Chapter 6

We have not hit a snag, Linda thought. Not yet.

"Hands up!" one of the security officers shouted. Linda looked to the Master Chief, who subtly shook his head at her and raised his hands. He was going to play along. Good. Killing them all would have created more problems than it solved.

Linda quickly identified the lead officer, his name plate listing him as Captain Jackson, by the fact that he was wearing a beret instead of a helmet. His armor was significantly cleaner and more polished than his subordinates, indicating that it did not get as much use. It was also more regal, with bits of gold mixed in with the company colors of blue and red that his subordinates wore. Once all members of the party of off-worlders had raised their hands, he ordered 2 of his soldiers to move forward to pat the party down. Jackson did not separate them to do this, instead having each person checked while the other members of the party were still within easy reaching distance. Had she wanted to, Linda could have killed both officers or used them as hostages without their comrades being able to stop her.

Captain Jackson had no problem with this sloppy execution, opting to continue sneering at each of them in turn. He stood with an imperious air, his every movement and facial expression betraying the utter disdain he had for the people he was holding at gunpoint.

He's vain. Leads from the rear, if not the command center. An incompetent. Views himself as superior to us, Linda thought. She smiled internally, careful to portray only stunned surprise on her actual face.

"Well, well, what do we have here..." he said, moving slightly closer to Linda and the rest of Blue Team. "Some new arrivals, dropped in out of the blue, barely a few days warning. Awfully suspicious, if you ask me."

Linda moved forward a step, speaking in a tone combining deep fear and wounded pride. "I-I was told I would be reporting for duty for an a-administrative position," she began, pretending to struggle to maintain eye contact. "I-I do not a-appreciate being treated-"

"Well I sure as shit don't appreciate being interrupted, Miss!" the leader shouted. He quickly moved to stand about half a meter in front of her and continued shouting. "I have a job to do, and it involves keeping this planet safe! Now I would appreciate it, Miss, if you let me get on with it! Speak up again, and you'll be spending a night in lockup! Clear?!"

Linda nodded, keeping her eyes glued to the floor, and Jackson moved away to begin grilling each of the party members in turn. Good. Now that he had been allowed to dominate and humiliate a white-collar worker, Jackson should be riding high on a power trip. He would skim their IDs and half-listen to their answers, looking for the first thing he could use to attack them. Thus, he would be less observant and easier to manipulate should anything go wrong.

Linda had quickly identified the purpose of their hostile greeting as being simple intimidation. If the local authorities had wanted to arrest them they would have ordered them restrained and brought back to whatever passed for a brig on this colony. If said authorities knew exactly who they were dealing with, they certainly would not have sent a half-dozen poorly trained private security officers and a clown of a "captain" armed with nothing but standard issue assault rifles. If Blue Team was wanted alive they would cooperate to buy time for the UNSC to arrive and take them in to custody; if they were wanted dead, an air strike would be the only sane option Linda could imagine Meridian having access to. Combined with Jackson's demeanor, it hadn't been hard for Linda to realize this was a simple abuse of power by a petty-minded bully. The question was, why did he think he would get away with it? Were such abuses common? Or were the new arrivals acceptable targets?

The rest of her companions didn't have the flair that Linda did, but they knew enough to cooperate and had enough self-restraint not to make Jackson eat his idiotic hat. They answered questions, endured Jackson's shouts, and eventually were ushered into an "office" about the size of 4 phone booths pushed together and forced to fill out paperwork for several hours. The guards never left the entire time, but as everyone had already memorized their new identities that was not a large problem.

After the paperwork, one of the security officers pressed a button on the front wall. Linda and the others got their first view of Governor Sloan as a prerecorded message played, welcoming them to Meridian.

"Greetings!" the holographic miner said enthusiastically in a gruff tone one would imagine coming from such a worker. "Welcome to Meridian, I'm Foreman Sloan, head of mining operations here for the Liang-Dortmund Company. I run all that noisy gear and transport equipment that's gettin' rid of all that glass the terraforming won't quite be able to clear out. In a bit you'll be meeting Administrator Adomar, who'll be your boss for your stay here. Don't worry," he said in a faux-conspiratorial whisper, "he's not as harsh as he looks. The good Mr. Adomar is our leader in this glorious endeavor to bring life back to this lifeless world. A true visionary, and this is his vision..."

