"Are you sure that this is the best course of action available?"
"Chimera is a mistake. A mistake rooted in a litany of errors. It's a loaded gun, and we're playing with it like an enthusiastic child!"
"Agreed. No good will come from this."
"The council members' points are noted. This does seem a bit unwise, to put such trust in such an unpredictable candidate pool. Infinity is almost online, and our other training facilities are already underway. There will be other Spartans, Director."
"Few of this caliber, Madame-President. Chimera were one of the first groups selected as part of Arrowhead. You've seen the test results. Their potential is self-evident."
"I cannot help but feel that Arrowhead will come back to haunt us all, Director. I pray that you are right."
"So do I, Madame President. For all our sakes."
/ Unknown conversation, data intercept c. 2556, Source-data[REDACTED] - EYES ONLY /
Rashid stopped speaking. Rebecca's hand hovered over the page. She had written for two hours straight. Only now did she notice the dull ache in her hand.
"And she flew you clear of the city?" Rebecca asked.
Rashid raised an eyebrow.
"Oh goodness no." Rashid laughed, "Please, we were nine years of age, Doctor. We crashed five minutes after take-off. Clipped a billboard overlooking the I-16. It turns out the altitude adjustment pedal on a Shoebill is in a subtle but fundamentally different location to that of a standard UNSC Pelican. The things you learn."
He lifts his shirt. A pale white line of scar tissue snaked its way across the deep brown skin of his chest, curling up toward his left shoulder.
"It saved our life, truth be told. The impact triggered the Emergency broadcast beacon. It's an older signal, using an out-dated carrier wave. It stood out. An ONI Prowler was cloaked in orbit, monitoring emergency traffic during the invasion. It picked up the E-PIRB, and dispatched a retrieval team. Snatched us right out from under the Covenant's nose."
"You were lucky." Eric said. He was standing by the door, arms folded neatly at the small of his back.
"Extremely, Sir." Rashid said, his face sombre. "Also grateful."
"So why the escape attempt?" Rebecca asked, checking her notes, "Damien said it was your idea."
"Would you like the simple answer?" Rashid shrugged, "Again, I was bored. Ten years of injections, endless training and constant routine? Of diet regulation and gene-enhancement? The mind grows idle, and an idle mind is prone to wander. I started wondering what was out there, beyond the steel walls of our cells."
"That worked well." Eric remarked.
Rashid smiled mirthfully.
"Yes it rather did, didn't it? Locked in a polycrete bunker without so much as a good book. My question to you is this: am I to stay in here forever?"
"You have potential, Candidate." Eric said, "Intelligence have been gunning for you ever since we picked you up. Game theory, spatial cognition, technical reasoning? Off the charts."
"I'm duly flattered, Sir." Rashid bowed his head.
"You won't be going to the spooks, though." Eric's helmet shook slightly, "Not with your existing augmentations. Director Carter won't allow it."
"Are they concerned I might break the computers by typing too hard?"
"I'm concerned you might break it." Rebecca replied levelly, "Out of boredom."
"Oh?"
"'An idle mind is prone to wander', Rashid. I've read previous psych evals done on you, Rashid. Chidinma is the closest thing you have to family. I don't think being separated is going to help either of you. You'll be idle, restless."
Rashid pursed his lips, studying the table for a moment.
"It terrified me, the war. Did you know that? The sweat, the stink of it, the sounds - such fury! The dust as the city's systems failed, one by one, and the elements rolled in to scour the city, as surely as any plasma bombardment could. I sit here and ask myself; do I want to go back to that? I am not sure I know the answer."
"You won't be going alone, Candidate." Eric replied. "Look at yourself - you're seven foot tall. You'll be armoured, provided with the best weaponry. You'll be surrounded by a fire-team who will be conditioned to look after you, as though you were an extension of themselves."
"And what did the UNSC offer you and your fire-team in return for your service, Sir?" Rashid asked, looking pointedly at Eric's prosthetic arm. "A replacement arm, to make up for the life they stole? You're a Spartan III: you were given no more of a chance than we were. Less, even."
For once, Eric didn't have an answer, a smart comeback or a brow-beating put down. Eric turned and looked down at his prosthetic hand, turning it over thoughtfully. Rashid continued speaking. He drummed his fingers on the table slowly.
"I've read the files, you know. On the Spartans, their combat histories. ONI didn't want us to see it, but their firewalls can be woefully inadequate at times. I'm under no illusions, Sir. I know what the life expectancy of a Spartan is."
Rashid looked up, his face set.
"And I'll do it. Not because I particularly relish the prospect of battle, or for some high-minded sense of vengeance against those who destroyed my home. I'll do it because I'm one of the few who can, for whatever genetic chance or reason."
A half-smile tugged at his mouth.
"On the condition that you indulge me with a good book or two. I'll start with Steinbeck, and we'll go from there."
"Then I'm clearing you for as approved for Spartan training." Rebecca smiled, "You'll be free to move into the barracks on the surface once the program gets underway."
"You have my thanks, Doctor. It will be good to see the others again. Am I the last to be cleared?"
