Chapter 32: Growing Understanding and The Food Raid
Sounds of battle echoed over the plains. Flashes decorated the horizon as, invisible to the Spartan IIs, the forces of the Arbiter clashed with the religious fanatics following Jul 'Mdama. The Swords of Sanghelios were moving closer to the seaport from which they would launch the invasion of Sunaion.
Good, Kelly thought. This whole setup was really starting to become irritating.
"Keep your mind in the present, Spartan," 'Khebrem admonished her. The veteran of the Human-Covenant War had to restrain herself from responding violently at being scolded by a sangheili. This was neither the time nor the place for such an emotional outburst.
Besides, she was the one who had volunteered to assist 'Khebrem in medical duties.
The ranking academic was, in addition to a historian, a prominent doctor, occupying a high position in the 'Guild of Healers'. He had insisted that his position was mostly political, his time too occupied with cultural and historical matters to contribute much to the advancement of medical science, but nevertheless his expertise made him the best qualified to serve as the expedition's medic.
That, and he seemed to think he was the only one capable of performing the task properly. Kelly remembered 'Khebrem scolding his subordinates about the composure of a lab area. Something about the place not being organized correctly, or the other academics not doing things in the same procedure that he favored. He had been most insistent that they do things his way.
Thus, when one of the guards had been injured by a falling bit of rubble, it was 'Khebrem that treated the injury. With Kelly assisting. The academic donned sterile gloves and began cleaning the leg wound. The injured warrior grumbled unhappily. For a sangheili, the sound was similar to the warning growl of an apex predator. 'Khebrem seemed to agree.
"You dislike when I touch your blood, correct?" he asked his patient.
The response was curt. "Yes, in fact," the injured warrior bit out.
"Well, why did you not say so earlier?" 'Khebrem asked in false relief. "If that is the case, we will simply leave your injured leg as it is. If you are fortunate, everything will heal well and you will be able to participate in combat again within a few weeks. If you are unfortunate, the wound will become infected, you will take ill, and die. Forerunners smile on you, friend." The academic moved to leave.
"Wait!" the warrior said hurriedly. He set his features, his mandibles clinging tightly to his face. "I am...willing to ignore my...emotional response. Please, Healer, continue your work."
'Khebrem spread his upper mandibles in a grin, his point having been made. He sat back down in front of his patient and spent several minutes cleaning and tending the wound.
"Healing foam, if you would," 'Khebrem ordered. Kelly reached into the supply bag and handed him the requested piece of equipment. The sangheili injected the wounded warrior's leg with a small bit of the foam. From what she could tell, it was a blatant copy of humanity's own biofoam. She supposed it made sense to adapt existing technology rather than starting from scratch, but it still annoyed Kelly that the aliens had effectively stolen one of their ideas.
The treatment for the wound was finished rather quickly. Kelly then assisted 'Khebrem in gathering and storing the medical supplies. It had certainly been interesting, studying at the feet of one of the sangheili's first true medical professionals.
Originally, Kelly had asked for the tutelage so she would better understand how to kill sangheili in the future. She knew about as much as any human alive but utilizing a new source, particularly one with such direct connection to the subject, could always provide new information. A Spartan never passed up an advantage.
Surprisingly, 'Khebrem had agreed right away to allowing Kelly to learn about the nascent field of sangheili medicine. He had said something about education and communication being the keys to peace. Or something.
Kelly had little patience for that kind of wishful thinking.
Regardless of the sangheili's motivations, Kelly had learned much, both from 'Khebrem himself and from the medical texts he allowed her to study. Nearly all of them had been written within the past few years. Some of them even featured passages written by 'Khebrem himself.
The sangheili academic bothered her. She thought about him as she walked back to Blue Team's area of the camp. Something about him continued to nag at her. Kelly sat down and thought about a recent event that stuck out in her mind.