The video continued for several minutes, detailing the grand vision of a revitalized Meridian. The mining operations would continue until the level of silicates was reduced enough for the terraforming machines to handle the load. Currently there was only one machine present on the planet, which could be seen as a large, cylindrical complex several dozen kilometers away from Meridian Station itself. The video made sure to give several grand shots of the machine, careful to avoid any angle that might reveal its inner workings to competitors. Said machine provided the majority of the breathable air and performed a number of other tasks to make the settled area livable for the moment. Once the silicate level was low enough, several more terraforming machines would be brought in and the planet's currently toxic environment would be slowly reformed into one resembling Earth's, including forests, plains, viable oceans, etc. The cost of the terraforming would be met by the profits made from selling the mined silicates to other colonies, where they would be used for everything from insulation to health treatments. The process of glass removal should take approximately 10 years, with the terraforming taking an additional 20.

"And once that's done, ah huh, well," the view on the monitor changed from various bits of mining and terraforming equipment to a lush, brightly lit meadow, complete with a running stream and relaxing families. "Life will start again. I look forward to seeing you on the fields, people. Now let's get to work!"

After the video ended they were each given a set of instructions on where and when to appear for work the following day. No mention was made of "Administrator Adomar." They were then told to board a shuttle which would take them to their new domicile in one of the residential districts and unceremoniously shuffled off. Their equipment would be stored in warehouse 3A-42D until such a time as it was required for their work. None of the security officers bothered to examine the crates themselves, let alone their contents, making Linda's efforts to come up with plausible explanations for why they couldn't be opened needless.

As they moved outside, passing the enormous loaders carrying massive containers of silicates to be shipped off-world, Linda waved goodbye to the others. She was careful to only show as much emotion as an ordinary person would after having gone through a humiliating ordeal with a group of strangers. Unlike the others, she would be working in administration, meaning her domicile would be located closer to the city center. She didn't like splitting up, but she was far more comfortable with it than her siblings or Dr. Halsey seemed to be. After all, even when she'd had her own squad, she often found herself operating apart from them.

She was the only true lone wolf on Blue Team.

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Blue Team had been split up for the first time since the Master Chief had returned to active service. He would have to find time to be unhappy about that once everyone was settled into their new roles.

The base of the space elevator was several kilometers away from Meridian Station itself. This allowed the Chief to get a good look at the settlement that would be their new home for the immediate future. Meridian Station was built around the "Administrative Building," which was actually the colony ship Skyward Hope, which had born the first post-glassing settlers to the planet. It had been "beached" and used as an initial shelter by the settlers, later converted to being used for strictly company business. The rest of the settlement was composed of prefabricated structures, the planet itself being unable to support any industry other than silicate exports. The entire city, with a population of over 50,000 people, was composed of prefab units stacked no more than 2 stories tall in a plain grid formation. It was all surrounded by high walls to block the wind and wind turbines to harness renewable power. The 10 story tall Skyward Hope towered over everything. The streets were thankfully paved, but in generally poor upkeep. There were few to no personal vehicles visible as most residents relied upon public transit shuttles. Snaking their way above the streets were power lines, held aloft by plastic telephone poles, which were often covered in graffiti. Trash littered the side of the roadways. All in all, John preferred marine bases.

The Chief, Fred, Kelly, and Dr. Halsey arrived at "Icarus Flats," the housing unit that they would be sleeping in for the foreseeable future. They entered the front door to find a dimly-lit, small lobby area with a plain plastic reception desk and a few poorly maintained chairs. What few people they could see in the building proper glanced at them with mistrust and resentment. Some of the younger ones looked like they might cause trouble. A woman, about 1.5 meters tall with graying hair pulled into a short ponytail, walked up to greet them.

"Name's Evelyn Collins. So, you're the new arrivals?" She asked. She wasn't as aggressive as the security team had been, but her tone and hard stare made it very clear that she was also distrustful of them.

"That's right," John responded. She waited for him to continue. He didn't.

Dr. Halsey stepped in, "Oh, forgive him, he's never been very social. I've known him since he was little and he still barely says anything to me! Please, let us introduce ourselves." Dr. Halsey proceeded to list their cover identities, John as a prospector, Fred as a security man, and Kelly and herself as medical technicians.

"Uh-huh. So why'd you leave the UNSC?" Collins asked. Halsey froze. "It's no use pretending you're not soldiers. Try to slouch all you want, you still walk like someone shoved a steel rod up you asses at birth. Plus, you've got those implants on the backs of your necks," she said, referring to the 4x4cm piece of metal tech that allowed the Spartan's gear to interface directly with their central nervous systems. It was standard issue marine and navy gear as well. "None of you look tired or badly wounded and in my experience you types join for life. So, why'd you quit?"

The Master Chief was about to respond with a lie, the cover story they had come up with back on the micro-prowler, when he unexpectedly thought of why he really had gone rogue. ONI's nefarious modus operandi, the attempt to murder Dr. Halsey...

