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Halo: Shadows of Hope

Chapter 13: Reflections

Video Feed Alpha

From: SK-018

To: Keancros

"This is impossible. You died..."

Yeah...that's where things went screwy, prompting Keancros to wind the tape back and receive the gratification of the events beforehand. Well, the immediate events at least, considering how unpleasant it was to see nine innocents go the way of the Harvest whale. Watching SK-018 pound the, as he so rightly called him, puppet, was gratifying on both a professional and personal level.

Wish that bitch could be watching this...

Well, she couldn't, though there was more than one bitch in this universe and Keancros would inevitably have to show the admiral that. Pausing the frame where the pistol round was torn apart by magnetism, he wondered if he should try cutting that out. Yes, it was impressive technology, if not cost effective, and yes, it showed that not even Spartan-IIs were infallible, but it was also an indicator of Reaper's potential. Potential that he was mostly sure was tarnished beyond redemption given recent events, but still, separating the wheat from the chaff was what the powers that be did. The only question was what happened to the chaff after said separation occurred. Because while both men in the relic were chaff in his mind, at least one admittedly had future use. Use that, as he found a blade to his throat, would have been cut short in later life. Because with the moment of truth coming to pass...well, that might require some cleaning up.

On the other hand, it would make Hope's defenders even more antagonistic towards Harwood. And while more along the lines of bitch 4 than 3, Keancros couldn't help but smile faintly at the hot water she'd soon find herself in. Even hot plasma for that matter, given the continued Covenant presence. Still, there were hopes and there were realities. And the reality was that there should be enough data here to ensure SIIIs continuation.

And more besides...

Of all the factors the operative had factored in, the emergence of an alien relic hadn't been among them. And while not the only indication of ancient extraterrestrial life that humanity had discovered, that still left more questions than answers. Courtesy of SK-018's feed, the answers were slightly enlightening, albiet limited. The subject had somehow kept himself updated on Covenant language over the years, so the Prophet's writings were elusive to him right now until he could get proper translation software. The orb thing had given out some answers, but they were vague and the subject hadn't sought clarification, presumably as part of an attempt to maintain the facade of familiarity that had been imposed on him. So while he had an idea of the relic's function, of what threat it posed, Keancros was slightly sceptical.

But what if it is true? Its function? Its power? And what if it falls into SK-018's hands?

Well, better than the Covenant's hands to be sure. But that was cold comfort. In the end, all that was left to do was wait...

...wait as he always did.

Cougar infantry fighting vehicle

Unidentified alien relic (exterior)

"Dear tall, dark and ugly. Jack Hawkins isn't here right now, but if you leave your name and number, I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Start recording after the beep...beep."

It was a sign of how bad things were for the marine that he was talking to himself, let alone imitating an answering machine that in light of commercial AIs, was obsolete in many UEG territories. Admittedly they could have been worse-he could have been dead alongside the squad's medic. But while he was alive and said medic wasn't, it was up to him to act the role of medic, raid the Cougar's health pack and figure out what he was supposed to do with it in regards to his shoulder. Maybe nothing, given that it was cauterized. But still, he couldn't help but feel an arse for not learning some first aid in the three years he'd had of doing nothing.

Maybe the tall guy can help out.

Or maybe not. Because chances were, he wasn't coming back out. It was over fifteen minutes and although he'd become a proverbial answering machine, Hawkins was still here. Sure he could dismantle a pistol with a proficiency the jarhead hadn't thought possible, but that probably wouldn't avail him against the...thing that was within the relic. A thing that could come strolling out any moment, see Hawkins lying against the Cougar and slit his throat before he even got the door open. And there was also the Covenant, who might be interested in retrieving the bodies of their fallen.

Yeah...screw this. Time to go.

"Hey you. Time to go."

Hawkins blinked. Clearly the...Spartan-II or whatever he was called thought so as well.

"Hey guys..." said the marine awkwardly, rising to his feet and still being a good head shorter than the two behemoths making their way out of the relic. "What took ya?"

