Chapter 10
"Look alive, people. Trouble's brewin'" Sgt. Singh said as he made his way into the cramped briefing room. Fred and the other members of their security station were all assembled for the official meeting scheduled for the first work day of each month. Fred's ears perked up at the news, privately hoping his skills might be put to better use. He promptly chastised himself for hoping that civilians would be in danger. Whatever his personal frustrations, his first and greatest duty was to be a protector of humanity.
Strangely, none of the other officers seemed surprised by their Sgt.'s words. Even Singh had made the announcement in a tone of voice that indicated weary resignation rather than concern or fear.
"It's the beginning of the month. You know what that means," Singh continued. Fred's fellow officers nodded and grumbled affirmations. He was definitely missing something. Sgt. Singh began to give out specific duties and updates on security matters as he would at any other briefing. Fred was confused. Sgt. Singh had announced that there was some sort of situation that needed to be monitored at the very least, but then he had continued business as usual. Fred raised his hand to ask the Sgt. what was up. The others would snicker at his ignorance, but that was a small price to pay for not being caught flat footed in the field.
"Yes, Officer Barton?" Singh asked.
"Sir, what did you mean when you said there was trouble? I must have missed something," Fred said in a respectful tone. He didn't want to insinuate that his superior had been negligent in his briefing. As expected, the other officers chuckled at his ignorance. Fred ignored them.
"Good question," Singh replied, refusing to acknowledge the fact that it was obviously a newbie question. "Payday was at the end of last week. Logically, you'd think this would make people less inclined to engage in violent activity, but unfortunately we don't live in a logical world. A lot of people take their money and blow it on booze within a weekend. These people tend to not have the best self control, so when they sober up and realize the money's gone they often get violent." Singh grimaced in disgust. "Domestic abuse is the biggest worry. We'll need to be quick in responding to any calls if we're going to minimize damage. "
"Of course," Sgt. Singh continued, "we also have the other usual cause of unrest: the terraforming has fallen behind schedule again." This announcement was followed by angry groans and signs of impatience. "I know, I know, but Governor Sloan's doing his best. Things'll pick up."
"With all due respect, Sgt., you've been saying that for a while," Delacroix called out. "It's starting to sound old." Fred had gotten somewhat used to the more casual atmosphere of Meridian Security, but he still couldn't believe that Singh tolerated this sort of behavior. Any concerns like this should be made after the briefing in a private conversation, not in the middle of it in front of everyone. This stepped right into the realm of insubordination and undermining of the commanding officer's authority. Singh must have noticed Fred's discomfort as he shot the Spartan a look that clearly communicated that he was not to interfere. Fred nodded.
"I agree," Singh said to Delacroix. "But I trust the Governor. I believe in him. He'll find a way to pull through for us. We just have to hang on for a bit."
The Security Officers half-heartedly grumbled agreement.
Sgt. Singh looked directly at Delacroix. "However, since you seemed so bothered by it, Officer Delacroix, I think it would be a good idea for you to perform the janitorial duties this week. Keep your mind occupied." Delacroix looked distinctly unhappy with that prospect. His fellow officers chuckled in amusement. Fred smiled, happy that the Sgt. hadn't completely lost his mind. Singh brought the briefing back on topic. "Alright, let's go everyone else's specific duties. Everyone is to stay at maximum readiness. That means staying in your vehicle unless absolutely necessary. If you want food, get it before you clock in. If you have to piss, sprint there and back. Noone is dying because we were too busy picking up takeout, you hear me?"
Everyone answered in the affirmative.
"And pray to whatever god there may be that nothing else goes wrong to set people off..."
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"I am uninterested in your problems, Tower," Spartan Locke said to the technician currently in charge of the colony's only starship landing area. Said technician was trying to delay Locke's arrival, saying that the landing pads were all reserved and that the Spartan IV's Pelican dropship would have to wait for one to be cleared. Locke understood what was really going on. The colony's authorities were trying to establish that Locke, to use a rather juvenile phrase, wasn't the boss of them. They were trying to establish themselves as the dominant party. This was not acceptable.
