Chapter 3
Jackson had almost entirely healed on the flight back home, but his entire suit of Mjolnir was trashed. The armor sat awkwardly on its mount with pieces hanging from the techsuit he had shed. The rest of his team’s armor looked worse for wear. Months of repairs and modifications left the once shining suits of armor a shadow of their former selves.
Completing their mission meant a well deserved return home. The relief and excitement was felt by each of the Spartans. After months of living behind enemy lines, they could finally take a break.
The Spartans’ home was on a world bordering UNSC controlled space. It was a habitable planet once scouted for colonization, but abandoned when the Covenant war kicked off, leaving a perfectly quiet environment for ONI to build Project Freebird.
Headed by Christian C. Waylen, the program was meant to perfect on the original Spartan-II’s, but with more focus on training as independent operators. The director designed and requested a massive underground base to train her candidates as efficiently and discreetly as possible. So the Freebird HQ was made. It was dug deep into the earth, creating many different layers of invulnerability, but with as little a surface presence as possible.
The Base worked effectively as a city, complete with markets, entertainment centers, different levels of housing, and even schools for the ONI personnel and their families stationed there. Because of the extent, no one was permitted to leave the planet and committed to see the project through.
When the Spartans returned, there was no pomp or celebration. The only one to meet them was the Program’s AI; Baseless Accusations. He had replaced the original AI after it was retired, and didn’t share the maternal nature the first had. He was essential in preparing the team for their deployment. Even as rigid as Baseless Accusation seemed, he reserved a soft tone for the returning Spartans. The soldiers noticed that he was smiling; a rare occurrence for the AI.
They were pulled down through the elevator all of the way to the lowest level; down through miles of depth and metal walls. The hangar was a spacious one, fitted with two Prowlers; one of which was unfamiliar to the soldiers.
The team was met in the armory by Freebird’s director, Christian C. Waylen. The young silver haired woman clutched a holopad and beamed with excitement. Her tight pony tail bobbed as she jogged up to the Spartans. Even though they towered over her, the woman didn’t seem to care, or even notice.
“Welcome home, Freebirds,” Waylen announced. She was the only one to call them that. Everyone else addressed them as their self-given team name; Ilos. The director then noticed the poor state of their Mjolnir, and that Jackson’s suit was absent. She frowned. “Your reports didn’t mention this.”
“Now you know,” Jackson told her. “You have the report, I’m sure.”
“It had to be expected, ma’am,” Chase said, removing his helmet. His hair had grown a bit since they were deployed. No one bothered to follow regulations so far from command. “We’re not engineers.”
Waylen huffed and adjusted the holopad in her arms. “Either way, I have great news!” the director exclaimed. “Your report was reviewed, and a final test is requested before further funding can be approved. Once your armor is fixed, of course.”
Jackson didn’t approve of her reaction. There was no concern, notice, or even admiration of the completion of their mission. No respect for how far they’d come. It was all about proving that she was better than Halsey. They had come to terms with Waylen’s detachment years ago, but it still stung. The Spartans were still technically children, and that never escaped his notice.
“If you’ll exit your armor, I’ll get these fixed up in no time,” Waylen said, gesturing to the stations behind them. “This is such a big day! I’ve worked years towards this, and I’m almost there.”
After leaving the armory, and making a quick stop by the infirmary for a checkup, Jackson noticed the overall down mood the team shared. Something more than Waylen’s selfishness was expected. Even a pat on the back would have sufficed.
So Jackson decided to do something about it.
Spending a decade in one place had let the Spartans learn every nook and cranny. They found places to hide when they didn’t want to be found, and to relax when training was just too much.
One such place was the Lounge. The Spartans had taken an entire year to cut it out of a forgotten construction tunnel, then over the years expand it and fill it with every luxury they could acquire. It was the only place that was ever truly theirs.
The squad leader set out to the higher levels and “borrowed” a couple bottles of Officer-brand Whiskey. It wasn’t hard to sneak into storage and make away with them. He returned to the Lounge and set it up for an Ilos celebration. Their home-away-from-home remained just how they left it, and it made the squad leader relax for the first time since their deployment.
With the rest of the team gathered, they spent the next few hours celebrating their victory. They drank, wrestled, played cards, laughed at memories, and enjoyed their day. It was a great relief to Jackson that he could bring his family together when no one else could.
After the sun above-ground had set, and Freebird’s personnel had gone to bed, Ilos snuck out and climbed up to the housing Chamber. They never used the lifts, but rather followed the winding construction tunnels they had unbarred and reinforced.
They came out high above the houses, overlooking the entire chamber. At its center was the main elevator leading to all the other levels. It was massive, and allowed for three Scorpion Tanks to sit side-by-side with room to spare. The lift went all of the way to the surface and supplied the base with its resources.