Neither of them answered. And while Hawkins couldn't help but be a bit miffed at that, reminded of Physon in an unpleasant way, he supposed it was a stupid question anyway. One of them was leaning on the other, moving in a manner that suggested that his/her leg was broken. The other looked no better either, part of his/her armour torn open in the right arm. A hole that showed no sign of blood. A hole that, as the throbbing reminded him, was similar to the marine's own.

"So...did you come across that maniac?" the private asked, the two Spartans making their way over to the Cougar with the speed of a turtle. "Did you get him?"

Neither Spartan answered. Not the one that had accompanied Hawkins originally, nor the one who'd scrapped his pistol either. Both of them were close enough to be recognised, yet neither had answered. And not only was that annoying, but almost ominous as well.

"Well?" Hawkins repeated. "Did you find out who it-..."

The marine stopped short. A Spartan making a dent in the Cougar with his fist tended to shut ordinary humans up.

Crap. This is worse than I thought...

"You're still here," the male super-soldier murmured, not even glancing at the marine as he helped his companion to the rear of the Cougar. "Is that because you waited? Or because you can't drive?"

"I...er, well I guess I can drive it," the marine murmured, feeling the same way he did when he was summoned to the principal's office for breaking a window. "Why?"

"Because no-one else is coming out," the behemoth said simply, shutting the AFV's rear hatch and still not giving the marine a glance. "Take the Cougar and Grace back to Thunderville. "I'll take the Warthog."

"Um...sure," said the private, gazing at the Spartan even if the favour wasn't returned. And while he turned his gaze to the Cougar for a second, opening its hatch and preying it was similar to a Warthog, his eyes quickly locked back on the Spartan. "So er...you going to tell me what happened in there?"

"No."

Screw "tall dark and ugly," because "strong and silent" fitted the jackass to a T. Well, silent at least. Because as strong as he was, the NCO's tone and slow, shuffling movement to the Warthog indicated that he might not be as strong as he would have liked.

Then again, as Hawkins realized as he climbed into the driver's seat with his shoulder burning, no-one was.

The Warthog felt foreign. So did the entire universe for that matter. It was as if a blindfold had been lifted from his eyes and only now Isaac was viewing Creation for what it really was.

He didn't like what he saw.

Within a few seconds, he'd activated the auto-drive function. In another few seconds, he'd set the destination for Thunderville. And in a mere couple of seconds, the LRV was en route.

And a couple of seconds after that, Isaac-039 was fast asleep.

Epsilon Eridani System, Planet Reach

Ten years ago

"Bam!"

It was one "bam" among many other "bams," but Isaac only heard his own. Mufflers on his ears drowned out much of the sound around him, but staring down the sights of a MA5K carbine, he couldn't help but hear the sound of his rifle. That, and of his training computer, informing him that at one hundred metres, he was only three inches off from his target. And having fired the last round in his current magazine, it informed him of much more. Rate of fire, overall accuracy, reload time...all stuff that was relevant in principle, but simply generalities to the cadet.

"Candidate, Isaac-039," the voice droned. "Twelfth clip. Rate of fire: thirty rounds in forty-four seconds. Accuracy rating: eighty-seven percent. Average reload time: three-point two seconds."

"Hah, beat you!" came a voice, one that the Spartan heard despite the sounds of gunfire along the rifle range. "Two point nine seconds!"

"Yeah?" Isaac asked, reloading as fast as he could just the same. "And what about your accuracy?"

Kirk didn't answer. Maybe it was the knowledge that his accuracy was lower than Isaac's or maybe he didn't hear him as he let out a volley of shots at his own target. It was a shame really. The trainee knew he was meant to be concentrating, but after an arduous one month survival course in the Highland Mountains, simple target shooting was surprisingly relaxing. Especially so since a buzzer ran down the range, signalling the end of fire.

"Phew...glad that's over," René-005 murmured, tossing her visor and mufflers to one side and laying her MA5K to the other. "Hands were starting to go numb."

Isaac remained silent, but thought and did likewise. He didn't know whether the buzzer signalled the end of the exercise or simply allowing time for the scores to be tallied, but he wanted to get some rest while he was at it. That, and chat to his friends while having the warmth of Epsilon Eridani beat down on him.

"So...who do you think got top spot?" Kirk asked, coming down to sit beside Isaac from one direction, while René-005 approached from the other.