"But sir, we simply need a few hours to-" the tech tried to continue.
Locke cut her off. "We are official representatives of the United Nations Space Command and, by extension, the Unified Earth Government, and we are here on official military business. We do not have time bother with whatever red tape you people are bogged down with. My dropship will be arriving within 30 minutes. If there is not a space free, I will make certain that we land on top of your superior's personal domicile. Understood?"
There was a pause on the other side of the line. "Yes, sir," the technician finally responded. "There will be a landing pad for you by the time you arrive."
"Copy, Meridian Tower. Spartan Locke out." Locke replied before ending the transmission.
Locke looked at the rest of his team. He noticed Tanaka was sitting even straighter than normal and seemed to be making an effort not to look directly at him. He could almost see frustration rolling off of her in waves. He supposed this was to be expected. Back during the briefing Tanaka had all but insisted that Fireteam Osiris take the orbital elevator down to the surface.
"It's polite, boss," she had said. "If we just fly in we'll seem like an invading force come to step on them." Spartan Vale had nodded in agreement.
"What, do they not know we're on the same side?" Buck had objected. "Or did they forget that the UNSC is the only thing standing between them and a dozen kinds of alien death?"
Tanaka's head had turned sharply towards her squadmate. "They haven't forgotten anything, Buck...from before or after the War."
"That's enough, Tanaka," Locke had said. "You're objection has been noted. However, the plan remains unchanged. We will fly in by dropship and begin our investigation into Blue Team's whereabouts."
Tanaka was right, of course. Not taking the elevator would be perceived as a show of force. However, the colonists of Meridian were never going to view Fireteam Osiris as anything other than intrusive outsiders. Locke needed to establish from the start that they would not be putting up with any crap, from the authorities or the populace.
Their pilot announced that the Spartan IV's dropship was entering the final approach to Meridian Station and they all got a closer look at the colony through the viewscreen. Short, cramped buildings, crappy roads, toxic atmosphere...Locke reflected that this had to be one of the dirtier cogs in the machine.
True to the technician's word, there was a landing pad available for their use. Their pilot nimbly maneuvered the Pelican onto the pad and began the process of shutting down the engines; he would be staying on the dropship, ready to perform an emergency evac at a moments notice. The Pelican's gunmetal gray paint scheme contrasted strongly with the red and blue company ships taking up the rest of the starport.
Locke got up from his seat and stood in front of the opening ramp. Spartan Buck, Spartan Vale, and Spartan Tanaka stood deferentially behind him. They disembarked, and were immediately greeted by a peacock of a Security Officer and his entourage.
"My name is Captain Jackson," the peacock said. "Might I ask what your purpose here is?" The man had an superior, imperious air about himself. He was clearly accustomed to throwing his weight around and getting his way. Locke, naturally, was not going to play along.
"No, you may not," he answered. Locke then continued walking past Jackson, forcing the outclassed Officer to move to keep up. Jackson's men were understandably unwilling to engage a team of fully armed and armored Spartans, regardless of their immediate superior's wishes. "We are here on official business. We will require an immediate meeting with Governor Sloan in order to arrange for the transference of necessary information and authorizations. I presume this is our transportation," Locke said, referring to what was clearly Jackson's personal vehicle. There was a shoddy looking van directly behind it that Osiris was presumably supposed to take, but Locke felt the need to twist the knife a bit. Just to make sure the message was received.
"Actually-" Jackson began, attempting to rally himself and regain the dominant position in this interaction. Locke wouldn't let him.
"Good," he said, using his armor to wirelessly access the vehicle's control systems. The doors obediently unlocked and the rest of his team climbed into their seats. "We will expect the Administrative Building to be prepared for our arrival. Thank you, Officer."
Locke climbed into the driver's seat, closed the door, and started the vehicle down the road, all the while Jackson stuttered helplessly.
