Chapter 3: Passenger #457
[05 April 2548]
[UNSC Wolf's Sun, Hydra System]
[1830 Hours]
Captain Anthony Ross shook his head in bemusement as the older man paced beside him. He had served on Wolf's Sun under Captain Jean Rousseau for six months intervals over the past eight years, and the old man was like his best friend. Normally an off duty meeting at the bridge would have consisted of them chatting at the bow, smoking contraband Cuban cigars that Anthony had somehow smuggled with him. But this meeting was much, much different.
"May I again reiterate that I never lost faith in you once, Jean?" Anthony murmured, reclining in his chair.
"You already have Tony. We were orbiting over the far side of the planet when all of a sudden eight Covenant assault class vessels pop up out of the ether. I entered Slipspace figuring I could draw a few, outmaneuver them, then return with reinforcements. Still, I shouldn't have left you hanging there. For that, I am truly sorry."
"It's alright sir." The Wolfs Sun was a fine, fast ship, and in the hands of Captain Rousseau, could hold her own against up to half a dozen Covenant vessels of the same class. But eight, eight was suicide.
"No its not. I was cursing myself the whole time we were running. What if that Assault Carrier had started glassing the planet?" Rousseau tugged at his iron gray crew cut. "I just couldn't live with the thought that…"
"The important thing, sir, is that the Covenant didn't glass us. We're tougher than we look; we held our own against Covenant ground forces. And we had that Spartan there to back us up."
Captain Rousseau's face darkened. "Yes. That was the second thing that was worrying me. A Spartan, running black ops for ONI?" He ran a hand over his face. "That just spells all kinds of trouble."
"I agree sir, but at that particular moment in time, I wasn't about to look a heavily armed horse in the mouth. Quite frankly, I'm willing to bet that the only reason the Covenant didn't glass us right off the bat was because of Spartan-009."
"Oh, I have no doubt that the Covenant didn't start glassing precisely because of that Spartan. That doesn't comfort me any, though." The Captain rubbed his temples, grimacing. "A group of SPARTAN super soldiers on an ONI sanctioned operation? That's Vice Admiral Gordon Bristow all over."
"Bristow, sir?"
"A bad one, Tony. What have you heard of him?"
"Old soldiers' tales, Captain. A lot of stuff up around Reach, pre-Harvest stuff. He was a legend in the NAVSPECWAR sector."
"He certainly was. I knew him back when I was serving as ensign aboard the Aztec, and he was a hotshot naval spec-ops Left-tenant. A cold blooded snake, even then. Then he made Captain, moved to ONI, and there have only been ghost stories since then."
"Then, pray tell, how do you know this is his work, sir?"
"Because one of those ghost stories involved Bristow 'recruiting' Spartans for his own program, outside of Halsey's projects. I'd bet my ship that your man, what's his name…?"
"Chief Petty Officer, Double Oh Nine, sir."
"…is one of Bristow's Spartans."
Ross leaned forward, eyes alight. "Well then, we should probably contact Reach. If we have his 'little boy' onboard, Big Daddy Bristow would certainly want to know."
Rousseau stared at the junior Captain until he suddenly understood the gist of his plan. "Anthony, you are a true devil from hell." He turned to the pedestal at his right. "Domovoi?"
The avatar of a large, burly man with a long beard and a coarse and brutally humorous face appeared. "Yes, Captain Rousseau?"
"How is our new guest acclimatizing?"
The pixilated man scowled. After Bravo Company had come aboard, someone got the bright idea of inserting the AI Celsius into the ships mainframe while David-009 was examined by the medics.
"She's a renegade if there ever was one Captain, and there certainly was one."
"Don't let her get to you, Dom. We've caged her in the MAC gun controls and erected the level one fail safes. She can't tamper with anything serious in the meantime."
"Then you clearly underestimate her, and AI's as a whole sir."
The naval Captain sighed. "Dom, just patch me through to Reach. I need to speak with one Vice Admiral Gordon Bristow."
"Can do sir. Please wait one moment."
As the AI began setting up the interstellar communiqué, Rousseau glanced towards Captain Ross, a twinkle in his weary blue eyes. "I wonder how much Bristow would mind us 'commandeering' his unit for a little search-and-destroy op of our own."
"I'd imagine he'd hit the roof, Captain."
"Oh, I'm counting on it." The Captain's features hardened. "He's a renegade if there ever was one. And a merciless son of a bitch to boot. All you have to do is look at the blood in the water…"
"…Blood that sharks will rush to, Captain Rousseau." A soft, cold voice finished. The captain wheeled to face the main screen.
A slight, lean man in his mid-fifties was sitting behind a desk, looking calm and relaxed. His hair was already completely gray, but was still thick and wavy. A beard that once covered the lower half of his face was gone, revealing a thin lipped mouth and a sharp chin accented by gaunt cheeks.
Rousseau saluted. "Vice Admiral Bristow, sir."
The cold gray eyes, around which the skin was wrinkled with age, studied him disinterestedly. "The only question that remains, Captain, who is the shark in this situation?"
The Captain stared back levelly. "I guess I am, sir."
"I concur." Admiral Bristow lit a cigarette, blowing smoke at the screen. "So, I hear you picked up my boy. How is he?"
"Alive, but not exactly kicking. Reports state that he tried to slink away to quarters after coming aboard, that when the medic's got hold of him, they discovered he was a mess. Cracked ribs, broken collarbone, deep stab wound to the shoulder, and a slight concussion." The Captain looked up, face disapproving. "Do you train all your people to ignore injuries like that, sir?"
"Injuries imply accident. Wounds imply action. My people know their capacity, Captain, especially this one."
"Yes sir."
"And what of the others?"
"Two other troopers were recovered from Agricola. All the others were KIA."
"A tragedy." Bristow murmured dispassionately. He glanced up. "Well, I believe then that everything's in order. If you could simply return to Reach with my Spartan, I would be there to collect him, and we can part ways as friends…"
"If I may interrupt, Admiral," Rousseau cut in, "this is not as simple as you'd like to think it is." He set his square cut features. "Frankly, I want to know what ONI was doing on a colony that had been abandoned seven weeks ago."