A student had been approaching 'Khebrem. The junior academic was carrying some sort of artifact recovered in the course of the expedition. The student spoke for a bit. After hearing him out, 'Khebrem shook his head. He snatched the artifact out of the student's hands and pointed to several points on its surface. Apparently having been proved wrong about something, the student hung his head in shame. 'Khebrem placed the artifact back in the student's hands and motioned him away.
The chastised pupil walked away, eventually sitting down on a bench. He studied the artifact for a bit, with little enthusiasm, before placing it on a basic desk in front of him. He slouched in his seat, discouraged. He only perked up when he noticed 'Khebrem sitting down next to him.
The lead scholar had talked to his student for a bit, his arm around the younger sangheili's shoulder. After several minutes of conversation 'Khebrem got up, placed the artifact back in the student's hands, and left. The student himself resumed his studies, his morale apparently restored.
The picture of Cham 'Khebrem was a paradox. He seemed to be a man (well, alien) of peace. He was an academic, a teacher, one who expected much of his students and pushed them to their limits. Yet, he also clearly cared for them. He knew all of them by name, seemed to know a fair bit about each of their personal histories, and seemed to place a high priority on their well-being. Nothing about him should have been threatening or intimidating.
Yet, Kelly felt increasingly uncomfortable around him.
Something about him seemed almost...familiar. Kelly thought back to the student he had scolded. She had experienced similar scoldings, she mused.
A wave of nausea crashed over Kelly as she realized she had just experienced a moment of kinship with a sangheili.
Hopefully, the final attack on Sunaion would happen soon. This mission was really starting to get to her.
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Food.
Since the beginning of siege warfare, food had been a central component of any battle plan. Contrary to whatever fantasies green recruits may bring into their first assignment, fortified population centers were rarely ever taken by direct force. Assaults were costly and risky. The much safer, and therefore generally the more sane, approach was to alter the situation so that the defenders decided to surrender without their walls ever having been breached.
The basic strategy, from ancient Roman cities to the asteroid bases of the Insurrection, was to surround the enemy and wait for their supplies to run out. Fortified positions were rarely self-sufficient. An armed force completely cutting them off from the outside world meant they would start running short. In space, the first resource to dwindle was typically breathable air. Within a biosphere, it was food.
The floating city of Sunaion was no different.
The 'city' was a Forerunner installation composed of hundreds of kilometer-tall spires of alien metal. There were rings around the circumference of nearly all of the spires, about a meter thick and varied in width, which were the platforms upon which the Storm had set up shop. The rings were set at various elevations, producing 'levels' or 'floors'. There was a network of hard-light bridges that connected many of the spires.
There was, however, no space for agricultural equipment. Meaning the 'city' was entirely dependent upon shipments of rations to keep its personnel operational.
"Certainly, simply waiting for hunger to drive them to surrender is unacceptable," the Arbiter explained. His hologram gestured to the map of Sunaion that was also being projected by the comm terminal in the Lich's communication room. "Every moment that 'Mdama is in that city brings him closer to unleashing doom upon us all. Be that as it may, facing defenders wracked by hunger will be far easier than if they were fully nourished."
"Agreed," the Master Chief replied. Lack of provisions would damage both physical fighting ability and overall morale of Sunaion's defenders. "I assume my team and I will be intercepting shipments?"
"There is no need," the Arbiter replied, his upper mandibles spreading in a grin. "We now have the ability to eliminate the source. Observe."
The map representing Sunaion was replaced by recon footage of what looked like some kind of farming complex. There were tens of orderly fields full of what looked like alien produce as well as dozens of smaller greenhouses. The fields took up the majority of the perimeter, the exception being the onloading/offloading area for shipments, with the greenhouses taking up a large portion of the interior. Other structures housed the personnel, equipment, and a small number of troops to serve as security. Still others were guard posts, fences, and other security measures.
"This," the sangheili monarch explained, "is the keep of Kaidon Van 'Zama. Scholar 'Khebrem will explain more."