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Fireteam Osiris disembarked their commandeered vehicle directly outside the beached colony ship formerly known as Skyward Hope. Locke led the way, the crowd parting before him like the Red Sea. He noticed several parents fearfully pull their children back as he passed by them.
The Administrative Building itself was surprisingly well maintained compared to the rest of the colony. Perhaps the fact that it was a beached colony ship made it easier to maintain the interiors. Or maybe it was just its high ranking residents demanding that their home be kept up to snuff. Whatever the reason, Locke was mildly impressed as he bulldozed his way into the office.
"I am Spartan Locke of Fireteam Osiris, here on official UNSC business," he told the secretary outside what was formerly Administrator Adomar's office. They could have gone to the AI core, the high security room that housed the computer systems that Governor Sloan was run on, but Locke had decided that this would be more appropriate. It showed he was dealing with the highest power in the colony. Besides, it wasn't like Sloan had a physical body so he could shake hands with him. Or, rather, so he could stare him down. "We will require an immediate meeting and cooperation with Governor Sloan," Locke continued.
The secretary, to her credit, managed to stay relatively calm in the face of his demands. "I will call him immediately," she said. "Is there anything particular I should tell him you will require?"
"Yes," Locke replied. "I will require complete copies of your personnel and equipment records. All requisitions, reports of missing supplies, etc., will be included. We will also need authorization to access all areas of the colony, restricted access or not, and to utilize any and all equipment in the pursuit of our objective."
The secretary only blinked for a moment before she began furiously typing on her compad. "The Governor will, of course, be asking your intended purpose on Meridian," she said.
"Of course. He may ask us that himself," Locke responded. The secretary nodded and completed the message, sending it to the Governor.
What followed was several minutes of waiting, with Locke remaining directly in front of the secretary's desk. He considered insisting Sloan hurry up, but decided he'd already made his point. Eventually the secretary's compad made a noise indicating a received message.
"The Governor has approved your request," she said. "Unfortunately, he will be unable to meet with you directly at this time. Recent events in the mining areas have demanded his full attention. Here are the records you requested," she said, removing several data cubes from her compad and handing them to the Spartan.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist on a direct meeting," Locke insisted. He was not about to be blown off by a senile computer program.
The secretary kept her cool. "I'm sorry, sir, but the Governor is quite insistent. He-"
Locke interrupted her by grabbing her compad and composing and sending a message to the Governor himself. He ignored her outraged protest. A moment later he received a reply. It was clearly an automated response, simply saying that the AI was occupied and could not be reached at this time. Locke was frustrated, but short of going to the AI core and accessing him directly there was little more that he could do. He could send a message to Control and have Sloan stripped of his position, but that would take time. Not to mention the fact that Meridian's profitability made the higher ups hesitant to meddle with its inner workings. He supposed this would have to do. Of course, considering the AI's age it was unlikely they would get anything useful out of a direct conversation. This was probably the most efficient way to go about things, anyway. He handed the secretary her compad back, not bothering to apologize.
"Recent events?" Locke asked after examining the data she had given him. The mining sites were the most likely areas Blue Team would be hiding in. They had not detected any ships in orbit or anywhere near the planet, so they were most likely on the surface. They had no practice at blending into civilian populations and little to no skill in espionage beyond special forces raids. That meant they would be limiting their exposure to the civilian population to that which was necessary to gather supplies. It was possible that they had infiltrated the planet disguised as colonists, but they would not have risked remaining so for long. Osiris would have to search the records for new arrivals that had abruptly vanished as well as missing supplies and disruptions to mining activities.
"Yes, sir," the secretary responded in a clear, direct tone, showing none of the irritation or outrage she had shown a moment ago. Locke's respect for her grew a bit. He wondered if she had any military training. "Just a new find of valuable silicates necessitating a change in schedule. Nothing major."
Locke pondered this. It warranted checking out. "I thank you for your cooperation," he said perfunctorily. "We'll be in touch."
