"Ma'am?"
Dr. Halsey glanced up from her work. She sat up stiffly, moving from the hunched position she'd been in for hours now, her fingers flexing as they recovered from the nonstop typing. "Ah, Chief Petty Officer, come in."
CPO Mendez hesitated for a fraction of a second before he entered Halsey's lab. It was more of a well, it looked more like the proverbial "man-cave," but was cluttered with empty Styrofoam coffee cups, stacks and mounds of paper, and various scientific oddities. He had to move carefully to avoid stepping on what looked like an important naval document, and almost tripped over a hidden stack of books. But Mendez had navigated the worst of battlegrounds as a soldier, and darn him if he was about to let a woman's mess upset his footing.
If the lab was a mess, it was a testament to the condition of its proprietor. Halsey's silver-shot brown hair hung down over her face in unkempt locks. She had dark rings around her eyes and thin lines that certainly hadn't been caused by laughter. Her mouth was a flat line, and her skin was pale, as if she had become imprisoned in this subterranean lair, like some cave creature. Her lab coat was stained in spots and had become wrinkled.
"You're looking..."
"Exhausted? Disgusting? Honestly, Franklin, if you were about to say 'well,' I'd have to scold you for lying," Halsey chided. She steepled her fingers in front of her face and sighed. "I must say, it's refreshing for you to come down here. I've been waist-deep in nearly a dozen projects for the last eight hours and I'm in need of a break."
Mendez stiffened somewhat when she called him by his first name. His strict military indoctrination made him resent it. But deep down, it was almost comforting. Comforting because he wasn't "Franklin" to anyone else, hadn't been for a very long time. Too long. But war and duty and dedication had swept him away from his old life and given him a new purpose. Catherine Halsey was part of that purpose. After all, she had masterminded the Spartan-II program, right down to which candidates were actually selected for training. Had handpicked him from a sea of other drill instructors, men who had higher rank and better recommendations.
So he let it slide, as he so often did, and gave a slight nod.
"Then I regret to inform you I come on official business... Catherine." Her name felt awkward to say, as he was so accustomed to barking official titles and salutations. But she had said his, so why not return the favor?
"This is about the Spartans, yes?" Halsey perked up. A bit of color returned to her face. She sat back in her chair and swept a tendril of hair away from her face, placing it behind her ear. He could see his reflection in her antique glasses. "Please, tell me everything."
"They seem to be recovering just fine," Mendez said. He met her gaze, his black eyes connecting with her icy blue ones. He wondered what she saw in his. People told him he had shark's eyes, eyes that were cold and ruthless and bereft of soul. He didn't deny that claim, but still, what Halsey might think intrigued him. He might be the hard-hearted war machine, but she was inscrutable, like some sort of fickle deity, always plotting and planning and changing her mind. Now and then he would catch her off guard, get to see her real, human side, but mostly he saw this part of her, the part that processed data like an AI and resorted to pure, cruel logic. "There were a few injuries that required hospitalization, but otherwise they remain in top-notch condition. However Tango Company has reported severe injuries, three MIAs, and the loss of over twenty attack dogs."
"Indeed," Halsey murmured. "Which children were injured?"
It sounded odd that she said "children" instead of "trainees." Perhaps her intense workload was temporarily confusing her vocabulary. "Solomon-069, Vinh-030, René-005, and Grace-093. The most serious injury was 030's fractured tibia. Quite a few cuts and bruises on the lot of 'em. I was expecting more serious casualties, to be honest," Mendez mused. "I suspect this success was a revenge-strike against Tango for its treatment of Green Team during the last field exercise."
"They use live rounds and torture methods against thirteen-year-olds," Halsey muttered, her eyes narrowing.
"Against thirteen-year-old Spartans , ma'am," Mendez reminded her. "You know as well as I do what they're capable of. The tactics employed by Tango Company may not be the most desirable, but you and I both know what happens in real war. The Insurrectionists won't be half as kind as Tango's Marines."
"I know." Halsey rubbed her forehead between her eyes. "Yes, Franklin, I've thought it over a hundred times, and yet sometimes I still wonder how they can take what we put them through."
We . The word hung heavy in the air between them, almost as tangible as the thick smoke from one of Mendez's Sweet William cigars. Mendez cocked his head a tiny fraction. Was that guilt he detected in Halsey's voice? Remorse? Or was it fear? Fear of what? That she had become a monster? That they both had?
Mendez was rock-solid. A man of few words and much action through and through. Protocol dictated action and he followed through to the letter. But watching Halsey berate herself made his insides squirm somewhat. He wasn't afraid, not of his own feelings, not of anything. He couldn't identify what he felt, because giving it a name meant he acknowledged his own weakness. And a man who supervised the training of Spartan-IIs could afford no weakness whatsoever.
"Catherine."
Halsey raised her head, staring out of the dark rings on her face.
"Coffee?" Mendez grunted, the best friendly invitation he could muster from the depths of his soul.
End Part I