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Tale of Another, Chapter 1
Posted By: Darke<Darke127@yahoo.com>
Date: 16 September 2005, 2:11 am
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Spartan 127, Petty Officer Michael stumbled out of the cloud of smoke. The massive, armor clad man stumbled and fell, looking through eyes soaked in blood and sweat. The visor on his helmet had broken. He heard a distant alarm, faint, and near at the same time. He heard someone on his radio asking for status reports, wanting to know if his team had succeeded, but it was so warm, so cozy, and he was beginning to feel better. The pain in his right leg had faded, and as he fainted, his eyes flicked up to the right corner of the shards of his visor and watched his vital signs fade.
He awoke in a room. There was an indirect light above his head. He shifted his gaze to the walls, and noticed the purple hue. He panicked, and tried to move. Blinded by pain in his legs and neck, he collapsed again, and faded. He awoke sometime later, more aware, and didn't move. He could see the front of the small cell. It shimmered like a wall of water. He realized he was in a covenant holding cell. As he watched the energy shimmer, it mesmerized him. It was a beautiful pattern, as it waved like a calm morning on the ocean of reach. He remembered jogging down it with his SPARTAN brothers and sisters in the mornings.
"John, I was wondering if you had noticed a change in the chief lately?" Michael asked as they jogged, the sun rising above the water, and the mist was illuminated a soft red, like the glowing horizon. The water was foamed as it crested, and washed up on their bare feet as they splashed through it. The Squad captain, John 117 was slightly taller, and bigger. He ran at the same pace though. He looked deep in thought, reviewing the intelligence his hindbrain had picked up. It was a SPARTANs brain that could not notice something as it happened, but recall it from his subconscious later. It was an unexpected result of the neural enhancement they had been given only a few years before.
"Yes, he seems a bit depressed, a bit slower. His face shows its age more then a few weeks ago. Do have any idea why?" The other boy, though only 16, looked to be as old as a twenty year old normal. His light brown hair was shaved to stubble, but his deep blue eyes showed the compassion that one wouldn't expect in a person destined to such a future, meant only for war and destruction. John was the older brother everyone looked to for help. Though not literally the oldest, he was a brilliant student, and strategist. He was also the luckiest by a long shot. He almost always won in the squad's late night card games, and in the training drills, the plans went without a hitch most of the time.
"I just wondered if you had noticed. He'd tell us if he was leaving, right?" Chief Petty Officer Robert Menzdez had been the Fatherly figure of the squad, a steadfast mentor to the SPARTAN children. All of the SPARTANS knew that eventually the time would come to part with him, but none of them knew when or looked forward to it. John sped up at that point, shouting for the squad to move faster. They were nearing the 10-mile finish line.
The Energy field in the front of the cell dissipated. Michael was feeling strong enough to lift his head, and he did. Immediately he regretted it Two elites stepped in. One was clad in crimson armor, the rank of veteran in the Covenant Military. Nearly eight feet tall, he stared into the human's eyes.
"Where are the rest of your kind, human?" it rumbled in a deep throaty voice. Michael opened his mouth to answer, but only a rasp escaped. His mouth felt full of cotton. It occurred to the SPARTAN that this was one of the few times in his life he felt truly helpless. The second elite, who had been in the corner, listening, stepped forward with a small cylinder and tube. They were filled with some kind of liquid. As he saw it slosh in the container, he grew thirsty. The elite, a blue clad servant, held the cylinder in front of the SPARTAN's face. The human nodded, and the elite carefully inserted the tube into Michael's mouth. It gave him water, and Michael tasted a drug as well. It wouldn't have any effect though; the SPARTAN blood system rejected any negative drugs. With his voice back, and strong, he stared into the face of the first elite.
"I'm all that's left. The rest of my outfit was killed on reach" he held his gaze with the monster, his voice not wavering, cold and smooth. The alien considered this, then replied slowly and carefully.
"There is another, he destroyed one of our cruisers single handedly, and the ring of the God's. We want him, and his kind." It said. Michael could hear its voice rising as it became angered. So prideful, Michael though. As he thought about what the Elite said, it occurred that that would take luck…and only John had that kind of luck. His heart skipped a beat, as he realized what it meant. John was alive, and that meant that his squad might still be alive.
He stared into the eyes of the elite, and replied cautiously. "Well, you've attacked us without cause, killed off our colonies, our major military bases, I think it was well deserved." He saw the elite bristle, but still did not show his fear.
"Insolence! You would insult the God's in front of your captors? You will regret your words, maggot!" he motioned for something beyond Michael's view. Suddenly his head exploded with pain.
Michael looked around. He was in the medical bay of a navy ship. He could tell by its cramped quarters, the small office at the far end, and the standard set of tools and two beds. He looked down, and saw his hands covered in blood and pressing on someone's chest. He continued to observe the scene, and saw scattered pieces of Mjolnir armor around him on the floor. He looked at the person he was pressing on. Lifeless chestnut eyes stared back from gaunt sockets. The blond, short-cropped hair was in knots, and dirty. He was looking the corpse of the SPARTAN closest to him, Stacy. He had shared a bunk with her in the barracks as children, and they had often stayed up late talking. They knew each other better then the other SPARTANS knew them. Suddenly he was hit by a tidal wave of pain and sorrow, as he remembered carrying her from the hangar to the med. bay, as she died from the loss of blood. A plasma grenade had gone off he remembered, and tore her leg clean off. They had evacuated her in a pelican back to the Sioux, but it hadn't been fast enough. He had bound her leg in a torquine, and tried to pump the blood for her, but he had failed, and he had watched her die. He hugged her lifeless body, and wiped his hand across his face, trying to wipe away tears, but only managing to further cover his face in her blood. He regained his composure, and stood over her for hours, and stood there in his armor even after the doctors had removed her. When he finally moved, it was to look at himself in the mirror. He had felt a part of himself go away. He wanted to make sure he was still there, as silly as that sounded. He saw his face in the mirror, with red stripes under his eyes, like a warrior of legend. In his bulky Mjolnir armor, he looked like a thing from myth. He resolved right there to do what he could to end the war with the Covenant. Earth and her children were rapidly becoming extinct, and he wasn't about to sit there and watch it circle the drain.
Michael awoke, alone in the cell. He pulled himself into a sitting stance. His hair had grown to rough stubble, and his chin was stubble. He noticed he was back in his armor. They had already copied the design and secrets. His leg had begun to heal. The SPARTANs could heal abnormally fast. A broken bone was a few days worth inconvenience. And when that time came where he could walk, he would take this ship and the memory with him, and return to earth to help.
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