Halo: Below the Brine

 

 

I had nothing.

No love, no joy, no peace. No boat or brine. No place to rest my tried and tired heart.

I had no future.

The galaxy tends to ruin things for you, just when you think you have them figured out. Those most precious to you are taken away in the onset of destruction. Fighting for your own life becomes the stuff of reality. But the battle is not against flesh and blood alone. This is my fight. My responsibility.

And I was about to make my move.

 

Foreword:

A widowed wife of a fallen soldier seeks to carry out her husband’s last wishes after hearing the dreadful news of his death on the battlefield. She is given his last effects and stumbles upon a hidden message among the items that will lead her down paths that she’d never thought to take. A journey through the muck and mire. A journey through the most darkened places of her soul, plunging below the brine. Alone but determined, scared yet courageous, Caitrin Lann will discover her life was meant for something more.

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

oh, and if you could let me know if this will spark any interest amongst readers . . . before i dive head-first into a new FF.

and don't worry, there's plenty of action, suspense, mystery, and intrigue to keep you thirst for more.
Stay thirsty my friends. Life's too short to read a generic Fan Fiction!!

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

Excellent, please continue.

---

SPQR! An ambitious historical project, coming soon. Check the Library for early version test writes. Recommended for anyone with a love of history.

hey, OB!

good to hear from you again.

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

Meh, my replies will be small, and scarce...

---

SPQR! An ambitious historical project, coming soon. Check the Library for early version test writes. Recommended for anyone with a love of history.

How very interesting...

---

"This one has forgotten whether it's heatsink is over capacity. It wonders whether the criminal scum considers itself fortunate" ~ Blasto, the only Hanar Spectre.

Chapter 1

 

A light breeze caused the flag to wave in a fluid motion that gave Caitrin Lann the impression of being underwater. The constant rainfall did little to alleviate the warm, sticky weather of western Texas. The humidity pressing down on her was compounded by the heartbreaking sadness she experienced. Caitrin had never known loss so weakening. So deafening.

Caitrin felt as if her heart had been replaced with a constant ache and an empty casing that could scarcely do the job of distributing blood to sustain her body’s functions. Her stomach was a frozen tundra where wild beasts rolled across the surface in waves. Migraines plagued her night and day, limiting her ability to do the simplest tasks of eating, sleeping, and crying.

Her head was uncovered to reveal red hair cropped close to her face, coming down to her chin, and falling just above the collar of a raincoat. The hood remained down. Caitrin wanted to feel something else besides pain, and she allowed the rain to bathe her from above. Droplets of water cascaded down her face and nose. They gathered with tears from emerald eyes to fall in the growing puddle at her feet. Sorrow and the elements becoming one on the ground.

Surrounding the stone memorial was a finely landscaped area with benches strategically placed about to offer the grieving a place to rest. Flags stood on metal poles in the rain, against protocol, flapping at random. It was noon, but the cloudy skies limited the sun to shine in a muted fashion while the heat radiated through. A variety of birds found sanctuary in a covered picnic area several dozen meters away, their songs doing little to console Caitrin.

Approaching footsteps sounded dull in her ears, though she didn’t take her eyes off of the plaque that was etched in the center wall of the memorial.

The sloshing stopped and booted feet came into her view. "Mrs. Lann?"

It was an officer, that she could tell. His stance unwavering as stronger winds kicked up, causing his perfectly tailored uniform to quiver. He stood at attention as he would for a superior.

"I am she," Caitrin forced through a dry mouth.

"I was asked to give you this, Ma’am." He held out a small wooden box, carved with the Office of Naval Intelligence emblem on the top.

She brought her head up to give her first good look at the officer. He was tall and she could tell his body was in shape. His hair short and his eyes alert, looking at some distant point beyond the tree line. She glanced down at the box again and was confused, not understanding the formality or lack their of. "What is it?" she asked, pulling her hands from inside her coat’s pockets.

He visibly swallowed. "Your husband’s last effects, Ma’am." He nudged the box slightly closer.

Momentum kept her hands moving as another wave of near-crippling emotions washed over her. However when her hands made contact with the wooden box, Caitrin could not help but feel a small comfort from the unknown contents that lay within. She held it in both hands and slowly brought it up to her chest. "Thank you." She blinked, sending even more tears down already-drenched cheeks, and looked up into the officer’s blank expression.

He saluted, then turned on his heal and left her alone.

Alone.

