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Halo: Shadows of Hope
Chapter 14: Trump Card
At first, there had been light.
Not the light of star or moon, nor the light of the gods' faithful. No...this light's source was as mysterious as the nature of the light itself. One moment, the legions of the faithful had driven forward, unchallenged and unopposed. The next thing they knew, a strange light had descended from the sky, blinding them. A divine light maybe? If so, why had it immobilized them?
Either way, it was gone now. The white light, the warping of space and time...they were back in the present. A present that was a cycle later than it should have been. Well, no matter. Their conviction was like an arrow in flight.
And as such, the lifespan of the human settlement could be measured as the same amount of time it would take for the twin arrows to reach it.
Chi Mu System, Mobile Research Station Aeros
Geo-stationary orbit around planet Hope
Harwood felt like she was on trial.
Maybe it was just as well really. If she escaped Chi Mu with her life, the odds of which were rapidly declining as far as she could tell, chances were she'd be put on a proper trial anyway. Such a trial would no doubt be conducted by the same people who headhunted her, covering their collective arses in a likely successful attempt and by extension, leaving her to rot in a manner befitting the type of gas that came out of the afformiated rear ends. For now though, she was being confronted by people not worried about any particular body part, but were out for blood. Less professional, but far more deadly.
Lucky me...
"You know, I would say that you're wasting your time," said the scientist to the faces displayed before her. "But then I'd-..."
"Cut the crap Harwood," snarled Sattler, the apparent ringleader of the bunch. "There's no way you're worming your way out of the truth this time. From what I've heard, nine deaths can be traced directly to you and for all I know, every death in the last forty-eight hours could be as well. So either you start telling the truth or you'll be joining the casualty list."
And there it was. Diplomacy at its finest.
Looking at the screens in front of her, and glancing at the bridge of the Aeros (deserted, as per her request for privacy), Harwood reflected that if one added the term "gunboat" to the diplomacy phrase, it described her situation adequately. Sattler, the one occupying the middle of the bridge's viewscreen with his AI in sight, was in command of a retrofitted Phoenix-class colony ship and defiantly had the firepower to make such an addition to Hope's list of casualties. To his left was Commander Ling-she looked uncertain, almost confused, but it was clear that she intended on following the captain's orders to the letter. And while Howard and the four Spartan-IIs behind him were planetside, they were adding psychological fuel to Sattler's psychological fire. And with Keancros having refused to offer any correspondence to the scientist, Harwood had found herself without the means to extinguish it.
"Sattler, all I can tell you is what I've been telling you over the past two days," said the ONI spook eventually, hoping beyond hope that the captain's command of authority might translate to respect for it as well. "All the operations of the Aeros are classified and-..."
"Cut the crap doctor."
Harwood blinked. So did everyone else for that matter.
At first, the scientist wasn't sure who had spoken. It certainly wasn't Sattler and given their surprised looks, it wasn't Howard or Ling either. It wasn't until one of the Spartans stepped forward that Harwood had an idea as to who it was. And being a brainwashed drone as far as she knew in regards to the Spartan-II Program, it made his interruption all the more surprising.
"I saw Kirk," the NCO began, brushing off the hand of what was presumably his squad leader as it grasped his shoulder. "I saw someone who was supposed to be dead. I saw someone who told me to go to you for the answers."
"And you believed him?" Harwood asked tactfully, wondering if there were any chinks in the man's armour.
"He wouldn't have anything to gain by lying. And considering the ODST team's search for SK-018, Sergeant Jefferson's account of events and that a group of miners saw an HEV head towards the relic, it's easy to put two and two together."
Give me the square root of two and then I'll be impressed...
It was petty. It was childish. But Harwood knew there was no way out of this. One way or another, the truth would come out. And after all, hadn't she wanted to break her silence? Wouldn't she have done so if Keancros had given her clearance?
Screw it. I've had enough.
Harwood had given up. Yet as she composed herself for her testimony, it felt strangely...exhilarating.
"Tell me..." began the scientist slowly. "Are any of you aware of the phrase 'waste not, want not?'"
"Yes," said Sattler bluntly, evidently comfortable in speaking for everyone. "Why?"
"Because that was the essence of the Reaper Project," said Harwood. "It's an essence that I think you might be familiar with, captain, especially considering your action over Harvest three years ago. It's taking every man, woman, child and popgun we have to keep the Covenant at bay and even then the success of that is dubious. We're outnumbered, outgunned and the powers that be decided that we have to pool together our resources to survive. Suffice to say, the project's beginnings in 2531, and Harvest being the tip of the iceberg, weren't coincidental."
Sattler seemed to be deep in thought. As for the others...well, Harwood somehow didn't care so much about them. It had been amusing in a sense, keeping Sattler in the dark for three years, but deep down, the spook had wanted it to end. Wanted it all to end, to be free.
"There are many assets that have yet to be fully tapped," Harwood continued, shifting her gaze to the Spartans by Howard. "I think the Spartan-IIs might appreciate this..."
Given their blank stares, they didn't. Or polarized stares. Whatever. It was all academic anyway.
"Reach has a mother lode of titanium waiting to be extracted," continued the scientist. "It also gave birth to genetically enhanced super soldiers. Unfortunately, not everyone succeeded. Some, I'm sorry to hear, washed out. Of those few, some escaped relatively unscathed, able to serve as normal soldiers. Some were crippled in body, but retained their sharp minds. And others, such as Kirk, were completely crippled. Yet even after all that, even after all the suffering they'd went through, they were still considered resources. And as such, SK-018 and SR-005 were transferred to the Aeros."
"SR-005?" Howard asked. "Who is-..."
"René."
The voice was soft, yet all heard it. And despite his non-existent expression, the sound alone was enough to make Harwood fight back tears. The despair, the sorrow...