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Fireteam Osiris, the newly arrived team of Spartan IV's, drove their commandeered vehicle back to the starport. They promptly boarded their dropship and took off, journeying toward one of the mining sites. The Master Chief watched them via the surveillance satellite Blue Team had launched prior to their arrival on Meridian. He fought the urge to sigh as he watched the fireteam on his compad, connected to the sattelite via an uplink hidden on the roof of Icarus Flats; the wire that connected his compad to the uplink had been draped over the side of the building and into the alley where he was currently crouched. The uplink had been necessary because the communication with the satellite was currently being done via laser rather than radio waves. This made it impossible to intercept, but also required a direct line of sight to function. Heavy cloud cover would make this impossible.
The other members of Blue Team were currently performing guard duty on the entrances to the alley. His attention on the compad meant his situational awareness would be decreased to dangerous levels given his current position. The Chief once again cursed the lack of the motion tracker feature of his MJOLNIR armor. Of course, he was not given to overly rely on it even when he did have it.
The arrival of UNSC forces was expected, but still a major obstacle. It might have been wise to go completely underground to avoid detection but Osiris seemed to believe that they had already done so if their current behavior was any indication. It was possible that Linda had indeed avoided all suspicion in her clandestine hobby and that Osiris was working with inaccurate intel on them. It was also possible that they were here for the Guardian rather than the rogue Spartan IIs. Of course, this was a risk the Master Chief couldn't take.
For the immediate future it would be wise to hide in plain sight. Linda had falsified her records and added false profile pictures to remove any hint of their true identities in the personnel files and had made numerous other changes while in administration to prepare for this eventuality. The facial hair, tans, and non-regulation hair styles that the Spartans now sported would also throw off visual identification. They could monitor Osiris' movements and locations by having the satellite system set up to automatically notify them whenever the Spartan IV's moved to another part of the colony. Additionally, they were not where Osisris was currently looking and if they disappeared immediately that would only draw attention.
They could only risk this for a few days, however. Their faces were unknown to the general public, the UNSC wanting to maintain their status as symbols rather than flesh and blood soldiers that could be destroyed, so it would be hard for informants to identify them, but that advantage would only go so far. They were unable to hide their increased size and physique, for example. They would find them eventually.
He silently urged Dr. Halsey's computer programs to finish their work. They were running out of time.
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"I want you to bring Dmitri Ivanov in, Officer Barton," Sgt. Singh said.
Fred nodded, unsurprised. "What did he do this time, sir?"
"Nothing in particular," Singh responded. "I'll justify it with any of the number of complaints we've had about him this week, but really I'm trying to minimize the chances of him causing trouble. I'm having a number of troublemakers brought in..." His face grew deadly serious. "With tensions this high, I'm worried something big might happen."
Again, Fred was unsurprised. The arrival of Fireteam Osiris had occurred at the worst possible time and the group's behavior had been the worst possible. Every ember of anti-UEG and anti-UNSC resentment that the colonists possessed had been fanned into flames. It seemed like everywhere Fred went he learned yet another way the Outer Colonies had supposedly been abused by the UEG. Dmitri Ivanov and his "friends" had been particularly vocal if reports were to be believed.
"By the way," Singh added, "When you let him out in a few days, be sure to give him this." Singh handed Fred a box. Inside were several items which made Fred's mouth drop open. They were medals. Specifically, a Purple Heart, an Armed Force Expeditionary Medal, a Medal of Honor, a Colonial Cross, and several others. If these all belonged to Ivanov, that would make him one of the most decorated soldiers Fred had ever met. He looked to his Sgt. in shock.
Sgt. Singh chuckled, his face a mask of grim humor. "That's right, Barton. Meridian's most notorious drunk is a bona-fide war hero. Crazy world, huh?" he asked.
Fred nodded. "Did you confiscate them last time he was in lockup, sir?" he asked, confused how the Sgt. had wound up with them. Surely Ivanov hadn't been wearing them while he was out drinking, had he?