He must have shown some emotion on his face, because Collins suddenly went from being distrustful to being understanding and sympathetic. "Ah, one of those," she said in an understaning tone. "Don't worry, I know better than to ask too many questions. You wouldn't be the first to get screwed over by the UNSC, believe you me. C'mon, I'll show you about the place."

The lack of a polarized faceplate was really making itself known to the Master Chief. It had worked to his advantage this time, but he would have to be careful to conceal his thoughts and emotions in the future.

Collins gave them what she called "the tour." Icarus Flats was a rectangular building with 2 floors. Each floor was a single, large space filled with small containers, about the length and height of a bunk. This was because each was a sleeping pod meant to contain a human being and what meager objects they managed to possess; it was all the personal space they were afforded. They were stacked in rows, with 4 pods per stack. Those toward the top would have to climb in via a ladder. There was a communal shower/bathroom/laundry area on the first floor and a small recreation area on the second, each separated from the rest of the building by curtains. The small subterranean level contained the climate control equipment and the air filtration unit was mounted on the roof. The building fit 500 people in an amount of space that would fit maybe 2-3 standard houses in an Inner Colony middle class neighborhood. It was also not particularly well cleaned or maintained, the walls and floors showing multiple stains and signs of wear.

The Master Chief noticed the abnormal ethnic diversity present amongst the inhabitants of Icarus Flats. Normally, colonies were founded by a large group of people from a particular part of Earth. Meridian, for example, had originally been a colony from the region historically known as "France," a territory on the European subcontinent. The original settlers had, naturally, been overwhelmingly pale in skin and European in facial structure. In Icarus Flats, however, there was a mix of seemingly every ethnic background Earth had ever produced, from Africans to Asians to Native Americans. For some reason, glassed planets seemed to make for better melting pots than traditional colonies.

"So what colony you from?" Collins asked when she had completed her tour.

"Reach," the Master Chief responded, careful to control his expression this time.

"Ah, that explains it," Collins nodded. "Something about having your planet glassed just seems to make people seek out these terraforming projects. Even if it isn't their own world. Were any of you nearby when it happened?"

John felt a stab of guilt. He remembered being ordered...no...forced to abandon Reach with his siblings and mother still on it. With the Covenant fleet in orbit preparing to glass it and kill everything he had ever been personally close to in this galaxy. He had barely managed to find a way to get back in time to rescue what few survived. The Chief was still careful to control his expression, but no longer knew what to say.

Thankfully, Fred stepped in. "We were fighting on it, actually. Were among the last to make it out. Dragged the Doc here with us. Haven't been able to get rid of her since," he explained. Dr. Halsey snorted at being referred to as such, but nonetheless smiled at her Spartan.

Collins' eyes widened. "That so? Damn. Even I didn't have to go through that." She leaned against the wall before continuing. "I used to live here. On Meridian, I mean. Before the glassing. I came here with the first group that arrived to terraform back in 2553. Somehow, that turned into me being a kind of community leader around here." She nodded to the group before continuing. "I'll spread the word about your history. Haven't seen your records yet, but I've seen your faces. Weren't no lies you told here today. People should be nicer to ya now, Inner Colony background or not."

"Excuse me," Dr. Halsey spoke up. "Did you say 2553? I was under the impression that the first group arrived only 2 years ago."

Collins snorted. "Yeah, I heard of that error. Some kind of bureaucratic mess up, the operation didn't get formally logged until 2556. We were one of the first colony's to get official approval for reconstruction efforts after the end of the War. Trust me. I've been here from the beginning."

"It's just that the state of the planet does not line up with your assertion," Halsey objected. "If mining and terraforming has been going on for as long as you say the planet should be further along in its development. Not livable, certainly, but better than it appears now."

"I don't know what you think you know, ma'am, but we've been hard at work for 5 years to restore Meridian," Collins replied, beginning to get irate. "It's slow going, but we're making progress. Like I said: I've been here from the beginning. We will complete the terraforming. We will restore Meridian." Collins checked herself before she could get more animated. "Excuse me. I have other responsibilities to attend to and I'm sure you all want to get settled. I'll spread the word about you, like I said. See ya," she said, leaving the group to themselves.

"Well this place looks...cosy," Kelly said, careful to keep her voice down. She looked about as uncomfortable at their icy reception as John felt.

"Oh, dear," Dr. Halsey said. "I just realized I may not have prepared you adequately for this mission."

"How so?" the Master Chief asked, eager for details on the situation.

"You have all been given an impression of the Outer Colonies that is not entirely accurate," Halsey said. "You were told what you needed to know to fight the Insurrection, but those details did not encompass the whole of the socioeconomic situation out here. The Outer Colonies have suffered many abuses at the hands of the Inner Colonies; abuses that never made it into your mission briefs or target dossiers. You must be prepared to encounter resentment and some...inconvenient realities."

