So this is Earth. Lipton's breath caught in his throat as the Invigorator left Slipspace. The world was bright and alive, very much unlike Masada. The atmosphere was so clear that he could see the outlines of the continents from his vantage point in deep space. It was an awe-inspiring sight. Fifteen half-finished Orbital MAC guns drifted in orbit in three unit clusters, guarded by a full squadron of UNSC cruisers and frigates. In between the battle clusters flowed a never-ending stream of ships and transports like the Invigorator.

The safety lights flicked on as the Invigorator closed in on an orbital entry point. Lipton smiled grimly as he thought about the hijackers. The Marshals claimed that they were political terrorists. They were too well armed for that. Only a high-grade terror organization could afford weapons like those. We must have had a high-profile target on the flight. I hate it when the Intel freaks pull this crap out of the bucket.

Starck had visited him in the medbay several times since the hijacking attempt. His visits were always accompanied by gifts or heartfelt thank-you's from the passengers. The attention made Lipton uncomfortable. He was used to the unrecognized and unheralded gory glory of the CT Masada. This sudden turn of events unnerved him.

He replayed the hijacking attempt in his mind when he was alone. It was second-nature to him by now after an action. He relied on his clear memory for much, especially since he was being excluded from the follow-up forensics duty that he normally participated in. By now he could list every article of clothing that the terrorists were wearing, what weapons they used, which was the leader, how they had reacted and which men had been married. Only one was married. He had a clear platinum band around his fourth finger left-side with a woman's name inscribed on it. Lipton had heard about that rising fashion, putting the spouse's name on the ring. Not only did it give the wearer a constant reminder of who they shared their lives with, it also saved insurance companies an immeasurable amount of money with recovery operations.

As Lipton replayed his movements in the brief action he noticed something that he had over-looked earlier. One of the men had a red seal tattooed onto his left bicep. The image was faint in Lipton's mind, but instinct told him that it was indeed a Spec Ops tattoo. An operator had gone bad? That doesn't bode well for whoever is hunting him or her.

The door slid open behind him. From the weight of the steps Lipton guessed it was Starck. Turning his head, he saw that he was right. Starck entered the room slowly and deliberately, accompanied by an older man wearing a suit and tie. Something about the man told Lipton that he was important and worthy of respect. Lipton tried to rise to greet the man, but his stomach spasmed and he fell back on the bed, one hand clutching his waist, one holding a corner of the bed.

Starck stood to the side and allowed the man to approach Lipton. He was a slim man of about sixty, wiry in build and kindly in appearance. White hair covered his head in a close crop that concealed a wrinkled and troubled countenance. With a sigh the man extended his hand and smiled.

"So, you are the man that saved the ship. It is an honor to meet you. My name is Gene Grenfield."

Lipton accepted his hand. His grip was deceptively strong and steady for one of his years. "It was nothing, sir. Marshal Starck actually stopped them from detonating their bomb. I just caused a ruckus." He frowned and blinked solemnly. "I missed your name, sir. Could you repeat it?"

"Gene Grenfield, Sol system ambassador to the ACPC."

Lipton's mouth formed a silent 'O' and he froze. This man was the president of the Allied Colonies Political Council. A man of his stature and influence could change the galaxy on a whim.

"It is a pleasure, sir."

"On the contrary, I find it a great honor to be in the presence of a man that will throw down his life for mankind. The same cannot be said of many, especially my fellow politicians."

His frank honesty caused Lipton to crack a smile. "I was just doing my duty, sir."

"I know, which is why I came to see you." His pleasant demeanor melted and a firm, resolved look replaced it. "I contacted High Command to report this unpleasant affair. They told me that you are a candidate for the Orbital Drop Shock Trooper Corps. I have been keeping an eye on the commander and…" he started as if noticing Starck for the first time. With unspoken consent the Air Marshal saluted and left the room. When the door shut Grenfield turned back to Lipton. "The commander is a little too ambitious. He is constantly trying to one-up his fledgling program and will do anything to keep it from sinking. He is not above murdering his troops."

Lipton raised an eyebrow. He had heard about fanatics in the UNSC, but none that were crazy enough to execute soldiers. Such a thing had never been done since the World Wars back in the late 20th century.

"Anyway." Grenfield patted him on the shoulder and rose stiffly. His cheery countenance returned he looked for all the world like a content man. "Good luck with the program. I'll be watching you."