"Linda," said the only female member of the trio. "May not be sniper rifles we're using, but it's the same principle. Shoot fast, shoot straight-..."

"And reload quickly," Kirk grinned, still flushed at his success.

Isaac rolled his eyes in an exaggerated motion. He often played the role of the middle-man in the trio, balancing Kirk's 'wild side' with René-005's more controlled character. It wasn't that he had to moderate between the two, but it was important for all the Spartan-IIs to work together at a team, whether as just a trio or at their full strength of seventy-five. Of course, competition would fuel such teamwork, which was why he supposed the exercise was being held. Not so much as a breather from the mountains, but to still encourage competition. Still, that wasn't to stop him from lying down and simply relaxing.

Shaking his shoulder, Kirk had other ideas.

"Hey Isaac," he asked. "What's that guy doing?"

"What guy?" -039 asked, not bothering to open his eyes and hoping that his friend got the hint.

"That guy over there. The guy with the...thing."

Clearly Kirk wasn't getting the hint. Nor was René-005 for that matter.

"Thing?" she asked. "It's not a thing. It's a camera...thing."

"How eloquent."

"Hey, it's an old one. We were never taught to identify antiques."

That wasn't entirely true-antiques were simple and "simple living" was among the rallying calls of Innies. That, and other cries that often involved "Earth" and a certain word that literally translated to fornication. Still, Outer Colony nostalgia aside, the mention of an antique piqued Isaac's interest. And rising from the ground and letting his eyes adjust to the mid-afternoon sun's glare, he managed to catch sight of the "thing" that René-005 and Kirk had mentioned. And more importantly, the man wielding it.

A marine? Isaac wondered. What's he doing here?

Instinct told the Spartan that it wasn't for anything good. Sometimes the Spartans were pitched against each as teams, other times they faced adult opponents. Adults that almost always lost and were thus compelled to achieve small, petty victories in off the record circumstances. Yet looking at the man more closely, Isaac found his initial hostility fading. He wasn't really a man for starters. He was young...probably in his twenties and despite a median age of thirteen, many of the Spartans looked much older. Seeing Mendez and Halsey quite often, Isaac knew what "old" was and this...kid certainly wasn't it.

"What's he doing here?" Kirk asked. "What's he doing at-..."

"No-one said that visitors weren't allowed," said Isaac simply. "The rifle range is ours, but observers are free to enter."

That was true, but the grunt was nonetheless the only observer here. Well, the only observer apart from computers that truly were "dumb" pieces of coding. And although those very computers had resumed giving out statistics, Isaac paid them no attention. He'd been firing a weapon for seven years. He was willing to miss a few minutes for some casual interaction. And as Kirk and René-005 followed him towards the marine, currently looking through the lens of his "camera thing," he supposed that his friends desired such interaction as well.

"I'm telling you, right on target!"

...and bragging.

"Hey you..." Isaac asked the jarhead, his tone more accusatory than he intended. "What are you doing?"

The kid looked at the approaching trio, trying and failing to hide his surprise and apprehension. Unlike Kirk, who'd switched from bragging to resentful muttering, Isaac didn't see it as a sign of guilt. Whenever someone on this training reserve had a trio of Spartans headed their way, they were often fated to head in the same direction. Well, provided the direction had an infirmary on its route.

"What am I doing?" the man asked. "What are you doing?"

"Well, until we saw you snooping around, we were doing some target shooting," said René-005 simply. "But since we-..."

René-005 trailed off, prompting puzzled looks from her comrades. Not that she noticed. She was too busy staring at the camera the marine was holding, along with a piece of paper extended from a slot in it.

"Print photography..." said René-005 slowly. "You found this?"

Print? Isaac wondered. People still use print?

"Yeah, it's a print camera alright," said the marine, his enthusiasm for the subject overshadowing his previous apprehension. "Got it from Manassas."

That, or Manassas Spaceport, Isaac reflected, knowing that being the commercial hub it was, all matter of goods passed through Reach. Still, he doubted that a camera would be linked to the Insurrection. There were far more profitable...and dangerous goods the rebels could sell.

