Spartan One 015

Standing from his seat in the Warthog, Orion was greeted by a wave of cheering servicemen, and a teeming crowd of civilians as the Brain Bug was dragged behind him. Forming a crowd around a lane leading to a large landing craft, they reminded him of a town full of people cheering on a parade, or the victorious return of some athletes after winning the ‘World Cup.’ 

He was confused at first, but then he saw Harper waiting for him at the ramp to the transport, and it all clicked. The spook had really gone out of his way to set the scene. 

“Yeah! Name's Johnson, Avery Johnson! Put that on a lunchbox.” The Private flexed his arms, loving every second of it. 

Along the route, there was even a group of kids who somehow got their hands on fruit, eggs, and vegetables. Many of them wore torn clothes, or were covered in soot after surviving the hellish invasion of Troy. These kids began to hurl the objects at the Brain Bug, calling it all sorts of mean, nasty names. 

The driver of the Warthog somewhat slowed down to a crawl, drinking in the glory. At that very moment, when they were past the ring of tanks & artillery pieces at the perimeter, the time had run out on the bomb, and a miniature nuclear explosion shattered the Hive. Warm orange goo, and viscera splattered the crowd, and traveled the distance of a whole city block. 

For a second, this shut everyone up, as they were worried. But then a group of jets came flying by, and with the roar of their engines, Orion felt a subtle spike in the ether, and the crowd was roaring even louder now. Glancing once more at the somewhat distant Harper, and how he was emitting a very weak presence, it appeared the psychic had worked his magic. 

“Spartans! Spartans! Spartans!” The people repeated on loop. 

At some point, some very rousing, inspirational music started to play from the speakers of nearby military vehicles. Approaching his slow-10 mph-moving Warthog, a reporter dressed as a Mobile Infantryman & his cameraman easily kept up with their external robotic leg attachments. 

“Jim Jennings, FedNet reporter. We've seen your heroics on Klendauthu, Lieutenant Winters. Witnessed how you rallied the troops allowing for a successful evacuation. How you were the last boot on the slimy ground of Bug Central. The way you eliminated those Plasma Bugs so that the fleet could escape was the mark of a true hero.” Jennings-a typical fake tan strong chinned Caucasian-said in that generic news anchor voice. 

“Now, without a moment of rest or relaxation, with your fleet undermanned, running low on ammo and subordinates, you rushed to Troy. Leading a daring suicide mission to nuke the Space Bug, you crash landed upon our most lovely of colonies, and what did you do? Did you buckle, or retreat? Did you shirk in the face of evil? No! You teamed up with Arasaka, used their latest tech, and punched your way through the city. To finish things off, we find you here, escorting the thinker bug, the so-called Brain Bug back home for our scientists to investigate! 

Lieutenant Winters, thank you from the bottom of all our hearts. The people of the Federation are dying to know how you did it? How you had the courage to do what needed to be done?” Jennings dramatically asked, lifting a microphone up towards him. 

Orion hadn't had any media training before, but he could tell from watching tons of athlete interviews that he was being given the lowest of hoops to dunk on. Being glazed that hard, it would be surprising if there was some hidden trap in those words. 

That said, there was nothing mentioned about his psychic powers, so he would make sure not to mention them, and keep things generic. Whilst he would like to share his true feelings about the seeming corporate corruption, wrongdoings of the ONI, and truth about the Covenant…he may be an idiot from time to time, but he wasn't retarded. Spreading fear and mistrust was the quickest way for Humanity to splinter and fall apart. A nation divided would be a signal to the aliens saying: come eat me. 

After organizing his thoughts, Orion leaned down to speak. 

“The truth is, this bug threat is extremely serious. It is eat or be eaten out here, and I haven't done it alone. The real heroes you're talking about, Jennings, are the men & women behind me. Without them, without those brave enough to stand with me, then none of this would be possible.” Orion said, gesturing with his thumb over his back. 

Tired and covered in goo, several dozen wounded were amongst the marching soldiers behind the Warthog. Even so, they raised their arms at being mentioned. 

“Oorah!” 

“I can see that. Such fierce fighting spirit that you've inspired in them!” Jennings said, then held the microphone out towards Johnson. “Tell me, Private, what's it like fighting beside Winters?” 

“The Lieutenant? Hah! Shit's like gliding across a hot pan with a slice of butter. Smooth as can be, fast, but dangerously hot! Any man who can look a bug in the eye, and jam his combat knife deep inside is one who's got my vote.” Johnson said in a braggadocious tone. 

“Sounds like an endorsement?” The reporter baited. 

“You're goddamn right it is, with a man like Winters in office, we'd have all the supplies we needed to stomp them bugs out permanen-” 

“And that's all we have time for, back to you.” Jennings quickly cut Johnson off, and had a hand to his earpiece as if he were talking to a producer. 

The slick, tanned man then sighed in relief once the cameraman signaled that they were off air. He then turned back to Orion, and held out his palm for a handshake. “Good job, Lieutenant, we'll be seeing each other around.” 

Orion reluctantly shook his hand, as he knew how bad it was to get on the bad side of the news. Even as a mission critical resource, a Spartan could still get his ass canned if the wrong people higher up wanted him gone. 

