Thirteen: Fire on Mystic Island
'Should we stop them?'
[Are they actively hurting anyone?]
'…not from what we can see.'
[Then leave them be. After the Human-Covenant War started, ONI began researching past reports of extraterrestrials to see if our legends matched up with any Covenant species. They didn't, but we got briefed on them all the same in case we ran into some in the field. I think these are one of them.] John sized up the visitors that he could see in the video feed from the fleet.
The aliens in question appeared to be vaguely griffin-like, with the legs and tail of a cat seamlessly merging into a bird-like upper body. They didn't have wings exactly, but they did have feathers on their heads, shoulders, arms, and upper chests and backs.
'I think I remember them from somewhere. Didn't they use to be one of Carrier-of-Immunity's genetic hybridization experiments?'
'I think so. My, things have changed.'
[You can't honestly tell me you didn't expect that.] John grabbed the wrist of a would-be pickpocket, gave him a look, and then let him go, giving the boy a nudge. The young thief disappeared into the crowded marketplace, probably thinking that he could get away from the guards even though the Spartan had no intention of calling them. [If you don't change, you stagnate, and then something will come along that has changed and kill you.]
'…how morbid.'
[I prefer the term "realistic."]
'Duly noted.'
The Spartan allowed himself a soft snort at Nep'Thalia's dry tone. The ever calm and collected Captain-Commander of the Fleet of Shadows – no one could deny that she and her crazy relatives were a great asset to the Infected. Speaking of the twins…
[What are you doing?]
'Nuuuuthing.'
[Lies. Is someone going to die?]
'No.'
[Is there going to be property damage?]
'Not if we do it right.'
They blinked innocently at him. He narrowed his eyes. […Carry on.]
'Woohoo! Party time!'
The Chief gave them a look. [Don't get drunk. I don't care if you're off-duty.]
'But it's five o'clock somewhere!'
[Don't care. Don't do it. I do not need to be hearing anyone's drunken mental rambling.]
'Aww…'
Instead of participating in their wild happy fun times, the Spartan moved to the outskirts of the town and signaled for Etra to teleport him back onto the Storm. He arrived on one of the observation decks, where a live-feed hologram of the Sol System was suspended in the center of the room. He acknowledged it with a tilt of his head, but made a beeline for the hard light tables and chairs next to the transparent steel plating.
Based on their estimates, it was 10 000 BCE on Earth. At least one of their ships had been holding position above one of the planet's poles for 90 000 years, since the firing of the Halo Array, since the Great Cataclysm. The Galactic Council had been well-established for the vast majority of that time and gained scores of new member-states since. But at his request, all of them kept out of human and Covenant space unless they were in full stealth mode. Some of the newer states had accused him of being paranoid, to which he responded, "I haven't lived this long by letting my guard down."
So much time had passed, but there was still so much more to go. He thought that this was probably what AI felt while waiting on an outside source – every second an age, every minute an epoch, every hour an eternity. John almost wished he could go into cryosleep so he didn't have to deal with the endless waiting. He had been incredibly patient so far, but even he had his limits.
Was this how those goddesses intended to make him forget himself? 'A tried and true interrogation technique – the waiting game. Take away all sense of time from the subject, then let them stew for a while,' he thought to himself, 'The twins should try it some time. But in our case, being aware of the passage of time and knowing there's nothing we can do to speed it up seems to be far, far worse.'
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One-one-seven-four-five-two-nine.
What.
"Move along, you beast!" A hand shoved him along despite his bulk. He kept moving, only looking up every once and a while to make sure that he was headed in the right direction. The sight of those four numbers inked into his arm alongside his own service number made his heart ache like nothing had in millennia.
This is UNSC AL serial number CTN 0452-9. I am a monument to all your sins.
All of the prisoneers moved to stand in rows at the direction of the Nazi soldiers. John was toward the back, but his Flood-enhanced senses enabled him to easily hear what the officers were shouting.
But all the while he could not bring himself to stop stroking the irritated skin of his forearm.
'-Commander!'
The Spartan tore himself from the vision when L'Toress cried his name. He smelled the choking heavy smoke and bolted out of bed before his mind had consciously processed the danger. He tripped, his hands caught his weight before he could hit the ground, and he scrambled for a second before getting his feet back under him.
The streets were filled with chaos when he finally made it out to the village square. Most of the homes were ablaze, making him flinch away. There were bandits on horses torching more homes, snatching up women and children, carrying off piles of goods. The guards were struggling to hold them off, and he would have stayed to help fight if it hadn't been for the fire.
Instinct sized control and demanded he run. He did, following the flow of people away from the village center. One of the rogues made the mistake of crossing his path as he fled, waving his sword around. The Spartan snapped the man's neck with diverting from his course, darting around the body as it fell.
speed need speed faster FASTER
The flames were spreading from the village to the surrounding brush. It had been incredibly dry lately, so the foliage surrounding the village had wilted into little more than kindling.
shitshitshitshitshitshitshit
A transport had been expressed-launched from the Storm to pick him up, the other Infected in the area evacuating as fast as they possibly could. There were only a handful of them, but they were close enough to be in danger of the wildfire.
Fire. Fire everywhere.
[GODDAMMIT I AM KIND OF ATTATCHED TO THIS BODY]
He skidded to an abrupt stop when a withered bush went up in flames at his one o'clock. The Spartan darted around it as fast as he could, in full-blown panic mode as he fought to get ahead. Unfortunately, the fire was winning.
human form to unwieldy need lower center of gravity all fours for more speed
:a cheetah racing across the savannah, chasing an antelope and bringing it down with a well-placed attack:
John splashed into a shallow pool, all that was left of a once-grand lake, depleted by both drought and consumption by the nearby village. Yet the water was enough to buy him time, time for his body to shudder and shake and contort into a new shape, muscles twisting and squelching and bones crunching and grinding as they were forced into a new configuration.
And then he raced away as an abnormally large cheetah, sorely hoping that the bandits burned to death in the fires they started.
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The process had taken all of three minutes to do the first time, mimicking a local life form, yet so far it was taking two hours and counting to reverse, mostly because the biologists on the medical team were more curious about how he'd modified himself than fixing him. The Chief's tail flicked in mild irritation, watching as the scientists took readings and samples and babbled back and forth.
Nep'Thalia was standing next to the operating table he was lying on, a mix of amusement and exasperation visible on her face. That seemed to be her default expression whenever she was at his shoulder lately. He made a mental note to give her an extended vacation somewhere nice the second she could be spared.
'That will not be necessary, Commander, though I appreciate the thought.'
[Not necessary, my butt. You will take a vacation and you will like it. If the twins can get away with gallivanting down to India every other week without I&I collapsing about their pointy ears, I think you can afford to take some time off.]
'Then why don't you do the same, sir?'
[This is a vacation for a Spartan.]
'Horsehockey.'
[I'm busy.]
'Hello, Pot. My name is Kettle. You're black.'
[You're not allowed to use that line! You don't even know what that's from!]
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"Shapeshifting."
"Yep."
"How?"
"You remember the pure forms from Voi?"
A few Spartans visibly shuddered.
"A variation on that concept."
"That's… unpleasant."
"Yes. Yes, it is."