"Officially. There's one candidate we've yet to interview, but he was pre-emptively cleared before we arrived. Candidate 502: Luke Grey."
Rashid smiled.
"Ah, Luke." There was a mirthful look in his eyes that made Rebecca slightly worried. "Affable, cheerful. Destructive."
"He's not held in one of the detention cells." Rebecca noted with a tilt of her head.
"No, I don't expect he would be. Luke… enjoys trouble making, but in his heart he was always a UNSC man. Give him my regards, won't you?"
As they left the cell, Rebecca turned to Eric. One of Rashid's parting comments had set alarm bells off in her head.
"Something the matter, Doctor?"
"Candidate 502."
"What about him?"
"Did Rashid really describe him as… destructive?"
"The green wire." Damien was saying. "See it there?"
"I've got it, Chief." Luke shot back. Sweat beaded his brow, running down his nose and causing his nose to itch maddeningly. The countdown timer was racing. The trigger mechanism was a spider's web of multi-coloured wires hanging out of a gutted teddy bear; a rainbow bulge of splayed intestines. A classic Insurrectionist 'viable device', it was the kind that immolated crowds, or blew mag-rails shrieking from their trackways. The golden button eyes and hand-sewn mouth of the bear seemed to smile up at Luke, as though bemused by his plight. Luke glowered at it, focusing on the task at hand. Thirty seconds.
The wire clippers shook in his massive hands as he teased them through the tangled wires. The cumbersome defusal gloves felt four sizes too big, like two pairs of rubber gloves wrapped in deep-weather mittens. That Damien was peering over his shoulder in a similarly bulky armoured suit didn't help matters.
"It's on your left." Damien said.
"I've got it."
"No, your other left."
Ten seconds left.
"I said I've got it!"
Five seconds.
Luke found the wire. He snipped it cleanly in half. The timer froze at one second.
"Aha!" Luke hissed in triumph. "Gotcha!"
With a lack-lustre pop, a cloudburst of neon pink paint splattered all over them. A canned, tinny laughter began to echo from deep within the bear's tummy. Almost as an after thought, a low-yield concussion grenade detonated at their feet with a monstrous roar, hurling the two candidates across the room with a yelp. Luke hit the ground and rolled, swatting at the small flames crawling across his back. In the observation lounge overhead, the UNSC Ordnance Disposal Unit that had been coaching them in this exercise were visibly burying their faces in their hands.
"Nice job, Luke." Damien coughed, rolling onto his back. He swiped at the pink paint on his visor, which only managed to smear it and blind him further. "I said the green wire!"
"I cut the green wire!"
"I meant the green one. The dark green."
"They were all green!"
"Well you the one you cut wasn't that dark. It was really more of a teal."
"Teal?! Listen here, Mr. Colouring Book, I'll show you teal -"
"Gentlemen, please." a voice on the speaker cut their argument short. It was the resonant voice of Director Carter, who had materialised in the observation lounge overhead. The two candidates clambered to their feet, standing to attention. "Candidate 501, report to my office, now."
"Uh-oh, now you've done it, Grey." Damien whispered. "Big man's pissed."
Luke shot him a glare.
"Save it, Hibernian. Next time you can find the vermillion wire."
As Luke made for the exit, his foot brushed against something. It was the disembodied head of the teddy bear. Its fur was scorched, and one of the button eyes was missing. Still it grinned up at him. Only now it looked like it was winking.
With a snarl, Luke kicked it down the far end of the room, before ducking out of the doorway and stalking for the elevator.
Luke was still dressed in the bulky, and thoroughly singed, bomb defusal suit when he stepped into Director Carter's lushly decorated office. The stench of burned plastic and scorched rubber wafting from his smoking armour seemed entirely odds with the understated wood paneled walls and the soft, thick carpet. He doffed the bulky blast helmet, holding it under the crook of his arm.
Luke had tanned skin, with a generous mouth and perpetually amused eyes that ordinarily would have seemed friendly. Right now, his expression was sullen. Sweat beaded his shaved skull, and not just from the heat of the suit. Nobody wanted to be in Director Carter's office. He stood bolt upright, eyes front as he awaited whatever punishment was to follow.
"At ease, Candidate." Carter waved a disarming hand, "I'm not here to chew you out. Have a seat."
Luke frowned, rubbing the sweat from his forehead with his armoured gauntlet. He stepped forward toward the large bureau. The chairs in front of the desk, as finely curved and upholstered with dark leather as they were, were far too small for somebody of his scale. The only result Luke would achieve from sitting in such a delicate piece of furniture would be to reduce it to kindling.
"I'd… better not, Sir."
"As you wish." Director Carter settled himself down in his own chair, hands folded across his belly, "Do you know why you're here?"
"Is it about the exercise, Sir? Because I still maintain that the dark green is entirely too similar to a teal."
"No, Candidate Grey, it's not about the exercise. I wanted to speak with you. Of all the Chimera candidates, you were the first one to voluntarily resume rotational training. I wanted to know why."