“Sonnuvabitch cut me off on purpose.” Johnson bitched, angrily inhaling his cigar. 

“Probably for fear of getting canceled.” Orion lightly laughed. “The second you called into question the competence of the government, he was spooked.” 

“Tch, I'm a citizen, ain't I? Can't silence my free speech as if I were a civilian, so he runs away like a lizard with his tail between his legs.” Johnson scowled.

“Hmm, well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but leave me out of politicking.” Orion said, shaking his head with a wry smile upon his lips. 

“Hey, the Sky Marshal and everyone in the Federal Council have served. Way I see it, you're overqualified.” Johnson replied, shrugging his shoulders, and taking several more deep puffs. 

Orion ignored the man, and mindlessly waved towards the energetic crowd. He hoped that their battlegroup would be given some time to rest & relax after this. Although there had been some travel time between Klendauthu & Troy, that was with the knowledge that he was going from one hellscape to the next. A man who sought constant action was one who would eventually succumb to fatigue. 

Then there was the rivalry he had with Arasaka. Doubtlessly he had incurred their wrath after snubbing them earlier. A pissed off Japanese wasn't exactly known for their mercy. On the surface they'd remain cordial, but he'd have to watch his back moving forward. He doubted Smasher was taken out in the blast either, not that he was trying to kill the man, so much as piss him off. 

Call it childish, but the way he saw it, a rivalry was good. For one, it pushed Orion to be better, and secondly, it made this Arasaka boogieman take the fight directly to the enemy. If Smasher remained cooped up guarding some Arasaka property whilst Orion was out in the galaxy taking names, and kicking ass, then the cyborg would probably go mad with jealousy. Therefore, by goading the megalomaniacal cyberpsycho, he hoped to unleash one more monster upon the galaxy. 

“After my debrief with the Captain, I'll see about getting us some shoreleave.” Orion said over his shoulder. 

“You really want to buy me that round of beers for saving your ass, don'tcha?” Johnson jeered. 

Orion rolled his eyes. “Only after you buy first.” 

“Deal!”

After some more banter, and posing for the cameras, they finally made it to the ramp of the transport. Saluting Harper, Orion jumped off the passenger seat, and gestured towards the Brain Bug. 

“Ta-da.” He said in a deadpan. 

“That's quite the specimen you've gifted ONI. You've done well, Winters.” Harper mildly congratulated as he eyed the unconscious beast, then signaled for it to be brought aboard, and walked up the ramp. 

Following behind the spy towards the bridge, Harper took control of the vehicle, flipping through the pre-flight switches, and Orion continued speaking. “And for my next trick, I'll convince my CO to give me and the boys shoreleave.” 

“You've earned that much, Lieutenant, but remember, no going out into public without the mask, that's an order.” Harper said, a glint of amusement sparkling in his dead, robotic eyes. 

Orion was about to argue-like what if I wear completely casual clothes, no one would know-but the spook beat him to it. 

“You see those people out there, Winters? They just watched you drag a goddamned bug the size of two Warthogs stacked on top of one another out of an exploding Hive. For the past day they've been running and hiding in fear. Spartan Lieutenant Winters is their symbol of hope, their symbol of faith in these trying times. Would you so callously erase their mythology?” Harper asked, his voice cutting as he stared deeply into Orion's mask. 

Orion closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He recalled the look of those children, and knew that while a lot of the hype had been manufactured by this ONI operative, there was only so much a spy could do to spurn the people on in such notice. Largely, this implied that it was an organic event, that this was what they truly felt. 

“Very well.” Orion eventually agreed. 

“We all make sacrifices in war, Winters. I lost my eyes to a rebel ambush, you gave away pieces of yourself in the name of progress. It is us-men who have given so much already-who understand best the price of peace. In time, you will see that your efforts are not in vain. That there is a light at the end of the tunnel.” Harper said in a calm, yet impassioned voice. 

“So says the psychoanalyst with access to my profile and knows what I like to hear.” Orion deadpanned. 

“You're damned right I know what you want to hear, and what I say is what I believe in too. Lieutenant, you do not have to trust what I say, but you cannot deny my actions. We are a team, the future of Humanity rests upon our shoulders.” Harper said, glancing out at the teaming mass of people from inside the transport with a level of care and love, Orion could scarcely believe it. 

“...what next?” Orion asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“The fleet needs to resupply personnel, munitions, food and water. Boring logistics you need not worry about. We'll weigh anchor above Troy for at least a week, probably two. In the meantime, if you're bored, you can go on search & destroy missions for any bugs that went aground. Rescue ops are also in high demand.” Harper said. 

During their discussion, the transport finally closed its ramps, and began to take off. 

“And the Brain Bug?” 

“That thing? ONI has a prison specially designed for psychics on Reach. Don't tell anyone I told you, your clearance isn't high enough.” Harper said, his tone full of dismissal. “Go back to your men, relax for a bit, then put your report on my desk by 0500. You've earned your rest, Lieutenant, now bother someone else.” 

Saluting once more, Orion walked out of the transport's cabin, and sat back down with the other Spartans. 

What a day.