"If Viktorya is Chimera's claws, and Chidinma its wings, then Damien is surely its heart. They were skilled, each noted for their talents and wisely selected by the Arrowhead Project. Of the five candidates that form Chimera, it is the youngest of them, Rashid, that demonstrates the most overt intelligence. His mind is a precise instrument, of peerless insight and ferocious curiosity. There are faster Spartans, certainly, stronger ones and larger too.
But the mind can be the most dangerous thing of all."
- excerpt from the private notes of Dr. R. Pearson (Contractor Serial ID 2304-4075-4235), recovered 2561
Rebecca had a feeling that the next interview was going to be odd from the moment they confiscated her data pad.
She and Eric had barely stepped off the elevator when a pair of grim-faced MP's intercepted them, MA5's crossed against their chests.
"No networked items beyond this point, ma'am." one of the MP's said, voice brusque through his helmet filter.
Rebecca looked up at Eric. The armoured giant simply shrugged slightly, his armour clicking with the gesture. She handed over her data pad.
"Suit interface too, Ma'am."
Rebecca frowned and unlooped the data bracelet from around her wrist, dropping it in the concession box the second MP was holding out. His other hand was holding a sweeper broom, which he played over her. It ticked steadily, but there was no telltale ping.
"She's clean." the second marine grunted.
"How am I supposed to take notes?" she asked. The MP wordlessly held up an old fashioned paper journal and a wax pencil, the kind used to make markings on antiquated terrain charts in the field. Rebecca arched an eyebrow.
"What is this, the 21st century?" she asked dryly.
"Necessary precaution, Ma'am."
The second MP went to play the sweeper broom over Eric's armour. The device began pinging and bleating in alarm instantly. A.I. integrating circuitry, advanced warfare sensor suites; a truly extraordinary number of hidden knifes, blades and garrotte wires. Eric stared down at him.
"Mjolnir."
The MP coughed awkwardly and stood to one side.
They were let through, the MPs shadowing them as their footfalls clanged along the steel decking. They were on the third sub-level basement of the main Laconia Facility. The lights here flickered intermittently, buzzing with an unhealthy throb. It threw odd shapes against the wall, and Rebecca found herself shuddering involuntarily. The steady thud of Eric's reinforced boots reassured her. For once she was glad of her monstrous, armoured shadow.
This section of the facility stood out for a number of reasons. For one the feedback circuitry had been visibly pried from the walls, replaced with simple infill polycrete. Another was that lighting was provided by twist-trigger illumination sticks gel-taped to the walls. Spent light flares sat heaped in buckets at intervals spaced along the corridor floor. It was crude, medieval almost. The cell door they eventually arrived at was similarly old fashioned. A heavy iron gate, triple bolted with reinforced Titantium bars, obstructed their path.
One of the MP's wheeled the crank with a shrill squeal of protesting metal. The Titanium-A bolts unlocked with a snapping jolt. The door groaned as the MP shouldered it open, stepping into the chamber.
The cell was wall to wall, floor to ceiling, barefaced polycrete. A single table was in the middle of the room. A simple latrine and a standard UNSC cot lay in the corner, neatly made. Sitting at the table was a tall and slender man, brown skinned with a tight, compact military haircut. Not as tall as Damien or Eric, but certainly larger than the average human male. He watched them with deep-set, curious brown eyes, a pleasant expression settled on his open face.
"Doctor Pearson, it's a pleasure to meet you." Rashid smiled amiably. An Outer Colonist of Indian descent, Rashid's voice was deep and polished; rich with a clipped enunciation that could have stepped from Oxford or Cambridge. You could have listened to him simply speak for hours, and felt all the smarter for it. Rebecca warmed to the boy instantly.
"You knew I was coming?"
"I anticipated that a psychologist would be brought on side, in light of our recent… misadventure." Rashid's eyes twinkled with amusement, "That it was you shows no expense spared. I've read your thesis. Insightful. As close as one comes to understanding the physicality augmentation provides without having experiencing it firsthand."
"And my insights on war?"
"I wouldn't know, truth be told. I am a survivor, not a soldier."
Rashid's gaze turned to regard Eric's bulky silhouette, backlit by the yellow-white corridor lighting behind him. Rashid's face hardened somewhat.
"At least not yet."
Eric stepped into the room, dismissing the MP's with a nod. He clanged the door shut behind him. He moved forward into the harsh overhead light cast down by the single spot lamp in the centre of the room, the crimson colour of his armour rendered all the more grim in the murky gloom.
Kaizen's voice spoke through Eric's helmet speakers.
"Rashid Datar is largely the reason the escapees got as far as they did. He sabotaged the facility's administrative A.I., rerouting several encrypted security systems to mask Chimera's movements, while simultaneously issuing a restricted clearance to one of the outbound Pelicans. That he accomplished this with a data pad and an infantryman's combat knife necessitated the precautions on this level."
Rashid's head tilted up at that. That burning curiosity shone in his eyes.
"Synthesized voice. Natural vocal patterns, with an underlying digital signature." Rashid blinked. "A Smart A.I.? Fascinating."
Kaizen fizzled into view on the table before him, bowing gracefully. Rashid turned his attention back to Rebecca.
"They think me capable of building a starship out of a tea-cup and a flare. A gross exaggeration of my abilities, I can assure you, Doctor."
"A genius, but not always the smartest. Trying to use a Pelican to flee the system was your first mistake." Eric said bluntly.