"René-005..." said the Spartan slowly. "It was her, wasn't it? She was crippled just like Kirk. And like him, she couldn't be left alone either..."
"Both had issues with their ceramic ossification," Harwood confirmed. "They...were deemed to be best suited for the project."
An uneasy silence fell across the screens...four if one counted Harwood's. Her gaze lingered on the Spartans, wondering if they understood. She only knew what she'd been entitled to know about the early program, but as far as she knew, none of the children had ever had a choice. Just like her really, what with being headhunted. Would they understand what she'd been forced to do? Would they forgive her for it? Harwood didn't know. It felt like the world had come crashing down and all sense of responsibility had gone with it. In the end, all that was left was guilt, twisting in her insides like a serpent. She'd been force fed the apple of forbidden knowledge and if a divine force existed in this world, it had waited three years to carry out judgement.
"I don't get it..." said Sattler eventually, gazing at the scientist as if truly seeing her for the first time. "Why Hope? Why conduct research here? It's practically a useless world and it's exposed to the Covenant."
"I don't know, Justin," sighed Harwood, finding a chair and sitting in it while rubbing her eyes in weariness. "I do know that the rocks in the mining site by the relic contain electrical charges akin to isotopes, but far more stable. Maybe it's from the relic. Either way, the bulk of the material was used for the Reapers' armour."
Howard muttered something under his breath, something to do with guarding trucks carrying something or other. Well, what of it? All in all, that was the most minor of crimes that had been committed.
Crimes that Harwood felt increasingly responsible for...
"The...assailant's shields," began the Spartan-IIs' squad leader. "They were resistant to human weaponry. Why bother with that?"
Harwood chuckled. "Green Leader, you should be able to answer that question better than any of us."
"What?"
"You've seen it, haven't you? The Insurrection. In typical fashion, humans are often their own worst enemies. And even if the Covenant has taken the top spot, the Insurrection might well be a close second. You've done some quelling yourselves, but the modus operandi is to deploy teams such as yourself against the Covenant. Reaper was the opposite. To take over the job the Spartan-II Program was meant for before first contact was made. To quell dissident through assassination. Green Five can likely vouch for that." Harwood shifted her gaze to him. "He was stealthy, wasn't he? Able to blend in with the shadows."
"Yes, he was," the petty officer murmured. "And in the name of security, that's why you had the EC-55s developed, wasn't it? It was the only thing that could give...SK-018 pause."
Harwood nodded. The drone maybe wasn't so much of a drone after all.
Made her look all the worse by having been one over the past three years...
"The EC-55s..." Harwood began, glad to have steered clear from the subject of Kirk and René, if only briefly. "I assume Sergeant Jefferson gave you a description on some level of how they work, but suffice to say, they fire negatively charged electricity that neutralizes the positive charge of the armour's magnetic shield. After SR-005, the need was made abundantly clear."
"René?" Green Five asked. "What happened? Is she still-..."
"She's dead, petty officer," said Harwood sadly. "I don't know if you can imagine it, but try to imagine what it's like to have your bones twisted into a humanoid form, and then have that form have armour grafted to it. Even with every painkiller available to us, it's a hideous process. René...couldn't take it. She went berserk. In the end, she...was lost to us."
God...everyone was looking at her like she'd played the role of number 1 bearded madman. And hell, maybe she had.
No, not maybe. I did. And it's hardly a saving grace that I didn't want to either...
"What about the other subject?" Sattler asked. "Kirk?"
"Kirk...was more stable," said Harwood delicately, glancing at Green Five and trying to gauge his emotions. "Stable enough to lull us into a sense of security, kill Doctor Clarke-..."
"The one struck from the personnel record..." the AI murmured.
"...take an HEV and head planetside," the scientist continued, not even bothering to ask how the AI could know such a thing.
"But you're still alive," pointed out Ling, her tone neutral at such a fact. "How did you escape?"
"I didn't," sighed Harwood. "He killed Clarke, but let me live. I don't know why he did that, nor do I know why an HEV rack was placed so close to the lab. The Aeros is a retrofitted vessel assigned by my superior."
"And who might that be?" Howard asked.
Harwood didn't answer. Going against her confidentiality mandate was one thing. Identifying the issuer of said mandate was another. It was tempting, sure, to divert attention away from herself, but that might translate to a short term gain for a long term loss.
Either way, with a fourth screen appearing on the monitor, it became a moot point.
"I'm the one you want to talk to about that," the shrouded figure stated. "You can call me Keancros."
31st Marine Division Command Center (barracks)
"That's completely false! Men don't enjoy leaving the toilet seat up! We just don't give that much of a damn!"
Rachel Chambers very much wanted to roll her eyes right now, to snatch the magazine from Hawkins's hands and ask where exactly it was published on Harmony so she could torch the building on leave. Still, as her hands were currently occupied with addressing the private's wound and her eyes focused on said wound, she could do nothing but listen to him respond to the claims the fashion magazine was making.
"Oh wow…just wow…"
Alright. So maybe there is one thing I can do…
"I mean, just look at ah, son of a bitch!"
Being a medic rather than a doctor, Chambers hadn't taken the Hippocratic Oath. So tying the bandage around Hawkins's shoulder as tightly as possible, she was free to abuse her patient as much as she wanted to.
Well, almost…
Given the glare Hawkins gave his comrade, it was clear he wanted the amount of pain he was experiencing to be as far away from "almost" as possible.
"Damnit Chambers, didn't they teach you anything at doctor school?"
The medic snorted. "Jack, first of all, there is no 'doctor's school' as you so eloquently put it. Secondly, I'm a medic, not a doctor. And thirdly, before you ask, yes, there is a difference."
"…what kind of difference?"