Caitrin dropped down to her knees, her long black dress soaking up the rain and mud. She closed her eyes and cried, wondering if the heavens above were weeping with her. The sounds of rainfall and the swirl of the wind were the only things she could hear. The birds had stopped their singing, and perhaps even they understood when to leave a grieving widow alone.

 

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

 

 

Caitrin climbed the steps to her second story apartment she had shared with her husband, on lease from the UNSC. She clutched the wooden box with one hand and absently groped for the railing with the other. Each step was a struggle under her weakened legs. She was of average height with an athletic build, but since being told of her husband’s death, she had lost weight to the point where her clothing no longer fit her properly.

Caitrin heaved herself up the last few steps to shuffle to the doorway of her apartment. She fumbled with her identification card, but managed to get the door open before completely giving into the weight of her soaked clothes. The door shut behind her and she collapsed in the tiled entryway, sending streaks of water to flood the immediate area. She swallowed past the lump in her throat but it remained. Setting the box down on the carpet, she struggled out of her raincoat, its slick surface combating with her wet pale skin. Her anger simmered as the left sleeve refused to let go of her arm. She swore and shook her arm violently, expending all the strength till it finally let her be. Just let me be! She wiped away newly cried tears.

As the apartment’s environmental system kicked in the cool air, she shivered in her sleeveless dress. Caitrin knew she had to change before she would get sick, but the lack of energy from her fight with the raincoat kept her on the ground. She just wanted to sleep, wanted to rest.

"I’ll sleep when I’m dead."

Caitrin inhaled sharply when she heard the words of Morcant inside her head. She smiled, then cried even more at the irony of her husband’s usual comment when he was pressed for the luxury of sleep. She looked up across the living room to the oversized couch where they would lay down to take those late afternoon naps together, but only Morcant would rise shortly after Caitrin had fallen asleep to give her the room to stretch out. Little things like that defined her husband as the caring person he was. Morcant would still open doors for her, reminiscent of ancient chivalry, and he cherished the time in between his assignments to spend every waking moment with her.

She buried her face in her hands. "Oh, how I miss you, Morcant." Caitrin knew she would see him again one day, her Faith confirmed that, but the burning inside her chest didn’t ease at this reminder.

She had spent the two weeks since hearing of her husband’s death moping about the apartment, getting random visits by counselors commissioned by the military to help her cope with her loss. They didn’t know Morcant. No one did. She looked down at her hands to find them bundled up into fists and she forced them open. Her anger was on a short fuse and she had to remind herself of this. Otherwise I’m going to pop at someone who gives me the wrong look at a supermarket.

She finally caught her breath and removed her black sandals covered in mud and bits of grass. Placing them on the rack with her other shoes, she slowly stood. Her plain black dress dripped, adding to the puddle on the tile. She hefted a shoulder strap off her right shoulder, then her left, and the ruined dress pooled around her feet. Caitrin took two steps onto the carpet, basking in its softness, and removed her undergarments, leaving a clothing trail as she started for the bathroom. She shivered again as she walked past a register blowing cold air past her legs.

The warm shower felt exceedingly comforting to her clammy skin and Caitrin lingered there till her fingers began to pucker. The hot water mixed with the air and helped clear her sinuses along with the fog trapped in her skull. She collected her thoughts and tried to sort them out. Grieving is a process and I need to have a goal in mind, otherwise I’ll be wreck the rest of my life. She frowned as water cascaded off her face. In her mind she could see words others had given her when her own parents had died: "Time will heal all wounds." "They’re in a better place, now."

She snorted. I was child then, but not an idiot. They should have known better than to think a few words in public would ease the hurt. Caitrin was only twelve when her parents were killed in a vehicle collision, and being an only child of single-sibling parents, she was placed in foster care. She waited for the memory of their deaths to rise up and overshadow Morcant’s recent departure, but her current pain overrode any other thought.

She sighed, causing water to ricochet off the glass door. Time is what I need.

Caitrin turned off the shower and dried herself off. Securing a robe loosely around her waist, she continued to dab at her red hair. She stood in the hallway, glancing back and forth between the bedroom and the entryway. Then her eyes fixed on the wooden box still resting on the carpet and walked toward it. She swallowed past another lump in her throat and wrapped her hair with the towel she held. Squatting down, Caitrin picked up the memento and ran her fingers over the ONI crest, tracing every detail.

She retreated to the bedroom for a sense of unneeded privacy, and plopped down on the bed. Collecting her legs underneath her bare frame, she sat in the center of the bed with the wooden box in her lap. Preparing herself, she took a deep breath and pried the box open.

