Chapter 7-1: One for the Road (Part 1)
[12 September 2551]
[Underground Bunker "Refuge Omega", Romagna, Angelus-II]
[0120 hours]
The ride back to the bunker had been uneventful for the ODST's and Spartans- at least, as uneventful as a harrowing race through a city under siege could be. They all made it back in one piece, at the very least.
Claire hadn't spoken a single word to David during the drive. She had fastened her eyes on the ruined street in front of her, yet stole a couple of glances towards the back of the Hog, where David was sprawled. The other Spartan, the small one called Jennifer, sat next to him; David's long arm draped over her armored shoulders. Her head was tucked under his chin. From any angle, it was clear that the two shared an intimacy. What kind of intimacy…one could only speculate.
That was probably what was bothering Claire. A tiny worm of annoyance, like a parasite, had found its way into her brain and her heart, and ate into both every time she looked back and saw the normally cold blooded Spartan- her cold blooded Spartan- sharing a small moment of affection with a stranger.
The mere fact that she didn't even understand why this sudden possessiveness was affecting her, pissed her off even more.
But it was no matter. The moment they had pulled into the pitch black of the underground bunker's makeshift garage, David had pulled on his helmet, took charge, and reverted back to his normal reserved self. He had immediately reported to Matt, called Claire over, and then informed both what he had overheard back at the ONI base: the Covenant were deploying a Scarab into the city.
The news was received with a less than enthusiastic reception.
"Son of a bitch!" Claire swore under her breath. Behind her, the tired eyed Corporal she had harassed earlier- Claire had learned his name was Markovich- cursed quite openly, clawing at the air as if he could strangle it.
Keller didn't say anything immediately. He put his hands together in front of his lips as if praying, nodded his head a couple of times, and then smiled slowly. "Well, fuck a duck."
David ran his hands through his hair and drew it away wet with blood. "From what the Covies were saying that Scarab would be landing soon, probably before morning."
"Good." Keller nodded. "Then it'll be so much thematic. Fire burning bright and hot against the cold night sky. It's poetic."
David sighed. "I take that to mean you have a plan?"
"Plan? Me? No. What I have," Matt said, wagging both forefingers to emphasize his words, "what I have, is an opus in the making. A grand symphony of burning beauty. I can already see it."
Claire spat out the gum she was chewing in a very un-lady like gesture. "Cut the bullcrap. Tell us what you're thinking."
Matt waved away her words like gnats. "Patience, patience, Claire. But if you insist, I have one question in turn: does your outfit have a jump-jet detachment? I know HIGHCOM is outfitting ODST troops with jet packs, but how about yours?"
The answer was yes, actually. Claire's platoon, along with all the other ODST units in the battalion, came complete with a squad of specially trained ODST's whose body suits were fitted with low range jump packs. These specialists were often deployed ahead of an assault force on the battlefield to get behind and disrupt enemy lines- a pretty ballsy endeavor, even by ODST standards. Claire's own jump-jet squad was nicknamed "The Hummingbirds". Their leader was a cool eyed Arab Sergeant named Khaled.
"Yeah."
Matt clapped his hands together and rubbed them like a fly does. "Then here's what's going to happen…"
The plan was typical Keller- a mad production dashed with insanity and laden with fire and explosions throughout. Outlandish enough to be possible, and just insane enough to be doable. Go figure.
After each person in the room had received their assignment, Keller had cast a fresh glance towards the Spartan, standing off to one side in the shadows. "David, you look like hell."
A dry laugh emanated from the general area of where the soldier's head was. "Really? I had no idea."
"No, I mean you look more like hell than normal." Keller turned back towards his table of maps and graphs. "Get yourself checked out with the doctor then get some rest."
"Is that an order, Captain Keller?"
"An order? Ah, no. However, if you don't do it, I'll just pull my pistol and put a few rounds into your knee caps. Make sure you get plenty of rest then. Gotta operate at one hundred and ten percent, David."
"Yeah, yeah." David gave a sarcastic salute to the ONI captain, offered a curt nod to Claire, and shuffled out of the command center.
Matt glanced over his shoulder. His blue eyes were twinkling with an amused light. "Excellent job, bringing him back in one piece."
Claire grunted in reply.
Matt continued regardless. "It's especially impressive, considering he was in two pieces when he left."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Claire asked without the vague animosity she felt.
"When he left this morning, you could see in his posture that all he was thinking about was killing the Covenant. He wasn't a man; he was a cardboard cutout of it. He stood like a statue and moved like a robot. Now you're back, and he shuffles and grunts and moves with a tired gait. He's human again." Matt scratched his cheek with long, dirty nails and shrugged. "I'm a little sad actually. I was starting to like the robot."
Claire walked out of the command post without giving him the comment he was practically begging for.
That was nearly over five hours ago. Since then Claire had briefed Sergeant Khaled and his "Hummingbirds", snagged a supply of rations from the stockpile (along with a bottle of liquor that no one seemed to be paying attention to, all alone at the bottom of a cardboard box) and fell asleep next to a makeshift campfire, while Katy and Sugar jabbered on about the upcoming assault. She woke up around one to find the fire cold and her two fellow ODST's asleep, Katy's head snuggled next to Sugars armored shoulder. It as against reg's, but Claire wasn't exactly in the mood to be enforcing protocol that a bunch of big-wigs back on Reach or Earth had made in the comfort of their temperature regulated office spaces. She got up, stretched, and remembered the bottle she had snagged. Picking it up from her rucksack, she walked quietly through the tunnel, sidestepping sleeping civilians whose worn faces were relaxed with heavy sleep. She found a small alcove off to the side, far from prying eyes, and sitting down on the cold floor, she pulled an old fashioned "Zippo" lighter from one of her cargo pockets, flicked it on, and studied the label of the bottle.