Chambers sighed and put the medigel back into her first aid kit. Hawkins was a newbie, but apparently he was one who could defeat her in quipage. And if there was one thing that fighting aliens had taught her, it was that you shouldn't pick fights you couldn't win. Well, not unless you were Admiral Cole of course, but still…
"Hey Chambers, what kind of difference?"
"…shut up Jack."
"Huh?" the private asked curiously. "We on a first name basis now?"
Chambers didn't answer. Rather, she pretended to focus on the contents of her kit, hoping to find some kind of flaw in Optican's products or the need for a biofoam refill. It was a temporary distraction, but she wanted to buy herself some time. Time enough to decide what her next course of action was in regards to her…friend.
"So…" the medic began eventually. "You didn't exactly say what happened in there?"
"Huh?"
"In the…artifact," Chambers continued, closing her kit as she did so. "You know, the temple of gloom that only you and two musclemen came back from."
"Oh, that…" Hawkins began, a grin coming to his features that somewhat suited him. "Well, what can I say? I mean, sure, those super soldier guys are tough, but I helped them out. Wouldn't have got back if not for me. I…"
Chambers drowned Hawkins out. It was obvious that he was lying, that he could have suffered much more than a shoulder wound and it was only thanks to those who "assisted" him that he hadn't suffered more. Still, the most effective lies stemmed from a grain of truth, and the medic was able to separate the grain from the chaff-shit happened, Hawkins was alive and right now, that was all that mattered.
Just wish I knew why…the medic reflected, nodding as Hawkins reached the end of his story as he drove the Cougar like a space owl out of slipspace. No answer was forthcoming, and she quickly gave a glance around the barracks to see if anyone else might be listening to the makings of yet another story that could pass for science fiction these days.
"Two guys were barely conscious, but I…
Jack was still wrapped up in his story, so Chambers's glance quickly became something more. The barracks of the command center was modular and like all modular constructs, it was sterile and bare bones. Unlike most other UNSC barracks nowadays however, it was empty. Not a big surprise, all things considered-the few 31st survivors were out doing their rounds and it seemed redundant for the marines of the Wild Endeavour to move in, when Hope was set to be evacuated in the near future. Apart from Hawkins and herself, the only signs of human habitation were posters, holo-stills and the occasional piece of printed media.
"And then we got back to Thunderville. Where…well, you know the rest."
The medic turned back to Hawkins. Psychometry was a myth, but she felt no need to put that to the test by staring at the personal belongings of those who had moved on. And considering the subject that her comrade had just reached, and her role in said subject, she didn't want to be caught with her pants down.
…oh, bad metaphor…
"Why'd you do it anyway?" Hawkins asked, his former bragging having been replaced with curiosity. "You know, bringing me here, patching me up…hugging me…"
"I…was glad to see you…" said Chambers awkwardly, gingerly running a hand through her hair that had seemed to have gone on a growth spurt over the last day or so.
"You…were glad to see me?" the marine asked. "What, after the Banshee attack and the Covenant attack on Thunderville, you were-…"
Men could be stupid sometimes. Stupid enough to make you beat their ignorance out of them. So, with that being said, Chambers proceeded to…hug him. Again.
"Um…Rachel?"
"We're all that's left…" the medic whispered, her heart rate elevating at the use of her forename amongst other reasons. "Collie, Physon…they're dead. We're the only two left. And damnit, you've had two close shaves with death since the Banshee attack and…and…"
The private trailed off, though didn't release her grip. Emotionally, she was much like she was when Hawkins first made it back to Thunderville-full of relief and letting that relief get to her for a second. However, the emotion was far more stable, more…real this time, more…well, something that mere relief couldn't explain. And as Jack gingerly put his arms around her back as well as she closed her eyes in weariness, whatever she was feeling was becoming even harder to quantify. Hell, if she really wanted to go out on a limb, she might as well call it-…
"Not interrupting anything am I?"
Son of a…!
It wasn't something that Chambers exclaimed out loud, but as she and Hawkins rapidly broke their embrace and stared at the source of the interruption, it definitely made her want to make the exclamation vocal. Because as far as she was concerned, David Jefferson was indeed an S.O.B. and given the amused smile on his helmetless features, a pretty smug one at that.
"Sergeant Jefferson…" Hawkins began, his tone more controlled and neutral than Chambers could ever remember coming from him. "It's…it's…"
"Spare me private. I've just caught you with your pants down figuratively. Don't give credence to the possibility that I might have found them down literally as well."
Hawkins blushed. And after a quick rustle of paper, he managed to hide it in his copy of Harmony Weekly. Chambers however, was having none of it. It wasn't Jefferson's interruption that irked her. It was his mere presence. And she was already sick of it.
"So, sergeant, what is it you want this time?" the medic snarled, rising from her seat and glaring at the man by the barracks entrance. "Want to screw us over again?"
"Pardon?"
"Look around…" Chambers said slowly. "Look around this barracks. What do you see?"
"Um…nothing?"
"Exactly!" the marine yelled. "Nothing! You're still here, walking around, while we have nothing! We rescued you! We fought for you! And all of our unit but Jack and I died for you! This…this is all your fault!"
"Um, Rachel?" Hawkins asked gingerly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe we should-…"
"No maybes Jack, I want an answer!" the private yelled. "Who is this guy? He's no Helljumper, he's no soldier, he's…he's…fuck it Jefferson, what the hell are you?"
Was it an overreaction? Certainly. Was it warranted? Definitely. At least, that was Chambers's rationale for yelling at an NCO who could prove to be even more authoritarian as Physon. Still, she hardly cared. Her friends were dead and Hawkins had almost joined them. And all the while, Jefferson had been unconscious while his unit had died and unconscious for the attack on Thunderville as well. The ODST, if he really was such a thing, was a survivor. And for all the wrong reasons…
For someone who helped people survive, it was absolutely sickening.
