? Were you unable to access her CSV?"
The Master Chief shook his head, unwilling to reveal more than necessary. Besides, he wanted to hear it from an officer before he'd believe it. "Cortana got locked out of the system shortly after she started looking at it. We only saw the name Blade."
"Then you should probably know the truth—she's a Spartan. They took her as the test case for the program, from one of our most respected naval officers, Colonel Pete Morisson,"--the Spartans' eyes widened slightly at the sound of the name; Colonel Morisson was a brilliant strategist and skilled leader--"and his wife, Dr. Frances Gedeon, a prominent microbiologist and physician on base. Once the program started being successful, ONI decided she was no longer useful, and pretty much buried her entire existence. They won't even let her out on the front lines to fight the Covenant, except for the occasional black op, their excuse being that 'she is far too valuable to risk losing to the Covenant'. She can see right through it, of course." Seeing their shocked faces, West shook his head. "Lately Ackerson's been determined to finish erasing her existence—completely. He's been getting more and more desperate every time she escapes his traps. Although, she did find a interesting way to get back at him fairly recently: she was the sniper who nailed him with the paint pellet when you arrived." That explains the General's unconcerned attitude at the time, the Chief thought.
"Sir, is she really a Spartan?" Fred asked. "She was never on Reach with us."
"All her training was done here on Earth, as well as her augmentation. The only time she was on Reach was a brief visit arranged by ONI when she was eleven or twelve. They wanted to see how she interacted with the other trainees, but she kept herself away from them for some reason. Needless to say, there's quite a lot of bad blood between ONI and…Blade." They noticed the hesitation before West said her name. The Master Chief was extremely confused. What the hell is going on? Why is there another Spartan, and why in the hell did no one ever tell us? Their thoughts were interrupted when West cleared his throat.
"Perhaps it would help to see one of her mission recordings. Please follow me."
He led the Spartans down the hall to a room, which was empty except for several chairs, a computer terminal, and a holographic projector. West motioned them to sit and began calling up a film-record of a mission deep into enemy space. The inside of a freighter cockpit was visible, but there were no pilots or other bridge personnel. Also unusual was the camera ID: SPARTAN-000. None of them had ever seen this before. West hit the Play button, and the Spartans got a glimpse of what Blade was really capable of.
"Is everything set to go? Including the packages?" The voice that spoke could only be Blade. The reply, however, confused them; it sounded like she was talking to herself, but the speech tones sounded synthesized.
"Both the nuke and the virus are in place and waiting at the airlock. Ready to begin at your convenience."
"Excellent. I'm heading to the airlock now. Time to implement Operation: MASS CHAOS." A wry tone edged into Blade's next words. "Don't wait up too long."
"Wouldn't dream of it." The unknown speaker's words were tinged with a slight giggle. The camera bounced as Blade headed to the airlock, picked up a HAVOK nuke and a data chip, and cycled out into space. She braced her feet against the hull of the freighter, activated a thruster pack, and shot towards a Covenant cruiser, just as a few Archer missiles departed the freighter's missile tubes.
As proven by previous missile engagements, the cruiser dropped their shields long enough to fire at the missiles, giving Blade the time she needed to slip inside. Once there, she gripped the alien hull and crawled towards their docking bays, lit up on her HUD as a blue triangle. The unknown voice from the freighter came in suddenly.
"Be advised, your blacksuit will only hold enough oxygen for twelve more minutes," the voice whispered hurriedly.
"I'm aware of that," Blade huffed in annoyance. "Have I ever been careless on a high-risk before?" She muttered under her breath, but the camera picked it up anyway: "I'm almost disappointed the microwave transmitters work so well."
The doors of the docking bay were open, and Blade hugged the shadows as she slipped in. Activating the refrigeration unit in her blacksuit, just in case they picked up her thermal signature, she followed another NAV marker to an unknown destination. As she continued to hug the shadows, the voice spoke again in her ears.