She smiled and brought a hand up to her mouth. With the other hand she pulled out her old service nametag with her maiden name etched into it. Niko. She had met Morcant while she was commissioned as an MP at the local base. Her eyes watered at the memory of their first date. She laughed quietly. You were such a gentleman, Morcant. You didn't even kiss me, though we both wanted to so badly. He had kept her old nametag after they got married as a keepsake and now it was hers again, if she so chose. Caitrin cleared her eyes and set the nametag down on the comforter.

The box's only other contents were a small envelope and a folded up piece of ONI stationary. The paper simply said, "To My . . . Dearest." She smiled again and an ache in her stomach rose up to her chest. We never did figure out terms of endearment for each other, did we? Inside the fold was written, "I love you." Caitrin's eyes closed and this time she couldn't stop the tears from falling. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably and she felt the sadness seize her breath. I love you too.

She sat weeping for a long while, taking in the day’s events. She inhaled a deep breath and choked through the exhale. Caitrin took the towel from atop her head and dried her moistened face.

Taking the last object from the box, she opened the envelope. Out poured a pair of emerald earrings that matched the color of her eyes. Caitrin frowed as confusion contorted her features. Earrings? I don't wear earrings. Anger and bitterness took hold in her heart as she questioned for whom the gift was meant. I don't even have my ears pierced. She grabbed the folded stationary and read the front greeting. Dearest. Her expression soured as her hands fell to her sides in defeat. "What is this?" she hissed into the silence. Morcant, why?

She fell backwards on the bed, her head falling on the edge of a pillow, and she slumped on her left side. Caitrin cradled the earrings in her hands, looking at them for some sort of answer as to why her husband would desire another woman’s affection. Everything about Morcant screamed faithfulness and this sudden change in perspective sought to silence those cries. She sobbed, looking at her pathetic reflection in the gemstones. All a scattered mess of conflicting emotions and depression warped by the multi-angled stone.

Then she saw something. Something beyond the gems themselves. A tiny square with her initials carved into it: CAL, Caitrin Ann Lann. So you did mean them for me! She felt relieved and yet confused at the same time. Surely you knew I didn't have my ears pierced. She turned them over in her hands to reveal a white gold backing. She examined the two more closely, finding offsetting triangles, one raised and the other lowered on the surface. They looked like two puzzle pieces. Caitrin pressed them together and heard a rhythmic click. She sat back up and held the now-combined object close to her face.

A tiny burst of static erupted from the device and she pulled her head away. What the . . . is that a voice? Caitrin put the object up close to the side of her head and found that it fit snuggly into her ear.

A message began to play back, loud and clear, in the voice of her husband, Morcant.

 

My dear Caitrin. There is so much I long to say to you, but the recording time is short so I’ll tell you this: I love you. I'm sure ONI will keep a tight lid on my current mission, but know that I was right in confronting my superiors for the possible atrocities they were to make. The Andvarians just want their peace and privacy. Is that not what we fight for? They are on the right side of the argument. I implore you, Caitrin, to seek out the truth. I do not know how much longer I have here on Andvari, but after arguing with Colonel Ross, he threatened to court-martial me. Seek out Donagh. I'm sorry I can't tell you more. I love you, Caitrin.

 

The last syllable was washed away with static, and Caitrin took the device out of her ear and stared at it. So many questions rose in her mind from the cryptic message. So many conflicting thoughts of grief and confusion. Was Morcant asking me to pick up where he left off? Perhaps ONI is as infected as the local police were last year. Did he expect me to rout out corruption? She shook her head. Morcant was never one to exaggerate important information; he was often straight-laced. If he says his office was in the wrong, well then I’ll take his word over theirs any day.

Where is Andvari and who is this Donagh? She straightened up. And more importantly, was Morcant really killed in the line of duty or was he smudged out like a discarded cigarette? A new wave of anger and determination swept over her. She found herself repulsed at the idea of having her husband silenced for the things he believed, things he fought for.

And in that moment, Caitrin knew she had to find out exactly what happened to Morcant.

For her sake. For her closer. For her sanity.

She craned her neck to read the clock resting on the nightstand and sighed. Almost midnight. Being bombarded with information and churning emotions had completely worn her out, but below it all, she found a way of escape from her turmoil. Realizing the late hour, Caitrin felt beyond tired and she crawled under the covers. I’ll get to the bottom of this, Morcant.