"What am I?" Jefferson asked softly, almost looking…pensive as he did so. "There's numerous answers to that private, ranging from the simple to the complicated. Either way, it's irrelevant. Think what you want about my hand in RRT's demise, it doesn't matter. All I came here for was to tell you that something's been picked up on our sensors and all combat personnel are to report for assignment immediately."
"Picked up?" asked Hawkins curiously. "What's been picked up?"
"Something, private. That's all I know."
Bullshit…Chambers told herself, but not really believing it. Her anger, as well as her interaction with Hawkins had left her exhausted. And since there was no reason for Jefferson to lie right now, there was, practically speaking, no reason not to believe them. And while irrationality might suggest otherwise, the marine accepted that now wasn't the time to be irrational.
"So…" the sergeant said eventually, now clearly in control. "Shall we go?"
"Yeah…" sighed Chambers, casting one last regretful, almost guilty look at Hawkins before meeting the ODST's gaze. "Let's go."
Video Feeds Bravo, Charlie, Delta and Echo
From: UNSC Aeros, UNSC Haven, UNSC Wild Endeavour and 31st command centre
To: Keancros
"So...you're Keancros."
The ghost, in almost every sense of the word, smiled faintly. Sattler had opened this confrontation with a cliché, but at least he'd refrained from saying "we meet at last" or some other tripe that he'd embraced as a kid. Well, no matter. He wasn't a god of fantasy, but he was still a god among men and women right now. His shrouded image was being transmitted to the Aeros, Haven and Wild Endeavour as he spoke and it was completely untraceable. So while he had no real desire to prolong what had to be done, he was perfectly within his rights to do so. All he had to do was convince the others (or in Harwood's case, remind) that this was indeed the case.
"Yes, I'm Keancros," the ghost said. "No doubt Doctor Harwood's told you a lot about me."
"Actually, not that much."
"Good. You're all in enough hot water already."
Even if Harwood hadn't cracked under the pressure, Keancros suspected that Sattler would have assumed the role of de facto leader. Rank was one factor, but there was also experience. Ling seemed to lack it and as far as he knew, Harwood had too much experience for his own good. Either way, his hot water comment had three out of the four main recipients glancing uneasily, already on the defensive. Sattler was the main obstacle to go through in turning this FUBAR of a situation into a SNAFU one.
"You know, I was thinking of venting the rest of my spleen on Harwood..." the captain continued, not giving any ground, but not gaining any either. "Still, I think I hate you enough to-..."
"Let's cut the pleasantries captain. You want answers and I'll give them to you. All that's left to decide is whether you want them answered in order.
Sattler didn't answer. Excellent.
"Yes, I'm essentially the director of Project Reaper," Keancros began. "Like Harwood, it wasn't by my own choosing."
"And why's that?" Major Howard asked.
"Because like everything in this universe, pushing the boundaries of science and the human condition cost time and money," answered Keancros, hoping that the major's question would be the exception rather than the rule. "Time and money that are better spent elsewhere."
"What, on more humane methods of research?" Sattler sneered.
Keancros snorted, thinking it was a bit rich of the captain to say that when five tin-men were planetside that had hardly gone through Heaven to get to their overpriced existence. Well, they were beside the point right now.
"No captain, on R and D that goes after the real threat and doesn't see the Insurrection as one. Still, the powers that be wouldn't listen. Still, I was allowed to choose the location. And Hope was that location."
"Why?"
"Because Hope is an enigma," sighed Keancros, wondering how after three years of orbiting the bloody rock Sattler could miss something so obvious. "It straddles the Inner Colony-Outer Colony border. And in an administration that's had to watch over eight hundred worlds until the war began nine years ago, enigmas are unwanted. Enigmas lead to misrepresentation of truth. Enigmas allow me to present Hope as the ideal location for such research-backwater enough to be secret, yet vulnerable enough to be easily wiped out in the event of an attack."
"...you're lying." Sattler whispered, ironically lying to himself.
"Am I?" Keancros asked. "Surely both you and Howard noted how quickly you were transferred away from Harvest. Surely you considered it odd that you never recieved a resupply. Surely you might have wondered why there was never any relief for your forces, or the effort to garrison Hope with an Army force rather than a Marine one. Hope's easily forgotten. No Insurrection activity, little produce of note, no tactical advantage. Hope's gray, and like everything of that colour, it doesn't stand out. The chaos after Harvest was the perfect time to have you reassigned."
It briefly occurred to Keancros that he might have indeed crossed into the realm of "gloating villain," given the looks that Sattler and Howard were giving him, while both Ling and Harwood looked uneasy or, in the doctor's case, almost guilty. Well, they could think what they wanted to. He could have explained that he hadn't hoped that it would come to the point where Hope would be attacked, that he hoped that Reaper would fail and that the debacle would be forgotten. But things hadn't worked out like that. And surprisingly, it was the dumb AI who pointed that out.
"But it didn't come to that, did it?" the piece of coding asked. "Reaper didn't fail. Not in the way you might have hoped for."
Keancros nodded, glad that the shrouding around his transmitted visage couldn't be lifted by an AI whose skills lay in navigation. "Reaper's failed, but it took three years to do so. Well, no matter. Everything, and I do mean everything from the Aeros has reached me eventually. That includes the HUDs from the two subjects. I've seen what they've seen, I've heard what they've heard. I've watched people die and when the next budgetary committee is convened, everyone will see it too. The Spartan-IIs are overpriced, overvalued tin-men, even if no-one can see it. But I have all the evidence to show that this kind of waste of time and life won't be repeated."