"The UNSC is my home, Sir. My parents died in a mining accident on Crassus, only a few months after I was born. I've lived in government facilities for just about as long as I can remember. Crassus, then more coreward postings. Reach, then Earth. Until the ONI spooks plucked me from obscurity, brought me here. I owe the UNSC a lot, Sir."
"Yet you took part in Chimera's little… escape attempt?"
"Moving around as much as I have, I've had few friends, Sir. Damien and the others? They're like brothers to me. Rashid and Chidi wanted out, I wasn't going to stop them. I regret hurting those guards. I think we all do."
"And if I were to be faced with the prospect of reactivating Chimera, re-enlisting them in the upcoming program, you believe they would stay loyal?"
"They're not orthodox, Sir. Not one of them are alike. But I've never seen anybody move as quietly as Viktorya, or think as quickly as Rashid, or fly like Chidi does. Give them a shot, Sir, and it'll stand to you. Hell, it'll stand to the entire UNSC."
"I believe you're right, Candidate. But you can agree that it's quite an ask, from a trust perspective. Given their recent history."
"They're loyal, Sir. To each other, first and foremost. But deep down I think they'll stand up for the UNSC when it counts."
"And if that loyalty should ever fall into question? If Chimera are entrusted with further weapons training, and armour, and the means to do what they want, when they want it? They become a weapon. What controls do we have for such a weapon? Where is our safety catch?"
Luke wasn't sure what to say to that. Carter leaned forward, hands steepled on the desk before him. Luke towered over him, but even so Luke found it difficult to look at the intensity of Idris Carter's gaze. The unblinking determination of it unsettled him.
"You, Luke."
"I don't understand." Luke blinked.
"You realise the risk involved, don't you? The full consequences of what would happen were we to unleash a Spartan team without the prerequisite mental conditioning? We wouldn't be seen as negligent; we'd be seen as war criminals, traitors. Should the unthinkable happen, and Chimera went rogue, any knowledge of the team's existence would be disavowed. They would be systematically hunted down and struck from the history books, never to be mentioned again."
"They're not like that, it wouldn't come to that."
"Would it not? I hope you're right, Candidate Grey. I sincerely do. But those who have funded this facility, they'll need assurances. A guarantee."
"What sort of guarantee?"
"As I said, you, Candidate. You're our fail-safe. Our safety catch. You embody the loyalty we need from Chimera."
The penny dropped.
"I'm not spying on my friends." the muscles in Luke's jaw bunched.
"You won't be spying, Luke. You'll be protecting them; watching for stress points, potential fractures in the squad morale. An early warning system, if you will. You know Chimera better than any of us ever will. You can use that knowledge to make sure the UNSC's investment in Chimera remains sound."
"And in doing so, ensure my friends safety?"
Idris Carter nodded curtly, eyes watchful.
"Precisely. Monthly reports, filed on a candidate by candidate basis. Help me protect them from those who would rather see them retired before they even got a chance to prove themselves."
It was an order, not a suggestion. Luke thought of his friends, of what Carter had said. About consequences. He snapped a sharp salute.
"Sir."
Idris Carter rose to his feet, returning it smartly.
"I'm glad you appreciate the wisdom of this decision, Candidate. Dismissed."
The elevator doors opened as Luke approached them.
A fully armoured Spartan and a diminutive, if somewhat decorative, female civilian stepped out. She was dressed in a practical black business suit.
The woman frowned at her data pad, then glanced up at Luke.
"Candidate Grey? Luke Grey?"
"Yes ma'am?"
"I'm due to interview you." she began.
"That won't be necessary, Doctor Pearson." Director Carter called out. He had turned out to watch the sinking sun in the glass window behind his desk.
"Candidate Grey is precisely the kind of candidate we need."
It had been a long day, and tomorrow would be longer still.
As Rebecca stepped out into the evening air, the sky above had faded down to a dull rosy pink. The dipping sun danced off the damp asphalt, casting the entire facility in a hazy glow. Everything seem washed out, the edges of the metal roofs and armoured vehicles highlighted by thin streaks of amber gold. In the distance, a trio of hulking Mantis assault walkers clomped their way across the hard pan, heading out on an evening patrol. It was still late summer, and the breeze was warm and humid.
The Spartan and the psychologist stood alone at the edge of the landing pad, watching the world go by.
"I have a question." Rebecca started. Eric's visor swiveled down to look at her.
"Apparently you do."
"Your armour. Why don't you ever remove it? You know, take it off, relax? Surely they have facilities for doing that here?"
"They do."
"And?"
"System calibration. Materials Group want the Soldier pattern's A.I. wetware systems tested before full scale deployment." Eric paused. "The helmet also discourages nosy doctors from asking stupid questions."
"Stupid questions?"
"About the scars on my face. About my arm."
"Ah."
"That was your follow-up question? My arm?"
"Might have been." she admitted guiltily.
"No more questions, Doctor." Eric replied gruffly, "Get some rest. In the morning, we're heading to the armoury. For better or worse, Chimera's official training begins tomorrow."
His metallic footfalls clunked off the tarmacadam as he walked away.
Rebecca sighed and followed toward her own quarters, making a final note in her journal.
Note to self: Do not ask about the arm.