"Little baby has instant print," the jarhead continued, smiling at René-005's rapt attention. "Pretty advanced at its time of conception, but everything is holographic nowadays, you'd hardly see anyone using something like this."

"Yeah, I bet," said Kirk brusquely, stepping forward and shoving René-005 to the side. "So why are you using it, pal? What brings you to the firing range?"

It was typical, really. Kirk, with his jet black hair, rugged features and sharp gaze, was intimidating even without trying. Problem was, he often did try, which in this case, ruined the mood Isaac was currently enjoying. Yet he wasn't sure how to restore it. René-005 and Kirk might see him as a happy modicum, but Isaac didn't see himself as a leader. Never had, never would. Luckily, the marine stood his ground.

"The Highland Mountains," he said, gesturing to them. "Don't know if you've noticed them, but they're some pretty spectacular scenery. Plus, I'm meant to be here. Guard duty, if you will. Got the papers to prove it."

Letting out a derisive snort, it was clear that Kirk didn't believe him. Still, as he was the 'leader' of the trio, Isaac didn't care what Kirk thought right now. Glancing at the scrap of paper the jarhead produced, it seemed official, along with verifying, among other things, that the marine was an engineer and his name was Alan Ellison.

Service record is a bit sparse...Isaac reflected, glancing at the dark haired kid and being reminded of himself when he first arrived on Reach. Did he just get assigned here?

Maybe. Maybe not. But either way, Isaac decided to trust him. And given her amicable tone, so did René-005 for that matter.

"So..." the Spartan-II asked, brushing aside some of her hair awkwardly. "You take pictures often?"

"Well, over the past few days I have," answered Ellison, smiling faintly as the conversation was steered back into waters he was comfortable with. "It's become something of a hobby."

"Really..." said Isaac slowly, an idea slowly forming in his mind. "And this thing has instant print, right?"

"That's right. Why?"

"Well, I was just wondering if you could take a picture of us."

"What!"

The exclamation came from Kirk, while René-005 remained silent. And while Ellison hadn't said anything, his surprised expression made it clear that it wasn't a request that he'd anticipated.

"A picture?" the engineer asked. "You want a picture of you?"

"Yeah," said Isaac slowly, glancing at both of his friends. "You know...something to remember this by. Come ten years and we'll be fighting Innies. Might be nice to look back on more peaceful times."

"Hey...yeah," said René-005, warming up to the idea. "Nice thinking."

"Thinking my arse," Kirk grunted. "You can count me out."

Grabbing the boy's shoulder, René-005 had other plans. Plans that Ellison seemed to be warming up to.

"Alright..." said the marine slowly. "Um...smile I guess."

Isaac couldn't remember the last time he'd had his picture taken. Yet putting his arms around Kirk and René-005, the former's gaze unwavering while the latter smiled gently, he quickly lapsed into the routine. A routine that, as the printed product showed, had paid off.

"That's me?" Kirk exclaimed incredulously. "I look like that?"

"Yeah...that's you alright," grinned René-005, peering at the photo Isaac was holding. Sensing her interest (and Kirk's lack of it, given his return to the rifle range), the Spartan-II tried to hand it to her. René-005 refused.

"No Isaac, you keep it," she said. "It was your idea, you get to reap the benefits."

"I...well, thanks," said Isaac slowly. He glanced back at Ellison. "Any chance of copies of this?"

"Maybe..." said the engineer awkwardly. "But the chances of getting it to you..."

He trailed off, and Isaac couldn't blame him. No-one, apart from Mendez and maybe Halsey, had any constant idea of where the cadets resided and getting a photo to them could be next to impossible. A shame really, but even as René-005 went back to join Kirk, Isaac didn't feel too disappointed. In his hand, he had a physical memory of this moment. A moment where he, Kirk and René-005 had been together.

And despite their differences, Isaac-039 knew they always would be.

Epsilon Eridani System, Planet Reach

Nine years ago

"Isaac? Can you hear me?"

Isaac-039 didn't answer. He couldn't answer, his mouth unable to form the words his mind wanted them to. And even his mind was acting up.

Where am I the boy wondered. When am I...

"Isaac?" the voice came again, once again sounding like it was radiating from the void of slipspace. "Can you hear me? Can you move?"

