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Spartan Son by Frensa Geran
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Spartan Son
Date: 7 May 2004, 5:55 AM
Prologue:
The year is 2653. I am all that is left of a one man dynasty. Should I fail to continue my Father's line, I have no purpose. The Covenant are a forgotten race, defeated in the Battle of Sparta, finished off in one final strike, led by my Father, Jonathan. I remember him like it was yesterday. He was nearly 150 years old, aged and past his prime. After the end of the war he was meant for, he had no more purpose. Returning to Earth, he lived by the shore, trying to end his own life several times. Slitting his wrists did no good; he was too strong for it.
In the year 2630, he adopted a son. Finally finding a reason in life, and a reason in a world where total peace was reign, he stood up proud again. His MJOLNIR armor was put away forever, as a final goodbye to a life of servitude. He never wanted to see it again. The past was the past. Little did he know the past will always come back to haunt him. Noticing his son's friends almost vomited at seeing his deformed and slightly metallic figure, he began wearing sweat pants and hooded jackets constantly, even on 100 degree days. His son could always see him, sitting on the bench, watching him play. He neither had a frown nor a smile. He was a man who was trying to find what to do next.
I'm not sure what happened behind his veil, not even his son knew what his Father did in his free time, but on Sunday April 12th, 2653, John-117, of around 150 years of age, was found in his home by his son, his body limp, and a note on the drawer. After crying over his body, his son read the note:
Jason,
You are my proudest achievement. I defended many planets, stopped invasions of many kinds, but you are my one creation, my one success that I could see with my own eyes. A success not doomed of failure after I leave. And I am leaving. You don't need me anymore. Find a wife, and continue the Spartan line. You were adopted, but you were always my true blood.
John-117
Jason couldn't believe it. How could he? There was something afoot. After taking the hand written note, he compared it to his other writings, it was obvious it wasn't my Father's writing. Whoever wrote it obviously didn't care about being figured out. There was no match of any kind. Jason's Father, a Spartan, was murdered. .
My name is Jason, son of John, a Spartan. I have picked up my Father's armor, and his legacy. I will find out who murdered him. I will avenge him.
Chapter I
The savage dirt stretch to Beach Road was throwing dust in my eyes, with the wind slapping it at me faster than I had ever seen in my 23 years of living by the ocean. A storm was coming. I could feel it in every part of my being. But I had more important things to do.
It was so silly I first thought when I was about 6. My Father would drive up to the end of the road by the shore, get out, and talk to a rock. I was of course confused. Why was he talking to a rock, I'd ask. And even stranger, when a clicking noise was heard, he'd take me out of the car, cover my eyes, and after some shaking and the smell of cold steel, I finally opened my eyes to a large laboratory.
It was a completely white entry way, complete with secretaries, men in lab coats, and of course computer terminals. At the very end, a large black shaft, going up and down for miles. I used to throw tiny rocks over the edge secretly, with my hands on the rail. I never did hear them land.
Whenever I asked what any of it was for, or why we were here, he gave me the "eye". He'd look at me sternly, and if I didn't know better, his left eye would go red. Sometimes, though I loved him with all my heart, his years of training would get the better of him. I have the scars to prove it.
Now I did the same, as I looked through the swirling sand for a whitish striped rock. After a few minutes of searching, I found it buried by a Palm. After a few seconds of holding it to my ear, I heard the clicking noise; I put it down and set out into the brush. No wonder my Father closed my eyes, I thought, it really was scary in there. It was so quiet, too quiet. After a few minutes of standing in a 2 by 2 foot clearing, something different came out of the brush. A woman stood before me. It had been a long time since I had seen one, combined with my drinking and research (which led me there), I had no time for interaction. And she truly was a woman in all its forms. She was beautiful, tall and lean. She reminded me of images my Father had lying around of the late Dr. Halsey.
"Mr. Jason?" She said very business-like.
"Yes?"
She took out a hand, leaning towards me. "My name is Sheila, Sheila Marks. I work for ONI Laboratories. Would you like to come in?" She said, pointing towards a dark corner of the woods.
I followed her outstretched arms into the darkness, when suddenly I was encased in a glass box, a glass elevator. With my hands against the panes, the last thing I saw before the darkness below was Sheila smiling, waving goodbye.
I could feel the blood rushing quickly to my head, and the darkness outside seemed to be moving downward at a fast pace. The familiar smell of cold steel was vibrant in the air. Finally I could sense the elevator come to a stop, and behind me the glass panes slid open, revealing the familiar white entry-way. My first stop on the road to answers.