The ornate engraving of the glass she had felt earlier, but it wasn't until she was staring the 500 cR price tag in the face that she truly appreciated the fact that she had snagged a very special bottle of whiskey. Claire glanced at the luminous dial of her combat watch. 13:25. If the Scarab hadnt landed yet it still had plenty of time too. No sense in getting wasted before a big op like this. Still, that whiskey…
One drink, just to calm the nerves, she told herself. Breaking the seal on the cap, she unscrewed the cap and sniffed. The alcohol had a heavy odor, thick but not unpleasant. Claire took a sip. Truth be told, she didn't know much about whiskey, but this…Damn! This was certainly fine.
She settled back into a comfortable position and took another sip. She'd go and find David in a moment. Right now, she needed this moment alone.
A moment was exactly what she got.
Her ears picked up a low whistle, right above her. By now she was too awake to move suddenly. Her eyes flitted upwards. A towering shadow, framed against the faint half-light, loomed over her. Out of the darkness a massive gauntlet offered her a cup.
She smiled, heartbeat returning to normal. Putting the bottle aside, she accepted the cup. "Thank you," she said, but not really saying it, more mouthing it (Which, her mind reflected, was absolutely ridiculous in the pitch dark).
"Anytime," David's voice cut through the dimness of the tunnel with gruff ease. Carefully, he stepped over Claire's legs and lowered himself to the ground, sipping from his own cup.
Claire drank deeply from the cup, cool water cleaning away the subtle burning left by the whiskey like water over smoldering coals. They sat in that companionable silence for what seemed like quite awhile, the only sounds coming from the gentle snores and occasional sleepy mutterings from the refugees, twenty feet from them and a million miles away. The two soldiers, Spartan and ODST, pondered on this as they took sips from their cups and fumbled for the words they were failing to grasp, words that each felt needed to be said.
It was David who finally broke down. Years on his own, both figuratively and literally, had inured him to silence, but silence between himself and someone he considered a close friend was something that disturbed him in ways even torture at the hands of alien soldiers could not.
"So you're alive." He grit his teeth the instant the words left his mouth. A billion words in the English language, and you come up with that?
Claire smiled, a smile that could almost be felt in the dark. "Yeah, I am. I was wondering if you'd notice."
David blew air out of his nose. "Yeah, I always was slow on the uptake when it came to practical jokes." A faint starchiness had entered his voice. Claire picked up on it immediately and her throat tightened. She loosened it with a long sip of water.
David continued. "I suppose it's only fair. I disappear; you should have the right to do the same. Tit for tat, as that old saying goes, right?"
Now her jaw tightened. "You done?" She whispered, not fiercely, but with enough force to cause a normal person to flinch. She didn't wait for him to respond. "Good, then you can go. Cause if all you came over here with your lousy cup of water for was to try and make me feel guilty about something I had almost no control over, then congratulations Spartan-009," she spat, placing special emphasis on the Double-Oh Nine, "mission accomplished."
She had roused herself, back ramrod straight, as she spoke. Now she slouched back and looked towards the rest of the refugee's in the tunnel, wondering if any of them had heard the echoes of her words. Her eyes fell on one boy, so young his ball's probably hadn't dropped yet, sleeping in a corner, cradled next to a tired looking woman with dirty blonde hair. The woman was wide awake, one long fingered hand gently stroking the boys hair. Both had faces that looked like the faces of corpses, drawn and faded gray with premature age. She wondered if the woman- the boy's mother, she assumed- had heard her.
David sighed, a slow patient sound. "No, no, it's more like mission failed. Making you feel guilty was the last thing I had on my mind. It's funny, how the furthest things on our minds end up being the things we act upon. Must be subconscious or something." He took a sip of water, throat moving. "I'm sorry."
Now it was Claire's turn to sigh. "Yeah, me too."
"Why? I'm the one who started it."
"Yeah, but I'm the one who continued it." Claire drained the last drops of water from her cup and put it down. It clanged gently against the ground. After staring deeply into its interior for a moment, a thought suddenly occurred to her. She chuckled.
"What is it?"
She grinned in the darkness. "You realize that this was how our conversations were back when we first met? You'd say something bull headed, I'd get pissed off, and you'd have to crawl on your belly and beg forgiveness before we could actually start talking."
"Great." He groaned. "We're back at square one."
"Damn right we are." She chuckled, leaned back, and picked up the bottle of scotch and took a sip.
She heard David shift in his place. "What's that?"
"Hmm?" She quickly lowered the bottle. "Nothing."
He took a deep sniff. "Whiskey?"
She hesitated. "Yeah?" His voice was unreadable.
"Hmm."
"Yep."
"Expensive?"
"Five hundred credits."
"Humph. In other words, an arm and a leg."
She relaxed; his voice held no reproach, the way it might with any other soldier catching an officer drinking (in an Area of Operations, Avalos? What in the pluperfect hell are you thinking?, her mind yelled in the voice of her drill sergeant from back in Basic). It held only the rare warmth that she remembered, the warmth that came with a crinkling bemusement around his normally cold eyes, as if he was amused by his own good humor. It was warmth that she had almost forgotten, yet it was all rushing back, like music that had been deeply ingrained in her mind.
What he said next, however, shocked her back into reality.
"Can I try it?"
She almost choked, coughed, and wiped her mouth. "What?"