"No such luck, I'm afraid," Singh responded. "He pawned them for liquor money about a week ago. Cost me a pretty penny to get them back." Singh shook his head, sighing in disappointment. "One of these days I'm not gonna be able to stop that man from destroying himself..."
That did it. Ivanvov would be in lockup for long enough to sober up and when he did Fred was going to talk to him. He could hang around long enough for a conversation before he went into hiding. He had to know how a war hero got like this. He could just read his file, but Fred wanted to talk to the man himself first. He had to know what had happened.
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"Thanks, doc. I gotta get going," Kelly's patient told her before hurrying out of the clinic and toward home. It was the type of behavior that every one of their patients had displayed in the day since the UNSC's official arrival on Meridian: a nervous impatience to get somewhere they perceived as safe.
"Do you think they know something we don't?" Kelly asked Dr. Halsey.
"No. That's what worries me," she responded. "Tensions have spiked through the roof since the so-called 'Fireteam Osiris' made its appearance. Everyone feels something big is coming, and those not inclined to violence are eager to hunker down and hide."
"Something like what?" Kelly asked, more than a little concerned. It sounded like some kind of uprising was imminent from the way the Doctor was talking.
Dr. Halsey must have read her mind because she smiled in weak assurance. "Don't worry, it's unlikely to be something as extreme as outright rebellion. There isn't enough of a militant edge here for that." She sighed, her frown deepening. "No. What I'm worried about is a riot. Mass, undirected violence born of impotent frustration. It wouldn't take much to set it off. An insult taken too far, a dispute amongst some drunks...I suspect we'll be very busy soon."
Kelly hoped that the burst of adrenaline felt would be enough to overcome her chronic fatigue if Dr. Halsey's prediction proved accurate.
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"Hey, Nat', wanna go for a drink?" Cortez asked Linda.
It was towards the end of the workday and they were both about to pack up and head home. Riley exited his office, groped Cortez's rear before she could stop him, and grinned lecherously at Linda before heading out the door, doubtless indulging in some polyamorous fantasy. Cortez looked furious, but quickly calmed into a resigned seething.
Linda quelled her own anger and refocused on Cortez' offer. On the one hand, the last thing she wanted to do was spend extended periods of time in a public space. The risk of discovery was too high for comfort. On the other hand, this could be the culmination of all of Linda's efforts at "befriending" her coworker, and with the arrival of Fireteam Osiris, the Spartan II might very well never return to the Administrative Building after she left it today. This could be her last chance to have an asset placed high in the Meridian command structure. She would have to take the risk.
"You know what...sure, I could use one. Just let me wrap up here," Linda responded. She tried to appear like she was only accepting because of the tense atmosphere throughout the colony over the last day since Osiris' arrival. Cortez seemed to believe her.
Linda sent a message to the Master Chief letting him know of her plans. He responded immediately, giving her the go ahead. Excellent. Linda packed up her compad and joined Cortez in leaving the Administrative Building. They boarded a shuttle and eventually made their way towards the area where the working class outer ring met the more elite interior of the colony. Linda looked to Cortez questioningly.
"I've got a friend that works out here," she explained. "I help him sneak an extra crate of supplies in each month and he gives me good deals on booze." Linda nodded in understanding. No matter what position they held, everyone on Meridian seemed to love to drink.
On the shuttle ride over Linda heard several other passengers discussing the recent arrival of the Spartan IVs. They spoke in hushed tones, apparently afraid of being overheard, and their voices oscillated between outright fear and deep-seeded resentment.
"I heard they threatened to bomb the Administrative Building if they weren't given a landing pad immediately."
"I heard they shot a Security Officer just so they could use his car."
"I saw them once they got into the inner city. They charged right through the crowd like they didn't even see them. They even started shoving kids out of the way if they didn't move fast enough! Bastards gave one of 'em a concussion!"
"I heard they're here to confiscate the whole planet. Put us all under federal control, revoke our rights to the land once it's terraformed. Sons of bitches are here to take our claim!"
