- Footbutt
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- Exalted Member
"There is no time to waste," the Monitor repeated with more forcefulness than Alice thought possible. The soft blue in the AI's eye momentarily faded to an orange hue before returning to its normal color. "We will go, now."
Douglas shot Alice a warning glance as he lifted his SMG into firing position.
She nodded and duplicated his movements with her MA5B, settling into a crouch to dive to her left.
But once again the hazy golden rings descended over the Monitor and the two Spartans, freezing them in place and transporting them away. Alice could feel something tighten around her waist and arms, as if locking her in a vise. She heard Douglas shout and squeeze off a short burst, but it was too late. They were literally bound for Installation 03, like prisoners in a refugee caravan.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
"You wanted to see me, Sir?"
James Cutter looked up from his desk in his Captain's quarters and waved the Spartan in. "Please, come in." He stood and greeted the towering soldier with a firm handshake. "Would you like to sit down?"
Jerome came to a parade-rest stance, clasping hand over wrist behind his back. "No, thank you. I'm afraid if I did I would just nod off," he said evenly.
Inclining his head at the remark, James wondered if the Spartan was saying that he would fall asleep from tiredness or from the boredom talking to a superior officer was known to bring. James took a step backward and leaned back on the edge of his desk. Folding his arms across his chest, he searched Jerome's passive face. While the hardened physical presence of the Spartan matched the armor he normally wore, there was a tightness in his eyes that spoke of distraction. "How are you holding up?" Cutter asked.
Jerome frowned. "Sir?"
"Spartans 042 and 130 are currently MIA."
"A mere label, Sir."
A frown tugged at the corner of Cutter's lip. "I was wondering how you were doing in their absence."
The Spartan's only response was to deepen his expression.
James nodded to the terminal on his desk. "I've had several reports of you being found in almost every section of the ship, wandering around various decks like a ghost."
"I wasn't aware that my authorization status had been changed."
Cutter gave a flat smile. "A tech seeing someone as big as you in their work area tends to raise some concerns." He waved his hand to dismiss the train of dialog. "I am more interested in why you're roaming."
"Can't sleep," he said in an automatic response. But then Jerome worked his jaw for a breath, reconsidering his answer. "Anxiousness, Sir."
"About the rest of Red Team's status," James clarified, trying to read the man's rigid posture.
The Spartan nodded.
James placed his hands on the desk and pushed off. "You know, I don't have a whole lot of information on the three of you, given the small window of time from when we first picked you guys up on Arcadia till when we went off chasing the Covies to that shield world. I never was able to open up an encrypted channel to ONI, but I've come to place my full confidence in your abilities." James raised his chin ever so slightly. "I can only imagine what the three of you have been through during your career, and I'm sure the bond you share is incomparable on the battlefield. But believe me, son, when we get to our destination we'll find them."
"I don't doubt that we will, Sir," Jerome responded in a mechanical fashion, his eyes still focused on an indiscriminate spot on the back wall.
Raising an eyebrow, Cutter narrowed his eyes. "So how are you holding up?"
The Spartan's gaze shifted down to the Captain for a brief moment before returning to its original position. "Better, Sir. I was able to talk with Professor Anders and the conversation was very helpful."
Anders? "Well, I wouldn't expect the two of you to hit it off so well."
Jerome made an abbreviated shrug.
Cutter folded his arm across his chest, wondering if he should ask the man what the two had talked about, but James could read contentment in the Spartan's words and chose to drop it. "Well, if you still need to take a walk through Engineering, you might want to comm them ahead of time," James offered jokingly.
Jerome gave a quick shaking of his head. "I'll stop spooking the techs from now on," he added mildly.
Cutter laughed. "Ah, don't worry about them. It's been a while since we've had Spartans on board and some are still getting use to the idea."
"Let's hope they can adjust, Sir," Jerome muttered with a half-smile.
Taking the small amount of humor as a good sign, James softened his own expression. "And in the meantime, if you still need to talk . . ."
The stiffness in the Spartan's stance slackened and he let a smile fully form on his lips. "Thank you, Sir, but I'll be fine."