"Welcome to ONI Mr. Jason."
To Be Continued....
Spartan Son(2)
Date: 15 May 2004, 5:35 AM
Chapter 2.
I stepped in and smelled the fresh, sterilized air, feeling my nostrils sting at the purity.
"Welcome to ONI Mr. Jason." The female secretary said, sitting at her desk, as if waiting for me.
"We got your call." She said, "Something about a prototype we created...years ago?"
"Yes." I replied, lifting a bag I was carrying up onto her desk, giving a good, dramatic clunk. "I was wondering if you knew anything about this."
I could tell right away her nervousness. Her hands began to sweat, and she bit her lip thinking of what to do next. "Interesting..." She said, grabbing a communicator out of her belt.
"Mr. Johnson." She said over the radio. "Mr. Jason, son of John....thee John is here to see you."
After waiting a moment or so, a panel of the wall to my right slid open, and stood at the doorway a chubby man in a skin-suit, with the ONI insignia on the front. He stepped up to me like a Grandpa, grabbed me by both sides of the head, twisted it around until he finally let go with a hearty laugh.
"Not the best resemblance." He said. "But no one is perfect."
"I need answers."
"Answers?"
"Answers."
He cleared him throat, "Step into my office."
As I walked in I first thought it was somewhere far, far off, as it did not resemble ONI's cold, metallic structure at all. Rather, it was cozy. There were wooden walls and even a fire across from his desk. "Cozy, eh?" He said, taking a seat across from me.
I immediately opened my bag, lifting (without much ease) my father's helmet, and placing it on the table ever so gently. Johnson looked like he'd seen a ghost. Just what I was hoping for. The shiny head piece rested on the table, sending an eerie silence through the room, finally broken by a nervous sip of tea by Mr. Johnson.
"What...do you wish to know?" He said bitterly.
I stood up and began pacing the room. Johnson sat there shaking, expecting me to lunge at his throat with fury. If we lived in a fair world, he would've been right.
"My Father was found dead. You know this, yes?"
"Yes."
"He was allegedly the victim of his own sadness. He committed suicide, correct?"
He paused: "Yes."
Like the ancient tiger I lunged towards him, pushing him to the floor, sending him end over end until he was finally below me, unable to even struggle.
"LIAR!" I shouted, spitting in his face.
"We.....we had no choice! We were just following orders!" He whimpered.
"Orders from WHO!?"
"I...I don't know. I just get a message, and I just follow it! I'm just following orders!"
By that time his inability to provide a straight answer had led me to point the end of my dagger to his head. "Well if there's anything of interest for me to know..." I said, twisting the blade.
"He knew too much!" He shouted angrily. "He shouldn't have stuck his nose where it didn't belong!"
"Knew too much of what!?"
Silence. He stared blankly at me. With a stern yet quiet voice, he lifted his head and whispered into my ear, "If you don't want your Father's fate, walk out that door. Play with fire, and you might get burned"
I slit his throat, and his last words were a gurgle of blood. I walked out of his office quietly and took the elevator to the top. When I arrived in the jungle, large clumps of rain splashed my blood soaked clothes, leaving them an evil red.
Before I could leave, I was stopped by Sheila Marks, the woman who met me as I entered. "You want information on your Father's death." She said with a matter-o-fact voice.
"Yes." I replied hoarsely.
She walked up to me with a delicate stride, as if she walked on air. Taking out a card, she placed it in my front pocket, and patted my chest as a goodbye. I took out the card and read it:
NEW MOMBASSA, AFRICA. THE GRUNT'S HEAD CAFÉ. NOON, SUNDAY.
Come alone.
Instead of looking back, I looked forward into the light coming from the end of this natural tunnel of canapé. My Hog was still there, now a bit more drenched than when I left it. With my foot on the gas, I sped out of the peninsula with a roar of anger, wiping the blood off my wet face.
To this day I cannot remember what I felt as I drove home, to an alone house. I looked to where my Father lie, I looked to where I used to swim, him watching silently as usual. I lastly looked into his closet, a suit of armor, minus the helmet hanging from the wall, as a testament to the battles he fought and the lives he had saved.
I was not going to let it all be in vain. Whatever happened I was going to find out. Whoever was involved was going to die. I was Jason, Spartan 117. Next stop, New Mombassa.
To Be Continued...
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