"Could I have a sip of that whiskey?" He said again, patiently.
She hesitated, still not sure if she was hearing him right or if the alcohol was starting to impact her hearing, then passed him the bottle. "Sure."
He grasped the bottle, then hesitated. A noise of indecision stuck in his throat. "Ah," he mumbled, then picked up his now empty cup and poured out a small sample (although a better phrase would have been "rather generous shot").
"You don't have to do that. I don't have cooties." She teased playfully
"Yeah, but I might." He shot back automatically.
"I think I can handle cooties."
He sighed. "Yeah, I'm afraid of that too." There was silence as he took a sip.
"Well?"
"That is a pretty good whiskey. I don't think its worth five hundred credits, but its pretty good whiskey nonetheless." He took another sip. "Smooth."
She accepted the bottle as he passed it back to her, then screwed the cap on again; time and experience had taught her that alcohol mixed with two people could have pretty dire consequences, even if one of those people was an emotionally crippled Spartan.
"I never took you for the drinking type."
"It's a bad habit I acquired recently."
"Oh? What brought that about?"
"Truthfully? You did."
Claire's head shot up, her eyes widening. David seemed to sense her shock, and continued, his voice sad, gruff, and bitterly ironic.
"Yeah, after you and the rest of the Wolfs Sun was declared KIA, I sort of sunk into this…frenzied period, I guess would be the best phrase for it. I started to drink, heavily, for no reason at all. I started to snap, lash out at people for no particular reason. And that was off the battlefield. On the battlefield, I went berserk. I killed a lot of aliens. Grunts, Jackals, Elites, those big ugly Brute bastards- I would dive headfirst into a firefight and kill anything in my way. I just wanted to shed some blood. After awhile, it didn't really matter whose it was."
His voice cracked on the last syllable, and he hid his embarrassment behind a long, slow sip of whiskey. Claire shifted uncomfortably, cleared her throat, and spoke the first words that came into her head. "I would've thought…Celsius, she would have kept you inline…?"
"She would have, if she had lived that long."
Claire blinked. "David, I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Seven years, that's the standard lifespan of a 'smart' AI. After that, and they literally start thinking themselves to death. I guess you could call it technologies version of cancer, cause it killed her just as slowly and as painfully as cancer would." He chuckled, a dry, bitter sound. "I didn't start to accept it until she started speaking in combinations of Latin and German. By then it was too late for any form of closure, or anything that would have made this easier for me. So I told her it was an honor serving with her, uploaded her into her data crystal, and ground it to powder. Threw what was left into the river outside my barracks."
Claire listened to this sober testimony, her heart growing slightly heavier with every syllable. On one level, she realized that it was just plain silly- a soldier this broken up over the termination of an artificial intelligence, a glorified computer program. But on a deeper level, one that she had not tapped since she had watched high school graduate Matt Keller disappear into the ether and leave her with a broken heart to try and mend, she understood it completely- a man with few friends and fewer family lost the closest thing he had to one or the other. It wasn't sad, or even pathetic; it was offensive. If God was out there (and Claire had already begun to doubt whether he actually was) this should have been something he would have prevented; he would have looked down from his shining throne, seen David at whatever point when he had been left alone to fend for himself, and said, "Hold on, that's not how the script goes. I got to set this shit right!" and POOF! time would rewind, and David would be back at the start, safe, warm, with whatever family he had before the universe slapped him upside the head and sent him into the cold embrace of Admiral Bristow and the f#king ONI.
In Claire's line of thinking, the mere fact that this had been allowed to happen, was offensive. Sorrow she could deal with; but offensive, offensive broke her up inside.
But this was a concept that she couldn't fully articulate at the best of times, certainly not in the early morning, trapped in an underground tunnel of a besieged planet and the influence of alcohol already playing hell with her thinking (damn whiskey), so all she could get out was, "I'm real sorry, David."
"It's not your fault, not really."
"Yeah, well, I still feel like shit anyway." She fiddled with the bottle in her lap. "And I'm sorry about Lee, too."
"Wasn't your fault either. Statistically speaking, he should have been dead on his first mission. It was that old luck of the Spartans that kept him alive all this time. Jennifer too. My fault for getting close to them. My fault for getting close to you, Katy, Atwood, Schaefer, too." He added, as an afterthought.
"That's not something you can help, David. No one can work three months with the same team without getting close to them." Claire murmured patiently. "And don't try to argue me with some macho Spartan bullshit, it won't work. Much as you try pretend, you're still human."
"Maybe. But who says I was pretending?"
Now it was Claire's turn to sigh. "You are in-f*#king-corrigible, I just want you to know that." She lapsed into silence and toyed with the bottle in her hands. Something else was nagging at her, something that related to David's arm- more specifically, his arm and the shape it took wrapped around the shoulders of that smaller Spartan, Jennifer. As usual, when something was nagging at her inside, she got out in the open immediately. "What about Jennifer?"
"What about her?"
"I saw the way she held you, back there in the ONI base. She likes you, a lot. It'd be obvious to anyone, even to a silly SOB like you." Claire tried to make out the expression on his face, etched in profile in the dim light, and got nothing for her trouble.
David was silent for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, and then spoke. "Yeah, it is obvious. Back on Agricola, when you first showed up, she said…" He chuckled, quietly, at the memory, "she said that we ought to get some R & R together. She was bleeding out, I thought she was delirious. It was stupid to think that, in hindsight."
Claire was now exceedingly uncomfortable. "Well, I just thought you should now…"
"I'm not as silly as you think." David said simply. "I know she likes me. She might love me, if that's possible for a Spartan. The III-series didn't receive the same treatments as me or the others, so it might be possible that her emotions, what's there, are still functioning."