Bristow eyed the younger man coldly. "That sounds suspiciously like a Captain questioning the authority of an Admiral…" He leaned forward. "Or am I just being oversensitive?"
"I'm not questioning your authority, Admiral, I merely want to know…"
"The purpose behind the operation on Agricola is on a need-to-know basis, Captain. And please, don't make me stoop to your level by saying the ridiculous play on the words 'need', 'to', and 'know'."
The insult slid off Rousseau's skin like water off the back of a duck. "I understand Admiral. But while I'd like to assure you that we would have your operators back to Reach in a hop, skip, and a jump, that's just not going to be the case."
The Admiral's eyes were shining with anger. "And why is that?" He said slowly, menacingly.
Rousseau examined his calloused fingers. "You see sir, we believe that this Covenant battle group we encountered at Agricola is just a small detachment of a much larger offensive in the system. The Covenant could be trying to find uninhabited planets to set up staging grounds for hit and run attacks on any one of our dozen colonies. I've already assembled a joint task group to search and destroy this threat, and your Spartan could really come in handy on any ground engagements…"
"…So you went over my head and 'commandeered' my boy?" Bristow finished for him.
Captain Rousseau smiled broadly. "C'est la guerre, commandante. That is war, sir."
Admiral Bristow was quite still for a moment, then leaned back, a quiet smile on his face. "Alright then. House my Spartans, feed them, nurture them back to health, then send them back to me when you're done with them. And Captain, any merchandise returned to me in bad repair will stipulate penalties. I want that on the record now."
"Duly noted," Captain Ross muttered to himself as he lit a cigarette.
"Good hunting, Captain. Make us proud."
"Thank you sir."
The screen flashed, and Bristow was gone. Captain Rousseau turned away with a hearty laugh. "Hahah! The look on his face, Tony! That alone is worth all those strings I had to pull to get this fleet together."
Anthony Ross smiled distantly. "You did great Captain. I thought the Admiral was going to have a heart attack when you said 'hop, skip, and jump'."
Captain Rousseau's smile faded, and a heavy frown settled on his features. "Ahh, that was worth the price of admission. And it told me more than I wanted to know…"
"Sir?"
"Those Spartans we picked up don't work for ONI…they work for Bristow. He must be running his own special task force." The older man shook his head. "None of this bodes well for anybody."
"You said that Spartan told you exactly what his mission was?"
"Yes sir, the Spartan said it was a hit. One Elite was the target."
"Thirteen Spartans for one Elite?"
"This Elite was a veteran, sir. Badass Spec-Ops type. According to 009, he was responsible for General Krieger's demise. You remember that one?"
"Strangled in his own camp, surrounded by a battalion of Marines, with no trace of any Covenant within three miles? That's not one easily forgotten." The Captain sighed. "Alright, I guess the Spartan's explanation is kosher, but I still don't trust him, not even if he helped you down there, Tony."
"And I'm not disagreeing with you sir. The only thing I'm saying is that we shouldn't judge the horse by its upbringing. That's all."
Rousseau gazed meditatively out into space. "Where's the Spartan now?"
"In the med bay. He'll be there for the night."
"Domovoi?"
The AI reappeared. "Yes sir?"
"I want you to keep a close eye on our new guests."
"Yes sir."
Captain Ross stood to go. "Is that all, Captain?"
Rousseau turned and shook the younger mans hand. "It is, Tony. Get some shut eye."
"Of course. Good evening, Captain."
"Good evening."
[06 April 2548]
[Medical Bay, UNSC Wolfs Sun, Hydra System]
[0830 Hours]
All night, two things had kept him awake.
The first was his cracked ribs and his recently reset collarbone.
The second was his mind, replaying the scene over and over again.
Sergeant Avalos embraces him in a hug. She isn't that tall; the top of her head only comes up to the middle of his chest. He clumsily embraces her back. He feels incredulous, but at the same time extremely happy. He can just make out the peaceful expression on her face. It's beautiful in the moonlight.
Suddenly, impulsively, he bends lower and kisses her forehead. He feels her body tense up immediately in his embrace. Then she's practically pushing away, and inside his head he's thinking…
ENOUGH! His mind roared. He snapped to full consciousness in the bright lights of the med bay, involuntarily shivering. His hair rustled on the pillow as he glanced towards the digital clock on the wall. 0832, it read. Arbitrary time, but nonetheless…
David grunted as he rose and flipped his legs to the floor. His chest was bandaged, and his ribs burned like fire every time he took a deep breath. His shoulder had gauze over it too. The stab wound he had received from Iras back on Agricola would heal fine anyway.
He ran a hand through his short black hair, eyes staring bleakly at the floor. Pain wasn't bothering him, he was used to pain, he tuned it out like the hum from a refrigerator…this was different. This was unknown, which doubled the heaviness with which it weighed upon his mind.
The second he had kissed Avalos, David's "happy feeling" disappeared and reality began biting him in the ass. He knew he was making a mistake, but it hurt, emotionally hurt, to feel Claire push him away…
Well what did you expect, lover boy?, the little voice in the back of his head crooned.
Shut up, he grated in his mind.
What's the matter, Davy? You took advantage of her. You should be grateful she didn't try to shoot you on the spot. Now you have to hope she doesn't press charges. What the hell were you thinking?
David didn't have an answer. And that made him even more pissed off. He glared at the ground until he could feel his rib cage tighten, which sent a flare of pain through his body. His head cleared, the anger flushed away. Shaking his head, he relaxed, breathing slowly.
Footsteps approached, and David looked up as a young black man approached, carrying a bundle. His face was clean shaven and boyish and his laughing brown eyes were utterly relaxed. He glanced down at the Spartan, and his eyes widened slightly. He cleared his throat. "Uhh…excuse me, but are you…uh, are you Spartan-009?"