At this the academic, who had previously been standing in the back of the comm room, moved forward to stand in front of the display. "Kaidon 'Zama" he began, "has converted the entirety of his personal estate into an agricultural center unrivaled upon all of Sanghelios. As I have previously explained, the art of growing crops within the soil of our homeworld was lost many centuries ago. Whatever had been used prior to the establishment of the Covenant has either died out or been carefully scrubbed from our histories by the san 'shyuum."
"Indeed," the Arbiter interjected solemnly. "It has been one of the most stubborn and persistent obstacles to our goal of an independent Sanghelios."
"You are correct, of course, my liege," 'Khebrem replied. The Chief was no expert, but he thought he could detect a bit of annoyance from the academic. Apparently, he didn't like being interrupted.
John frowned beneath his helmet.
"It seems that 'Zama," 'Khebrem continued, "has overcome this hurdle. His farms routinely harvest yields easily triple that of any of our efforts. From what we have been able to gather, he has bred new strains of several promising species."
Something stood out to the Chief. "You say 'he' has accomplished this. Do you mean a scientific staff?"
"In truth, no, I do not," 'Khebrem replied. His mandibles went slack and his shoulders sagged for a moment. "Van 'Zama is perhaps the most brilliant mind of his generation. The Guild of Historians coordinated with him for a time. Until the rise of the Storm Covenant, that is..." The academic paused for a moment.
"We all mourn the fall of a promising Scholar," the Arbiter said, coming to his rescue. "We must remember, however, that he chose his current path. Spartan," he said, turning his attention to the Chief. "The 'Zama keep is the primary source of food for Sunaion. You are to capture it, as well as secure any data and samples you find therein."
The Chief bristled internally at being ordered around by the sangheili, but he restrained himself. He had asked much of his host. Refusing to help in the final stages of the campaign would simply be unacceptable.
"I cannot overstate the importance of acquiring what 'Zama has discovered," the Arbiter continued. "Without doubt you have learned from your travels with Scholar 'Khebrem of the factionalism that has plagued sangheili society for millenia. It infests every aspect of our civilization." The Arbiter's mandibles contracted in what the Chief recognized as a scowl. "I plan to do away with such nonsense. Part of this plan involves agricultural production. Prior to the Covenant, each keep was reliant upon its ability to grow food within its own borders, forcing those with less fertile soil to dedicate resources to food production that could be better used elsewhere. Many colonies, and the territories within colonies, have operated with similar restrictions. I will not tolerate this foolishness any longer. The Swords of Sanghelios will adopt a policy of shared agriculture, starting here on Sanghelios and eventually encompassing all sangheili space. We will have dedicated, prosperous breadbaskets that will be open to all within our society. It is my hope that this policy will help bind our people together further."
That, and it'll make everyone more reliant on your centralized government, the Chief thought.
The Master Chief may not have been the most politically savvy soldier, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew that there had been multiple attempts upon the Arbiter's life in the previous years. He also knew that the only reason his revolutionary programs were being accepted at all was the enormous amount of popular support the Arbiter himself had gained. There were many of the old-guard nobility that would gladly undo all of what the sangheili would-be emperor had accomplished if they were able to wriggle out from under his thumb.
The Chief shook his head. The mechanics of empire building were not something he had mastered. Nor did he wish to. He focused his mind back on his true field of expertise: Winning battles.
"The leader of Fireteam Osiris was recently injured, so for the moment there will be less worry about crossing their paths," the Arbiter explained. "He will, however, be fully recovered within days."
The Master Chief wasn't sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, a dangerous enemy was still an active threat. On the other hand, his survival meant that the Chief's...mistake...had not been as final as it might have been.
Most importantly, there had been no prompt for information, nor did the Arbiter act as if he suspected anything. It seemed that he might not know what the Chief had attempted to do. The Chief wondered why Locke would withhold that information. Maybe his injuries had rendered his memory of the event unclear?