James held his watchful gaze on Jerome for a few more seconds before finally nodding. "Very well, Spartan. Dismissed."
Jerome straightened up and saluted till the Captain returned the act. He spun on his heel and walked out of the Captain's quarters.
James stared at the closed door for a while longer, pondering the outcome of a bond forming between the Professor and the Spartan. In his experience, military relationships either burned out quickly or grew to something lasting. James reached back behind him and picked up the framed, static hologram of Mary and Ruth, his wife and daughter. They were locked in an embrace, both beaming with smiles, and James felt a tightness form in his throat. His marriage to Mary was as lasting as it got, and the love they had shared over the years only grown into something he could only have dreamed of.
Closing his eyes and taking a labored breath, James felt a single tear streak down his face. Mary, I swear that when I get back we'll settle down on some remote colony, far away from the racket of war. James sniffled and cleared his eyes with thumb and forefinger. But until then, I have a crew to prepare.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Ellen Anders rubbed at the soreness in her neck, kneading the muscles at the base of her skull with her fingertips. Listening to the soft musical undertakings of a centuries-old composer playing over her lab's audio player, she let out a sigh and opened her eyes. The same string of coding was still running across her terminal screen, letting her know that Serina had not fallen below the threshold that would spark cause for concern. Ellen felt a brief wave of satisfaction wash over her. While Serina's avatar appearance was unusual, her higher functional programming hand not degraded one micron since her reboot. All in all, the success allowed Ellen to breath a bit easier.
With every free tech monitoring the AI's processes, Ellen was again put on the back burner as a secondary observer. At first she didn't mind it-- it let her get away from frantic people and return to the solitude of her lab on the Observation Deck, but now the loneliness she had once welcomed seemed to press down on her from all sides. Ellen had always been a loner and it was a lifestyle she had accepted way back when she chose her field of study.
But then there was that awkward confrontation with the Spartan, Jerome. Ellen leaned back in her chair and frowned. He was a peculiar subject to her, someone that had seen so much bloodshed and yet his only deficiency was the guilt he carried for living through it. Anders raised her eyebrows. Or maybe he's getting over it. She grinned and shook her head. Ellen knew the impromptu lecture she had given to Jerome about guilt was something they both needed to hear, and with effort they could forgive themselves of past travails which they had no control over.
A rhythmic rap on the door at the far end of the room broke her trail of thought. She lifted her head and frowned. Who could that be? Pursing her lips and standing up, she put her lab coat on over her sleeveless red blouse she had grown accustomed to wearing and started for the door. She stepped over a pile of datacards and walked through a narrow gap between a pair of wheeled equipment racks to come to a stop at the door. Suppressing a shiver from the usual colder temperature of the Observation Deck, Ellen pulled her white lab coat tighter around her torso. She flipped on the tiny exterior camera she had set up to see who or what was outside in the hallway and watched the image on the small wall-mounted monitor materialize into the form of a familiar man. She hit the door's release button.
Ellen felt some of the tension she had gathered on her way to the door melt away when Jerome stood tall and strong before her. He wasn't a terribly muscular man, but one that was perfectly fit from head to toe. His close-cropped, black hair matched his full eyebrows, and the stubble on his face told her had had no trouble growing a beard-- if ONI regulations allowed for one. His dark brown eyes helped frame his angular face that, along with his name, must have been passed down from his Greek heritage. Ellen undoubtedly found him handsome, and the crooked smile he now wore only enhanced his charming looks. "Jerome," she prompted, giving him a curt nod of her head.
"Profes--" he caught himself mid-word and his brows met together. "Ellen," he corrected, sounding more like a statement of fact rather than a greeting. "I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time," Jerome said in one held-out breath.
Ellen shook her head and took a casual glance at her wrist chrono. Her eyes widened when she noticed the time; it was well into the evening hours. I've spent all day looking at code? She almost didn't believe it, but the sudden growling of her stomach told her how little attention she had paid to the clock. "No, no. I just didn't realize how late it was," she answered when she recalled that the Spartan had asked a question.