Claire remembered the look in Jennifer's eyes when she told her she could tag along to rescue David. It was as if she had told her she could go through the Pearly Gates and on into Heaven. "I'd say it's very possible." She took another sip from the bottle. "Did you ever…I mean, did you…?"
David was so silent she started to wonder if he had somehow drifted off into sleep. Then came the answer.
"Yes. Once."
Then he explained.
Six months earlier. A small habitable moon colony that the Covenant had taken a fancy to. Lee and Jennifer had been permanently assigned to his outfit by this time.
Midnight, maybe 0100 hours. Time had lost most of its meaning. Covenant armor had been trading fire with UNSC artillery on and off for the past twelve hours. He found himself flinching every time the bombardment flared up, tensing up in the lulls in-between. Lee and Jennifer were doing even worse. The civilians had been evacuated; they were stuck in this underground bunker they were in until one or both sides annihilated each other.
He is jettisoned out of a thin depression of sleep as the bombardment starts up again. The high octave shrieks of UNSC 440's compete with the reverberating bass whine of Covenant plasma mortars; the cacophony of sounds tore through his whole being and set his teeth on edge. He shifts, feeling his shoulder tighten where a stray energy bolt had broken through his armor and burned the skin. His upper body armor was lying in a heap next to him. Next to impossible to sleep with it on.
Lee is on the other side of the bunker, trying to jury-rig a communications uplink and call in an evac. He's been at it for six hours.
His head snaps to the side as a low moan issues from his right. Jennifer, covered in a space blanket, thrashes in a sleepy struggle against the noise her brain was screaming against. She had taken a high speed Carbine round to the abdomen earlier and her most of her armor had been removed as the team medic had examined her.
He looks away as the blanket slides off her. She's wearing a gray tank top and a pair of…what had Claire once called them? "Short-shorts"? That sounded about right. Either way, he shouldn't be looking. Not simply because it was bad taste to be staring, but also because too much was visible, and strange feelings, the likes of which he had never felt before, were causing his stomach to tighten.
Then Jennifer screams. It's a high, keening note that somehow rises above the noise of artillery strikes.
"Private!" The bark comes out of a mouth that doesn't seem to be a part of him. He scrambles over and grabs her by her shoulders, shaking her- albeit as gently as he can manage.
"Wake up! WAKE UP!"
To his surprise, he see's she is already awake. Her eyes are pale and frightened. He is struck dumb by the pain he beheld in them.
"Are you okay?"
"No." She whispers shakily. "No, I'M NOT OKAY!"
"Yeah, this I can see." Those words are said on reflex; the thunderous noise of the artillery combined with the sheer power of those frightened eyes had snap frozen his synapses processes.
Clumsily, he puts his arms around her, feeling her shoulder blades, like sharp bird wings, through the thin material of her tank top. She buries her face in his chest, sobbing but no tears coming out.
"Jen, you have to calm down. We're going to be out of here soon, I promise…"
"I can't stand it anymore." She sobs into his T-shirt. "I keep waking up to this FUCKING SHELL FIRE!" She screams these last words, raising her head towards the ceiling. "JUST STOP IT ALREADY!"
The bombardment continues regardless, sending peals of thunder shaking down to the core of the bunker.
"Jen, please." He whispers into her ear. He cups her face in his calloused hands, looks her straight in the eyes. The sheer terror, now mixed with pure unadulterated hatred, was still there, but he matches her gaze with his own. Gradually her eyes focus on his, and the high voltage energy fades from them.
"I know you're tired. I am too. You're not alone in this, I swear. I'm right here with you," he says, looking straight into her eyes, almost lambent in the dim light. "I'm right here with you."
She says nothing, but wraps her arms around him, tucking her head under his chin. He hugs her back, trying to transfer some of the warmth he feels into her.
"This can't go on forever." She whispers into his neck. He feels his skin tighten as- goose bumps, are they called?- spread across his spine.
"It wont," He murmurs into her hair. The scent of shampoo mixed with her sweat tickled his nostrils. It suddenly occurs to him that he can feel her warmth through her clothes. Almost at random, he tries to remember the last time he had a drink of water. His mouth seems pretty dry, must have been a good couple of hours ago.
The artillery fire cuts off with one last good bang, a shriek from another 440, and in its wake the relative silence underground was deafening. Jen looks up into his face, her eyes wet. She manages a weak smile.
He finds that he lacks the strength to smile back. "You okay now?"
"No- but I'm getting there. You?"
"Same." Her eyes are captivating him again, freezing his thoughts. He twists his head to look away, and as he does, his lip brush hers.
He freezes, his heart thumping painfully now in his chest; he's sure she can feel it through his shirt. He turns back, see's the blissful expression on her face. He tries to get some words out, perhaps an apology, and can only manage a dry stutter. "Eh…"
They both lean forward and their lips brush a second time. She closes her eyes and nudges her nose against his.
Something inside him breaks down. He cradles her face in his hands and kisses her deeply on the mouth, feeling excitement and terror exploding like a Shiva warhead in his chest as she kisses him back. She rises out of his grip and settles into his lap, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. The warmth of her mouth over his seems to be burning and freezing him at the same time, intense heat encased in intense cold all at once.
They both fall to the foldout sleeping mat, lips locked together, oblivious to the rest of the world.
Outside, the artillery barrage heats up again.
Neither one of them notice.
He finished his story and found himself with the same dry mouth he had had on that night six months ago. The whiskey had done him no good, not that it ever had before.