Did they believe him, the ghost wondered? Did they see him as a malignant manipulator, a kind of "Big Brother" behind the scenes, waiting for the right moment before pouncing? He might have been 550 years too late for that, but he could appreciate the similarities. And there was also the issue of life...he almost hated himself for feeling glad that deaths could be directly attributed to the second subject, that he'd watched men die right through a HUD. Trading lives for time was one thing, but all those lives had brought was proof that might end up being supplementary. Reaper had failed the moment SK-018 left the Aeros. And if it wasn't for his current position, and the issue of the relic, he might have closed things then and there.
"Why are you telling us this?" Sattler asked eventually. "Why spill the beans?"
"Because I have nothing to lose. You lot however, are a different story."
"Because we do have everything to lose?"
"No. Because you've already lost it."
And there was it. The coup de grace. The point where everyone on screen, even the AI and the bitch's puppets stirred, wondering what on Earth Keancros could mean. They were on edge, and though the shrouding system prevented them from seeing it, Keancros felt so as well. This was the point where he had to ensure that no-one would attempt to mention Hope again.
"Sattler, your battle group was designated as FOX, as opposed to Rapier," the ghost began. "I won't speculate on your own level of speculation as to why, but FOX isn't a name, it's a designation. Force Operation X. Black-ops. Non-existent. You've had the designation for three years. Any claims you make would be cross referenced with something that doesn't exist. Or, more specifically, hasn't existed for three years and officially disappeared after Harvest, along with every swabbie and jarhead that sailed with it."
Sattler opened his mouth...then closed it. Bullseye.
"Harwood..." Keancros continued, shifting his gaze to the doctor. "You've broken confidentiality and there's half a dozen codes I could cite as to what happens to people that do so. The system forced this on both of us, but unlike you, I can use it to my advantage. And you don't want that to happen, do you?"
If anything, the blonde was even less of a challenge then Sattler. While the captain was regaining some of his composure, Harwood had regained nothing. She understood that she'd lost everything, including who she was. In a sense, she was a shell. A shame really, but there were worse fates in this world. Fates that, if Sattler's rate of recovery continued, Keancros might have to remind him of.
"And me?" came a third voice.
The ghost winced. He'd forgotten about Ling.
"Commander Ling..." Keancros began. "You...well, let's face it. You've responded to an unauthorized transmission without clearance. You've deviated from your patrol route. Minor charges of course, but easily blown out of proportion."
"And that's what you're doing, isn't it?" Sattler asked. "Blowing this out of proportion."
"No captain, I'm trying to avoid a scenario where more people die than necessary."
"Bullshit. Like you even give a-..."
"Don't push me, captain," Keancros snarled, wishing that the man would just shut up and let him get to the last pressing issue of this debriefing. "Not when you've endangered so many lives already."
"Pardon? What are you talking ab-..."
"The Cole Protocol, Sattler. Ring any bells?"
Keancros didn't like to think of himself as petty. He was doing this out of necessity, he reminded himself, that he was fully capable of separating business from pleasure. Yet it was so...gratifying to see Sattler squirm the way he did. Not just at Keancros, but from the gaze of everyone else on the screens before him. Big Brother indeed...
"The Cole Protocol..." asked Ling curiously. "What's that?"
"Something, like Captain Sattler here, doesn't technically exist yet," Keancros announced smugly. "Not in naval law anyway. But Justin here knows about it, don't you? Cole's Law, isn't that what it was called sometimes? A protocol that even if it took years for the UEG to hammer out, was law to his own fleet? The same fleet you were part of at Harvest? A fleet that was required to purge their databases of navigation data upon detection of any Covenant vessel? A purge that my networks have indicated that you've failed to do so?"
Harwood looked curious. Ling looked uneasy, likely wondering what this meant for her as someone who hadn't been part of the admiral's fleet. Sattler looked...well, he looked like a lawyer whose client had admitted to being guilty after previously agreeing to vouch for innocence. Heck, maybe he was the client himself. Either way, Keancros knew that he'd become the proverbial prosecutor and decided to press his case.
"Granted you're no longer part of Cole's fleet..." the ghost said slowly. "But in twelve months, give or take, the Cole Protocol will become official. That's short enough time for this issue to be carried over to that time period. You won't have broken fleet law, captain. You'll have broken Naval Command law. Treason, in a sense. There's even talk of a life sentence or the death penalty for those who break it."
"I..." Sattler began. "I..."
"Forgot?" Keancros asked. "Understandable. Or was it that you wanted a quicker approach vector to the Inner Colonies once you got off this rock? Either way, it doesn't matter. Or rather, it won't matter as long as you think the same about all I've just told you."
"But...the evacuation ships..." Harwood began. "How are they-..."
"Evacuation ships?" Keancros laughed. "You still think they're coming? Forget it Harwood. Remember what I told you? Hope's an enigma. Get evacuation ships coming and that'll change."
"But...the people!" Howard exclaimed. "If the Covenant show up in force, you're-..."
"You have two FTL-capable ships," Keancros snapped, not wanting the second point of this agenda to get bogged down any longer than necessary. "I'm not willing to sacrifice their lives any more than your captain here. There's only one life I'm willing to sacrifice right now, and that's the one who isn't subject to the feebes of thought that we're slaves to."
At first, no-one understood what he meant. At first, no-one thought to check the humming sound coming from the bridge of the Haven. But eventually, they got the hint. Sattler's AI turning brighter and brighter, not to mention the screaming managed to get their attention. And even after the AI had disappeared, even after the scampering of the Haven's bridge crew died down, it seemed that all the idiots had trouble believing it.
"You...you killed him!" Harwood exclaimed. "Keancros...you..."
"Him?" Keancros exclaimed. "Jesus Christ Harwood, you have been here a long time if you think an AI is a person! All I've done is transmitted viral scavengers from the Aeros to the Haven and got rid of the one piece of completely subjective evidence in regards to records of this event."
"You bastard!" Sattler yelled. "Where are you? How did you do it? How can you control the Aeros at the touch of a button!"