Placing the device back in her ear, she was finally able to fall asleep to the sound of her husband's voice. In her dreams, she pictured herself with a renewed sense of destiny: she would go to the ends of the galaxy to find the truth.

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

Well, you've established a plot through the use of immeasurable sadness... GREAT JOB! I soaked up every word. Brilliant.

---

SPQR! An ambitious historical project, coming soon. Check the Library for early version test writes. Recommended for anyone with a love of history.

thanks, OB! i have a feeling this might be a long project . . . but hopefully worth it.
She's about to jump headfirst into all of the craziness.

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

I crave for more!

---

Aloysius:
-Less than half a of percent of players have the General rank on Xbox Live.

How is the General rank fair again?

Halo Fanboys. The next most annoying thing next to Jonas Brothers fanboys.

i'll be gone, out of town, this weekend, so i won't be able to work on anything new.

though i pretty much have the entire plot wrapped up, i still need to map out a few details. i almost have Chapter 2 finished. work has been crazy 'round here. . . .

peace out, i'll be back

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

Chapter 2

 

Standing outside the ONI complex, Caitrin looked up at the giant office building, her view momentarily blocked as the wind tossed her fiery hair in her face. Clouds still hung low in the sky, but the previous day’s precipitation had unremarkably dried up from the usual afternoon heat. Triangular in construction with diamond-shaped windows, the building scaled over fifty stories tall. She had been here before, countless times, to visit Morcant while at work. She was granted access to his midlevel office and knew the secretary that worked at the floor’s lobby desk. Caitrin glanced down at her ID badge, hoping that it would still function in the building even weeks after her husband’s death.

Following the crowd of employees who recently exited the nearby rail car, she moved through the front doors and on to the first security checkpoint. Bored-looking security guards manned full-size body scanners and their efficiency had each person spending a few seconds before being asked to move on. When it was her turn, Caitrin stepped up to the register plate and waved her badge before the reader. A nasty negative tone emitted from the device and she frowned at the not-so-unexpected buzz.

A short, balding guard waved her over to another station, still holding his disinterested expression, and held out his hand for Caitrin to give him the faulty ID badge. "When were you last here?"

"A few weeks ago," Caitrin said. "My husband, Morcant Lann, works— worked here."

He looked up quizzically. "Worked? He’s not in the building anymore?"

Caitrin sighed at the guard’s lack of understanding. "No, he was killed in action," she answered quietly.

"Oh," he replied through raised eyebrows. Then just as easily began hammering away at the terminal’s keypad. Another beep sounded and he shrugged. "I’m sorry but your pass has been revoked due to your husband’s recent status change."

Status change? Caitrin’s hands knotted into fists. How dare you be so obtuse. She opened her mouth in a retort, but the bulk of a man stepped in between Caitrin and the guard.

"That won’t be necessary," a deep voice resonated. The new arrival set his briefcase down and displayed his own ID badge to the guard. Caitrin caught a peek at the name: Commander Matthew Powelson. "She can come with me."

The guard’s eyes widened and he stood up from his perch on a stool behind the terminal. "Yes, Sir. But I’ll still need to log her information."

Commander Powelson finally turned to face Caitrin. His graying hair and ashen eyes shadowed by the brim of a hat. He gave a polite smile that creased the lines on his tan face. "Just add her as one of my guests. I’m sure Mrs. Lann won’t mind."

Caitrin didn’t recognize the officer at all, but his demeanor invoked no malice or ill intentions. Confused, she was a few more seconds in answering. "No, I won’t mind."

"Excellent." Powelson picked up his briefcase and motioned towards the elevators with his free hand.

The two moved past the scanners, the guard merely nodding in accommodation, and they entered an elevator with several other officers. They remained awkwardly mute the entire twenty floors up. Caitrin picked at some lint on the sleeve of her tunic, trying to ignore the towering officer to her left. A chime notified them of their destination and the two stepped out into the familiar lobby and the secretary Caitrin knew as Miss Tansky.

The young lady perked up and smiled at the Commander. "Good afternoon, Sir." Her smile softened when her eyes met Caitrin’s. "Mrs. Lann, I’m sorry for your loss."

She returned the expression. "Thank you."

The double doors opened at the flip of a switch on Miss Tansky’s desk. The Commander nodded in thanks and led Caitrin to a large rectangular room with rows of desks positioned in clusters of four. The overhead lighting was dim, allowing the individual terminal screens to illuminate the focused faces of ONI employees. Few, if any, paid attention to Caitrin, and without interruption, the Commander brought her into his private office situated along the far right side.