It might have been a good idea to tell the Arbiter, anyway. CPO Mendez, the man who had trained the Spartan IIs, had always been more lenient with punishments when guilty parties had confessed than when he had to find out on his own. Still, as logical as it might have been, the Chief just couldn't bring himself to voluntarily give up information to a sangheili. He supposed decades of seeing them as the inhuman enemy of humankind made it a little hard to trust.
"A small force of Swords infantry will capture the facility. You are to infiltrate prior to the main attack and recover as much data as possible," the Arbiter explained. "It is vital that you recover any and all data concerning 'Zama's success. Failing that, you must capture intact samples as all convoys we have intercepted have immediately incinerated their cargo, denying them to us. Kaidon 'Zama himself is not present, but do seek out any assistants that may be. Keep in your mind that this mission may prove vital to my vision."
"It will also help relieve the food shortages," 'Khebrem interjected. His mandibles were tight against his face. "Many suffer due to the loss of territory and resources during the Great Schism. 'Zama's achievements can keep many from succumbing to hunger in the years ahead."
"Of course, of course," the Arbiter assured him. "Do not worry, Healer, I have not forgotten the plight of the downtrodden. I spoke true when I said the bounty will be available to all within our nation." 'Khebrem nodded at this, seemingly pacified.
"We don't have a lot of time. let's focus on planning the operation," the Master Chief said. Every wasted second was another moment for 'Mdama to reach his goal...and for the Chief to feel lost without Cortana's direction.
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The agricultural complex was nearly engulfed in flames.
It turned out that all of the fields had been equipped with incendiary self-destruct devices. The Spartans had infiltrated the complex unnoticed, naturally, but it turned out the Storm had anticipated losing the complex and decided to burn it preemptively. Sheer luck was the only reason they arrived at the same time the scorched earth policy was being implemented.
All of the fields and greenhouses were burning, the research building was a smoldering ruin, and Blue Team was desperately defending a large shipping container filled with 'Zama's specially designed produce.
A seemingly endless number of sangheili and unggoy assaulted their position within a relatively small storage building. Apparently, they had strict orders to prevent any of their precious cargo from falling into enemy hands. The Spartans fired, targeting the silhouettes framed by the infernos raging all around them.
The air shimmered with the heat, making it more difficult to fire accurately. The Spartans' armor blared warnings about temperature levels. They started to taste the tang of recycled air, the local atmosphere having become too polluted with smoke to be breathable; they had 2 hours at most before their suits were no longer able to keep them alive.
The light of the blaze made a stark contrast to the pitch darkness of night just beyond the perimeter. It felt like fighting a battle in the middle of a campfire.
The sounds of larger battle echoed from the east. The small Swords force that had accompanied Blue Team on this mission were engaging the Storm. It would take time for any reinforcements to reach the Spartans. The Chief mentally berated his alien allies for not doing their jobs fast enough.
This was infuriating. He tried to hide it, but the Master Chief had always taken pride in his nearly flawless success record. To have a mission end in even partial failure was agonizing to him, even if it was due to extenuating circumstances. He didn't like to lose.
That, and the failures of Meridian were still a fresh wound.
The Master Chief focused on the task at hand. They still needed to salvage what they could of this abortive operation.
Beams of light lanced out from atop the building's roof. Each one impacted the visor of an approaching sangheili. Linda had acclimated well to her new weapon.
The Chief and Kelly lay prone upon the roof with her, facing opposite directions. They fired short, controlled bursts from their assault rifles. Their targets were the hostiles that Linda simply didn't have time to take down.
Fred was just outside the loading building itself, forming the last line of defense. The 'building' only had 3 walls, preventing them from securing the main approach. Fred dashed back and forth, using his energy blade to cut down any hostiles that made it too close. He couldn't risk any of his shots impacting the incendiary weapons the Storm warriors carried.
Explosions wracked the ground as some stored flammable materials succumbed to the intense heat. The spreading blaze cut off some of the lines of approach. Unfortunately, it seemed to make the Storm forces even more desperate, as they began pushing forward through the Spartans' defensive fire.