In the darkness (his surgically enhanced eyes adapted better than most) Claire was studying him, trying to read him. David stayed silent, waiting for her response.
Finally she spoke, with a voice that was oddly hollow. "Wow, you Spartans do have some fun."
A normal person would have blushed. David merely shrugged with one shoulder. "Sometimes." He took another sip of whiskey to loosen his throat. "But that was a one time thing," he added quickly, magically forgetting the two other times, once on board an evac ship three months ago, once a month ago in their barracks on Reach.
"Maybe I believe you, and maybe I don't. That's my own business." Claire purred.
"You don't believe me." He stated flatly.
Now it was Claire's turn to shrug. "Well, a couple of things I've learned over the years is that soldiers are still human, no matter what outfit they belong to you or what their training is. And sometimes, when soldiers hit a life-or-death situation or are pushed to the breaking point, the best way to calm down is to celebrate life in the most basic way possible: procreation."
"Hmm," David grunted. "It sounds like you're reducing us to nothing more than animals driven by instinct."
Now her gaze was distant as well. "Sometimes I think we are." She looked away, wrestling with her next problem. David had told the truth, the one she had already suspected. She could only repay the favor in kind…
"You got something else to add?" He questioned.
"What would give you that idea?"
"Your silence speaks for itself."
Claire took another sip, to steel her nerves. The memory she was dredging up, considering sharing now with David, was a painful one at best. It wasn't something she was proud of.
"Yeah." She said. "I've got one more thing to add."
Onboard the stolen Covenant ship. Two days after they had detonated the experimental warhead, six days after they had hit the groundside of that shitty little moon in the middle of nowhere, one week after the Wolfs Sun, with her good Captain, hit the far side of the that shitty little moon and sent a jet of flame rocketing almost into the atmosphere.
She was striding through the purple-blue hued corridors of the ship towards the expansive space area that Keller had requisitioned as his 'quarters'. No, 'striding' wasn't the right word; 'stalking' was more like it, stalking through the corridors with the long, smooth legged gait of a jungle cat, muscles sheathed in smooth skin and eyes feral under her dark sheen of hair.
Most of the crew was tinkering in what passed for the CIC, with considerable aid from the bloated, floating Covenant "Engineers" (floating squids was more like it). The combat elements of the survivors- Marines, ODST's, NAVSPECWAR operatives- were cadging food or sleep in the drop ship launch bay.
The hatch in front of her slid open with a quiet hiss. Keller stood over a makeshift workbench, examining navigational charts or something or other. His back was to her.
"Yes?"
Claire leaned against the bulkhead, her face vacant and interior. "One hundred ships patrolling space between this sector and Reach, and you just had to pick the one I'm on. Is that right?"
"That's more than right in fact. That is dead right. In fact, that is so right it should be wrong." Keller turned to face her, a gently ironic smile on his lips. "Frankly, when I was given choice on which ship I could 'commandeer', I saw the Wolf's Sun's vector and couldn't look away. It seems I'm a slave to instincts, just like the rest of us."
"Uh-huh." Claire said dismissively. She took a few confident steps into the quarters, her movements languid but purposeful. She shook her head sadly. "I don't know what happened to you, Matt. You used to be one of the good guys, somebody I could trust."
Now it was Matt's turn to shake his head. "Claire, Claire, Claire," he purred condescendingly. "you have it all wrong. I'm still a good guy here. Maybe you just need to redefine your definition of good."
"That's straight up BS, and it's coming straight out of your mouth. Nobody redefine's good…"
"Nobody redefines good? Human's have been redefining good since the word existed. All it takes to redefine good is a situation where it needs to be redefined to suit the needs of whoever's using it. Once you think about it logically, there is no good. And if there isn't any good, then there can't be any evil either."
The devout Roman Catholic in Claire was irked by Matt's blatant disregard for the concepts of good and evil, but that was beside the point now. This was a game that two could play, and she intended to come out on top. "Well if there's no good, and no evil, then what else is there?"
"Power." He said the word with near religious reverence. "Power over other people, power over your friends and enemies, power to use and power to exploit. I tell ya, I could write a book about the subject, except I think some asshole already beat me to the punch."
She takes another step or two towards him. "Power over people? Through what, force? Violence?" She's close enough to be standing in his shadow now.
"Not even that. A person desires another person, and that person has power over the one who wants them. You should know; you had that power over me once."
She's close enough to reach out and touch his uniform. She makes no move. "Does it pain you to admit that?"
He takes a step towards her now, and wags a finger in her face. "Still have that fire in you? I always liked that about you." He reaches out and touches her shoulder.
He's on edge, she realizes. His fingers are shaking, minute vibrations that are almost impossible to pick up through the fabric of her sleeve.
"Power over another person. It's intoxicating, isn't it?" She murmurs, then stretches on her tiptoes and locks her lips to his.
He responds immediately, almost violently, wrapping his long arms around her. She can taste his excitement through his mouth. No matter how much he might pretend otherwise, he wanted her.
…Intoxicating.
Claire finished her story quietly, contemptuously, hating that playback of that moment that ran through her mind.
David's expression, hidden in the shadows he had seated himself in, was all but unreadable. He hadnt made a sound while Claire recounted her encounter with Keller onboard the stolen Covenant ship. Now in the wake of her tale, the silence felt deafening. She bit her lower lip, waiting for his reaction.
"That's it?"
Third surprise of the evening.
"What do you think?" she asked without feeling.
He answered with slow words, picking them out carefully. "I think, that if you had gone any farther than what you just described, you wouldn't have wanted to tell me in the first place."