Once again, Isaac remained silent, though his mouth was actually able to form a "wh" prefix. Whether that translated to "what, when, where or why" was something that his mind was still working on. And "how" was a long time coming as well.

"Isaac?" came the voice again, sounding more concerned than before, and also more familiar. "Can you move?"

Letting a small groan come out, Isaac shifted his right arm...slightly. Right now, he wasn't even sure if he did have an arm. Still, as his eyes were still closed, maybe opening them would help. Just raise the eyelids and-...

"Arghhh!"

The light...it was burning him. True, it confirmed that he did have a right arm as well as a left one, but as the hands of both converged on his eyelids in an attempt to prevent the pain, it was cold comfort. Especially as the pain was now extending into his arms as well. Pain that felt as if glass was moving through his bones. Glass that was on fire.

"Oh Isaac, I'm sorry," came the voice. "Here, I'll turn the lights down."

The amount of brightness decreased. Removing his hands from his eyes but still keeping them closed, Isaac could tell that much. And as words came out of his mouth, it was clear that his vocal capacity had recovered as well.

"Wh...where...I"

Well, sort of recovered.

"It's alright Isaac, I'm here," came the voice again, the Spartan-II feeling a comforting hand reach his shoulder. "Just take it slow. I'll be with you every step of the way."

It was probably a placebo effect, but nonetheless, the teen felt the pain in his left arm diminish, the sensation spreading down from his left shoulder. Doctor Catherine Elizabeth Halsey tended to have that effect on him, as with all his brothers and sisters in arms.

"Wh...why am I feeling like this?" Isaac asked slowly, glad to be able to form a more coherent sentence this time. "Why..."

"The side effects, Isaac. The pain in your body, the seeming brightness...your body's still getting used to augmentation."

Augmentation? Isaac wondered. He remembered something like that being mentioned...well, he couldn't remember the date, but it was at least the last time he was conscious. How much time had passed he couldn't tell, but he certainly hadn't been lying in this bed. A bed that, as he gingerly opened his eyes to gaze at it, pleased for the gloom that was still not as dark as it should be, was drenched in sweat as well as what looked like blood and urine.

Eww...

Isaac's body wanted him to stay in the bed. Given her words, mainly overshadowed by the ringing in the Spartan's head, so did Doctor Halsey. Still, Isaac managed to ignore them. Wherever he was, whatever had happened, the least he could do was get out of the mess that he suspected he himself had made. Bringing one leg out of the covers to the icy floor and slowly following it with the second, the trainee managed to do just that.

"Nice Isaac, very nice," said Halsey approvingly. "You're doing better than I thought possible. Especially after..."

She trailed off, but the Spartan-II barely heard her. He was too busy rubbing his hands down his arms, partly to help ease the pain and also feeling the strange build-up of muscle. Glancing at a mirror on the other side of the room, the teen saw that his facial features had altered also. His face was...harder, as if the distance between flesh, bones and muscle had decreased. His formerly gold hair hung limply in colourless streaks, as did his now gray...and formerly bleeding eyes. It was as if someone had sculpted him into something new. And with his head still throbbing, Isaac couldn't tell if he liked it or not.

Glancing up at Halsey, seeing her with the same height, same hair, same face that she'd possessed over the last eight years, it was hard to tell whether she liked it or not.

"Doc..."Isaac began slowly, his gaze returning to the floor as he did so. "What happened?"

"What happened, -034?" the scientist asked, her use of numerical designation not going unnoticed. "What happened is that you've gone through...and survived...augmentation. A process that every member of Spartan-II has gone through over the past few days."

Augmentation? Isaac certainly didn't feel that "augmented" right now. If anything, he felt like a cripple. And what did Halsey mean by "survived?"

"How about the others doc?" Isaac breathed, feeling a strange...clutching in his chest. "How are...how are Kirk and René-005?"

It was a selfish question in a sense. Assuming that every Spartan-II had gone through augmentation, then that meant over seventy of his friends were in the same boat and Isaac shouldn't focus on just two of them. Still, he couldn't take back what was said. And even if he felt like he was going to throw up, even if all his comrades saw it, having his two closest friends with him would make the ordeal worth it.