Caitrin paused just inside his office and marveled at the furnishings. The walls to her left and right were filled with antiquated books from floor to ceiling. The desk was crafted from a single piece of dark redwood and seemed large enough to land a Pelican on. The top portion of one diamond-shaped window created a triangular viewport, centered behind the desk, to view the distant forest. Two comfortable looking chairs angled in before the desk to complete the perfectly symmetrical scene.

Powelson stepped behind his massive desk and offered her either chair. "Please, sit down." He set his briefcase down on the ground and remained standing. "Would you care for a refreshment? I have a wide selection of beverages here."

Caitrin gave him a quick smile. "I imagine you do, but no, I’ll be fine." She took the chair on her right and slowly sat down, allowing the material to contour to her body. Caitrin knew she should have felt more comfortable, but the graciousness the Commander had shown her could be a ruse. She remained on her guard.

Once she was settled, Powelson sat down as well and crossed his legs. "I was wondering when you would show. Your husband’s death was tragic indeed, but I assumed you would have sought someone out sooner."

Caitrin lowered her gaze and looked down at her hands. "It’s been a difficult time. I don’t cry nearly as much as I did the first few weeks." Emotions rose up but she choked back the tightness in her throat.

Powelson nodded. "I apologize for my bluntness." He causally rested his hands in his lap. "Though I was about to seek you out, if I had not heard from you by tomorrow." He sighed. "Plus, Colonel Ross has not reported in for a while, so tracking down information has been . . . difficult."

Caitrin frowned and hoped she properly hid the bitterness from her tone. "Colonel Ross? He was Morcant’s department head."

"And very elusive," he added. "We still haven’t been able to get a fix on his ship’s current location." He made a face like he’d just said too much, but quickly turned his expression back to passive.

"Hmm." Caitrin cycled through her options. Either the man before her was telling the truth, or he was stringing her along, seeing what she knew and answering accordingly. "So where do you integrate into all of this?"

He snorted. "I’m not entirely sure anymore." Powelson leaned back. "I worked briefly with Morcant on his first few assignments, mostly textbook intel-gathering missions on the Insurrectionists inside our own Solar System. When he switched to covert ops, I wished him well and told him to keep in touch. He is still technically associated with my department, for records keeping, of course."

Caitrin tilted her head to the side. "Funny, he never mentioned you before."

The Commander stirred. "The Office of Naval Intelligence does have to maintain an element of secrecy. You should know this, Mrs. Lann." He shook his head. "He started working under Colonel Ross about six months ago where undercover work is hardly discussed, let alone filtered down to my level." He sighed. "Colonel Ross likes to keep his cards close to his chest, but he’s always able to complete a mission, often with minimal resources."

Caitrin couldn’t read the officer’s eyes, but she was sure he was hiding something. "Does he know what happened to my husband?"

"Well . . ." The Commander rocked back in his chair a few times before speaking, his voice quiet. "The report said he was killed in action by Insurrectionists in the Artemus Nu System."

Frustration seeped into Caitrin's voice. "I know what the report said, but I want to know the details." She bit her lower lip. "No matter how explicit."

Powelson set his feet on the floor, placed his arms on the desk, and gathering his fingers together. "You must understand, this all very much a closed book. Operational files are never made known to the public."

"But this is my husband we're talking about!" she shouted and immediately regretted the force of her words. She started to apologize, but the Commander waved her away.

"No, it's okay." He dropped his gaze, finding a random pattern of wood grain, and traced it with his eyes. "I'm sorry, but the information I have is very limited." He met her eyes and his face froze into an impassive mask. "Unless you know something I don't."

Caitrin pursed her lips and folded her arms defensively. "I know that he didn't die at Artemus Nu."

The Commander raised an eyebrow. "Really? What else do you know?"

"Sir, you usher me up here, bypassing security, and you expect me to completely trust you?" Her voice rose as she ended her question.

His expression soured. "No, I wouldn’t. But what you must understand is this: your husband trusted me." His face was dead serious, and Caitrin knew Powelson’s last statement was true.

Her hands began to shake in nervousness at the possibility of vulnerability. Morcant’s last words were the ultimate display of confidence he had in Caitrin. He trusted she would use them wisely. She inhaled deeply and let out a long sigh. "Andvari."

Shock blossomed on Powelson’s face, as if that one word could have made his heart skip a beat. "The planet Andvari?" His gaze drifted off to the side and he worked his jaw for a moment. "Where did you hear that name?" he asked, still not meeting her eyes.