Claire shook her head. "I don't know why I did that, looking back on it now. I just felt…powerless, completely fucking powerless, after everything finally ground to a halt. The Wolfs Sun, the NOVA bomb, everything." She sighed, fighting the tears that were starting to threaten now. "I know I'm a soldier, I understand what comes with the territory. Following orders is nine-tenths of doing my job. But that feeling…"
"The feeling that you're just a pawn on a chessboard?"
"Yeah," she hiccupped. "Call it what you like, but that feeling sucks balls."
David let out a half cough, half hoarse laugh in the darkness. It took a moment to recompose himself. Claire shoved him- or tried to, he was too heavy to be shoved- with the tip of her boot. "Pendejo!"
David took a deep breath, still chuckling on the inside. "My apologies Claire. I wasn't laughing at you. Its just that expression…"
"What? 'sucks balls'?"
This time David had to clap his gauntlet over his mouth to stifle the torrent of laughter. He shook in place, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, wondering in the back of his mind what exactly was so funny about it.
"Stop it!" Claire whispered fiercely, then fell to laughing herself. For the space of two minutes, the only sounds were those of the two soldiers muffled guffaws.
Once they had canned their good humor and caught their breath, David wiped his nose and smiled shyly. "Thanks Claire. I hadn't had a good laugh in a long time."
"Hey, you're not the only one." Claire slid a cigarette into her mouth. As she ignited her Zippo lighter, the flame caught the sheen of David's armor. "Hmm."
"What?"
"Your armor. It looks…different."
"Yeah." David shifted into a more comfortable position. "During the incursion, I sent after action reports to Bristow back on Reach. He had his tech team review them, and the second I got back they started hitting me with all kinds of accessories and modifications."
"Looks like an extreme makeover to me." In the light of the weak flame, Claire noticed that the armors chest plate was slightly bulkier, more intricate, with a tactical webbing and a sheathed knife attached to it. The standard shoulder pauldrons had been replaced with an asymmetric set, the left one being much larger and concave shaped. His helmet, cradled in his lap, had changed entirely: gone was the yellow jack o' lantern smile, replaced by a squat, rugged looking helmet with distinct mouth guards and two narrow, grim looking eyes in the place of a visor.
David tapped his helmet. "The 'Rogue'. I picked it up a couple of months ago. Thought it was time to stop screwing around with that Smiley-face visor."
"Okay," Claire murmured, then pointed towards his right hand, "but, what the hell is that?"
The forearm had been supplemented with what looked like a buckler type contraption. The standard gauntlet had been replaced with a shining, brutal looking metal glove. Sharp ridges lined the fingers, and rounded knobs covered each area over the knuckles.
David smiled and flexed his fingers. "UNSC/Cestus, a little device the tech team built especially for me."
"For what?"
"I think their exact words were, 'In case you ever feel the need to ditch your gun and pound shit into pulp with your fists'."
Claire could understand the bluntness of the description. The Cestus was a brutal looking contraption; in the light of the Zippo's flame, shining in mute oiliness, it seemed to speak for itself: I could be plenty fucking mean if I wanted to be. You bet your fur I could. Just give me a chance to show you…A ripple of unease echoed down her spine.
Then her eyes flicked to David's. He was examining his right hand with grim respect, as if he heard what the Cestus had said and took it to heart- while simultaneously promising himself that he would never give it the chance it seemed to desire. Just looking at that expression made Claire feel a bit better. David understood the danger that weapon presented. He would respect it, and control it. He was still in control, regardless of much he had fucked up before. He was still the warrior she remembered.
She shifted once more, pressing her toes against the opposite wall. The whiskey had warmed her and she felt drowsiness start to eat at her vision again. She murmured, "Tell me more about your armor mods."
"You don't want to hear about all the technical bull."
"Yeah I do. I want to hear what the techs had to say about your other accessories, like that hard case on your hip."
David chuckled warmly. " 'Hard case on my hip'. Yeah, one technician- a young guy, with a really active imagination and a penchant for dirty jokes- had a lot to say about the hard case…"
So once again, in the middle of a dark, dangerous combat zone, Claire was lulled to sleep by the vaguely gruff, surprisingly animated, and overall comforting tones of David's voice as he talked about his armor. As she drifted away, she thought about Déjà vu, and a faint uneasiness pricked her, Time seems to be circling on itself. What will the rest of the night bring?...
'The rest of the night' started approximately a half hour later. As David lounged against the wall, trying to sleep so his battered body could recharge and rejuvenate, his enhanced ears picked up a string of quiet words, coming in the general direction of Captain Keller's makeshift Operations Center.
"Sir…? Sensors in Sector Gamma 6-3 just picked up a big blip…"
"How big?"
"Huge, sir. Like, off the fuckin' map."
"Can they ID it?"
"Hang on…oh, shit…"
"Ultra heavy?"
An answer so quiet he cannot hear it.
"About time...I was starting to get antsy..."
A dreadful banging- the sound of steel pipe hitting steel pipe- echoed down the tunnel, jerking women and children rudely out of sleep. David's eyes snapped open and he rose to his feet in one fluid movement. Claire uttered a sleepy "uh?" and stumbled to her feet. "What the hell?..."
The banging went on for another ten seconds before subsiding. Keller's voice, cheerful in a way that was anything but comforting, echoed down the tunnel. "General alert, ladies and gentlemen! All military and resistance combat elements prep for battle! Squad leaders, assemble in the operations center lickety-split!"
Claire picked up her bottle of whiskey. "Scarabs here." Her voice was flat.
