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The Second Ring (Part 2)
Posted By: Jason<promodo@tampabay.rr.com>
Date: 29 November 2003, 6:54 AM
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Continuing in the epic of the Second Ring, the Master Chief unseals the hushed casket one last time, and meets up with an old friend.
~~~~
The phone almost fell out of his hand as a flood of emotion and memories struck Spartan-117. His grip tightened to the point where he almost broke the wireless handset, before he spoke with a serious, sharp tone.
"Sir, are we sure of this? It may be a Covenant attempt at luring us out into space for nothing."
"Yes, Master Chief that thought has come to mind. But, after numerous long range scans of the sector, it has showed completely clear of any Covenant activity. Apparently, we found this one before they did."
"I see, Admiral. I guess the Commanding Councilors would like me to offer input on the findings, since Cortana's no longer in commission."
The admiral could hear the pain in John's voice as he said it, and spoke frankly. "John, just get dressed and be on Shipdock 1 in two hours. Now, get moving Marine."
The Chief couldn't help but snap a salute at the order. "Yes, sir!" Enthusiastic as it sounded, the Chief was horrified. His hands were shaking as he picked up a stim-pack, injecting it into his neck and dropping it with the many other spent cartridges on the ground beside his chair. His breathing calmed slowly and the chief knew what he had to do.
The holding container had numerous SECRET postings all over its surface, warnings of court martials and firing squads seeming to radiate from it. However, John simply pressed a series of coded digits along the markless keypad, and stepped back as an audible hiss was heard. The door paneling fell forward, caving from the side of the case and sliding down and away, as segmented panels shifted up and away, letting the cool air jettison out of the storage container.
Standing on a pedestal of stainless steel was the last suit that Spartan 117 ever intended to see again. His special ops Mark VI modified MJOLNIR armor. The Mark V, its predecessor which saw him through Halo, was a thing of the past, and merely offered nostalgia of the old days compared to the newer, more fantastic armor.
A soft sheen covered the armor's surface, condensed more from the days of the old Mark V system. The fusion cells were now a net mesh beneath his skin with small nano-machine transistors that could cut off the flow of power before impact of any known weaponry including the UNSC's own specialty sniper rifles. This meant that his wearable battery couldn't pop if he wanted it to.
Further improvements were the presence of highly reactive electrostimuli ports within the fingertips and knuckle-guards of his heavy gauntlets. Quite simply put, the Chief could now pack a 20,000 volt knockout blow to any electrical system, mechanical tool, or yes-- even a Jackal's skull, scrambling the hollow space inside.
The standard shields had been beefed up in order to take a beating, of course, and the lab techs were quite proud of their latest innovation to add even more strength to the already hyper-endowed Spartan. Thin fibers of black, smooth cloth-like substance were knitted into the internal lining of the suit, hugging as quite literally a second skin. Where the Spartan had once been a fast and impressive super-soldier, he was now a God of War on the battlefield. Able to take a covenant Wraith in his steeled grip and throw it by hand a dozen meters with enough speed to destroy it on impact, or leap fifty feet in the air and tear a Banshee apart before landing on the ground with a few hard steps and a leering grin.
No tech assistants were present as they had been in the past. No one looking on, no Sergeants barking orders as the dropships prepared to depart. No, it was just the aging Spartan, his Mark VI, and his thoughts.
Shipdock 1 was more of a concrete and aluminum plateau in the middle of a North-Mediterranean seaport. No longer used for sailing vessels, instead ships of all kinds-- UNSC and civilian alike-- landed and departed from the busy region. The dock, however, was devoid of any ships aside from one. It was a single Pelican dropship, the front end painted in a haphazard way that the Chief knew was a breach of every code of camouflage and decency there could be-- but he still liked it. A scantily clad woman winked back at him from the side of the nose, her hand waving a red handkerchief as a shark's eye and teeth gleamed on the front end of the bird, numerous dings and marks covering the surface and a large off-color patch on the right wing. So, this bird's seen action, the Chief thought.
A moment later the rear hatch opened, and a soggy looking figure strolled down, a hand down the back of his blue slacks, scratching errantly as he squinted in the natural sunlight. It became agonizingly clear to the Chief that this was a civilian flight.
"You Johnny?" the man seemed beyond laid back, his head canted off to his side.
The Spartan simply shifted his large duffle, his helmet held under his arm as he nodded his head. "Are you my transport?"
The roughneck fellow gave a somber nod, looking the armor over once before chuckling. "Yeah, I'm your guy. Get your ass on board, we're late."
The man turned and hustled onboard, climbing into the pilot's position and flicking switches as the jet turbines powered up and the generators pumped fuel hot into the burners, feeding the blue vapor that lifted the pelican.
John had to rush and jump aboard the craft as it began to take off, making it just as the hatch closed. "Hey!" he shouted, as he steadied himself and strode toward the open cabin at the front.
"Oh, good, you did make it." The man gave a playful grin, then handed John a portfolio of information. Destinations, spatial reconnaissance, and photographs of the second ringworld. "These are compliments of the Admiral. He said not to take any crap from you about regulations or chain of command, so you'd better sit down read that over, or I'll pop a hatch and flush you like a turd."
Not waiting for a response, the man flicked another switch and music blasted over the PA system. John's nerves instantly rattled as he spoke with a slightly indignant tone. "What is this garbage?"
The pilot took a hurt look as he donned a pair of aviator-style shades, a smile wide on his face as he spoke. "Aww, c'mon man, don't you listen to classical music? This is Jimmy Buffett, one of the greatest musicians of the old world order."
The chief sat through a long rattle of Cheeseburger in Paradise and Margaritaville before he finally saw a dot of light flash on the view screen of the Pelican, the spot slowly growing in size as the small Corvette class runner came into view. The Pelican slid into docking sequence, was sealed in and pressurized as air flooded the lock, and rolled forward into the holding bay that barely fit the craft, just as the forward access ports to the rest of the ship opened. A man walked forward with a cane supporting his right leg, and his eyes squinting sharp on the Master Chief as he stepped down from the Pelican.
John froze in his steps as he saw the effects of age upon the man, but there was no mistaking who he was. The sharp details, the firm, graying features and seamless line of a mouth.
The Spartan snapped quickly to attention, and saluted with enough start that he snapped the air around his hand.
"Chief Mendez, Sir!"
~~~~~
Chief Mendez?! Didn't he die in Reach?! Why is he here on this mission?!
Find out this and more in a few days when I get enough energy to write another section of the story ^_^.
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