The Master Chief pondered that. While it was true he likely did not know the complete story, the brutalities that he had witnessed the Insurrection commit all those years before seemed to characterize their movement quite well. If they were amongst barbarians, they would have to be even more on their guard than before.

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Fred opened the door to the security sub-station he had been assigned to, walked up to the Sergeant behind the desk, stood at attention, and saluted. "Sir. Officer Clint Barton, reporting for duty, Sir," he said. Fred had been unsure what protocol was for a private security force and had decided to go with a formal military greeting. Fred's fatigues were clean—well, as clean as he could get them, anyway—and he himself was washed, shaven, and perfectly capable of passing inspection by even the most demanding of drill instructors.

Sergeant Ajit Singh, his superior, simply raised an eyebrow. His expression was of mild amusement. "...as you were, Officer Barton," he said. "And there's no need for such formality around here. We may technically be soldiers, but we're not the Marine Corps. Simple respect is all I require."

Fred tried to conceal his disapproval, but given the widened smile on Sgt. Singh's face he was likely not successful. He mentally cursed the lack of a polarized faceplate. Fred took stock of his new "superior." The man was roughly 1.8 meters tall, or about 5 ft. 10 in. He appeared to be of Indian descent, with light brown skin, brown hair turning gray at the temples, and crow's feet around his eyes. Fred was not as good at reading facial expressions as Kelly, but he estimated that Singh's showed a weary determination and resolve to do his duty. If this reading was correct than Fred would at least be able to respect the man's dedication, if not his lack of professionalism.

"Follow me," Sgt. Singh said, leading Fred behind the front desk and into his office. The office was small, about 4 square meters, with barely enough room for Singh's desk, Singh himself, a filing cabinet, and 2 chairs. His desk had what looked like an ancient desktop computer resting on it, making a strange humming sound that Fred didn't think spoke well of its condition. "I take it from your greeting that you have some military background," Singh said after they had both sat down. "That's good. We could definitely use someone with that experience around here. Tell me, how old are you?"

"49, sir," Fred responded. It was as good a number as any, and he was reasonably certain it was accurate. He didn't remember much from before his time in the Spartan II program and birthdays were not something that were given any significant attention. After his graduation, he had been a bit too busy for anything as frivolous as celebrating an incremental increase in his biological age.

Sgt. Singh sighed. "I'm not getting rid of the 'sir' crap with you, am I?" he asked. Fred did not respond, instead simply looking at him stone-faced. "Hah. I guess I can put up with it, provided you're good enough. What part of the UNSC were you in? And for how long?" Singh asked.

"I was a marine, sir. I was on active duty for 30 years," Fred lied. The legal age of enlistment was 18; Fred had graduated from the Spartan II program at age 14 after being conscripted at age 6 and fought for 33 years since.

His superior simply whistled. "A lifer, huh?" he asked. "So, why'd you quit?"

Fred decided to respond with a half-truth, as he was unaccustomed to lying. Besides, it had seemed to work out rather well for John in Icarus Flats. "One of my brothers was quitting. And Command gave some orders that...well, let's just say I didn't agree with them."

"Ah, one of those," Singh said knowingly. Fred wondered just what type of reputation for treating its soldiers the UNSC had around here, and whether it was created from hearsay or the words of retired troopers. Sgt. Singh continued, "Well I won't ask anymore questions about that. We've all got things in our past we don't want to talk about. I was in the Army myself. 20 years." The UNSC Army was essentially a local peacekeeping force. Unlike the Navy or the Marine Corps., they never left their home systems except in extreme circumstances. They were also generally less well trained and less well equipped than their more federal counterparts. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Barton. We're understaffed, underfunded, and underequipped. Life's hard here on Meridian, and that leads to some rather unfortunate activities on the part of its less disciplined citizens. Domestic abuse, assault, sexual misconduct...we've got it all." Singh frowned as he spoke. "Don't let that fool you, though. Those are the exceptions. There are good people here. Meridian is worth fighting for, even if it grinds you down a bit."

Fred nodded, understanding. His time fighting the Covenant had been brutal. He had seen dozens of planets glassed, most of whom he had fought hard to save. Over the near-30 year length of the Human-Covenant War he had been tempted to feel despair. His commitment to his duty and the loyalty of his sibling Spartans had helped him overcome those temptations and keep fighting. He doubted that Sgt. Singh had the same sort of camaraderie with anyone he worked with, but Fred could certainly sympathize with his weariness and stoic determination.