David took a moment to respond. In that moment, the space of maybe three seconds, he had mentally analyzed his physical condition and reasoned that he was maybe at 60% full strength, about 52% combat readiness, wounds, exhaustion, and all. If Keller's half baked, half insane cockamamie "symphony" were to hit a snag, and they had to improvise, he might not be able to pick up any slack that came his way. He also reasoned that if things were to go to Plan B, and Claire's life was put in jeopardy, he would immediately replace guarding her as his primary objective, completing the mission as secondary, and getting everyone out alive- himself included- as tertiary.
All this went through his head in the space of three seconds as he picked up his helmet. "Yeah, I think you're right."
"Go time." Claire sounded dead tired but resolute. She unscrewed the cap and bit off a snort. She offered the bottle to him. "One for the road?"
A memory suddenly clarified itself in David's mind. During the Hydra Incursion, the hey-day of TORN VICTOR, there had been an Air Force Commando named Paulson. A quiet guy who liked his cigarettes. Before one ground operation, David had found himself in the loading bay next to Paulson. Paulson had lit up (against regs, but really, who was around to give a damn?) and offered the pack to David. "One for the road, sir?" he had said. David had politely declined; Paulson was KIA forty-five minutes later. A Needler Carbine quill had punctured his armor and lodged itself into his lung, and he drowned in his own blood before the medic's could get to him. He had taken his One for the Road, and died not an hour later.
David shook his head no. "Save it. I'll take one after we blow up that Scarab."
Claire glanced at him curiously, then shrugged. "Alright." She grabbed her helmet. "I'm gonna get my squad together and meet you in the Ops Center."
"See you there." He looked after her as she disappeared into the darkness.
It didn't bother him that she didn't understand why he had refused One for the Road, or the implications of his asking for One after the Road.
He intended to survive this night.
[12 September 2551]
[City Center, Romagna, Angelus-II]
[0204 Hours]
Captain Matthew Keller's breath curled like smoke in the cold night air. He puffed out more steam, smiling to himself as the delicate clouds curled around his head.
Where there's smoke there's fire.
No fire yet, but there will be. Yes, all the fire any man could ever want. Flames to warm a man's cold, cold heart on this bitter black night.
Beside him, the weary eyed Corporal Markovich shivered visibly. Standard issue Marine ballistic armor blocked a variety of bullets, shrapnel, and to some extent plasma, but it couldn't chase away the chill of a winter nights wind.
"What do you think Corporal?" His voice was as cold and dry as the air that curled around his head.
Markovich coughed, a dry, rattling sound. "I say its bunk sir. Either we're gonna get spammed, the Covies are gonna get spammed, or a miracle happens and we both get spammed." Markovich, like many other noncoms in the field, didn't seem to be afraid of articulating his inner thoughts.
Keller adjusted the heavy rain cape draped over one shoulder. It fluttered in the night wind, giving him the profile of a dark hero watching over his city.
No, no dark hero. David's our dark hero tonight.
The Spartan had walked into the ops center looking like he had gone twelve rounds with a heavyweight boxer in a blending machine, in no condition to be anywhere except a hospital. His shoulders were set, however, and his eyes held their same grim determination that had become characteristic of him. Keller had looked at him and suggested (with equal parts humor and seriousness) that maybe he should sit this one out. He smiled more broadly as he remembered the Spartans response.
You sit me out and half of those Hummingbirds wont ever fly again, and you goddamn well know that. I'm going, and I'm coming back alive, me and every one of those ODST's
"Every one of those ODST's" happened to include Claire.
They were nearby, David and Claire and the Hummingbirds, only about three hundred meters off, perched on two rooftops on opposite sides of the main causeway. It was a wide causeway, and beautiful in an efficient, ergonomic sense.
This whole city is beautiful, he thought with a childlike wonder as he gazed at David and Claire with one group of Hummingbirds, Khaled and another group on opposite sides. David is right in watching over it. He really is a dark hero.
But he couldn't have this city to watch over, not only because he didn't belong in one place, but because Keller was planning to blow it up and burn it down in about a half hours time. And that was also right, because this city, this whole Godforsaken planet, was going to burn, and Keller would rather be the one to burn it than the unimaginative, inartistic Covenant. No style, no sense of flair and showmanship.
Speaking of which…
He pressed his hand to his earpiece. "Alright kiddies, the show is going to start soon. Are we all in our places with our sunshiny faces?"
"Assault team in place, for what good it does, Captain." Claire's voice floated disdainfully over the comm.
"Ground team in position. Waiting on your go." This response came from teams of troopers and militia, armed with SPNKR rockets, salvaged Covenant Fuel Rod Guns, and scores of Plasma grenades, hidden in the middle floors and ground levels of abandoned buildings lining the causeway.
"Scarab bait in position, not that there's any Scarab in sight sir." Sergeant Bridger's voice sounded slightly muffled. "We've been through the target sector and two others on each side and no dice. You sure you sensors didn't just fuck up and send us on a wild goose chase?"
"No, no they didn't fuck up." Keller said this so quietly and so earnestly Bridger chose not to respond. "Keep looking, and don't worry."
"Why, cause its all going according to plan?" David chimed in, sounding exhausted even over the comm.
"No, because its not going according to plan."
Another five minutes of dead silence passed before Bridger's voice crackled over the channel.
"Fuck my sainted mother."
Keller smiled dreamily into the cold, clear darkness.
Bridger continued, voice lowered to a tense whisper. "I got eyes on target, repeat, eyes on target. And it is the biggest, fattest goddamn cocksucker Scarab you ever laid eyes on."