"I've hacked into the Covenant networks. Be advised, there are UNSC prisoners of war onboard your ship. Detonating the nuke and following your original plan would kill them all."
Blade froze. "How many?" she whispered.
"Around twenty-five UNSC personnel. Their neural transponders are still active." After a long pause Blade spoke again, seeming to come to a decision.
"Okay, we can't leave them, and we can't scrub the mission, so that leaves only one option. I'm going to EVAC the prisoners, and then leave our surprise packages for the Covenant. Keep your ears open."
"Always."
The camera started moving again, and watched Blade make short work of a group of Jackals with their backs to her. She slit two throats, broke one neck, and stabbed a fourth in the chest. Policing their equipment in a bag on her back, she hid the bodies behind a pillar and moved on. Turning a corner, she nearly ran headlong into an Elite, who tried to spray her with plasma fire; she dodged left and right, avoiding the shots and edged closer. The alien charged and Blade kicked, twice, and the Elite's shield died; she then slit his throat and took his weapon, and began to run. An alarm began to blare, and Blade knew her secrecy was blown; her heart rate increased and she ran even faster. Her motion tracker registered movement, and she slipped into shadows as nothing moved past her; that nothing resolved itself into Elites in active camouflage, who came after her in a flurry of needler rounds and plasma bolts. She dodged the bolts and edged closer to the Elites, killing them as she could. Eventually they were dead, and the camera recorded her searching the bodies for more equipment; she picked up an unusual device and strapped it to her wrist, activated it, and watched her arm disappear.
"Okay, these will be useful. Definitely take them back to the spooks, see what they can do with them. In the mean, I'll use one myself."
Rounding corners as indicated by her NAV point, Blade finally found the prison cells and used her newly acquired stealth generator to dispatch the guards. Once she'd done that, she worked her way to the controls and opened the cells for the Marines and Naval personnel imprisoned there, turning off the stealth generator so they could see she was human.
"Thanks for the save. Who are you?" The camera shook along with Blade's head as she indicated now wasn't the time for talk. Opening her pack, she handed them weapons and motioned them to follow, leading them back to the docking bay. Once they got there, however, Blade froze again as she peered around a corner.
"Oh shit," she breathed, and the Marines heard. The camera on her helmet was showing a lot of reinforcements in the bay, which included a pair of Hunters. Motioning the prisoners up, she spoke in a hoarse whisper.
"The bay's got some heavy guards, but you need to get to one of those dropships if you want to get out of here alive. I'll provide cover, but you have to move fast. Wait till all hell breaks loose, then haul ass into one of those dropships. They're not too hard to fly, but once you get out of there, head as far away as you discreetly can; I've got a few surprises planned."
"What about you? How are you getting off?"
"Don't worry about me, I'll catch up."
As soon as she said this, Blade slipped into the docking bay, cloaked and ready for a fight. The Hunters were the real threat, but there was no real way to take them out and win one-on-one. Crouching behind a Covenant cargo module, she pulled a plasma pistol and set it to overcharge, firing at the first Hunter. Once it went down, she moved to a new location and waited for the second, now-rampaging beast to show his back; when it did, she let fly another overcharged round and saw the Hunter go down. There was a lot of shouting going on at this point, and the camera showed a brief panoramic view as Blade leaped up atop a cargo module and jumped down on an Elite, using her weight, and the additional weight of the nuke and the captured weapons on her back, as a weapon and crushing its head. The camera speakers caught the hiss of combat knives leaving their sheaths, and Blade deactivated her camouflage as she began to dispatch the Covenant while simultaneously spinning and dodging plasma bolts and needles; it was a shock that she managed to survive.