"Through the same way the proverbial finger can pull the proverbial trigger of the proverbial pistol that's pointed at your head, Sattler! You can miss your AI all you want, you can whine that you'll have to triangulate a friendly star system manually, but the only people who care are...well, for people who endanger the secrecy of Earth's location, how much sympathy will you get? And besides, haven't you forgotten about the most pressing issue of all? The relic?"
If their lives and careers weren't on the line, maybe one of the talking heads might have realized that Keancros was changing the subject. Indeed, the deletion of the AI might have been a bit extreme, but it was better to be safe than sorry. And after all, history was testament to the fact that sometimes the only reason people did something was because they could do it. Keancros was indeed a god among then at that point. All that was different was that he had something akin to a genuine reason for it.
"The relic?" Howard asked. "What about it?"
"The relic?" the ghost asked. "Only that it's what brought the Covenant here in the first place and got you in the situation you're in now on the ground, major. Obviously I can't tell you everything about it, but I think it would be in everyone's best interests if both the relic and its current occupant were destroyed."
"You're talking about Kirk..." one of the Spartans murmured, surprising everyone as much as Keancros that he would actually contribute to this perfectly civil discussion. "What is it, Keancros? What does it do?"
Keancros chuckled. "What does it do? Petty officer, you and the rest of your squad should know the answer to that question. Heck, you've had seventeen years to come to it."
"Keancros, is it that you won't tell us?" Howard asked, glancing at the Spartans with what looked like suspicion in light of the ghost's quip. "Or that you can't?"
"Can't...won't..." Keancros sighed, waving a hand idly. "Reach my pay grade major and you'll find that they both become the same thing. And that's all I have to say to you."
Or, as he cut the link with his audience, anyone else for that matter.
UNSC Haven
Status: Maintaining geo-stationary orbit around planet Hope, Chi Mu System
Gone. Ulysses was gone.
At first, all Sattler could do was stand and stare. Stand like Penelope waiting for the source of the AI's namesake. Stare like Athena as she watched the sailors make for home. Be as silent as those turned to stone by Poseidon.
Or was that Zeus? Or was it...
Crap, he didn't know. All he knew was that Ulysses was gone. Disappeared. Vanished. And that it was affecting him more than the deletion of an AI should. Was it part of Keancros's intention, to grind him down emotionally? Or was he an emotional wreck from the start?
"Um, captain?" came a voice. "Your orders?"
At first, Sattler thought the query came from his own crew. Yet as he gazed around the silent bridge, he realized that it had come from one of the screen's talking heads. Likely either Howard or Ling, since Harwood looked as distraught as he felt right now.
"Um, orders..." began the captain slowly. "I...well..."
With a flick of a switch, he cut out the visual and audio feed from the bridge's flat screen. He couldn't face them. Not now. Maybe not ever.
"Ensign Snickett..." the captain began slowly, turning to face the young girl-one of many faces that seemed like ghosts like now. "Your record indicates that you're skilled in manual navigation."
"Um, yes sir," she answered. "Commendations. Why?"
"Because..." began the captain slowly, walking over to the tac-map and changing it to a star one. "We're going to head back into the Inner Colonies. And with Ulysses and our navigation gone, we're going to have to do it manually."
"What? But that's-..."
"Lieutenant Tuckett," Sattler continued, turning to face another bridge officer. "I'm placing you in charge of logistics."
"Logistics, sir?"
"Yes, a cross reference of space and personnel. I need an estimate of how many civilians we can fit on this rust bucket."
"Um...yes sir."
"Good," answered the captain. "The rest of you, carry on with your duties."
It was formal, it was bland and Sattler almost wished that the Covenant would attack right now, so that he could give orders to every one of his crew and not reflect on how he'd let them down. A vital component of their ship was gone and if the Covenant ship was recovered, and had somehow accessed their navigation systems...well, that was just one more thing to consider in this hastily formed plan of getting people off Hope, getting them to safety and taking out the relic as well. Because as much as he loathed Keancros right now, Sattler supposed he was telling the truth.
Or was he?
Part of Sattler's mind, the same part that had lost a few brain cells when Ulysses disappeared pointed out that the focus on the relic might have been a distraction. Keancros was close...he had to be, to communicate in real-time and delete an AI on a moment's notice. If he had enough time, he could perhaps hunt his vessel down-Chi Mu wasn't that large a system and there were only five planets to reside at, only one of which was a gas giant. Yet if he found him, what then? Engage in debate? Order his crew to fire on another UNSC ship in an act of petty revenge? Neither option was particularly appealing. So with all other options removed to him, all Sattler could do now was give orders and face the music. Or rather the faces of his allies on the flat screen.
Meeting their gazes, Sattler felt the music become syncopated.
"Captain, what's-..."
"Sattler, you-..."
"Sir, are we-..."
"Enough!" Sattler exclaimed. To his surprise, it worked. Ling looked ready to take orders, Howard looked ready to do something along those lines and Harwood still looked as bad as he felt. To his surprise, the captain felt a wave of pity surge through him for her. He'd been burdened with the truth for a few minutes. She'd been burdened with it for three years. And if Keancros was to be believed, she hadn't wanted any of it. Personal responsibility was subjective, but serving under a man like that...no wonder she hadn't broken confidentiality earlier.
"We may not have much time..." the captain began, able to turn his thoughts...and gaze...away from the doctor. "Operating under the assumption that Keancros is telling the truth, no help's coming. In regards to the timing of a Covenant arrival, we should assume that it should be imminent."
"Pardon?" Howard asked. "But how could we know-..."
"We don't, major. But since their main attack force has been defeated, I don't see any reason why they wouldn't have called for help by this point. Either way, I'm not going to entertain the possibility that we have enough time to take the ship for ourselves. Alien technology won't do us any good if we're not alive to use it."