"Details, details, details, details…" Keller said impatiently.
"Its got a combat air patrol with it. Phantom gunship, flanked by a squad of Banshees. Four, I count four. Got four Ghosts milling around its legs. Its heading east along Grid Gamma 6-1."
Keller listened to this, hand to his ear, with a bored expression. He rolled his neck in his socket and gave the order. "Play time. Be the rabbit, Sergeant Bridger."
"I take it back. Fuck my sainted father." Bridger pronounced the word fadder.
"Do it."
"Goddamnit…" Bridger breathed over the comm. "Alright, rabbit team, lets go. Weapons hot."
Two kilometers to the east of Keller's rooftop vantage point, there was a thin, muffled roar as Sergeant Bridger and a dozen volunteers, riding in a standard LRV, a Gauss 'Hog, a Troop Transport Hog (incidentally, the same one Claire had driven earlier that evening), and a civilian truck jury rigged with an HMG, opened fire with everything they had: 12.7mm MG rounds, 25mm Aluminum shells, 7.62's and 105mm HEAT shells from a single SPNKR launcher. The flurry of projectiles hit and destroyed two Ghosts and caught the attention of the Scarab and its air patrol. The Scarabs main gun adjusted trajectory and looked down upon the cluster of human vehicles like an apocalyptic insect.
"I think we got its attention."
Across and to the left of Keller's vantage point, Claire listened with rapt attention as Bridger and his team started playing chicken with the 20,000 ton Scarab.
"Collinson, Roberts, flank around and get in back of her. Steer her to me and Reyes. Watch that nose! Bitch is charging up her main cannon!"
There was a mechanical scream and a resonating boom as the Scarab lifted its legs and began moving, ever so slowly, being prodded by the four smaller vehicles racing around its base.
A bright light exploded in the distance; the Scarab discharged its main gun. Bridger cackled madly, echoing over the comm. "Too early, you ugly crotch! Reyes, adjust your gun and hit that cannon, see if you can make it flinch!"
Claire shook her head. "He's really getting into the heat of the moment." She said to David, standing at her right.
David had been listening to the chatter as well, but with a less intensive interest. He had been rummaging around a med kit, slapping together various components- epinephrine shot, caffeine and glucose supplements, vial of morphine- and, mixing them into a single syringe, injected it into his armor's Biofoam dispenser. He'd forgotten to load the dispenser with the healing agent before leaving the underground base, and he figured his concoction, which would dull the pain from his still-burning wounds and sharpen his fatigued mind and body, would be a half-decent substitute.
"It's the adrenaline." He said as he felt the artificial adrenaline make its way through his veins. "He doesn't have time to be scared. There's no past or future; there's only now, and whatever the next five seconds brings."
Five seconds later, Collinson screamed over the comm. "Can't shake these Banshees! Roberts, give me some covering fi…"
There was the dull boom of a Banshee's fuel rod cannon firing, and Collinson was silenced in a burst of static. Another voice screamed. "You sons of bitches!" followed by the sharp electric snap of a Gauss cannon shot.
"Collinson is down, repeat, Collinson is down!" Bridger roared.
"You can't make a cake without breaking a few eggs." Keller's voice, sharpened with a slightly nasal quality by the comm., held disinterest and nothing more.
Claire glared in his general direction before turning to face David. His visor was depolarized and his eyes were frowning with concentration.
"What do you think?"
David took a moment to answer. "Five minutes."
"What?"
"Five minutes to get this done. Three minutes, give or take, to get the Scarab into the kill zone, five seconds to board, thirty seconds to neutralize topside crew, forty-five seconds to neutralize vehicle crew and disable engines, and forty seconds to exfil and find cover before the thing blows up. Five minutes, tops."
"Nice assessment. And if it takes longer than five minutes?"
David could practically hear his limbs crying with exhaustion. He glanced at his lower HUD: 0212 Hours. He has been up and operating, organizing, planning, fighting, bleeding, for twenty-two hours, with only about three hours rest in all. Even as his vision sharpens as the combat cocktail he injected takes effect, he can feel the black edges of burnout eating away at the corners of his eyes.
"Then we improvise." David adjusted his grip on his SMG, checked the second one locked to his hip, and rolled his shoulders under the weight of the jetpack. "And pray, if that makes you feel any better."
"I think I'll pray now." Claire slung her assault rifle, reached under her combat harness, and brought out her service tags. A small silver crucifix jingled among them. She crossed herself, and murmured a Our Father, finishing with "…watch over us as we enter the shadow of war, guide us in our hour of darkness, and give us the strength and courage to emerge safely in the light of victory. Amen."
"Poetic." David remarked. "You really think your God can protect us?"
She knocked her gauntlet against his armored shoulder. "He's not 'my' God, carbon. He's everybody's God."
"Hmmm." David was quiet for a moment. "You believe in him?"
Claire glanced at him and saw he wasn't being sarcastic. "Yeah, I do. I'm hard pressed sometimes, but that's usually when I need to believe in him the most."
David watched her eyes. They held his steadily. Finally he asked, "You really believe he can protect us?"
A rumble beneath their feet caused them to look up.
Five hundred meters off, a massive shadow trundled around the corner. It paused as a light gathered at its tip, then it was illuminated as it fired a horribly bright column of pulsing white energy. The Scarab was enormous, deadly looking, and headed straight for them.
Claire's left hand stole toward her Assault Rifle as her right hand gripped her tags- and the crucifix- tightly.
"I hope so."
David drew his second SMG and racked the bolt. His voice was hoarse, tired.
"Yeah, me too."