"Kirk and René-005?" Halsey asked slowly. "Um...well Isaac, I think it's best if you focus on yourself for now and-..."

"Where are they?"

The intensity of his words surprised him, but Halsey's evasion was even more unexpected. Even now, Isaac wasn't sure what kind of individual Catherine Elizabeth Halsey was, but having been the person who gave his life purpose, had told him the truth from the start, he'd always seen her as an honest one. Yet here she was, unable, or unwilling to answer a simple question. A question that she still hadn't responded to.

"Kirk and René-005," Isaac repeated. "Are they alright? Did they...pass the mission?"

"No Isaac. No they didn't."

The words hit hard. Harder than a mass driver round. And as the fire returned again, as he flopped back into the bed in shock, it was as if the proverbial round had hit a proverbial dam. Because a flood was coming and it consisted of nothing but Halsey's words.

"Isaac, Kirk and René-005...something went wrong. The carbide ceramic ossification...their bones...they're twisted out of proportion! They're in neutral buoyancy tanks now. They...oh Isaac, I'm so sorry..."

A second round hit Isaac. And it hurt even more than before. One instant...one horrible instant and Isaac had been told that his two closest friends were as good as dead. One instant and he'd lost what felt like everything.

Eight years ago, when he was first brought to Reach and had come to truly understand that he could never see his family or homeworld again, Isaac had been unable to stop himself from crying. This time, despite both physical and emotional pain, the Spartan-II managed not to.

Barely.

Chi Mu System, Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")

Planet Hope

Present Day

"Hey Isaac! Wake up!"

Come out of cryo, fight, go into cryo. Come out of cryo, fight, go into cryo. That, repeated into infinity, was the story of his life. And while Isaac had experienced actual sleep over the past...well, however long it was, he felt no different in principle. Hell, not even the freezer could stop the occasional dream.

But those weren't dreams. Those were memories...

Dreams, memories...what difference did it make? The Spartan didn't know and with Grace having woken up from the vague realm of the mind that resided between the two, Green 5 wasn't able to find out. All that was left to do was try his best to operate in the world of the waking-Settlement 01, a.k.a. "Thunderville."

Stumbling out of the Warthog, the Spartan-II knew that he was already failing.

Glancing back at the Warthog, the petty officer watched as both Grace and Hawkins existed. Anton was allowing the former to lean on him for support while the latter was being hugged by some brown haired medic for some reason. Well, no matter. Reason was overrated, Isaac reflected bitterly. Whether Joshua and Vinh thought the same however, was as nebulous as his conscious mind had become.

"Well, Green Five?" the team's leader asked, having suddenly appeared within a few feet of the commando, Green 4 standing by silently. "Mind to tell me what was going through your head when you shot off without the rest of us?"

Fuck you Josh...Isaac thought bitterly, his mind refusing to fall into the present. Fuck you all...

It wasn't really Green leader that he should be angry at. But remembering what had happened in the relic, remembering the realizations that had come with it, it was hard not to. Still, there was at least consolation in all of this.

Nine years ago, Isaac hadn't shed any tears.

Less than an hour ago, the supersoldier had realized that they would have been wasted.

Unidentified alien relic (interior)

Less than an hour ago

"This is impossible. You died..."

Shock didn't cover what Isaac was experiencing. There probably wasn't a single word in the English language that could. And while he'd picked up a few words from various Eastern European dialects, courtesy of living on Reach for eight years, none of those words would suffice either. So, in the end, all that was left to do was stare. Stare into the face of a dead man. A face that didn't stare, but glared back at him.

"Dead?" the assailant asked. "Is that what they told you? Or did your capacity for self delusion make you think this?"

Isaac glanced at Grace, still unconscious. He wasn't about to get any backup. So when the assailant rose to his feet, there was no-one to stop him. No-one but a paralysed soldier who was staring into the visage of what might as well have been the Grim Reaper...

...Kirk-018.

"Well?" Kirk repeated. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

Isaac remained silent, the only sound in the chamber being that of him stepping on his formerly dropped pistol. He didn't think to pick it up though. Right now, it was hard to think of anything.