The Master Chief scrambled to come up with a solution. He scanned their surroundings, searching for something, anything, to give them an advantage.
A bit of reflected light from the fires caught the Chief's eye. The reflection was cast by a large pipe, most likely part of the irrigation system for the crops, that was suspended between Blue Team's position and the approaching hostiles. The Spartan used his helmet's zoom function to examine a readout next to the pipe's control surface: pressure was still on.
"Blue Two, target the piping," the Chief ordered, sending Linda's armor a signal that would highlight the target on her own HUD. "Use a plasma grenade."
"Copy," Blue Two replied, laying her beam rifle on the roof surface next to her. She removed one of the explosive devices, courtesy of the Arbiter's Swords, from her belt. She crouched, pulled her arm back, and threw. The grenade arced over 30 meters to land directly on one of the release valves. Once again, her aim had been perfect.
The blue flash of the grenade's detonation was instantly overwhelmed by the torrential rush of released water. The Storm warriors in the direct path of the breach didn't even have time to react before they were hit with several tons of force from the pressurized water. Their broken bodies were washed away in seconds.
The assault wave stalled. Those who weren't directly hit were forced to go around, their steps bogged down by the wet ground. Blue Team dispatched the survivors with their typical efficiency.
"Blue Leader, this is low-officer 'Fulsa," a voice announced over the comms, "we have vanquished the defenders and are on our way to your current position."
"Copy, 'Fulsa," the Chief replied. He was rather annoyed that the sangheili had only managed to break through after Blue Team had eliminated the resistance, but it was still a relief to see the large hovercraft moving in to take possession of the shipping container. Swords warriors surrounded the vehicles, spreading out as much as they dared with the fires still raging. This would have to be done quickly if any of them were to make it out alive.
"Spartan!" a nearby zealot shouted over the roaring fire. He gestured at what appeared to be a small storage building. "We are detecting power signatures within that structure. Would you like to investigate?"
The Chief glanced around at the raging inferno. Fields full of melons, grains, and what appeared to be more alien vegetation were catching fire, the blaze spreading. They had minutes at best before the escape route was cut off and they would have to risk evac by dropship.
"Copy. We'll be back ASAP," the Master Chief replied. He wanted this all done with, and like CPO Mendez always said: If you want something done right, do it yourself. "Blue Two, stay on overwatch," he ordered. "Blue One and Three, on me."
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The trio of Spartans moved toward the small, rectangular building, their guard still fully up. It wasn't in their nature to be careless. They took up positions on opposite sides of the doorway. The Chief snaked a fiberoptic probe through a seam.
The room was dark. Most of his vision was taken up by the enormous agricultural equipment, likely the sangheili equivalent of tractors and the like. The only exception was the far wall.
A small energy barrier was blocking off the back of the equipment shed's only room. Within it was a single figure: a sangheili.
The Master Chief frowned behind his visor. Was this a prisoner? If so, why keep them here instead of a more secure location? Were they captured just prior to the attack? The unknown didn't appear to be restrained in any way. In fact, they seemed to be dressed rather well, by sangheili standards. Maybe it was a VIP hiding from the battle?
Regardless, this bore investigating. The Chief motioned Blue One forward. Fred cracked the control panel open and had the door unlocked in seconds. The Chief motioned again. Blue Team breached the building.
The figure had been facing the wall before they entered. Now, hearing the doors open, they stood and watched the new arrivals. The Spartans moved forward cautiously, checking every corner, every possible avenue of attack. The building proved to be empty of other hostiles.
"I sent my guards away," the figure explained. "I felt no need for them any longer."
Puzzled, the Master Chief approached the energy barrier, his weapon at the ready. "Identify yourself," he demanded. The sangheili's behavior indicated that he was a hiding VIP, but the Chief still wanted to know exactly who he was dealing with.
The sangheili within the makeshift panic room simply stared. "Spartans," he said, calmly. "I have heard much of you over the years. Heard, but not seen...not until today."