"Well, let's get you suited up and ready for the field. I'll hold your hand for your first day, so you'll be sticking with me. Plus, it'll give me a chance to evaluate your skills. Go to the locker room and suit up. You'll find your new armor in a locker toward the back. Here's the combination," Sgt. Singh said, grabbing a scrap of paper from the disorganized pile that covered the majority of the surface of his desk, using an old ball-point pen to scribble a sequence of numbers he copied from his computer, and handing it to Fred. The Spartan quickly memorized the passcode, tore the scrap of paper to shreds, and threw it in Singh's wastebasket.

Sgt. Singh laughed again. "You don't mess around, do you?" he asked. "Best be ready for some ribbing from your fellow officers if you keep this up." Fred, once again, frowned internally. What kind of amateur operation was this?

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"This would be amusing if it weren't so horrific," Dr. Halsey said. Kelly nodded in agreement. While she was not a medic and had little experience with medicine outside of standard first aid, she could tell that the small clinic she and Dr. Halsey had been assigned to was in dire need of overhaul.

The clinic itself took up a roughly rectangular 50mx10m prefabricated unit. It had a small waiting area toward the front of the building which opened up into a narrow hallway, along the left side of which were 4 separate rooms for the employees to examine and prescribe treatments to their patients. Past these were three final rooms that were a storage room for medical supplies, a chemistry lab for producing what medicinal compounds they could, and a small office area, respectively. It was the lab to which Dr. Halsey was referring.

"This is all wrong," she said, a deep frown on her face. "I can think of a dozen compounds more useful than the ones you are producing for treating the most common afflictions faced here. I know they can can be synthesized from the available ingredients. And who is responsible for the upkeep of this place?" she asked the beleaguered technician who was their only current coworker. The other 2 who had worked there previously had been transferred to the main hospital closer to the Administrative Building. Without giving the technician time to respond, Dr. Halsey continued, "This place is a pigsty. Why are these chemicals just left here on the counter? These are potentially volatile and have a lower shelf-life when left exposed to oxygen! And this equipment! Are you people even aware of the proper procedures for cleaning those containers?"

The technician gave Kelly an exasperated glance. Kelly just shrugged and gave her a wry expression. There was little hope that even she would be able to get Dr. Halsey to calm down and be more polite. Kelly knew from the times the she had been her instructor that the good doctor could be exceptionally hard to please, especially when it came to things of which she had detailed knowledge. Of course, that had only motivated Kelly and her siblings to work harder to match Halsey's high expectations of them. It was a point of pride for Kelly that they had done so on nearly every occasion.

Plus, it was good to see Dr. Halsey passionate about something again. Even while overseeing the Spartan II program Halsey had behaved in a way that Kelly would describe as restrained. She clearly cared about the Spartans' development and none of them had any delusions that she was anything but a hard worker. However, Kelly thought that Halsey had always displayed an emotional hesitancy in the old days. She seemed to be bothered by something, some inner conflict that Kelly could never quite figure out. Here, though, Halsey seemed to be throwing herself into her role as medical technician with passion and enthusiasm, caustic criticisms aside. Kelly had no doubt that Dr. Halsey would treat this place as her clinic from the beginning, seniority or no. She doubted that the poor technician had the willpower to stand against Dr. Halsey at full force.

Kelly would be lying if she said she wasn't also at least slightly excited at the prospect. She had always known that her work as a Spartan was invaluable to humankind and had saved countless lives, but the potential to help people directly without having to kill anyone or destroy anything was quite appealing to her. She wouldn't be quitting her job, obviously, but Kelly was sure she would appreciate the experience and treasure its memories.

"Well, I suppose we'd better get started," Halsey said resolutely, dismissing their coworker with a wave of her hand. "Kelly, please collect those beakers and move them to the sink so we could give them a proper cleaning."

Kelly smiled and used her enhanced speed to gather the beakers in moments, jumping into her role with what was as close as a Spartan ever came to glee.

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Spartan IIs, as a rule, were not prone to profanity. This was not due to any moral objection or spiritual belief. Rather, it was because their chief trainer, CPO Mendez, had viewed it as lazy. He believed it was a means of trying to communicate without utilizing all of one's mental and verbal arsenal. He viewed it as a shortcut, not as cunning, and discouraged it.

However, Linda was having a difficult time thinking of a better description of Matt Riley, Chief Mining Officer in Administration, than "that asshole."

There were a number of reasons for this. From his general demeanor of arrogant superiority to his overuse of cologne, Linda found him personally unpleasant. His inability to respect person boundaries, even those explicitly pointed out to him, was another. Perhaps most offensive was his status as a functional parasite.