"You...you can't be him..." Isaac whispered. "You...you're SK-018. You're a...a..."

And then it hit him. SK-018. Spartan Kirk-018. It was a designation. A simple designation practically identical to one that had been handed out seventeen years ago. And for all his augmentation, for all his supposed intelligence, Isaac had missed it completely. Everyone had.

"What am I, then?" Kirk asked, still finishing Isaac's sentences for him. "A monster? A hero? Have I killed enough sheep to make the transition?"

Kirk...still a smartass. A psychopathic smartass, but a smartass just the same. His face was scarred, as if only held together by a surgeon's laser. His eyes were colourless and only the slightest trace of his formerly black hair remained. But it was still Kirk. Somehow, Isaac knew it.

"Kirk..." said Isaac slowly. "What happened? You...what are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" the (former?) Spartan asked, kneeling down to pick up his helmet as he did so. "That's a good question pal. Have you ever asked what you are doing, or why you're doing it?"

Isaac hadn't. But his lack of questions didn't bother him. No...what was disturbing was why Kirk had asked that in the first place.

"Kirk you...you killed people..." said the NCO blankly, completely at a loss. "You...damnit Kirk, we're on the same side! You-..."

"No-one's on my side Isaac. No-one. And don't let the Covenant bodies or dyson strikes fool you."

"Dyson strikes? What are you-..."

Kirk kicked him. Hard. And as he gasped for breath, Isaac soon found himself on the floor where his friend had once been.

"Are you that stupid?" SK-018 sneered, putting his helmet back on and closing it with a telltale hiss. "The Covenant force that attacked Thunderville...did you really think the sheep prevailed on their own?"

"Kirk, you-..."

"There were three forces Isaac, three forces!" Kirk yelled. "I isolated two with this relic's defensive systems, disabling the flanking forces from afar. There wasn't enough power for a third strike, but it didn't matter! It kept both sides at their throats long enough for my goals to...well, that's another matter."

"Goals?"

This time, it was the former Spartan's turn to be silent. Still as well, considering that he made no move to prevent Isaac getting to his feet again. However, the petty officer didn't move either. Only his mouth did.

And once it was raised, just like Halsey, the flood came out.

"Kirk...what happened?" Isaac whispered. "You and René-005...you washed out in augmentation. Your bodies, your bones...you were in tanks! You were unable to move! You died before long! You...you...damnit Kirk, what the hell happened?"

"What happened?" Kirk whispered. "Hell, Isaac. That's what happened. And before you ask, no, I never died. I was never given the chance to. And before long, I'll be at the stage where death is a complete impossibility."

"Kirk, you-..."

"Isaac, you could never see the big picture," said the former Spartan sadly, beginning to pace around with the same arrogance he'd displayed when they'd first confronted each other. "None of us could. But this relic, this...birthright, will change everything. You might have noticed how quickly you arrived, perhaps? The speed at which you reached the system? It's the slipspace currents, Isaac. This relic increased their speed, turned what was once a river into a flood. And as amazing as that seems, this isn't even its full function. Its true purpose. A purpose that it will soon be used for..."

The Spartan-II remained silent. He didn't know whether Kirk was telling the truth and there was no way of telling. Once, he'd been able to read his friend like a book. But seeing his friend warped into a mish-mash of flesh and bone, floating in stasis...well, how could he read that? How could anyone?

Walking off into the gloom, Kirk wasn't making things easy for him either.

"Wait!" Isaac yelled, picking up his pistol. "Stop there Kirk! Stop or I'll-..."

He was going to say "shoot" but he didn't. Spinning round, grabbing the pistol and pointing it at Isaac's visor, SK-018 got to say it for him.

"Shoot?" Kirk asked. "Shoot me in the back? You become a backstabber too?"

Isaac didn't answer. Not then, not when Kirk could have killed him then and there. And not even when the being placed the gun back in his hands.

"Kirk, you..."

"You want answers, talk to Harwood," Kirk grunted, disappearing into the relic's darkness. "But don't worry Isaac. We'll meet again soon..."

Fingering the firearm, at a loss as to what to do with it, Isaac neither believed nor doubted that. Right now, he didn't know what to think. All he knew was the facts. Kirk-018, one of his closest friends, was still alive.