Centered all around the lift were the houses. Some were packed tightly together for the single individuals, and the family houses sat further back, much larger than the others. The largest, belonging to the Officers, sat high on the elevated edges of the chamber. The artificial sun had set, bathing the cavern in a subtle orange glow from the house and street lights.
Ilos sat at the edge of the chamber’s edge and enjoyed the view and the chilled air. It was just as calm as they liked, with no one to notice their presence. It was no secret why Project Freebird existed. Every ONI personnel stationed in Freebird HQ knew of Ilos, but rarely saw them. Stories were told of their exploits late at night, stealing from the markets and making off with random supplies. They were known as delinquents to the security, and mischievous phantoms to everybody else.
Perish joined Jackson at the edge and sat next to him. Perish was the level headed one, bringing a realistic voice to the squad leader’s brash decisions. He also saw more than Jackson did, and this time was no different.
“That extra Prowler we saw is worrying me,” Perish told the squad leader.
“We get outsiders here all the time. Freebird is an ONI program,” Jackson pointed out.
“This can’t be a coincidence. Right as we get back, HQ gets a visitor.”
“Well, who do you think it is?”
Parkson-333 appeared from behind them and produced a data-pad. On its screen was a still image from a security camera taken just outside the Spartan’s personal quarters. The woman in the image was dressed in an ONI uniform with tightly kept hair, with an analyzing expression.
The security camera’s stamped date was a month ago, when the team was away. No one but the program’s director and selected cleaning crews were allowed into the Spartan’s quarters, which was the lowest level in the base. Perish’s suspicions were confirmed, as none of them had been told of her arrival.
“Got an ID on her?” Jackson asked Parkson, glancing back at the red haired Spartan.
He nodded and swiped the image to reveal a crude dossier. The files were marked as highly classified, and were filled with recovered information that had formerly been redacted.
Her name was Abers Liliana, an officer in the Office of Naval Intelligence. Parkson wasn’t able to retrieve the parameters of her deployment to Freebird, or where she had come from. Though it was obvious it wasn’t a normal report retriever, those of which frequented the director’s office to update ONI command.
“Keep an eye on her for me,” Jackson told his Spartan, handing the data-pad back.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Perish said.
“I get where you’re coming from now. All we can do is wait for our next orders, though,” Jackson said with a shrug.
“Yeah, you’re right,” the other Spartan said.
It was as the team returned to their quarters for the first time in months did Baseless Accusations appear to them. Its avatar was of an old medieval knight wearing a large shield bearing the ONI emblem.
“Christian Waylen has made your next mission ready for debrief whenever you are available,” the AI said. “She requested that you rest first.”
Jackson raised a brow at the Knight. The only reason she would request such a thing, was to benefit her in some way. So the squad leader doubted that actually came from the Director herself.
“Thanks, Acc,” Jackson said, using Ilos’s nickname for the AI.
Baseless Accusations bowed his head and disappeared. It was then that Jackson called out to his team and gathered in the dim closet that constituted for their debriefing room.
A single undersized holographic projection table dominated the center of the room, while miniature consoles dotted the corners. The only light came from the open doorway, which was entirely too narrow for the Spartan’s massive frames.
All eight Spartans managed to squeeze inside, however, and gathered around the table as Baseless Accusations appeared on its surface. With his shield held under his hands, the AI bowed, then waved its hand upwards as their next target appeared.
It was an image taken from an orbital satellite of a feeble brown skinned creature in rich colored robes surrounded by red armored Elites.
“This is your next target; the Lesser Prophet of Fragility that information has shown will be touring the Covenant lines soon,” the AI explained.
“That’s it?” Chase asked in a baffled tone. He threw an arm at the still image hovering in midair. “That’s like telling a blind man to find the sun!”
Baseless Accusations dipped his head. “Information is being withheld at this time,” the AI said with a lowered tone. “This is all I was given. I am sorry.”
“So we’re being sent against the Covenant this time?” Jackson asked with growing concern.
“Affirmative,” Baseless Accusations confirmed.
“Alright. Thanks for the debrief, Acc,” Jackson sighed.
The AI bowed his head and disappeared, leaving the squad leader feeling lost and disappointed. Though the night was setting in, and the rest of the Spartans had gone to sleep, Jackson stayed awake running the possibilities through his brain.
It was close to three in the morning when a faint light appeared from the darkened hallway. Jackson got up to investigate, and saw Baseless Accusation’s shield leaning against the wall. When he approached it, the shield swept across the ground and came to rest on a portion of the wall.
Curious now, Jackson crept closer and brushed his fingers through the shield and made contact with a small digital access port. The squad leader returned with a data-pad and connected it to the port, and was surprised when an information packet was downloaded onto it. The shield disappeared as information scrolled down the screen.
It was a series of stellar coordinates. Jackson looked around for the AI, but any trace of it was gone. He found himself standing in the middle of the dark hallway, alone, and wondering what had just happened.