The Chief had little patience for games. He reexamined the energy barrier. The emitter was inside the protected area, so there was no use trying to disable it without heavy weapons or special equipment. He did notice, however, that the emitter seemed to be tied into the building's electrical grid. He opened a private comm. "Blue One, get that barrier deactivated. Try cutting its power," he ordered. Fred sent an acknowledgment light to the Chief's HUD and got to work.
The captive sangheili continued to stare at the Spartans. The Chief stared right back. The human realized that the sangheili's dress bore a striking resemblance to the clothing the Arbiter wore when he first greeted the Chief to this planet, all those weeks ago. Realization struck him.
"You're Kaidon Van 'Zama," the Spartan said, recognizing the sangheili from the briefing files.
The sangheili noble, for his part, seemed to ignore the Chief's words. He continued staring for a moment before speaking.
"I was not expecting humans," 'Zama said, once again with an odd, resigned calm. He tilted his head as he continued. "It must seem like madness to an outsider. For my allies and me to follow the Old Ways even after being shown that they were lies. Deceptions intended to end in our destruction. You think us insane or simpletons, don't you?"
"Something like that," the Chief answered, deadpan. If this sangheili was going to try to convince him of the righteousness of his cause or otherwise play for sympathy, well, so much the better. It would be good to stall the war criminal while Blue One worked on cutting the power to his little defense.
'Zama chuckled. "Perhaps it is both." He tilted his head back, seeming to stare at the ceiling in reflection. "When I first heard of the beginning of the Great Schism, I refused to believe that the Prophets were behind it. I had to see the slaughter, the intercepted transmissions, the mountains of evidence before I would even consider it. It was funny, in a way...I had always been uncommonly curious. I would frequently be scolded for going too far or breaking some rule of propriety in my quests for answers, for truth. Yet, when confronted by a hard truth, I...could not bear to face it."
The Chief checked on Blue One out of the corner of his eye. He seemed to be having some difficulty accessing the power grid, but progress was clearly being made. He focused his attention back upon his soon-to-be prisoner.
"I served the Arbiter for a time, but I grew increasingly discontented with the extent he wished to transform our society. I could not believe that the State, the Faith, that I and my ancestors had dedicated our lives to could be false. I lost people, you see, to the Prophet's wars. Cousins, brothers...my father. To abandon their cause wholly would have felt like a betrayal of their memories. Of their legacy," 'Zama continued, seemingly speaking to the empty air. "When Jul 'Mdama approached me, telling me he would lead us back into the Old Ways, I nearly leaped in joy. At last, we would be in a righteous cause once more. At last, all would be right again." 'Zama chuckled again. "The jubilation did not last. Desperate as I was, I could not suppress my curiosity. I came to realize that I, and 'Mdama, were but slaves to dead masters. Followers of a dogma that would only lead to the corruption and death of our people."
The fallen Kaidon looked down, toward the wall, seeming to hide his face in shame. "Yet still I was a coward. Still I could not bear to face the truth. I hid myself in my labors, tried to pretend that all was well. I aided that lunatic, 'Mdama, and the barbarians he leads, and for WHAT?!" The Chief raised his assault rifle and eyed the exits. If this guy snapped, he could do something dangerous, like trigger explosives.
Instead, the sangheili continued talking. "All I have now is the certainty that I have helped kill and enslave my own kind! My own keep is burning to ash now to deny resources to a foe I never should have been fighting. I served the very sort of forces I should have been defending my people against, all because I was too frightened to face a new world!"
The energy seemed to drain out of the sangheili. For several seconds, he simply stared at the wall.
Then, he looked back at the Chief, weariness filling his eyes.
"You know, for most of my life I saw humans as vermin," he said, once again in his calm tone. "I saw the recordings of humans fighting for their lives, even saw some of your clan, but I still believed the lies that humans were all cowardly, heretical vermin. Now, today, I saw you pursue your objective with determination even as the world caught fire around you. I was so blind—no, I was blindfolded, and I was the one to put it on. Only now, at the end, do I see..."