And he'd become a monster.

Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")

The present

"Petty Officer Isaac-039, snap out of it!"

Eight years. Eight long years of training had ensured many things and addressing Isaac by his full name and rank justified the guarantee that in by doing so, Joshua-029 now had his undivided attention. So, in this moment of space and time, he was under Hope's gray skies, not a relic's gray stone. He was facing a visor of gold, not red. And however much Green Leader might have wanted to kill him right now, unlike Kirk, he would hold back.

But Kirk held back. He...he...

"Isaac!"

Second time lucky. Isaac was "out of it." He was in the here and the now.

"Joshua..." the Spartan-II said slowly. "I..."

"Yes, I know what you did," said Green Leader impatiently. "Or at least, I know what you did until you stole a Warthog and..." He trailed off, glancing at Green 3. "...brought Grace back. But what you brought her back from is what I want to know. What we all want to know."

"And you will," Isaac rasped, fighting the urge to fall back asleep. "We all will. And I know where to get the answers."

"Answers? Isaac, I need answers from-..."

"Harwood," the Spartan-II murmured, making his way to the command centre. "We need to speak to Doctor Harwood..."

CCS-class battlecruiser Divine Crusader

Location: Seven miles north of human settlement, upper canyon wall near Forerunner relic

Patience was a virtue of the Covenant. All in all, it had to be. One had to be patient in the war it found itself in with heretics, to understand that it would take time to eradicate their taint from the galaxy. And as the beginning of the Great Journey was even further away, without a definite time or place of occurrence, patience might be required for the rest of one's life. That being said, the Prophet of Devotion was running low on patience. Firstly, the war was of little concern to him right now, bar the issue of his life, which said war might bring to an end quite soon. And as the Great Journey was likely a moot point for him either way...well, after long having given up on the file he'd sent into the relic, patience had been cast aside in favour of pragmatism.

Which was unpleasant. Pragmatism brought headaches.

Residing on his private quarters of the battlecruiser and fighting the urge to simply lie down and let the pain subside, Devotion found himself barely able to concentrate on his work. The battlecruiser was not entirely undefended, but with one legion destroyed and the other two missing, not to mention the newly arrived humans, they were in a precarious position, even if he couldn't admit that in public. Yet if salvation...his salvation was to be achieved, he'd have to weaken his position even further and gather some more sangheili to form a file. A short term loss for a long term gain, but if the heretics attacked, the long term picture might become academic.

Well, there are other options...the san 'shyuum thought glumly, resting on his head while the other supported his chin, letting fatigue get to him. I could contact...

No, that wasn't an option. Certainly not in the long term picture anyway. But then again, while that contact would be cost prohibitive, the other contact option...well, it would once again cost him protection in the short term, but at least there would be no tears shed over their departure.

Well, it's risky, but-...

"Lord Prophet, I request audience."

...speak of the devil...

Well, no-one spoke of the "devil" considering that the Covenant's current devils numbered in the billions as far as he could tell, not to mention the demons among them. Still, all things considered, Devotion was comfortable in seeing the devil he knew deactivate his active camouflage rather than be confronted by the devil he didn't.

"Not that I have a choice, but yes, your audience is granted," said Devotion calmly, shifting around in his seat to face the newcomer. "But in the future, regardless of the need for secrecy, you will request from outside my quarters, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, my master."

Despite the situation, the san 'shyuum allowed himself a small smile. It was so pleasant to be able to speak without there being objection to everything that came out of his mouth. 'Tikawomee could be useful, but he exercised far too much independent thought than Devotion was comfortable with. His secret servants on the other hand...

"Lord Prophet, I have bad news," the figure said. "The shipmaster has violated your orders."

...were proving more and more useful.

"How surprising," murmured Devotion sarcastically. "Which orders would they be?"

The figure grimaced, his hatred for the shipmaster made clear to the san 'shyuum. It boded well for what the Prophet suspected the future held.

"Orders that you gave before we arrived on this world, my lord. Orders that I fear he disobeyed long ago..."

Update (08/05/2011): Corrected spelling and grammar errors.