It was David's turn to be surprise, although he suppressed the reaction to an extra breath in his throat. The young black man before him was Corporal Atwood, the loudmouthed sniper that had covered his back during the ambush on Agricola. "Atwood?"
The Corporal's eyes widened. "Shee-it. It is you."
David nodded, favoring Atwood with a small smile. "I had no idea you were black."
"And I had no idea you were a pasty white under that scary ass Halloween mask you call a helmet." Atwood retorted.
David examined his hand. Weeks on end in his armor had bleached his skin with a pallor that looked a little uncommon, although as far as David could tell, it wasn't as bad as other Spartan's.
Atwood tossed the bundle onto the cot- extra large fatigues, regulation underwear, socks, and boots. "Regards from Captain Rousseau on the bridge."
"He knew my size?" David asked.
"No, that AI of yours, Celsius, she requested these from the quartermaster. She also got you hooked up with an officer grade cabin, you lucky bastard. I'm supposed to give you a tour of the ship, show you where the mess hall, restrooms, armory, everything else is."
"I can find my own way, thanks." David grunted as he pulled on the fatigue pants.
"Yeah, well, I'm kinda under orders to give you the grand tour. It's not so much about showing you around so much as keeping an eye on you."
David didn't miss a beat as he pulled on the dark green T-shirt. "The Captain doesn't trust me."
"Bingo. Scuttlebutt is that he had a chat with the 'higher ups' on Reach. Apparently, he didn't like what he heard."
'Higher ups'? It was Bristow, then. David tugged on the long sleeved shirt, and found the sleeves to be two inches too short. He glanced up at Atwood, annoyed.
Atwood shrugged. "Don't know what to tell you, buddy."
David growled, and set about lacing up his boots. "So, when will we get back to Reach?"
"I'm not quite sure we're heading back to Reach."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I've been hearing things…"
"Scuttlebutt again?"
"What else? Plus, the task force we're in, its way too big to be a simple retrieve-and-retreat op. The entire Battle Group Normandy is here. That's twelve frigates, a few cruisers, even a super carrier, the Leviathan. Combine that with a bunch of ships that I can't even track, and I don't know what it all comes out to, but we got a bunch of badass motherfuckers and they're here to stay…of course, that's just my opinion."
David suddenly remembered something, and he snapped his fingers. "Where are Lee and Jennifer?"
"Who?"
"The two Spartans that were with me?"
Atwood rubbed the back of his head, ill at ease. "Don't know. Surgeons took them last night. I'd say they're recovering in the critical unit."
"When can I see them?"
"Probably after debriefing. The Captain wants to see you on the bridge as soon as you've been given the grand tour. So, the sooner the better, right? Ready to get started?"
The boots felt a little tight, and he'd have to roll up the shirt's sleeves or tear them off, but the pants fit fine, for which he was grateful. Gotta remember to thank Celsius.
"Sure, let's go."
David followed Atwood out of the medical bay, glad to be rid of its sterile, antiseptic smell. The air inside the ship was cool and clean, clearing his mind. He focused his mind as Atwood showed him throughout the ship.
They passed through the barracks, restrooms, mess hall, armory (where David was grateful to see his armor stored and cleaned) and even the gym. He made a careful mental map of the ship in his head as they passed through each corridor. "Ship's a bit cramped," he commented as he ducked for the millionth time through a bulkhead.
"Small but fast. How do you think the Captain outmaneuvered those bogies that came after him? Besides, she's got more than enough firepower to fight in any battle."
"You're well informed."
"Well, I figure the more I know about anything and everything, the better off I'll be."
"Hmmm. I see."
"What, you disagree?"
"No, I don't. I just think that there are some things that hurt you the more you know about them. Ignorance is bliss, right?"
"…What the fuck are you talking about, you terrifying bastard?"
"Me? I'm just making small talk." His stomach growled audibly as he spoke. "I'm also a bit hungry."
Atwood grinned. "That we can take care of."
"Not yet."
"Why not yet? You're stomach sounded like something very angry and very furry. Plus, I'm famished myself."
"In the first place, I never liked ship grub, for obvious reasons. Secondly, there's the debriefing to think about. Let's visit the Captain first. Then we'll grab some chow, you show me to my room, and we can part as friends."
They were in the weight room of the deserted gym, both leaning against the wall. David towered over the diminutive Atwood.
"Sure, great plan. Bridge is this way."
As he followed Atwood out of the gym, David sensed eyes upon him. His head darted upwards, where windows lined the corridor on the level above the gym. Two heads ducked as his gaze raked the area.
"What is it?"
The heads didn't reappear. David shook his head.
"Nothing. After you."
[06 April 2548]
[UNSC Wolfs Sun]
[0905 Hours]
Sleep hadn't come easy for Claire last night. Even being back aboard the ship, safe, in the familiar barracks with ODSTs snoring peacefully, hadn't helped. Her mind was jumbled with thoughts and worries, and she had tossed and turned almost all night.
Her biggest worry, obviously, was the Spartan kissing her. It had been so sudden, so unexpected; one minute they were hugging, the next she felt his lips press against her forehead. She didn't stop to think about the nature of that kiss. It was one of affection. She had been kissed enough to know that. She especially remembered those gentle kisses that Matt Keller once gave her, the ones that she used to have to stand on tiptoe to receive.
But that kiss…she stressed to herself.
That kiss had been pure, a simple expression of affection, with nothing else mixed up in it. But was that all there was to it? Was the Spartan…attracted to her?
She woke up late, stiff, sore, and starving. After grabbing a too short hot shower in the restrooms, she had wolfed down a tasteless meal in the mess hall and had wandered around the ship, lost in thought. There was nothing to do, they would probably be heading back to Reach to refit and refuel.
Finally, Claire stopped in the corridor overlooking the gym's weight room. Moodily, she pressed her forehead to the cool glass. She tried to drive the memory of last night away, but it kept coming back. Everything about it was crystal clear and sharply focused, except for the face of the Spartan. Even under the moonlight, he had been standing at an angle that kept his expression in shadow.