In the general panic, she looked back to see the dropship taking off and leaving the launch bay. Her first job done, Blade checked her NAV markers again, turned the stealth generator back on, and slipped out of the now chaotic docking bay. She headed quietly enough to the Engineering section, or what passed for one on the Covenant ships. Setting the nuke, which she'd somehow kept with her, near one of the coolant chambers and setting the timer for five minutes, Blade slipped the data chip into a computer terminal and began to run. A countdown timer flashed on her HUD, and her biosigns pulsed erratically as she bolted at top speed to the docking bay, and her extraction.
Her heart-rate and blood pressure were elevated to near shock levels by the time she made it back to the docking bay; she'd pushed herself beyond normal limitations for unarmored Spartans. The time was almost up, and a few dilapidated Banshees were the only ships she could use, so she took one of those. Departing the docking bay and hovering along the hull, she braced herself and waited for the shields to drop. Her camera caught four Covenant ships coming to firing range with weapons systems locking on, and the ship she was attempting to leave lowered its shields to fire weapons; Blade saw her opportunity and took off, moving as quickly away from the ship as she could. She was just a few meters away from the minimum safe distance when the nuke detonated, and the explosion propelled her even further away from the five Covenant ships that were now disintegrating; it was a close call, but she was still alive. The Banshee was pretty much toast, so she exited and pushed off, spinning erratically away from the craft. Activating her COM, and rotating her body in the opposite direction to counter her erratic gyration, Blade sent out an unusual message.
"All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost. The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost."
The reply was nearly instantaneous, coming from what sounded like Blade's clone, the unknown voice from the freighter.
"From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring. Renewed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king."
Blade continued to drift until the freighter came up alongside, at which point she pulled herself to the airlock. "Did you get the package?"
"All twenty-five UNSC prisoners are onboard and ready to depart," the voice spoke in her ears. "Once you're in, we'll be out of the system."
"Good. If the Covenant weren't before, they're pissed now."
Blade cycled through the airlock and found herself faced with several Marines. She brushed past them all and began checking data for a Slipspace jump. When they jumped, she heard a question from one of the Marines.
"How did you do it? Five Covenant cruisers in one blow?"
"A HAVOK nuclear warhead and a computer virus broadcasting that the ship had been infested by humans while simultaneously jamming their communications so they couldn't say otherwise. I set the nuke, input the virus, and waited for the right moment to leave. Basically, I got lucky."
"Who are you? Show us your face." The camera jiggled from side to side as Blade shook her head. "You don't want to know."
"I think I do already, but I need to be sure. Are you Blade?"
The camera wrenched sideways and clattered to the floor.
The holographic replay froze. "There's nothing else to see. Her mission was to neutralize one cruiser, but when she got there she saw five, so she decided to improvise. When she heard about the prisoners, however, she risked her life and the mission to get them off before she blew the ship. ONI confronted her about it after the fact, and she told them she wasn't going to let fellow military men die if she could prevent it."
"How was she able to communicate with whoever was on the ship? Covenant shields block normal communications," John asked, remembering a similar mission where his first and best friend had died.
"She discovered during one of her other missions that Covenant shields can't block microwaves with certain frequencies, for whatever reason. So somewhere along the way, Blade managed to create a very sophisticated microwave relay system for communications; I'm not sure how she did, though. She's not very technical, according to the spooks in ONI," West smirked.
"Sir, what kind of code did Blade and her accomplice use?" Fred didn't recognize the signals; none of them did.
"Blade was reciting half of a piece of poetry written by J.R.R. Tolkien, one of her favorite authors. The other half of the poem was the countersign; it was done that way to confuse the Covenant, in case they'd deciphered our codes. She's got a bit of a tendency to be overly paranoid, but it worked well in this case. No one can track her when she goes off on a mission, and as you can see she's difficult to stop. She's one of the best SpecOps commandos we have, and more."
"What do you mean, sir? How can she be more than a SpecOps soldier and a Spartan?" Will was confused, as they all were.
"I'm afraid I can't help you there, son; for one thing, I wouldn't know where to start to explain it. You'll have to figure it out for yourself."