Linda knew that these claims were exaggerated. She had seen the satellite footage of Osiris' arrival and had listened in on their communications to the starport control. It seemed the rumor mill was one industry that was not in dangerous neglect and disrepair on Meridian. She knew better than to try to change their minds, however. Her cover was as an administrative employee—an authority figure. She would only be perceived as defending an oppressive government if she spoke up.
Cortez and Linda made their way inside a cafeteria/bar. It was separated into 3 main areas. The first area contained various food stations. Some stations allowed the diner to pick up a boxed, pre-prepared meal while others allowed the diner to order something fresh from one of the 2 overworked chefs. It was separated from the other sections by cashier stations that could have doubled as military checkpoints, given how focused on security they were.
The second was the seating area for regular diners. It was sparse in decoration, with bare industrial lights providing rather dim illumination. It contained a number of bare, gray, metal foldable long-tables with seats welded to them. Linda imagined they could be folded up and pushed to the wall to clear the entire center of the building in fairly short order. It would have looked right at home in any military base.
The third was the bar area. If Linda had to pick 2 words to describe it, they would be 'impoverished extravagance.' The area was lit by ornate hanging lights covered in translucent plastic meant to look like stained glass. There was a long bar-like table towards the back wall behind which the bartender would stand and serve drinks, with a wall of shelves filled with various liquors behind him. There was a single row of stools in front of the bar and several booths with small tables of their own. All of the furniture was plastic and metal, like the rest of Meridian, but they had been covered with decals to make them appear to be made of hard wood. Even the walls and ceiling were covered in some kind of wallpaper meant to emulate upper class, terrestrial establishments. Whatever effect they had been intended to have was long since ruined, since time and usage had made them a mess of stains, rips, and peelings.
Cortez and Linda sat down on 2 available stools in front of the bar. Linda noticed that the atmosphere in the bar and dining areas was abnormally quiet and tense. She noticed several glares directed toward the pair. They were both working in administration; they would be viewed as extensions of the authorities by the working class colonists who made up the bulk of the patrons here. She would have to make this as quick and quiet as possible. "Tequila on the rocks," Cortez ordered, apparently blind to the nature of her surroundings. The bartender nodded, then looked to Linda.
Linda scanned the menu. Everything there seemed unfeasibly expensive. She decided on a simple beer, assuming it would be cheapest and lightest in alcohol content. She had never ingested recreational alcohol before but she trusted that her augmented physiology would be able to effectively handle one drink. To be certain she remained alert and capable she also ordered some nuts to eat along with the beer, thus minimizing the effect of the alcohol.
"Light drinker, huh?" Cortez teased. Linda grinned and shrugged in response. "Hard time fitting in on Meridian, then. We love our booze here, and only settle for quality."
"Damn well better be quality, for these prices," Linda joked. Jests about high prices were a universal standard among human societies; it was a fairly safe bet they would be accepted here.
Cortez laughed. "Hah. Damn right. But, I guess that's just our creature comfort here," she mused. "I've been to a bunch of mining worlds in my career and I'll be damned if each one of them wasn't obsessed with one ridiculous luxury or another. I remember one world where everyone would buy these expensive, gold-plated compads. Gold-plated, I shit you not."
Linda raised her eyebrows appreciatively and chuckled along with her.
Cortez shook her head and sighed. "Maybe I should have settled down there, instead. Gold compads don't make you pass out in public, at least." She looked Linda in the eyes as she continued. "Look, I imagine you know I didn't invite you drinking just because."
Linda nodded. She had a pretty good idea where her coworker was going with this. She was not prepared, however, for how deep she would be going.
"I wanted to thank you for helping set me up with Amare," she said, her tone dead serious. "I could say you don't know how much it means to me, but that doesn't capture the magnitude of it. You really don't know how much it means to me." Cortez took a drink of her tequila. Linda took a sip of her beer out of solidarity. "I just joked about settling down, but I mean it. I'm done wandering. I want to set down roots somewhere, find a man, and pump out a few kids. Family is important to me. It has been since I was a kid," she said.
