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Generation II
Posted By: Kathryne Charles<Ishdakitty@gmail.com>
Date: 11 October 2005, 7:12 am
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"I swear I didn't used to bitch this much. I used to be a nice, quiet little soldier who did my job and didn't complain. At least I think so. I've been a soldier for a long time."
Private First Class SPARTAN-291 scratched at her short white hair, looking across the fire at the few remaining marines and the pitiful camp they were calling "home." The skepticism on one marine's face caused her to grit her teeth in frustration. She couldn't really blame him, with her delicate elfin features and pale skin she looked about as tough as a paper bag. Her Molinier armor helped her image a little, but a teenager's face and big blue eyes revealed she couldn't expect much. A plasma grenade had caught the side of her head earlier in the day, and it was pure luck that she'd gotten her helmet off in time. Not many people got to see a spartan's face, and with good reason. Spartans were invincible, deadly, and superhuman. Not pretty.
SPARTAN-173 came jogging out of the darkness, his SMG slung low. No contacts then. He turned his impassive faceplate towards her, and cocked his head. "Would it be cruel to remind you what ducking is?" She could hear the grin in his voice, and resisted the urge to throw a burning log at him. Paul was incorrigible at the best of times, and letting him get to her wouldn't help her case any. Putting on her coldest expression for the sake of the marines, she nodded.
"Yes, it would." She stood, and enjoyed the crack of her back. Her height didn't help terribly much either, she barely stood at Paul's shoulder. Just her luck to have a freak allergy to platinum. She'd flat lined on the table during augmentation; Dr. Halsey had barely gotten her though that. So, while her teammates grew to superhuman size, she got stuck at a measly 5-foot-nine. Being the only Spartan with a normal sex drive was also frustrating as hell. Rigid self-control kept her from indulging, but she had dreams sometimes…She shook them out of her head, and left the fire. A balled fist flashed out as she passed Paul, and a satisfying grunt sent her off with a smile. The marines might have noticed the exchange, but the only way to keep the Spartans sharp was to act normal. They'd lost two of their team today. It hurt still.
Halley hadn't been born like the other members of her squad, to a nice family on a remote planet somewhere. She'd been born on Reach. All the research and information on Project COMET had been destroyed the same year that the second team of Spartans had been selected. All she knew for certain was that she was unique in the UNSC. She'd been cloned from the splicing of several top genetic specimens and her genome refined to as near perfection as it could be gotten by genetic science. Then something had caused the experiment to go under, and the scientist behind it had struck some sort of deal with Dr. Halsey; instead of being terminated with the rest of the equipment, Halley had been entered into the SPARTAN II project. She was genetic perfection, of course she excelled. She didn't know anything other than giving 150% all the time.
At first she'd been different from the others, like a Caucasian albino in a Latino community. Pale and delicate, hair so white it gleamed, she'd been shunned by the more normal kids. She'd never forget the day it all changed. Three weeks after conscription, the children had been doing morning calisthenics under Chief Mendez's watchful eyes. One boy, Chris-166, had collapsed towards the end, a bad cold gotten out of control. A trainer had descended on him, and Halley had broken rank to intercept. She didn't know why she did it. The unsuspecting trainer had been thrown off balance, and when he hit the ground she grabbed his stun baton. She'd bashed his skull with it three times before they pulled her off him. The reprimands had been severe, but after that Mendez kept a closer eye on her. Testing showed that her brain pumped out nearly twice the normal adrenaline under stress, and that against all probability her body managed to handle the influx. The other children held her in a sort of awe after that. From then on she'd fit in.
She ran through the list of teammates already dead, and felt the cold gnawing at her inside. Hot tears were refused, and she stared over the battlefield with a face chiseled from stone. Kim-237 and Ferdenand-199 were added to the list. Her family was growing smaller and smaller. A hand settled on her shoulder, and she glanced back to see Micha standing there, his body language hinting nervousness. She managed a small smile.
"We've got to get to the generator tomorrow, if we can get a strong enough signal out we might get the UNSC's attention. I don't know what we'll do if we can't get evac."