The energy barrier blinked out of existence. The Chief and the rest of the Spartans all trained their weapons on the sangheili. The alien showed no sign of fear. In fact, he seemed resigned. The Master Chief realized that the sangheili had been confessing, trying to find some manner peace before the end.
Tactically, the next move was obvious: capture 'Zama and transport him back to the Arbiter's forces. The sangheili scientist's knowledge could prove invaluable in building up the Swords of Sanghelios.
It would also help salve the Chief's pride over the partially-failed operation. This alone made the choice rather appealing to him.
Yet...
Was that really something that the Spartans wanted?
The sangheili had attempted to exterminate the human species, after all. If the Arbiter was fully successful in forging a new sangheili empire, wouldn't that be a threat to the Unified Earth Government and everyone in it? Eliminating 'Zama would hardly destroy the Arbiter's initiative, but it would certainly slow it. That might be enough...
The Master Chief hesitated. He wasn't sure what to do.
Abruptly, as it had so often in the recent months, memory overwhelmed him.
He remembered the food riots he had seen reports of during the Human-Covenant War. He remembered hearing about how bad things got when food was short. How much suffering and pain resulted in there simply not being enough for everyone to eat. How the UNSC struggled just to maintain order in the face of entire populations upset over empty stomachs. So much blood had been spilled over this.
Most importantly, though, John remembered Dr. Halsey. He remembered something she had tried to teach him ages ago, in some long-forgotten discussion in her office. Something about being worthy of victory...
"Kaidon Van 'Zama, you are under arrest," the Chief heard himself say. It was as if his body was on autopilot. 'Zama seemed as surprised as the Chief felt as the sangheili scientist allowed himself to be restrained and led outside to the Swords forces.
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The tent was silent, save for the sounds of Fred running maintenance on the MJOLNIR armor. The Chief sat nearby, waiting for Blue Team's resident mechanic to finish the vital task of keeping their armor operational. He wouldn't be able to keep them combat ready indefinitely, not without special equipment and assistants, but it should be enough for a while longer.
The end of the mission kept playing over and over in the Chief's mind. He couldn't figure out why he had done it. Spared the sangheili scientist. There were any number of perfectly logical explanations, most of them centered on keeping the Arbiter on friendly terms, but none of them felt like the real reason.
Frankly, this whole mission was driving him nuts.
Kelly sat down next to him. The Chief kept himself from jumping in surprise. He must have been really lost in thought to not notice her approach. Then again, maybe he had noticed and subconsciously ignored it. He had nothing to fear from his sister, after all.
The silence stretched on as the Chief waited for Kelly to say something.
She didn't.
Kelly didn't say anything, didn't even look directly at him. She simply sat down, and waited. Waited for him to make the first move.
It took several minutes for John to finally open up. It was difficult. This sort of thing didn't come naturally to him.
"You're wondering why I didn't eliminate Van 'Zama," he said. Might as well get right to the point.
"If that's what's bothering you," she replied. John bit back his annoyance. Why did she insist on talking like that?
"It's...part of it," he admitted. "This mission has been wearing on me. I—" the Chief hesitated. John forced himself to keep going. "I failed, Kelly. When I tried to eliminate Locke. I let my emotions take control, take my attention away from the mission. I wanted revenge. For what he did. For what I've—we've—lost. I nearly got Linda and myself killed, not to mention the long-term consequences if the Arbiter learned what I'd done."
What came next was the hardest thing the Master Chief had ever done. Battling the Covenant hordes, vanquishing runaway remnants of the Forerunner Empire, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat time and time again for the better part of half a century...None of it compared to forcing himself to say what he said next.
"I...I feel like I'm coming apart. Like maybe I'm not fit to lead."
The Chief held his breath, waiting for his teammate to respond. What would she say? Would she agree with him? Would she suggest Fred take over as Blue Lead? He had certainly proved himself capable of the role in the Chief's absence.