"You think anyone is coming out of this alive?" Harwood whispered.
Sattler winced. That was another possibility he didn't want to entertain.
"We've been screwed over," the captain continued. "I'm not waiting for the Covenant to take those screws out of our anvil with a hammer, so our first order of business is getting everyone off this planet. Yes, it'll be tight. No, I don't know if we could sustain such numbers over the time it would take to get to a friendly system. And no, I don't know how long manual navigation will take either."
"Pardon me sir, but I still have my navigation data," Ling ventured. "I could-..."
"Negative commander. We're going in separate directions and that means no transmission of data. For all we know, the Covies could be listening in on our every word. And if they intercept navigation data...well, you weren't at Harvest. You haven't seen what they do to worlds they stumble across."
She probably had, all things considered. She could probably deliver the data manually. Yet somehow Sattler barely considered this. He felt like a failure. An absolute failure. He'd sat by waiting for help that wasn't coming. He'd let a...crew member be deleted. He'd failed to live up to Cole's legacy, to enact the safeguard that might be all that was really keeping the Inner Colonies safe. In the end, all he could do was follow orders to the latter. Cole's and...Keancros's. And while he'd "suggested" taking the relic out, it might as well have been an order in the captain's mind.
"There's another point to consider in all this..." the CO continued. "The relic. That bloody relic that started all this. And since our MAC's back online, we're going to do what I should have done from the start. Destroy it."
"What?" exclaimed one of the Spartans. "That'll kill Kirk!"
"Um, yes?" Sattler asked, as surprised at the outburst as Howard was. "That's part of the point."
"But he-..."
"Sir, if I may?"
Sattler glanced at his gunnery officer, Lieutenant Turse. An interruption he didn't want, but it beat dealing with mister golden gaze. "What is it son?"
"Sir, I couldn't help but overhear your plan about the MAC strike..." the man began. "And...well, I'm not sure if it's possible."
"What? But our gun is back-..."
"Sir, the MAC's working fine," the lieutenant interrupted hastily. "It's the issue of accuracy I'm worried about. Hope's clouds are thick. Really thick. We'd need to launch the shell at a slow velocity to ensure that Thunderville isn't caught in the blast. Yet with a blast that small, we'd have to be dead on target."
Sattler nodded, though was inwardly fuming. That bloody gun...if it was working yesterday, he might have been able to save his battle group. And now that it was working, it was practically useless. He might as well-...
"Sir, if I may?"
Sattler blinked. Yet another Spartan-II had spoken. And not the same one that had interrupted earlier, even though he looked like he wanted to.
Christ, I can tell them apart now?
"The issue is accuracy, right?" the Spartan asked. "What if the target was painted? We use a targeting system and guide the ship's cannon."
"Does that technology even exist?" the captain asked.
"Not yet," the petty officer answered. "Ship MACs are mainly used for space combat. But talk filters through and there's already the concept of using orbital MACs for striking ground targets. The principle is sound."
"...alright," said Sattler eventually. "Green Two, was it?"
"Yes sir."
"Good. Take a vehicle and get within range of the artefact. Call down our hammer and we'll strike the anvil."
"Yes sir, thank you sir."
"What?" one of the Spartans exclaimed. "Kirk's still in there! Didn't you listen to what was said? He's not-..."
"This briefing is over," Sattler interrupted, not sure what the big deal was, why Green 5 was so against this course of action, after all Keancros's baby monster had did. "Unless you have any queries related to our timetable of evacuation, there shouldn't be any queries at all. Dismissed."
Even as Green 5 stormed out of Howard's command centre, it felt good to be back in command.
31st Marine Division Command Center (exterior)
"Isaac, wait up!"
Petty Officer Second Class Isaac-039 didn't care what Vinh had to say any more than he cared about his full title. He didn't care that Sattler was in command. He didn't care about Howard's task of pinpointing something on long range sensors. Right now, he didn't care about anything.
"Green Five, hold it!"
"What do you want Vinh?" the NCO yelled, not glancing either at Green 4 or any of the bemused jarheads around him. "Don't you have an evac to oversee!"
"Don't you?"
Isaac ground to a halt. For all his rage, for all his frustration, duty was a thing in itself. Duty was what Kirk had turned away from. Duty was what Keancros had misinterpreted. Duty was…hell, he was even beginning to forget what duty was all about.
Might as well keep walking then…
Or not. Vinh had reached him and her firm grip on his shoulder indicated that she wasn't about to let go.
"What is it then?" Green 5 asked glumly, knowing a lost battle when he saw it.
At first, she didn't answer. In a sense, that was understandable, given that she was occupied with taking her helmet off. Why she was doing this was another matter. Did she want a heart to heart? A 'person moment?' Isaac didn't care. Even with the helmet slung under her arm, even with her hard, mostly Asian features bearing down on him, she might as well still be looking for a polarized visor.
"Isaac, how long have we known each other?" Isaac's fellow NCO asked eventually.
"What, how long I've been on Green Team?" the petty officer asked. "I don't know, maybe-…"
"Isaac, the answer is seventeen years," Green 4 interrupted. "Since Reach. Seventeen years of training. Seventeen years of service. And not once in those seventeen years have I seen you like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like a wild animal that's only being kept in place by a leash."
Isaac's helmet was on, but it felt like he'd been slapped. Tension with Joshua had become the norm recently. But coming from Vinh…it was somewhat surprising. He'd got on with her well over the past few years, yet now she was the one chewing him out.
"Vinh, I…" the Spartan-II began. "I…damnit Vinh, in the space of a few hours, I've found out that René was…was murdered and that Kirk's become a monster! How do you think I feel?"
"We've all lost friends, even after augmentation," Vinh answered calmly. "That doesn't make you special."