"From my husband, of course," Caitrin informed, keeping her voice soft.

"Do you know where that is?"

She frowned and shook her head. "I only know that is where Morcant was."

The Commander sat perfectly still, the rising of his chest being the only sign he was alive. He raised his head and suddenly looked much older. "Mrs. Lann, if we are to continue this conversation, I must warn you, you may not like what you hear."

Caitrin raised her chin. "I’m not afraid to know the truth."

The Commander braced himself before continuing. "Andvari is a recent blunder for the UNSC." He kept his voice just above a whisper, causing Caitrin to lean in close to catch every word. "The local government decided they wanted their independence." He shook his head minutely. "While the military was set to move in troops and draw the battlefield lines, Milanó—the capitol—was peacefully overthrown in a nonviolent takeover. Using words instead of weapons, the Andvarians won their independence."

Caitrin nodded. "And obviously, the UNSC didn’t like that at all."

He snorted. "It was the last thing they need. You can imagine the political backlash they would have if they took over a pacified planet by force. They were left with a mess and buried the story so no news outlets would catch wind of it."

Something clicked in Caitrin’s mind. "So that’s why ONI brought in a team. Morcant’s assignment must have had something to do with taking the planet back."

Powelson bobbed his head. "That would be my conclusion. Colonel Ross must have inserted a team, most likely he already had some men on the ground, and your husband was part of the operation."

Caitrin squinted as she recalled her husband’s message. "Morcant said he confronted Ross about the ‘atrocities they were to make,’ and the Colonel threatened my husband with a court-martial." She straightened up in her chair, her muscles tensing, as a frightful realization struck her. "You don’t think Ross had him . . . killed, do you?"

Powelson shrugged. "I don’t think the Colonel would so hastily eliminate someone just to silence their opinion. The court-martial, I believe; nothing would sink a career faster. If Morcant was killed on Andvari, then the answers will be there."

Caitrin leaned forward. "Are you going to do anything about it?" she bit out, none to gentle.

He held his hands up defensively. "Mrs. Lann, there’s little a Commander from Section I can do to thwart a Colonel in Section III."

She shot up, knocking the chair over backwards. "So you will do nothing?"

Powelson lowered his head in defeat. "Are you sure you want to go down this path?" he asked.

Caitrin was taken aback by his question. She frowned and sat down in the upright chair to her left. "I have nothing here. Morcant was the only thing in my life that mattered to me. Do you honestly think I won’t go to the depths of hell to get to the bottom of this?" Searching his eyes, she could tell Powelson understood Caitrin’s desires, even though she might be slightly fatalistic.

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Mrs. Lann, what I tell you here is Top Secret. No civilian knows of Andvari. I’m sure the UNSC has cancelled all travel to the Sigur system altogether." He opened his eyes and for the first time, Caitrin could see the weariness behind them. "I could lose my job here for even mentioning Andvari."

"I understand."

"Perhaps you don’t. The repercussions of any action taken by this office could have lasting effects on how internal matters are dealt with." He managed to crack a smile. "But I know when someone has their mind made up." He pressed a panel underneath the desk and a portion of the wooden top split open to be replaced by a terminal complete with a mid-air display. The room’s lighting dimmed as the viewport polarized. A three-dimensional star chart filled the void, with each system being connected by various trade routes and slipspace vectors. A single red pulse glowed off to the Commander’s left, Caitrin’s right. The view zoomed in on the Sigur System, outlined in red. "You can see, Andvari is at the fringe of the outer colonies. Too isolated for efficient mining exploration to supply the inner colonies, but also too far away for anyone in an Ivory Tower to care."

He hit a few buttons on the terminal and the image shrank to a normal sized document viewer to display the ONI crest. "If you wish to find the truth, you will personally have to go to Andvari. There are too many prowling eyes watching me."

A chill ran up her spine as Caitrin recognized the possible outcome of her diving headfirst into a political maelstrom. That’s the last thing I want to do. But if that is what must be done . . . She nodded. "How can I get there?"

"That could be a little tricky." He gave a muted smile. "A small political delegation is set to depart for Andvari in a month. They are going mostly to quell the higher-ups’ fears of the Insurrectionists gaining control in the Sigur System, though I doubt any progress will be made. I could try and get you aboard as one of the crewmen." He raised his eyes. "I doubt you would want to be part of the delegation." He pressed a few keys to bring up a list of personnel and their titles, names Caitrin didn’t recognize.