Lipton's curiosity got the better of him as Gene Grenfield reached the door. "Sir, is it true that you once served in the Terra Division Special Ops?"

Gene paused at the door. Lipton winced as he felt a sharp retort coming and cursed his curiosity. "I once was, yes." A childish gleam flickered in Gene's eyes as he turned his head to see Lipton. "Why do you want to know?"

'Well, sir." Lipton stumbled over his words as he sought the best choice of words. "I, uh, well…um, the Terra Spec Ops were on Masada as part of Operation Restoring Order. Were you, um, part of the force then?"

Gene's answer was long in coming. He mulled over the question for a minute. Finally recognition dawned on his face. "Yes, I was there. It was my second-to-last mission. I was a colonel then." His expression was bleak and cold as he thought about it. "The Nalhirad deserved to be…punished for what they did. I am still haunted by the images that I saw there, in the main square of Nazareth." His voice choked and for a brief second Lipton saw tears creeping at the edge of his eyes. "They had butchered hundreds of civilians as we came in. There was nothing we could do for the survivors except to put them out of their misery. That was not all of it though.

"I still remember the awful scene at the Nalhirad command post. Thirty mutilated Nalhirad soldiers were splayed out across the two story building, ripped to bloody pieces and bleeding rivers. In the basement, where they kept prisoners, was a lone boy, wounded in dozens of places, clutching to his chest a tortured and murdered girl. He was unconscious from blood loss, but he was still crying and whispering her name. 'Natalie,' he whispered; over and over, without a pause. It took three of us to pry his body away and get him to a hospital. Intel found uncorrupted video feed from the building. The boy had slain all of the Nalhirad by himself. Nothing that they did could stop him as he mowed them down despite a dozen wounds and being outnumbered and outgunned. I wish I knew what happened to him."

"Sir, I can tell you what happened to him." Lipton blinked back his own tears. "I am that boy. I was in a coma for two months after the war. When I finally came to, everything had changed. People did not speak of the war; they refused to admit its existence. Barely a single trace of the conflict remained on our world. My friends and I were forgotten by all but those whose families were still alive.

"I stormed the command post to rescue my friend's body. The Nalhirad had captured her a week before the UNSC forces arrived. Just to spite me they had her raped and tortured, and then they broadcasted it all across the continent. Their leader Ezeri-Khyelmahn, challenged me during the broadcast, taunting me for being unable to stop what was happening. To tell you the truth, I lost it. Five, maybe six of my buddies were still alive out of thirty some. Two were her siblings. I could not let them get away with their crime.

"So I stole away from the camp that night. I attacked them at dawn in the middle of Nazareth, right in front of their whole 3rd Army. I was so angry I could not feel the pain as the bullets tore through my body. I killed everyone in my way until I found Ezeri-Khyelmahn." Lipton's voice broke and he let the tears that had been kept sealed for years flow. "You saw what I did to him."

Gene frowned and stared at the floor. "I heard about the broadcast." He said quietly. "Intel made sure every soldier in the battle group heard what they were doing to the people on Masada. I have never seen more passionate and furious men in my life. But your story cannot be matched. I do not know what that pain must have been like, nor can I imagine it. However, I can tell you this." He looked up and forced himself to gaze into Lipton's eyes. "If you ever need help or aid, let me know. Nearly any soldier that participated in the Masada action would gladly lend a hand and wish that they could have been beside you fighting the Nalhirad. Do not bear hard feelings towards them, for they all wanted to respond much faster than they could."

"I know." Lipton's voice was a mere whisper through his tear-stained lips. "I am thankful that they came at all."

Gene Grenfield gave him a firm salute and left the room. Something inside Lipton felt better than before, as if his heart had been torn open and all the pain had drained away. Through the pain and sorrow he saw a glimmer of hope and peace that had never been there to comfort him before.

Starck entered the room silently and waited for Lipton to notice him. Lipton brushed away his tears and pulled together a half-hearted grin. "He is a great man," he said, pointing out the door way at Gene Grenfield's retreating back. "I hope for the galaxy's sake that fortune smiles on him for his life."

Starck nodded in agreement and rubbed his hands together. "The feeling is mutual. Gene Grenfield is one of the most amazing men I have ever met."

"He is."