Holy Trinity Cemetary 1345 hours
Laura stood in front of a small headstone in the local cemetery: the stone bore the inscription Gedeon and beneath it two names—Albert A. and Helen F.; their dates of birth and death were also listed. A cold autumn wind blew escaped tendrils of hair out behind her, but she paid no heed to the cold. Not for the first time Laura wished that she could have her grandmother's advice, but knew that could never be. Her heart grew colder at the thought of what she had done all those years ago; it had been twenty-nine years and the guilt still burned fresh in her mind. Ironic that I come here for thought and can't think of anything else but decade-old guilt. While she stood there in thought, a crystalline voice jolted her out of her reverie.
"Laura, what are you doing out here in the cold? You'll catch your death!"
"And when I have caught him, I'll put him in a glass jar for all to see, and prove to the world that I am alive. Only a living person can catch Death, he doesn't come to the dead." She smiled at the young blonde woman who had come up behind her.
"Why are you even out here? I though you had a briefing with Ackerson."
"Over two hours ago, Nick. It was amusing for the first few minutes, but truth be told, I was glad to get out of there. I needed to think, and I needed peace to do so." The young woman finally noticed the grave.
"Laura, I didn't realize—"
"It's all right, Nick. How could you know? I don't come nearly as often as I should."
"You can't, most of the time," the woman replied. She thought a moment. "What did you need to think about?"
"You don't want to know."
"Laura, every time you say that, I usually get you to tell me anyway. Let me help you, if I can."
"Ok, Nicole, you win," Laura smiled, but her dark eyes bore a haunted look, like she was scared of something. "I'm getting sent out on another mission, one of Ackerson's black ops."
"I've never seen you bothered by those before. So what's the catch?"
"The 'catch' is I'm not going alone—I'm going as backup to the Spartans who survived the fall of Reach." Laura's eyes flashed angrily.
"Isn't that a good thing? You're not going alone, so you have a better chance of survival." Nicole still didn't understand.
"Nick, they're Spartans. They do whatever they're ordered to do, and they'll do it without question. No matter how fucked up their orders are, they'll refuse to question them."
Realization finally broke over Nicole. "You can't be serious!"
"Dead serious, Nick. If Ackerson told them to kill me, they would do it. Hence my dilemma: How do I deal with this?"
"Still, I don't think even they would stoop to that level. Besides, everyone knows what you did to that one in the arena the other day."
"I almost didn't make it; if I hadn't gone to my other martial arts, he might've beaten me. Besides, taking on one Spartan was bad enough. I don't think I could take on all four of them successfully." Laura shook her dark head, and brushed an escaped lock of hair behind her ear. "No matter what I do, I'm dead. If I go, I die by the Spartans' hands or the Covenants' hands, but if I stay here I'll be executed for treason."
"Laura, I don't think it's as bad as that. You're a Spartan yourself, remember? Things will work out, you'll see."
"Optimist," Laura smiled lightly; sometimes just being around Nicole was enough to lighten her mood.
"Look who's talking, pessimist," Nicole jibed.
"Not a pessimist, a realist," she corrected. She looked up at the darkening sky. "We should be going, before it gets too dark to see."
"I thought you could see in the dark."
"I can, but you can't. Besides, they'll start locking down the base soon. I need to get in now or else sneak in later." She winked at her friend. They walked in silence for a while, but Nicole turned back to her friend.
"Laura, when you said you don't go to your grandmother's grave as often as you should, what did you mean?"
"I think you know exactly what I mean." Her dark eyes filled with sadness, and Nicole almost swore she saw a tear or two in her friend's eyes.
"Don't tell me you still feel guilty for that? It's been almost thirty years; let it go. You have to move on."
"No, Nick, I can't. There are some wounds that can never be healed, some sins that can't be forgiven or forgotten." Laura was silent for a moment, and then began to chant, a low voice that barely carried, but the words were clear:
"I'll always remember, I cannot forget.
The sin shall remain with all my regret."