She felt slightly hurt by his assumption. "I’m not totally ignorant of either, though I do have more experience with starship duties."

His smile grew as he taps his lips with a finger. "Your background as a military police officer would help you fit right in with a security detail." He entered some information into his terminal and her UNSC profile appeared between them. Her most recent picture was three months prior and showed her red hair much longer, falling to the middle of her back. She also looked heavier, healthier in the face. Her recent depression had made her look much older, even more so after cutting her hair. "You have changed, which will be good to keep you undetected. Though you might want to color your hair."

She sighed. Her fiery hair was one thing her husband loved about her. Certainly not the most, but he said it fit her spirit like a glove. "Okay. Anything else?"

"Your name." He cycled through a list of possible identities, doubtlessly ones with totally unique biometrics that she would have altered.

"Wait, that one." She pointed to a name she recognized as her great aunt’s. "Taryn."

"Taryn Collin?" Powelson shrugged. "It seems a bit old fashioned, but then again, I’ve never heard of another ‘Caitrin’ before." He overlaid the information with Caitrin’s own data and the new identity took shape. "I’ll have your new documents to you be the end of the week, along with the necessary papers that will tell you where to go and how."

Caitrin leaned back farther in her chair as her new path formed before her eyes. All of this was happening so quickly. The message from Morcant, this "chance" meeting with Powelson, and now she was about to be put on board an ambassador’s vessel to a little-known world, possibly never to be heard from again. "I’m game." She then frowned, suddenly perplexed by the officer’s kindness. "Why would you do this for me? Why the risk?"

The Commander kept typing, postponing his answer. His fingers finally stopped and he brought his hands into his lap. He blinked several times, nearly fighting back tears. "Let’s just say, I’ve been there before, on the edge of risking your life for the memory of someone you loved dear." He brought his head up to meet her gaze and his expression softened. "Not all members of ONI are made of solid stone."

Even though she wanted to press him for his own story, she could read the hurt in his eyes and thought better to leave it alone. "Will you get in trouble for helping me?" Caitrin asked as she stood.

He snorted. "I sincerely doubt anyone will give a fuss about some backwater planet." He stood as well. "They won’t suspect a thing."

"Thank you, Commander." She thought of saluting, but being out of uniform she gave him a curt bow.

"Good luck."

She turned to go and started to pick up the chair she had toppled over, when Powelson stopped her.

"Leave it. It will hold a good story that you were angry with me and it will distance us both from further involvement." He gave her one last smile. "In fact, if you could storm out of here in disgust, it will mask any underlying connection."

"I’ll do that." Caitrin headed for the door in mock anger and carried the fake emotion all the way outside the ONI building.

She turned to face the triangularly shaped tower and gave one more silent thanks to Commander Powelson. She had a month to prepare herself. She looked down at her thin arms and bony hands.

And I better get in shape.

.

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

*shameless bump*

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

Chapter 3

 

 

The round pierced through the target, sending tiny fragments of wood to follow in its wake. A direct hit, dead center. Smiling to herself, Caitrin brought her M6B pistol back up into a standby position and waited for the next target to rise from the multi-layered course. The range was populated with wooden, upper-torso silhouettes arranged on poles that snapped up at random times and distances. Caitrin had always prided herself on being as good with a sidearm as Morcant, often competing against one another on courses like this.

Another target popped up and she reflexively aimed down the sight to fire. A two-round burst struck the larger bull’s eye in the chest and the target retracted with a painful moan, reminiscent of a dying animal.

Caitrin had been hard at work these past several weeks, bringing her body back up to the condition it was in when she left her MP position. She had been training to the point of exhaustion and delving into her husband’s library of Covert Operations Doctrine. She found most of the information tedious and long-winded, but had found many useful pointers and strategies she would desperately need to grasp and use in the coming weeks. Caitrin knew she was no commando ready to bust into hell and start taking names, but she had a good mind about her—situational awareness and the ability to think under pressure amounted to a lot when pressed with the heat of battle.

With a collective shudder, the dozen targets returned to their starting position, and the course reset. Caitrin exhaled and set her pistol down on the counter before her. She removed the silencer that added a slight accuracy hindrance, and popped out the expended clip.

"Nice shooting."

Caitrin spun around, turning the unloaded weapon in her hand to hold it by the barrel, and set her feet defensively. Her stance slackened when she noticed the voice coming from an off-duty marine in olive drabs leaning against the back wall of the firing range.