Vaguely, she wondered where 009 had gone. After Bravo Company had been brought aboard, he had disappeared with his wounded teammates into the medical bay.
It dawned on her suddenly that he had been seriously wounded. After all, didn't she see him take that knife to the shoulder from that Elite bastard? Hadn't a goddamn gunship fallen right on top of him? Hadn't he fought for almost seven hours straight against the charging Covenant back at Bravo's Nest? And yet the whole time he had never slowed down, never called for a medic. In fact, the only time he had actually looked wounded was when-
In her minds eye, she saw him as she broke away from the hug, slash kiss. His shoulders were hunched, his arms hung loose at his sides, his back was bent, and he looked tired, looked defeated. A far cry from the cold blooded warrior he usually was. He looked like he had just been hit with a killing blow.
What the hell is with that?
"Hey." Katy had somehow found her staring blankly into the weight room.
"Hey yourself."
Katy studied her, then said, "You look like hell."
"Yeah, well you look…" She paused as she tried to find fault with her friends appearance. Katy looked rested, her eyes didn't have dark circles, and her hair looked fresh and flowing. "Hell, I give up. You look great."
"Thank you." Katy said grandly, then joined her friend in staring into space.
"So, what are you going to do?"
Claire sighed. "I don't know." She grabbed at her hair, grimacing. "Ahhhhh, this kind of shit is not supposed to happen in real life! This is just some stupid cliché writers use to add drama to those stupid soaps on the tube!"
Katy opened her mouth to speak, but Claire continued on regardless.
"What the hell was he thinking? I mean, I hugged the guy and he takes it as an invite to plant a kiss on me? What the fuck is with that?"
Katy watched her friend vent with one raised eyebrow. When she finally settled back to staring out the window, she cleared her throat. "You done?"
"Yeah." Claire sighed. "Sorry."
"No problem." Katy rubbed her friends shoulder comfortingly. "The only thing was, you're going to have to talk to him."
"Yeah, and why is that-?"
"C'mon, you saw him when you broke away. He looked crushed, flat out crushed, honey. He looked worse than when that Elite decked him, remember? I don't know what was going through his mind, but whatever he was thinking, you jumped away like he had AIDs."
Claire bit her lip. She did know, damn it. Somehow, in a way that none of them understood, she had actually hurt 009's feelings. "Jeez, is that even possible?"
"What?"
"Is it possible to hurt a Spartan's feelings? Do they even have feelings?"
Katy shrugged as she tousled her hair. "I guess Spartan's are people too. They got feelings just like everybody else. And you managed to hurt ones." She flashed her friend a thumbs-up. "Congratulations! I think you're the first person in history to emotionally wound a Spartan!"
"Shut up!" She shoved Katy and both fell to laughing, ignoring the odd looks from passing crewmen.
Once they both calmed down though, Katy scrutinized her friend and persisted. "But seriously, what are you going to do about David?"
Claire stared. "Why are you referring to him by his first name?"
"Cause he's a person with feelings." She said coyly.
Claire thought about it. "Well, there's not much to do," she said softly. "We're going back to Reach to drop his big ass off, and then that'll be the end of it. With any luck, we'll never come across Spartan-009 again."
"Yeeaaahhh…about going back to Reach? That might be out of the cards right now."
"Say what?"
"Rumor's going through the ship that there are more Covenant in the system. That's why such a big task force showed up to rescue us. We're going on a search-and-destroy run to take them the hell out."
"Wow. How typical of the higher brass."
"…Which would mean that we're going to be working closely with Spartan-009."
"Oh, kill me now."
"Never." Katy growled close to her ear
"Fine, okay, fine. What do you suggest I do?"
"I don't know. I'm just the casual observer…" Katy's voice drifted off. Claire glanced at her friend and saw she was gazing intensely down into the weight room below. Claire followed her gaze.
Below them Atwood, dressed in regulation fatigues, was chatting with a tall soldier. A very tall soldier. He completely dwarfed Atwood, and Claire could guess that he was upwards of seven feet in height.
The soldier had their back to the ODSTs, but Claire and Katy could see that he had jet black hair, cut close to his head. He was dressed in identical fatigues to Atwood, but they were stretched tight across his body, enough so that his musculature was clearly visible.
His shirts sleeves were rolled back from muscular forearms and were wrapped around bulging biceps. His shirt strained against the muscles in his back, narrowing down to his lean waist. The muscles in his legs were clearly defined. He looked like a Michael Angelo statue Claire had once seen in her tenth grade history book- a Michael Angelo statue in fatigues.
Katy whistled under her breath. "Am I crazy, or is that a Greek god standing there with Atwood?"
"I don't think you're crazy," Claire murmured. "But I do think that that bod looks familiar."
"Maybe. I wish that he'd turn around. If his face is half as good looking as the rest of him, I call first dibs!"
"Slut."
"Prude."
"Wait! He's walking away."
The incredibly fit soldier was following Atwood towards the exit, but as if he sensed he was being watched, he suddenly swiveled and glared straight up- directly into the clinging eyes of Private Katy and Sergeant Claire.
They both ducked down, giggling out of sheer nervousness.
"Shit, he turned around fast!"
"Shhh, he might hear us."
"Look over, see if he's still there."
"You first."
"C'mon, you're a smaller target."
Claire cautiously peeked above the railing. The weight room was deserted. "He's gone!"
Both women stood up. "Did you get a good look at his face?" Katy asked.
Claire shook her head. It had been just a flash- poof – then gone. "No. You?"
"Not even close. But still, I know I've seen him before. I'd recognize a bod like that anywhere." Katy sighed, and then looked up and down to see if anyone had noticed their little maneuver. "You want to go to the mess hall?"
Claire declined, watched as he friend walked away, then started off towards the barracks. She shoved her hands in her pockets, lost in her thoughts once more. Except now, they were compounded by the appearance of the statuesque soldier.
Claire had recognized the soldier's body, but what she hadn't told Katy was that in the moment he had glanced back towards them, she had seen a split second glimpse of his eyes. Sharp, dark brown, like an eagle.