Kelly hugged him.
Just...what? His arms remained resting on his knees as her arms encircled him.
"I trust you," John's sister told him. "You made a mistake, but you know it. You admit it. I know you—you'll learn from this. Get better. After all," he could hear the smile in her voice as she finished, "you don't like to lose."
Trembling, unsure what to say, the Chief allowed his arms to encircle his sister right back.
John allowed himself to cry for the first time in over 40 years.
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"Well, that's the story," the Master Chief concluded.
Linda and Fred stared at the Chief, apparently processing the explanation he had just given for his actions against Fireteam Osiris. He had made no excuses. He simply explained how he had failed and hoped, prayed, that they would share Kelly's confidence.
"About damn time," Linda said, nodding. The look on her face conveyed clear confidence. The Chief had regained her respect and trust as leader.
This surprised him. After Linda's, admittedly justified, dressing down of him post-mission, he had expected her to be the last to forgive him.
"I'm not happy about this, but I'm at least glad you owned up to it," Fred added in turn. "Just...try not to do anything like that again, okay, sir?"
"Copy that, Fred," the Chief replied. His eyes threatened to tear up again, but he managed to keep it controlled this time. One weeping session was enough for this decade.
With that, the impromptu meeting was adjourned. Linda went to clean and modify her beam rifle, Kelly went to go over some of the sangheili medical texts some more, and Fred pulled out one of the Forerunner relics recovered from Meridian.
The Chief paused. "Any progress on accessing the Forerunner devices?" he asked.
Fred sighed. "Not much, sir. I've made progress but, well...I wouldn't count on anything being usable before the end of the mission."
A thought rose into the Master Chief's consciousness. A year ago he would have dismissed it out of hand. Now, for some reason, it just felt right. And the Chief had learned to trust his instincts.
"Let the huragok assist you," he ordered.
Fred looked up, his posture conveying clear surprise. "Sir? Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm sure," the Chief replied, although he'd be hard pressed to explain why at the moment.
Fred sat up a bit straighter. The Chief wasn't an expert, but he thought he detected some relief in his brother's tone as he confirmed the order and went off to find the alien engineer. If the Spartan squadleader had to guess, he'd say that his subordinate was happy to have a confident leader once again.
Unnoticed by the man himself, a small smile appeared on the Chief's face, hidden by the polarized visor.
Sorry for the delay. I managed to get a full time job for the summer, so there's been less time to write. That, and I finally got around to playing the last Witcher 3 dlc. Seriously—Blood and Wine ROCKS.
Note: I'm trying to develop 'Khebrem as a bit of a kindred spirit to Dr. Halsey. I figured this would be the best way to get the members of Blue Team, particularly Kelly, to develop a believable amount of new empathy for the Sangheili. I'm a bit worried that I laid it on a bit thick in this chapter, though. Thoughts?
Note: One of my favorite bits of Halo: First Strike was the part where everyone had to talk the Chief out of continuing his original mission to capture a Covenant Prophet. Bear in mind, this was after the events of Halo which physically and mentally exhausted everyone, the Chief was the only Spartan II still in operation, and his 'crew' consisted of 2 marines, a pilot, and an intelligence officer. All because John was committed to his mission and didn't like to lose. I really liked that as an example of how a crazy-awesome badass can sometimes go a bit too far in his crazy-awesomeness.
Note: My mantra in writing this fic has, from the beginning, been 'Show, Don't Tell'. This is why I try to take every opportunity I can to showcase each character's distinguishing characteristics. In this chapter I have Fred once again acting as team mechanic, and I have Kelly acting as the resident Team Mom.
Note: So, yeah, another scene of Spartans being all emotional and junk. A lot of writers are afraid to let their characters show emotion or vulnerability. This has the effect of rendering them inhuman or unsympathetic. I've tried to avoid that here, but it is possible to go too far in the opposite direction and make them neurotic wimps. How do you guys think I'm handling the balancing act?
Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
Slipspace Anomaly