Riley was, theoretically, supposed to handle any and all messages from Sloan, the AI in charge of mining operations. Riley was to pass along any requisitions or requests made by Sloan and generally be the connection between the working world, represented by Sloan, and the corporate world, represented by Administrator Adomar. Unfortunately, as Linda discovered after her arrival, that had changed when Administrator Adomar died of heart failure. Adomar had left no suitable replacement. Riley had neither the experience, nor the mindset, nor the popular support necessary to lead the entire Meridian colony. Sloan had then decided to take the position of Governor temporarily, intending to step down once Liang-Dortmund Company headquarters in the Inner Colonies sent a replacement. Liang-Dortmund had, apparently, never gotten around to doing so. The only explanation that Linda could discover, other blame-shifting and corporate trade-speak intended to cloud the issue to the point where the inquirer lost patience and gave up, was cost cutting. Company headquarters thought it could save money by not hiring a replacement. This was idiotic, as Sloan pulling double duty as Administrator and Chief Miner would tax even a smart AI, but it seemed to be the truth. The fact that Governor Sloan had not yet been taken offline seemed to support this theory of stunningly poor foresight.

Riley, meanwhile, had found himself with nothing to do. Rather than be fired he instead simply...lingered. He still collected a paycheck and came into the office, but everyone knew he was effectively dead weight. Unfortunately noone had the authority to fire him other than Sloan, and the AI had remained stubbornly insistent that Liang-Dortmund would send a replacement any time now. Thus, with no official work to do, he had found a hobby: attempting to have sex with his female coworkers.

Linda had become his newest target.

For the third time that morning, her fourth day at work, Riley walked by her desk with his sleeves rolled up. He was attempting to show off what, to him, must have seemed like quite muscular arms. Linda pretended not to notice him, having to switch to another tab to hide her covert examination of administrative records.

She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised that she had caught the eye of someone sexually attracted to females. Her red hair and green eyes, the rarest possible genetic combination of colors, were divergent enough. Her stoic demeanor—she was not quite good enough an actor to cover it consistently over entire work days—and amazonian build would also be viewed as abnormal and attractive by some. However, sexual activity was not something that she had any experience in. In fact, to her knowledge no Spartan II had any experience in it. Part of their augmentations had been a thyroid implant that, among other functions, suppressed their sex drives. Since they had been trained from age 6 and received them at age 14, they simply had not had time to devote to sexuality before the augmentations and had not had the biological capacity afterward. As such, it was something that had simply escaped her notice when she had been planning this mission with Blue Lead.

Not that she was worried. It was just another obstacle to achieving her objectives, after all. However, while Riley had little to do he did still have some authority. He could make work exceedingly difficult for her if he chose to and she could not afford unnecessary complications.

One solution would be to charge him with sexual harassment, but she dismissed that for a number of reasons. For one, she couldn't afford the attention. Riley had also shown a rather unsurprising immunity to sexual harassment accusations. If company headquarters did not care about a rampant AI running a colony, they certainly wouldn't care about a mid-level bureaucrat harassing his subordinates.

Another solution would be to verbally dissuade him. However, from what she knew of such individuals that would just be taken as a challenge. If he ultimately failed he would take it as a blow to his pride and do all he could to interfere with her ability to function.

Linda could also physically dissuade him. She would have little difficulty killing or disabling him to the point where he could not come to work. This she also dismissed immediately For one, she couldn't afford an investigation or potential charges. More importantly, while she found him unpleasant, Riley was still a citizen of the UEG. He was one of the people Linda was sworn to protect. Death or permanent injury were strictly a last resort, if that. A simple beating, careful to avoid any visible or permanent damage, might be enough to scare him off. However, that ran into the same problem as outright refusal. He would probably try to have her fired if not arrested, from behind cover of a large security officer, no doubt.

She could also simply give in. Allow him to use her body for his sexual gratification. She dismissed that as too risky. She was unaware of any sexually transmitted diseases he might have and couldn't afford to potentially compromise her health. She was also hesitant to make herself vulnerable to attack; it was hard to remain on one's guard in a sexual situation. Not to mention she might be biologically incapable of performing properly, which could bring up all sorts of questions.

Finally, she had decided on a simple if short-term solution: she would lead him on. She would hint, through various subtle means, that she was merely, as a normal woman might put it, "playing hard to get." She would also indicate that she did not feel he met her standards for masculinity, thus motivating him to prove himself to her. This would obviously not be a lasting solution. As time went on his attempts to impress her would become too invasive to be practical and eventually his patience would run out and he would demand sex. Possibly via physical confrontation. He was little threat to her physically, but this would put her in the same situation as if she simply resorted to physical violence in the first place. Hopefully it would buy enough time for her to accomplish her objectives. She would, of course, also be looking for new solutions to present themselves as time went on.

Linda heard Riley turn around, heading back to her office. She deliberately undid one of the buttons on her shirt, showing off a slight bit of chest that she was certain Riley would notice. She saw him do just that out of her peripheral vision as he passed by. Once he was out of sight, she closed the button and switched back to the tab directly related to her covert reconnaissance .