She had recognized those eyes, just hadn't imagined them without a wicked toothy grin to match.
The soldier was Spartan-009. David.
[07 April 2548]
[UNSC Wolfs Sun, Hydra System]
[1530 Hours]
David-009 lay on his back in his bunk, arms behind his head and brown eyes lazily studying the ceiling. A faint smile lay on his lips. All was right with his life.
The day before had started off on a rusty note, to be sure, but it had gotten better from the morning on, starting with David's meeting with Ship Captain Rousseau.
Corporal Atwood had graciously bowed him into the bridge, where he had met casually hostile looks from the male deck officers, curious sidelong glances from the female deck officers, and the Captain himself, an aging, grizzled Frenchman with graying blonde hair and weary blue eyes. He had shaken the proffered hand firmly.
"Chief Petty Officer Spartan-009, reporting as ordered, sir."
The blue eyes studied him. "At ease, Chief."
David spread his feet and clasped his arms behind his back, staring straight ahead. "It's a pleasure to meet you sir. I owe you and the task force a great deal."
"The pleasure is…dubious, on my own part, Petty Officer. And as for you owing us a great deal, don't bother. I came back to pick up the men I left behind. You were an unexpected hitchhiker."
ODST Captain Ross joined the two on the main deck. "Unexpected for sure, but certainly not unwelcome." He saluted Rousseau and shook hands with David. "Glad to see you're accommodating well, 009."
"Yes sir. Thank you sir."
Rousseau waved away the junior officer. "Now that the formalities are done and away with, let's talk turkey, Spartan. I understand you're an ONI agent?"
"That is correct sir."
"Captain Ross filled me in on your assignment on Agricola." He focused squarely on the Spartan. "But I'd like to hear it in your own words, if you don't mind."
"Not at all, sir." David slowly outlined what happened during the op on Agricola, speaking slowly and calmly.
When he had reduced the operation to dust, Captain Rousseau nodded vaguely, and shook his head. "Ten soldiers, Spartans no less, all killed for one Elite…"
David didn't blink. "We cornered the Elite and he came out guns blazing. I lost a lot of good people who could have been saved, but I also believe that they didn't die needlessly. Thirty Spec-Ops Covenant can attest to that."
Captain Rousseau favored the much taller soldier with a hard look. "I'd like to believe you, Chief, but I'm just not feeling it."
"With all due respect sir, you can believe whatever you care to."
Captain Rousseau's expression became like stone. "Do you have a problem, Spartan-009?"
"Me, sir? No. But you sir? You do."
"Really now?"
David let his arms drop to his sides and put his feet together. "You don't trust me, Captain. You think I'm a cold blooded ONI operative. I'm as alien to you as the Covenant."
Captain Rousseau absorbed this statement with considerable thought. "Well spoken, Chief."
"Thank you, sir."
"You're right, I don't trust you. But it's not because you're a Spartan; I respect your breed. I don't trust you because you're one of Admiral Bristow's people. No doubt you're aware of what kind of reputation your commander has?"
"Yes sir, I am aware of Admiral Bristow's reputation. I am also aware, as are you, that men like Bristow, men who aren't afraid to do what is necessary, are what we need in this war."
Rousseau nodded. "I agree, but only if there's no alternative." He smirked bitterly. "I sometimes wonder if Bristow even looks for the other option."
David narrowed his eyes. "When you have your back to the wall sir, you generally don't have time to look for the alternative."
Captain Ross held up his hands. "Excuse me for interrupting this eloquent cock fight, but Captain Rousseau, we're not making any productive gains here."
Captain Rousseau snapped up and slapped his hands on the main display. "Yes, of course." He ran his scalpel gaze over David. "I don't trust your motivations, Spartan, but your combat skills are unquestionable. That is why I'm hoping we can work together."
David nodded slowly. "What did you have in mind, Captain?"
Rousseau brought up the galaxy map of the Hydra star cluster, and David leaned closer as the older man outlined the plan.
"You've probably already guessed this, Spartan, but this isn't simply a recovery operation. We have solid Intel that a Covenant fleet is prowling somewhere in this system, and I am not one to sit on my ass with information like that."
"Higher brass has given the green light, and components from Battle Group Normandy, 3rd Fleet out of Io, and a few NAVSPECWAR hardliners have all been called in for this outing. And now, thanks to a short conversation with your commander, we have you."
"I'm hoping that most of our engagements will be restricted to ship-to-ship combat, but in the case the fight comes to ground, I want a team of crack commando's ready to take the fight to those ugly sons-of-bitches."
David nodded, studying the map. "And you want me on this commando squad?"
"Chief…I want you to lead this commando team."
The Spartan started, then nodded. "Can do, sir."
"Good man. Captain Ross?"
Ross came forward with a handful of data pads. "We have in this task force a plethora of hardnosed warriors, Chief. ODSTs, NAVSPECWAR operators, Air Force Combined Rescue Commandos, Army LIDAR (Light Infantry Direct Action Regiment), maybe even a few of your Intelligence buddies. I've assembled dossiers on the best and the brightest. Take your pick, and we'll assemble them here."
Rousseau folded his arms across his chest. "We'll also provide any support you need. Pelican transport, weapon and supply drops, airstrikes, and any infantry unit you need, you will get. I'm placing a lot of power in your hands, Chief. I'm hoping you can accept the responsibility."
David held the Captain's gaze coolly. "You don't have to worry about me, sir."
"I do worry, Chief. That is part of what makes me a damn good ship commander." The Captain was starting to look his age. "It's also part of what's killing me in here," he said as he tapped his chest.
Fatal flaw, David thought.
"Is there anything else, Chief?"
A thought suddenly occurred to him. He almost blurted out the words.
"Yes. I worked with an ODST squad while on Agricola. Bravo 2B? I want them on my squad."
Rousseau glanced towards Ross. The ODST captain nodded. "They're one of mine sir. A good bunch, extremely competent, if maladjusted. The Spartan here has an eye for talent."
"You want all of them, Chief?"
"If at all possible, sir."