Linda decided to respond in a half-joking tone. "Didn't picture you as the 'mom' type," she said.
Cortez smirked mockingly and took another drink. "Don't start thinking I aim to be some stay-at-home ovary on legs," she insisted. "I'm a career woman, through and through. Hell, if Riley couldn't run me off, nothing can, right?"
Linda smiled and nodded again, signaling the affirmation Cortez obviously expected.
"Seriously, though...I think Amare and I have a real thing," Cortez said softly. "He's responsible, caring, we've got a ton in common...I think I can build a real future with him. And that might not have happened if you hadn't given him a little nudge." Cortez looked directly at Linda again. "I don't know why you did it. Maybe you wanted to make up for being so stuffy all the time, maybe you just root for that kind of thing, hell, maybe you're just playing god, but whatever the reason, you did a good thing for me. I won't forget that."
Linda nodded, secretly jubilant about her unqualified success. Her response was a simple, "Sure." However, something started to bother her. "Mind if I ask you a question?" Cortez nodded. "If you wanted to settle down, why do it here? Why on Meridian?"
"Because unlike our coworker Riley, may his dick be shredded by a sudden wind, I actually know a thing or two about business. Specifically, about investment," she explained. "More specifically, about long-term investment. Meridian is long-term. Without question. But one day, it'll be finished with its terraforming. One day, it'll become a center for travel and trade in this sector. After the War, the landscape of this part of UEG space changed a lot. New planets to colonize have been found, others remain glassed, some systems have been declared unsafe for the immediate future...in 20 or 30 years Meridian will be bigger than it ever was before. Bigger than anything in this part of space. And my family will be in on the ground floor. We'll have all the connections and inside information we need to really make it out here. Maybe it won't happen until I'm an old woman. Hell, with the quality of living here maybe I won't live to see it at all. But one day my family will be on top." Cortez got a starry-eyed, dreamer look on her face. Abruptly, she steeled her features and raised her glass in front of Linda. The Spartan picked up her glass and raised it as well. "To the future," Cortez toasted, clinking her glass against Linda's. They both drank.
"And just who's future is that? Yours?" A gruff, angry voice said from behind them. Linda turned around to see a group of 4 men approaching them. She cursed herself for becoming distracted by Cortez' speech. "And what about our future, huh? You UEG pukes ever think of that?"
Cortez, belatedly, seemed to realize the danger they were in merely being out here. "We're not-"
The apparent leader of the group was uninterested in what she had to say. Linda could tell from the look on his face that he had not come here to talk. "Of course not," he said. "You people never think of anything but yourselves. You just fly on in wherever you want, taking over, taking what people have sweat and bled to build." His face grew red with rage. As he and his group got closer Linda could smell alcohol on each of their breaths. She glanced around and saw no members of Meridian Security present; even the bartender had mysteriously vanished. "You ever bled for anything? Huh?!"
Tactically, the best course of action would be to retreat. She could spring from her stool and be halfway to the exit before these drunks had even realized she had moved. Once outside she could easily outrun any pursuit. She was not as fast as Kelly, but she was still a Spartan, and none of these aggressors were likely to have their own vehicles.
Cortez, however, was not augmented. She was not as fast, or as strong, or as accustomed to adapting to a violent situation. Linda could tell from her breathing that Cortez was fighting off panic. There was no way she could get away on her own.
The leader moved to grab Cortez. Linda reacted faster than the human eye could follow, grabbing a stool and shoving the man in the chest. The man went flying backward, falling to the ground and sliding to a stop at least 3 meters away. She hoped this would be enough to discourage his entourage.
It wasn't.
The other 3 surged forward. Linda smacked one in the face with the seat of the stool, immediately ducking beneath the swings of the other 2 and using her improvised weapon to trip them up before delivering a swift kick to each of their chests, leaving them writhing on the ground in agony.