"I don't get you," Michelle Cortez, Linda's only direct coworker, said from her own desk.

"How so?" Linda asked, not looking up from her work.

"You don't have any interest in Riley, yet you lead him on" Cortez responded. "You have to know that's a bad idea."

"How do you know I'm not interested?" Linda asked, still not looking up.

Cortez snorted. "It's in your body language. At first I thought you just weren't into men, but I've seen you interact with other female coworkers. You're not into anyone. You know what he could do to you, right?" Cortez continued, her voice concerned. "I'm not saying you should give in to him, but leading him on will only piss him off more. Life's hard enough on Meridian. You don't need to be making it worse for yourself."

Linda sighed, tired of this pointless distraction. "Look, I appreciate the help, but I can take care of myself." She must have been a bit too forceful or cold, because Cortez seemed to take her response as an insult.

"Fine," she said curtly. "Last time I try to look out for you."

Linda frowned. While she was uninterested in friendship, it would be invaluable to have the other personnel at the Administration Building on good terms with her. There was no telling when she would need to ask a favor. She decided to devise a way to make Cortez view her as a friend.

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John stared at his issued mining gear with a frown. This, he thought, is a definite step down from MJOLNIR Armor. The gear in question was composed of a series of layers composed largely of thick cloth, colored bright orange to make the location of lost or injured miners as easy as possible. Logical as it may have been, the Master Chief couldn't shake the sense of unease in wearing anything not designed to blend in with the environment. It didn't even seem to be made from ballistic cloth; he doubted they would stop light shrapnel, let alone weapons fire. It probably wouldn't even protect him from most of the airborne silicates he would encounter out in the glasslands. Slightly better was the facial protection, which was at least fully enclosed and included a built-in rebreather. However, here too management had clearly spared every expense it legally could...and probably some it couldn't. Rather than a visor, there were two eye-holes capped with glass lenses that he was meant to see out of. His vision would be restricted to practically unfeasible levels. The air intake likewise seemed poorly designed and rather flimsy, and the filter meant to go in it had clearly already been used. He wondered how much of his gear was recycled. Probably all of it, he mused.

"I know it's not much, but it's a sight better than going out in your casuals," a familiar voice said from behind him.

"Collins," the Master Chief replied, turning to face the self-proclaimed 'community leader.' "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Collins smiled wearily. "Yeah, well, I figured I'd be the nice guy again. I'll show you around, help you get acclimated," she said, her expression growing serious. "It's way too easy to lose your way out there. Not to mention one stumble in the wrong place could send you rolling down a hill of razor sharp glass. More people than I care to count have been shipped home, their bodies too sliced up to even recognize 'em anymore."

The Master Chief was careful to keep his expression neutral. He was growing suspicious of this woman's generosity. "...Thank you," he said carefully, "but won't the supervisor make sure of that?"

Collins snorted in contempt. "Trust me, buddy, you won't be seeing him out here any time soon. Prick hardly ever leaves the Administration Building. You want to stay alive your first few trips out, you stick close to me. I'll hold your hand until you get your bearings. Just don't expect me to mother you, ya hear?" she asked, pointing at the Chief briefly before turning around. "Now come on. We're burning daylight."

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The prep area for prospectors was clearly built for machinery first, with the human workers receiving secondary, or perhaps tertiary, consideration. The area contained several small to medium sized vehicles that would go to a reported claim of valuable silicates and gather a more complete reconnaissance than a single person could perform. They were outfitted with large tires, nearly as tall as the Chief himself. Refueling stations provided hydrogen for the vehicles and several small prefabricated buildings were clearly being used as garages to store the equipment used to service them. The gate in the wall of the settlement was large, being intended for vehicular use, and required about a solid minute to open. The cumbersome design was necessitated by the hostile environment of a glassed world. This meant that the on-foot prospectors were only able to leave or enter at certain periods of the day, barring emergencies. Said individuals were currently standing in the general area in front of the gate, waiting for it to open.

"Hang on, I've got to check in with a few people," Collins said before leaving his side.

The Master Chief still wasn't quite sure what to make of her. She seemed honest enough. None of her behavior had struck the Chief as particularly suspicious. However, she was still a civilian, and the Master Chief had little experience dealing directly with civilians. Let alone relying upon them for instruction. He frowned again, wondering when he should stop postponing putting on the restrictive head gear.

"Well, well, if it isn't the new arrival," a loud, obnoxious voice said from the Chief's left. The man was clearly young, around 20 years old if the Chief had to guess, with short blonde hair, a poorly trimmed goatee, and the same sneering demeanor as the security officer that had first welcomed him and his family to Meridian. "I hear you're looking to move in on our turf. That right, UEG?"