Rousseau nodded. "Alright. Captain Ross, make it happen."
David saluted. "Thank you sir."
"Dismissed, Chief."
"Sir."
David felt greatly pleased with himself as he walked out of the bridge- directly into the hunched Atwood. The Corporal straightened up hurriedly. David favored him with a bemused look. "Catch anything useful?"
The young man dusted off his knees. "Only that we're going to war, you're leading a prima donna squad, and my outfit is slated for that same squad. Fan-friggin-tastic."
David clapped him on the shoulder, practically knocking the ODST down. "Think of it as an opportunity. A few weeks working with a Spartan, and you could get your pick of any posting you want."
"Hey, I'm fine where I am, okay? I have a rank that get's me decent pay, I have a rifle that never let's me down, and I have a beautiful brunette waiting for me back at home. Three years more, I make Sergeant, I can move to a position as an instructor back at the academy. Three more years, damn it."
David smiled grimly. "You think you're really going to make it three more years?"
"Maybe. But I get the funny feeling that my odds of survival go down a lot when I'm around you. Speaking of which…"
"Fine, go. We'll see each other sooner than not."
Atwood visibly shivered. "I was afraid you'd say that." He walked away quickly, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the Spartan.
David let him go. Reactions like that was food for his ego. He chose to go to his cabin. Might as well see what it was like.
Five minutes later he was standing in the middle of a surprisingly lavish cabin- relatively speaking. It had a decent sized bunk, locker, and even a desk, of all things. Definitely an officers cabin.
"You don't have to thank me for the set up. I'll just remind you whenever you're thinking of throwing our ass into the fire again."
David glanced up towards the comm. unit in the upper corner of the room. "Celsius, I thought you had been locked into the MAC gun controls?"
"You really think a handful of UNSC firewalls can keep me penned? David, I'm hurt."
David sat on his bunk, testing its firmness. "So how'd you escape?"
"A few routine by passes that repeat at timed intervals. I left one of my sub routines inside the controls, so for all appearances I'm still locked safely inside, throwing a baseball against the wall."
David looked confused. "What?"
"Never mind." The AI sighed. "So, I hear you're acclimatizing well. Put in charge of special task group? Not bad considering you've only been aboard for about ten hours."
"I know. Astounding what a pedigree can do for you in this sector."
"I also heard you requested Sergeant Avalos for your team."
Alarm bells went off in David's head. Seeing where the wind lay, he decided to stop Celsius's "Not So Simple" speech with a brutal preemptive strike.
"Yeah, I did. Sergeant Avalos is a good soldier, something that I neglected last night when I kissed her. It was a lapse of judgment on my part, a potentially serious one, and I want to clear things up with her, and show her that my intentions weren't nefarious in any way. The best way to accomplish both of those tasks would be to place her on my squad and apologize to her. And if you think I'm doing this for any other reasons than those, then keep it to yourself."
There was silence from the AI, and David was about to exit his room and head for the mess hall when Celsius finally responded.
"You know, you could have just found her in the mess hall and apologized to her there. I'm not so sure she'll be thrilled to be on your high risk commando unit."
David stopped. Oh, yeah. Shit.
"Too late now, I guess." The AI said sweetly. "Ah well, talk to you later!"
David gently thumped his head against the bulkhead a few times on his way out. Stupid, stupid, stupid…
That was when he ran into somebody. A pretty young woman dressed in regulation fatigues, with curious blue eyes and long golden rod hair drawn back into a ponytail. David jumped back, even though he had eight inches and at least a hundred pounds on her. "Excuse me, m'am."
The woman eyed him curiously. "Pardon me."
David walked on, but was stopped by the woman's voice. "Excuse me? Sir?"
He recognized that voice now: Private Katy Rawlings, the hyperactive ODST he had met on Agricola. Cautiously he stopped in his tracks. "Yes m'am?"
"You're him, aren't you?" No niceties, no complicated word traps. An up and up question, direct attack through the main gate. David appreciated the blunt force of her direction.
He shrugged, trying to maintain cool nonchalance. "I'm sorry m'am. You're going to have to be more specific than 'him'."
"Chief Petty Officer Spartan-009 specific enough for you?" Her voice betrayed her eagerness.
David smiled ruefully, then turned to face the ODST. He nodded slightly and topped it off with a theatrical bow. "At your service, Private Rawlings."
Katy squealed in a most un-soldier like manner. "Oh my God, it is you! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" She did a few hops in place, seized in a kind of frenzy. "I thought it sounded like your voice, but you sound so different out of your armor I couldn't tell. I had to see your eyes to be sure. If you had the same eyes, it had to be you…and you have the same eyes, so it is you!" She finally calmed down a bit and took a good look at the Spartan, a faint, bold smile on her lips. "I knew you were hot."
Not for the first time today, David found himself dumbfounded by a few simple words. "Hot?"
"Yeah, smokin' hot." She laughed at the nonplussed expression on his face. "Have you ever looked in a mirror?"
David had of course looked in a mirror before, but all he had ever seen staring back was his face: from scrawny and skeletal to angular and scrubby to strong and defined. The only constant had been the brown eyes, which stared with a strange intensity, sharp as an eagle's.
Apparently, Katy, and maybe others, saw something different.
Katy inched dangerously close to David, so that the Spartan fidgeted uncomfortably. She laughed at his obvious unease. "Relax. I don't have cooties."
Again the confusion. "Cooties?"
She laughed again. "Okay, okay. Take it easy. So, what are you doing here?"
Finally, something he understood. "Just settling in. It seems I'm going to be spending some extended time on the Wolfs Sun."
Katy's eyes twinkled devilishly. "Really now? I know a certain squad Sergeant who would be very interested in this piece of news."
David's mouth dried quite suddenly and unexpectedly. There was only one Non-Com she could be talking about.
Katy nodded. "Sounds like a story behind this 'extended time'. Care to discuss it over a blue plate special in the mess hall, Chief?" She offered her arm to the much larger soldier.