He nodded, and squeezed her shoulder a little. "We'll think of something. Maybe if we're lucky this'll be a little vacation for us." He reached back to pop his helmet off, and took a deep breath of the wintry air. His handsome Russian features were only slightly marred by a scar that ran across his forehead, and once again he had more facial hair than was technically acceptable by regulation. He looked every one of his 33 years, and no one would have guessed the two soldiers were of an age. Another side product of a refined genome was very slow aging. It was a shame. It was so hard to give orders when people thought you were sixteen. Micha gave her shoulder one last pat before popping his helmet back on and lifting his weapon to ready; thumbing off the safety and heading out to patrol the perimeter of the camp. Halley was left alone with her memories again.
The dream hit her out of nowhere again, on the deck of the newly recommissioned "Avenger," Halley stood at attention as soldiers passed her by, on their way to some sort of briefing. She wasn't supposed to be on this deck, but she had to know. Had to see if the stories were true. Sure enough, a man entered the room, nearly two meters tall, short brown hair, strong features, walking with a grace that belied nearly 160 kilos of muscle and bone. Him. The Master Chief SPARTAN-117. John. He'd arrived a few days before with the remains of the original Spartan II squad, having survived a harrowing experience that was classified on a level that even Halley couldn't crack yet. Tomorrow he was going to be honored for his "success" and survival at something called the Halo, and tonight her team was leaving on a covert mission to the Diphan System. This might be her only chance to ever see the living legend.
The original Spartans and the younger team that followed were never introduced. Halley wasn't sure why. She though the rule absolutely stupid, and taking a chance with her career, she stepped into his path with the nonchalance as if she hadn't seen him. The resulting crash knocked her off her balance (on purpose of course, her reflexes were honed to a razors edge) and he reached out to catch her.
"Whoops! You alright?" Brown eyes burned as much as his touch. This was a BAD idea. She flushed unintentionally, and the softening of his gaze made her weak in the knees.
"Uh, yeah, sorry. Sorry Sir." His hand lingered a little overlong on her arm as she stood under her own power, only a Spartan would have noticed. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and she felt the so-called "Spartan Time" rush up on her. Force of will slowed her down, and she flashed a smile. He smiled back a little wistfully. She stepped out of his path; again he lingered a moment.
"It's no problem." He looked like he was going to say something, but opted not to. Halley's over-strung senses picked it up then. His body heat was up a few degrees, and pheromones were strong in the air around them; but he continued on his way with one last anticlimactic smile in her direction. Halley barely made it back to the corridor before falling against the wall with shivers overtaking her. She cracked into his private COM channel, listening with a pang of guilt. She had to know. Had to know if he'd been affected as strongly as she.
"Hey Chief, you okay?" The AI Cortana sounded a little worried.
"Of course, why?" The Chief sounded a little flustered, but that might have been Halley's imagination.
"Your pulse rate just jumped quite a bit. You running laps around the spaceship again?"
"No, nothing like that. Just ran into a girl."
"…A girl?" Cortana sounded a little suspicious.
"Yeah. The doc was right, the thyroid implant must finally be breaking down."
"OH?" She was definitely peeved.
"Relax, Cortana. I know we have a job to do." There was a smile in his voice. "But it's nice to know my imagination still works."
"Hold on chief…I just saw something on the ship roster…that's odd."
"Hmm?"
"I could have sworn it just said there was another Spartan on board…but then it vanished." Halley cursed to herself; her concentration was slipping, and she shut her neural implant to passive mode again.
"I think there's someone listening to our conv---" Halley shut the hack down, irritated. The AI was good. Really good. She hurried back to the bay where her team was situated. They were enjoying their last few hours before being suited up again, and all heads turned when she walked in.
"Was it worth it?" Kim snickered unrepentantly as she took in the stolen tech uniform and Halley's sheepish expression with a single look.
"Oh. Hell. Yeah." Halley allowed herself a little grin in response.
She woke with a violent start from the memory-dream. Kim. Kim was dead now. Her relaxed but teasing manner had been a constant for years. Halley sat up and ran her fingers through her hair, digging her nails in hard enough to draw blood. She checked the time on her borrowed HUD. She'd only been asleep for two hours. Not nearly enough to be alert come morning. With a sigh she rolled back over and lapsed into dreams again.
John-117 was in those dreams too.
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