Unfortunately, by that point other diners had apparently decided to join the attack and Linda soon found herself facing down several dozen opponents. "Run!" she shouted to Cortez, knowing that there was little hope of escape but even less hope of survival if the office worker remained here. Cortez remained rooted in place, too terrified to move.
Linda moved with all of the speed, agility, and raw combat power she had honed over decades of ceaseless war. She used her unmatched precision to turn the nearby glasses and bottles into ballistic weapons, each one impacting an eye, neck, or groin. She dodged strikes with her augmented speed and reflexes, broke limbs with effortless precision, sent people flying with her enhanced strength...but she was still only one person. Her survival had always been due to her skill at avoiding detection, killing from the shadows. It was what had allowed her to be a lone wolf. Here, though, she was in an open, lit area, surrounded by enraged people who wanted her dead, and desperately trying to defend a civilian.
It was only a matter of time before someone got a lucky shot in. It came when Linda was not expecting it, in the form of a blinding pain in her left leg.
Someone had stabbed her.
Linda turned and smashed a liquor bottle she had picked up across her attacker's face. But the damage had been done. With her leg injured her mobility was greatly diminished, and she had been hemmed in from the start. She felt another blade slash across her back. She whirled as best she could, delivering a chop to the neck that rendered the man helpless on the floor.
Someone stabbed her in the back.
Linda felt the blade sink deep before being pulled back out. She tried to turn, only to have someone grab her from behind and attempt to put her in a choke hold. Set set her feet, favoring her uninjured leg, and flipped the man over her head, sending him crashing into a booth table which promptly collapsed to the floor. She stood back up, bleeding profusely from several wounds, and faced the rest of her attackers.
The entire building had erupted into chaos. Men and women of all occupations and classes were attacking each other with whatever was available, from cutlery to their own fists. Apparently some diners had tried to rush to her defense. Or maybe they felt it was as good a time as any to settle their own grudges. Or maybe there was no logic to it at all, no reason, just frustrated, frightened people lashing out at the nearest living thing they didn't personally identify with.
A heavy, metal pipe struck her on the side of the head.
Linda collapsed to the floor, her vision blurry, as helpless as the man she had chopped on the neck mere moments ago. She saw the vague outline of a man appear above her. She couldn't focus enough to make out his features. She tried to power through the pain, but her injuries were adding up. She was unable to resist when the man planted his boot on her chest, gripped the pipe with both hands, and raised it over his head, preparing to bring it down on her skull. Her bones were coated in near-indestructible material during her augmentations, but the impact would be enough to do serious damage. It would render her completely helpless, perhaps for long enough to bleed to death on the floor.
Suddenly, another blur shoved her attacker out of her field of vision. Had one of her siblings come to save her? She managed to turn her head and saw the two struggling in close quarters combat. No. It was not one of her family. Her rescuer was not as skilled as her attacker, and quickly found himself on the floor next to her, their opponent raining down blows upon him. She could hear bones crack under the repeated strikes on his chest, arms, and face. Linda couldn't move. She was having difficulty breathing; it was possible she had a pierced lung. The last thing she managed to do before losing consciousness was focus on the face of the man who had come to her rescue.
It was Yao Miller.
Belated Merry Christmas, everyone! Sings carols
Note: I hope I didn't make Locke out to be unreasonably aggressive. He's not an idiot. He's just used to being able to intimidate his way through his problems and he thinks peaceful cooperation with the people of Meridian is a lost cause. It's a bit like the Master Chief's perception of Miller, only John's less of an asshole about it.
Note: Cortez' motivation is taken pretty much completely from one of the audio logs in Halo 5. Seriously, if the main plot was as good as the collectible logs, the game would have been amazing.
Note: So, another action scene...kinda. I know Linda would be more than a match for random colonists, but numbers can overwhelm. Spartans are still mortal, after all. Still, as short as it was I hope it was exciting. I got some criticism for the first action scene I had back in chapter 2 and I actually went back and rewrote that part to fix it. Did I do better this time?
Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
Slipspace Anomaly