"Ah, it speaks." Rashid said, smiling again. There was little warmth in the expression this time.
"'It' is also your commanding officer, Candidate." Eric replied, "Try to bear that in mind."
Rashid bowed his head in mock deference.
"Naturally, Sir."
"Why a Pelican?" Rebecca asked. She didn't want to lose Rashid's friendly disposition to Eric's growling. The Spartan had many talents, but diplomacy certainly wasn't one of them.
"The Spartan is correct. It was a mistake, one borne from the necessities of improvisation. Time was limited, and I went for the nearest craft available which could carry us - one I knew Chidi had put simulator time in. The lack of a Slipspace drive was… an oversight on my part. Somewhat Rash, as my dear friend Damien would take no small measure of joy in saying. A mistake. One that shall not be repeated."
"That I can vouch on." Eric said.
Rashid's brow furrowed, a question forming on his lips. Diplomatically, he changed the subject.
"Do you play chess, Doctor?" he asked.
"I used to. Back in university. I was part of the chess club, actually."
Rashid studied his finger nails for a moment, frowning as he spoke.
"Fascinating game; Indian in origin. One of my people's finest accomplishments. The single oldest strategic game in known human history. It has many things: strategy, insight, aggression. Sacrifice too. Entire libraries could be filled with the literature that has been devoted to it. I believe it was an American who said it teaches foresight, circumspection and caution in equal measure. Some academics believe that comparisons to warfare are an inaccurate analogy. Bishops cannot be called artillery, no more than castles can be called tanks. They believe chess to be beneficial strictly as a mental exercise."
Rashid looked up at her, blinking once.
"They are wrong."
"How so?"
"Consider the plight of perhaps the most important pieces on the board. The pieces upon which entire games are won and lost: the lowly pawn. Long suffering, they are asked to march forward, alone, and are picked off quickly. In groups? In groups they can win wars."
Neither Rebecca or Eric spoke. Neither were sure where Rashid was going with this. Unperturbed, Rashid continued to speak.
"I look at our ravaged colonies, at the billions lost in the face of the Covenant's genocidal crusades and I cannot help but think that though the last game may have been won, barely, the board is only in the process of being reset. The pieces have changed hands, and the players themselves shift with the sifting balance of power, but the game… the game remains the same. It saddens me."
"Why?"
He looked her directly in the eye.
"Because we are the pawns, Doctor Pearson. You and I. Different move sets, perhaps, and certainly different roles to play, but our ultimate purpose is the same. We have been given a purpose, and that purpose is to preserve the UNSC, or those elements within the UNSC which deign to consider us useful. No matter the personal cost."
"Without the UNSC, we would have lost this war." Eric replied. "Sacrifices were necessary. Are necessary."
"Indeed. And that is what saddens me. That such a government - self-serving and long ignorant of the democratic needs of the outer colonists, its own citizenry - would be necessary to unite humanity and secure its place on the galactic stage."
"It alarms you, to have a centralised government?"
"It alarms me to have an unscrupulous one. Have you considered what would happen were a less benevolent administration to take charge? One with access to an army of trained Spartans, and even greater moral flexibility than our current leaders? We are but a single election away from outright tyranny."
"You're being alarmist." Eric said.
Rashid looked at Eric thoughtfully, considering the Spartan's war-scuffed armour; the dints, the scratches. The tank-like physicality.
"I daresay you're not being alarmist enough, Sir."
Rashid rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.
"But the stakes are appreciably higher now, aren't they? It's no longer about brush fire wars and taxation. There's a whole lot more to play for. Thirty years of war and the threat of extinction taught us that."
Rashid leaned forward in his chair, expression determined.
"I will commit to this program. Not out of love for the UNSC, or a sentimental sense of duty. No, my reason is a pragmatic one. Should the UNSC ever stray from being anything less than the shield that protects its people, should the Spartans ever become a tool mis-used - then at least I will be able to do something about it."
"It won't come to that." Eric shook his head vehemently. "There are checks and balances in place to limit Spartan deployment."
"I pray you are right, Sir. You'll forgive me if I err on the side of caution, and prepare myself for the challenges ahead."
Rashid turned back to Rebecca. His expression was frank.
"Truth be told, I never really wanted to escape. Chidi wanted to distance herself from the war, wanted her freedom; and who was I to say no? We had seen our share of horror. We asked Damien to help us. The rest followed him. Me? I was rather bored."
"You understand why they took you?" Rebecca asked, "The necessity of it?"
"I have seen what the Covenant are capable of, Doctor. And though regrettable, I realise that without the existence of terrible men capable of terrible things, we would not be having this conversation today. Sometimes, such monsters are necessary. I am resigned to that now."
"So you'll help us?"
"I will help you." Rashid nodded smoothly. His expression was grim as he studied the manacles binding his wrists. After a moment, he looked up thoughtfully.
"I expect you'll want to know what convinced me. For that journal you are so diligently scribbling into."
Rashid paused for a moment. Rebecca flipped the page in her journal. She was unused to hand-writing; her script was a ragged, scratchy scrawl. Her fingers cramped.
"Chidi didn't tell you, did she? What happened on Cairo III"
Rebecca shook her head, pencil poised above the page.
"No," Rashid mused thoughtfully, his voice sad, "No, I don't expect she would have. Very well."
And so Rashid began to speak and Rebecca, pencil scribbling, began to write.