This situation required careful management. Were this a confrontation with an ODST or regular marine, he would simply pull rank or, if the offending party were a superior, fall back on protocol. But this was not such a case. This man was a civilian, and a civilian in a place where rule of law seemed to be somewhat of a loose suggestion. The Master Chief decided, in the span of about 2 seconds, that the best course of action would be to display his physical superiority. If he established himself as more of a threat than he was worth, this kid and others like him would leave him alone.

"What's the matter? Got glass in your mouth?" the kid challenged, closing the distance between himself and the Chief. "Nothing to say for—" here he attempted to shove the Master Chief on the chest, only to be very surprised when his target grabbed his wrist, struck him in the gut, and levered him into a nearby vehicle. The assailant's cohort moved in to assist, but was quickly removed from the equation by a swift, but carefully restrained, chop to the neck. The kid's backup flopped around on the ground, unable to coordinate his body with enough strength to stand. The Chief accomplished this almost faster than a non-augmented eye could see, and immediately had the original assailant pinned against the vehicle with his arm twisted painfully behind his back.

"Listen up," the Master Chief whispered in his ear. "I am not a person you want to mess with. Come after me, or my family," here he twisted the kid's arm further, eliciting a whimper, "and I. Will. Hurt. You. Understand?" The kid nodded desperately.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" a voice demanded from behind him. The Chief let the kid go, turning around to see Collins storming angrily towards him. All of the other prospectors present were looking at him, having apparently witnessed the scene. Good. Word about his skill would spread quickly.

"Miller, are you alright?" she asked the kid, who was currently nursing his arm while sitting with his back against the recon vehicle.

"I'm fine," he choked out angrily, before getting up and limping off with his friend.

Collins whirled on the Chief, a fire in her eyes. "Follow me," she hissed, before grabbing his arm and leading him over to the side of the entrance. He decided to allow this, his response to the kid's assault having already served its purpose. "Just what did you think you were doing?" Collins asked in an angry but quiet voice. Apparently she wanted this conversation private.

"I was defending myself," the Master Chief responded simply. "He assaulted me and I used what force I deemed necessary to remove him as a threat."

Collins stared at him in disbelief. "'Remove him as a threat...'" She shook her head. "You really have no idea what that was about, do you? Do you really think beating that dumb kid is going to get him to leave you alone?"

The Master Chief simply raised an eyebrow in skepticism. That was, in fact, exactly what he believed.

"Miller's 'assault', as you called it, wasn't just about you," Collins said. "He was born in the Outer Colonies. His parents were born in the Outer Colonies. As were their parents, and their parents before them. His family has suffered for generations from the UEG's neglect and abuse. The bitterness is bone-deep in him, and because he's a kid, he's going to act out. You beating him up isn't going to be enough to get him to settle down. Young men like him just aren't like that. Not to mention you just destroyed all the good will I've been trying to build up for you amongst the other settlers!" Collins said in an exasperated tone.

"He's going to act out again, probably worse next time. He'll wind up hurting someone. Probably himself. You may have bought yourself a bit of peace for now, but that came at the cost of the community's peace later." Collin's face and voice took on an accusatory, and slightly desperate, tone. "I'm trying to keep as many of us alive as I can, and I can't do that if we're all at each others' throats. Just...don't do anything like that again. Please?" Collins asked, her eyes pleading.

The Master Chief frowned. Perhaps his initial dismissal of Collins had been premature. If nothing else, he supposed he could respect her for standing up to him as fearlessly as she had. He towered over her and there would be no question for even the most casual observer that he would soundly defeat her in any physical confrontation. He supposed it was possible he had achieved a tactical victory at the cost of a strategic defeat. This was simply not a theater of conflict he had any experience in. He decided that perhaps, for now at least, he should defer to Collins' expertise.

Finally, the Chief nodded. "I'll keep myself under control," he assured her.

Collins sighed, and shook her head. "I suppose that will have to do. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and try to soothe everyone's ruffled feathers before the gate opens," she said before walking swiftly away.

Sorry about the delay, but Fallout 4 came out last week and those Super Mutants aren't going to fire nuclear catapults at themselves, are they?

Note: Halo 4 stated that Spartan IIs displayed slightly sociopathic tendencies and difficulty with socialization and I tried to bring that out here. None of Blue Team are necessarily bad people, they just don't know how to act in a situation that doesn't fit into their previous war-dominated lives. The one possible exception is Kelly, who the books established as the most social Spartan II other than Kurt. However, I do plan to have her isolation from regular human society play a role in the chapters ahead.

Thanks for reading.

Slipspace Anomaly