Isaac remained silent, the only sounds being the chatter from the patrolling jarheads. Vinh was right in a sense. He'd seen death and dealt it before, and he wasn't the only one who'd lost friends in augmentation. He'd grieved for Sam just like everyone else on Chi Ceti and hadn't been reciprocal to the news of any other Spartan's death or disappearance either. Yet part of his mind, a selfish part left over from his childhood pointed out that no-one had lost their two closest friends in the same instant, nor been forced to deal with their ghosts nearly a decade later.
"Isaac, you're a better soldier, a better…person than this," Vinh continued, as if reading his mind. "You used to be dependable, likeable. But now…Isaac, I'm worried about you."
"What, as a team member?"
"No, as a friend," answered Green 4, clearly meaning every word of it. "And as a friend, I'm going to ask you to get it all off your chest before you suffocate from it. Because there's people on this world that need you Isaac, and I don't just mean the rest of Green Team."
Green 5 sighed. Vinh was right, if only about getting his frustration out. Both for his sake and for everyone else's.
"It's…about Kirk," the Spartan-II began. "He…well, you know what he's become. But his actions…they don't add up?"
"Pardon?"
"Vinh, he killed Clarke, but not Harwood," Isaac began, releasing the floodgates of his vocabulary. "He could have killed her but didn't. Why?"
"Maybe he-…"
"The marines," Isaac continued. "He could have almost certainly killed Hawkins yet let him live, why? Grace-he could have took her out in an instant. He would have known she was the greatest threat, yet didn't kill her. Why?"
"Isaac, Kirk-…"
"And there was me," Isaac continued. "He could have killed me, yet let me live. Heck, he could have killed all three of us even after the grenade. Yet he let us go, why? It's like…like…"
"Like he's still human?"
"Maybe," Isaac murmured, not sure if he really believed that. "But I can't help but feel that we've missed something. Kirk wants to use the relic for something…we're missing the bigger picture. And it's like…like his actions are the key to unlocking it."
Vinh remained silent. Isaac could tell that while she sympathized with him, she wasn't so reciprocal to his train of thought. He could understand that-she hadn't known Kirk like he had. He might have been 'wild,' but never on anything approaching this level. René had supposedly gone insane. Yet Kirk's actions were rational. Or, at least they were bar letting assailants live to report to their superiors. Why let them go? What could he have to gain from it? And if he had nothing to gain yet felt enough compassion to let them live, why didn't that compassion go the whole way?
Isaac didn't know. And he hated himself for it.
"Listen, Isaac…" Vinh began. "If there's one thing I've learnt over the last decade, is that not all actions make sense. Take the Covenant for example. They're waging a war of genocide against us and they've yet to issue any compelling reason as to why."
"Kirk's a human though, not an alien."
"But he might as well be," Vinh pointed out. "He's an enemy, Isaac."
"And on whose authority?" Green 5 sneered. "Keancros's? Well, if he's the best the humanity has to offer, then maybe I-…"
"Isaac, look around you," Vinh interrupted. "The men and women around you, whether they be soldier or civilian…these are the best that humanity has to offer. Not Keancros. Not anyone like him. Look to the people around you and you'll remember what you're fighting for."
"Which is what?" Isaac asked, having had enough of this.
"What?"
"I asked, what are we fighting for?" the Spartan-II repeated. "I hope you know Vinh, because right now, I have no idea."
Even if Vinh answered, Isaac didn't hear her.
Right now, after seeing the worst of humanity, he wasn't willing to hear anything.
CCS-class battlecruiser Divine Crusader
Location: Seven miles north of human settlement, upper canyon wall near Forerunner relic
"And I'm afraid that is all I can tell you my lord."
If his servant had brought him good news, the Prophet of Devotion might have reassured him that not being able to deliver more information was no issue. But as it was bad news, he did no such thing.
'Tikawomee, you imbecile…the san' shyuum mused, his eyes fixated on a piece of the floor of his chambers. You've ruined everything…
His servant might have been given the impression that there was no issue, given Devotion's silent, seemingly calm demeanor. Yet the Prophet was anything but. Perhaps the most useful analogy was that of a tornado, only the eye was on its exterior. Within the san 'shyuum raged all the fury of a gas giant's storm.
Disobedient…negligent…incompetent!
"My lord? Are you well?"
Devotion met the gaze of his servant, yet neglected to answer the question. The Prophet knew that he would have to move quickly…far more quickly than he was comfortable with, given the relic's apparently hazardous nature given the silence of the sangheili lance. It almost begged the question as to what had happened to the Covenant's foremost client race, whether all the sons of Sanghelios on this vessel had been struck down by a virus that robbed them of their loyalty. Well, if that were the case, he'd have to eradicate it before it mutated again and messed things up even further.
"Gather your followers while I summon the traitor…" Devotion began slowly, flexing a fist and dreaming of choking the shipmaster to death with it. "It's time he paid for his crimes…"
A/N
I suppose this is what one calls an "info-dump chapter." Or, at least it's what I called it, because the entire thing felt similar to the one I did for Denial. Easier in the sense in that I had less info to 'dump' by virtue of fewer chapters leading up to it, harder in that there's more of the story to come rather than all loose ends being wrapped up here and now.
Since I've started an A/N, I guess this is the point where, with some of said plot points being revealed, is where I explain why Halsey's journal is both a boon and curse for this. The 'blessing' I recieved for this fic was the ceramic ossification information, where it meant that reversing the effects on Kirk and René was possible. The potential curse is that since that plot point's already been brought up in canon material, canon material also has the precedent to bring them back. Not immediatly, but especially with the data pads and the Assembly, I got the feeling that much of Reach's material was being set up to give 343 Industries something to play with. Still, I'll cross the canon bridge if I come to it.
Update (08/05/2011): Corrected spelling error.