David recognized the motion, a 20th century custom belonging to a time when men were gentlemen and women were ladies. He took the proffered arm gently, channeling the prose he had once read. "It would be my pleasure, Private."
Katy tried to keep a straight face, failed, and cracked up. Once he realized she was laughing with him, David found himself laughing too. Twice in two days now. What a concept!
Arm in arm, the two soldiers walked towards the mess hall, laughing.
[07 April 2548]
[Mess Hall, UNSC Wolfs Sun]
[1320 Hours]
Claire sighed disgustedly at the rows of food on the lunch line.
Supports life, not morale.
After little deliberation, she chose the special, spaghetti (or what passed as spaghetti; looked more like ration noodles with ketchup) and a bottle of water. She didn't feel particularly hungry. After passing through the line, she looked around the crowded mess hall, looking for a place to sit. Normally, she'd gravitate towards any members of her own squad that were present, but Atwood was sleeping, Schaefer had disappeared into the weight room. That left Katy.
Claire finally spotted the familiar blonde head towards the rearmost corner, and made her way towards it. As she drew closer she saw her squadmate was not alone, and as she drew even closer, her eyes widened as she saw who Katy was with.
Sitting with his back to the wall and his upper body hunched over his plate was the statuesque soldier she and Katy had spied on in the weight room earlier. And as he glanced up at her approaching figure, and fixated on her with a pair of piercing brown eyes, she realized that soldier was in fact, David the Spartan.
Katy followed David's gaze and leapt out of her seat, a wicked grin growing on her face. "Sarge, I'm glad you showed up. I'd like to introduce you to someone special…"
With inhuman speed the Spartan rose from his seat and rounded the table edge to close distance with Claire. "The esteemed Sergeant Avalos doesn't require introductions in a mess hall, Rawlings." He reached out and took Claire's tray in one hand while the other gripped hers in a warm but unbreakable grip. "And first off, Sergeant, I'd like to apologize."
Claire hadn't even blinked and suddenly the Spartan was right on top of her. "Apologize? F-For what?"
"My behavior back on Agricola. I shouldn't have kissed you without your consent. It was silly and reprehensible, and I feel badly that I took advantage of you at the time. Please, accept my apology." He spoke quietly and earnestly, eyes full of concern.
Claire, on her part, didn't know how to respond. She was within kissing distance of the Spartan, if kissing was what she had had in mind, and he towered over her, filling her vision. Her mind swam as she tried to make sense of what was just said. Katy elbowed her hesitantly. "Sarge? You there?"
"Yeah…I mean y-yes…I mean YES!" She practically yelled. A few curious heads turned in their direction, and she felt her face grow hot. "I accept your apology, Chief."
The Chief's face relaxed. "Thank you, m'am."
She breathed slowly, almost sighing. "You sure have a way of addressing people, Spartan."
He didn't miss a beat as he sat back down. "Training, m'am. Address a situation directly, use the element of surprise, and leave no room for a counter-attack."
"Which would be fine if this was an assault on the Covenant, but you were just trying to apologize to the Sergeant!" Katy's grin had slipped a notch. "Jeez, I'd hate to have you try to apologize to me."
"Don't push it." David muttered, turning his attention back to the mountain of spaghetti on his plate.
Claire sat down, her head still spinning. Katy turned towards her. "Told you that guy in the weight room was him."
"The hell you did." She retorted.
"Well, I'm the one who figured it out first."
Claire decided to keep the fact that she had recognized the Spartan's eyes a secret.
"So, how did this happen?"
"What happened?" Katy asked indifferently.
"This…" Claire motioned towards the Spartan nonchalantly devouring noodles in front of them.
"Oh. I ran into him outside his quarters, we played twenty questions, and I used my subliminal powers of divination to figure it out."
David glanced up. "If I recall correctly, there were two questions. You were as subtle as a kamikaze Grunt."
That took both women by surprise. "A what?"
"A kamikaze Grunt." He put down his fork. "C'mon, you've never seen a Grunt, once the rest of its squad is dead, pull out two plasma grenades and charge forward like a madman?"
The image of the generic Covenant Grunt, with its stubby limbs and its helium infused squeals, charging with two lit plasma grenades was enough to make Katy start to crack up. Claire grinned. "No. You have?"
David smiled, and it wasn't a bad smile either. "Yes I have. The little mongrel blindsided me and almost took my legs off…"
As David dove into the story, Claire couldn't help but notice a distinct difference in the Spartan's demeanor. Back on Agricola, inside his armor, he had been cold and monotone and even occasionally sarcastic, speaking in short monosyllabic sentences. Here, sitting down at a table in a crowded mess hall, he was lively. His voice was low but clear, not gravelly, and would rise and fall as he told the tale. His brown eyes would lighten and darken. His hands were alive too, gesturing and even pantomiming the charging Grunt. He made good use of his face; his pallor and strong jaw, a little intimidating otherwise, were masked by his calm expression.
Once David had reduced the story of the suicide Grunt to dust, and had left Katy in stitches and Claire barely able to suppress her laughter, he had settled back and dug into his spaghetti.
Claire shook her head, chuckling. "Now that was a story worth hearing. Thanks, David."
David paused with a forkful of noodles halfway to his mouth. "What?"
"I'm sorry?" Claire was suddenly wary. David's voice had dropped back to its usual cold monotone.
"You used my name." He looked up, brown eyes confused.
Claire sensed the confusion in his voice and instantly went into alert mode. "Yeah, I guess I did." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to insult..."
"You didn't insult me." David's features were etched in confusion. "It's just that…few people call me by my name."
"No kidding?" Now it was Claire's turn to be confused. Sure, sometimes she felt like her first name had been changed to "Sergeant" but she didn't spas out when someone uttered her birth name…
She suddenly realized how insulting her thoughts had sounded and blushed. David was too confused to notice, staring off into space, brows knitted together in deep thought.
Katy took the opportunity to speak. "I didn't know there was anything wrong with that. You should have told us…"
"There's nothing wrong with it, it's just…uncommon." David rubbed his temples as he tried to explain.
"You see, Spartans, out in the field…we're not names and faces. We're ranks and numbers. Before last year, we didn't exist. In general, the only people who know a Spartan on a first name basis is another Spartan. Telling a non-Spartan your name can compromise you in any number of ways. Allowing someone knowledge of your name is a symbolic act of trust."
Claire and Katy were shocked by this eloquent admission on David's part. Yet somehow, it made sense to Claire.
"It's something you would let a friend do?" She asked tentatively.
David nodded in confirmation.
The ODST Sergeant glanced at Katy, then back at David. "So…does that mean…we could be friends?"
David considered the request over a long sip of water. Friends? The concept was familiar but the emotions attached to it weren't. He felt…happy? Was that it?
Spartans didn't have many friends. Not when they officially didn't exist. Not when their fellow Spartans were spread thin throughout the frontlines. Not when the standard Marines they worked with were dropping like flies. Stay detached, stay cold, that's what they were good at.
Still…
How bad could it be to have friends? It couldn't be a bad thing, could it?
You going to be saying that when you're staring at their charred corpses?
His stomach froze as that familiar voice came back.
How do you want your ODST cooked, Davy Boy? Well done, or nuclear?
Fuck you, he thought fiercely.
In that moment he decided.
"Yeah, it does, Sergeant."
Claire grinned. "Then if that's the case, we need to lay down some ground rules."
Uh oh. "Like what?"
Katy leaned forward, smiling as well. "Like, stop referring to our ranks and/or last names." She offered her hand. "For instance, my first name is Katy. If you were my friend, you'd call me Katy."
David smiled. He took the hand in his much larger one. "OK, Katy."
Her turn. She offered her own hand to the Spartan. "And I'm Claire."
David gently wrapped his fingers around hers. He could feel himself smiling like an idiot. "Claire." The name formed naturally in his mouth. He even liked the sound of it.
He also realized, at that singular, blissful moment, that this 'friends' thing was probably going to end badly. It wasn't a conscious revelation, just something he felt in his gut.
The rest of the meal passed mostly in amiable silence. David concentrated mostly on his meal, from a habit formed back when he was living on the street, when a 'feast' to him was a piece of bread, or a fresh piece of…
Ah, bliss. All his attention was focused on the golden-reddish skin and the snow white flesh on the inside. He crunched the first slice, chewing slowly, letting the cold, sweet juices filter through his teeth and wash over his tongue. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention.
Briefly, he noticed Claire staring at him. Swallowing, he asked, "What is it?"
She blinked. "Sorry, just…wow, I have never seen a person enjoy an apple that much."
The unfamiliar feeling of embarrassment curled in his gut, almost but not quite overpowering the taste of the apple slice.
"It's a…"
"…Spartan thing?"
"No, more like a 'David' thing." He didn't know why he chose to use his own name. It sounded so unfamiliar in his mouth. The letter 'D' rolled strangely on his tongue.
Claire looked at David questioningly. He decided to expand on his explanation.
"I was raised in barracks from age eight. The only thing I remember from my home is that I hated fruit. I was always so…pissed when my mom would substitute pears for chocolate cake at dessert time. Then I was on the street, then to barracks, and I didn't see a fresh fruit for another eight years." He picked up another apple slice, crunched it briefly, and swallowed. "Funny the things that stay with you."
"Yeah." Was all Claire could say. This admission was even more shocking than the first. But in a way, Claire could understand it. These revelations were sudden but they told more about this Spartan than he seemed to know. In a way, it was cementing their friendship.
David crunched down the remaining apple slices, gathered his trash, and eyed Claire's plate. "Are you done?"
"Hmm? Oh, yeah."
He took her tray and Katy's too. "See ya later, Claire." It sounded like he was testing how the word sounded.
"See ya."
The two women watched David leave the mess hall, walking with long purposeful strides. Katy glanced at Claire. "'See ya later, Claire,'' she mimicked in a deep boom. "He likes you."
Claire nodded. "Yeah, well, we're friends now."
"Friends? How long do you think that will last?"
Claire shot Katy down with a withering look. "When is the last time you heard of a Spartan with a relationship?"
"When is the last time you heard of a Spartan who had feelings?" Katy shot back.
"True that." Claire agreed. She drained her bottle of water and glanced in the direction David had gone. "But I'll admit it, he's definitely not a normal Spartan."
[1534 Hours]
A faint knock at the door.
David didn't bother to rise. "Yes?"
The door opened. David looked up. His faint smile disappeared, his eyes hardened.
"What are you doing here?"
The responding voice was calm and a bit quirky. "Me? I'm just checking in on the closest thing I have to a friend. My oh my, aren't you hard to track down?"
"Clearly not hard enough." David rose to a sitting position. "I should have known Bristow would send someone to keep an eye on me."
"He's worried about you Davy Boy, that's all. You are a long way from home." The man smiled broadly, crinkling the insane blue eyes peeking out from close cropped blonde hair. He scratched his scruffy blonde beard. "It's too bad about your squad. Ten Spartan-III's might still be alive right now. Ah well, the target's dead. All's well that ends well."
David, before dining with Katy and Claire, had only one friend, or the closest thing to. The man before him was it.
"Did I ever tell you you're a sociopath?"
"Me?" The man slapped his chest in falsetto hurt. "David, I'm hurt. Here I have to pass up six good assignments to worm my way onto your special squad here. Six assignments, David, all of them quality. Things would have gone, boom!" He licked his lips.
David sighed. "You're right; it's not my place to say what you are. So, that being said, what are you?"
"Ah, that then is the root of it, isn't it now?" The man leaned closer. "I'm a dog chasing a car. I'm a hummingbird chasing a Longsword fighter. I'm just a mouse rolling a thread pin. I'm the shadowy reflection that you pretend you don't see in the mirror."
David felt his skin crawl. His friend had a knack of getting under people's skin. His friend noticed, and smiled horribly.
"You're sick." David growled.
The man shook his head pityingly.
"That is incorrect. I am ONI Lieutenant Matthew Keller. But you can call me Matt."