He put his hands up. "Whoa, easy there." He moved off the wall to stand in the space she just vacated at the shooter's spot, his gaze looking her up and down. "Haven't seen you 'round here. You new?"

She gave a sigh of annoyance and brushed past him, returning her firearm to the metallic case. "I was just leaving." She snapped the case closed and hefted it off the counter.

He sidestepped, blocking her quick exit. "Why the rush?" he asked with a casualness mostly found in overconfident dive-dwellers.

Who does this guy think he is? "Do you mind? I'm heading home."

He folded his arms defiantly. "Where's home?"

She let out another exasperated breath and tried to step around him. The marine's hand clenched her left upper arm in a vise. Adrenaline flooded Caitrin's veins as she reacted without hesitation. His grip tightened and she allowed him to pull her back. She leaned into the tug and swung the bulky firearm case up and into his face. The marine tried to avoid the object by leaning to his right, but the back of the case struck his upper jaw and nose, causing him to stumble backwards. He slackened his grip on Caitrin's arm and she shook him off.

"Whad da hell wad dat for?" the marine barked furiously, holding his nose. He felt his now-bloody face, searching for missing parts.

Caitrin felt a moment's hesitation and wondered if she had overreacted. "I . . . " she frowned and took a step towards him, realizing the incident might get reported seeing as they were inside a UNSC training facility.

The marine held one side of his nose and blew out a spray of blood that decorated the concrete floor like an abstract painting. He wiped the rest of the red liquid off his face with a sleeve and turned to face Caitrin. "If you ever think you’ll be allowed in here again, you are sadly mistaken." His voice was surprisingly calm as he tried to return to his earlier demeanor. "You can be sure, my CO will hear about this."

Caitrin worked her mouth for a minute. "Fine," she said, turning to leave. Weeks ago, even days, she would have apologized and tried to make things right. But now Caitrin was a changed individual, more confident and sure of herself. She wasn’t about to let a thug leatherneck push her around.

"I know who you are."

She froze in mid stride, turning halfway to look at the marine. "What?" she asked with a slight tremor in her voice.

He folded his arms and despite the blood still trailing from his nose, he smiled triumphantly. "You think you’re so clever, trying to be someone you’re not." He took two steps forward. "You just remember, Miss Lann, there are always people watching."

She turned her head to the security camera in the upper right corner of the room, its sweeping motion slow and inaudible.

"Fickle," the marine snorted. "There’s eyes in places you’ll never think to look."

Fear trickled into her thoughts as Caitrin watched the marine strut past her and out of the firing range complex. Has my cover been blown already? She hastily wiped the blood from her firearm case and left through the other exit on the opposite side of the range. Maybe not, since he used my real name. That answer didn’t bring her much comfort. She tried to keep her pace casual and steady, but the altercation had her frazzled enough the she felt as she was speed-walking.

She would have to talk to Commander Powelson about this.

 

 

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

 

 

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror in a sleeveless top, Caitrin stared at her new appearance. Being a redhead all her life, she was amazed at the difference the jet-black hair made. The color was so dark, that at certain angles it looked blue when the light hit just right. She had informed Commander Powelson of the new look she would acquire so he could forge the appropriate new identity, minimizing the window of discovery by other ONI inquiries.

With the strands of hair still wet after rinsing out the permanent dye, she picked up the scissors off the marble sink’s edge. Taking a deep breath, she started trimming her hair shorter, hacking randomly to attempt a professional-looking cut. Clumps began to fall into the sink and Caitrin couldn’t help but think she was casting away more of herself than just hair. Part of her embraced the change, wanting to make a clean start. But the other part was slow to accept her new identity and longed to remain in her sorrowful state.

After several minutes, she wet her hair again to get rid of the loose locks. Drying off with a towel, she grabbed a few bobby pins from a drawer and fastened down the hair in front. Caitrin admired her handiwork, thinking others would find her hairstyle cute, and checked the time on her wristwatch. 10:17 PM. ***.

She was supposed to meet Commander Powelson at the old Moss Medical Facility downtown at 10:30, where he would give her the last set of documents and a security officer’s uniform. Caitrin went to her closet and grabbed her dark-gray coat and chunky black boots to complete her outfit. She also fitted a shoulder holster so her M6B would fit comfortably under her left armpit for easy access. It had been a week since her encounter with the bloody-nose marine and she carried out her life with caution but not so much as to seem suspicious. In a previous meeting with Powelson, she had given the Commander a sample of the marine’s blood to find out who he was. When Powelson told her the DNA match led to a restricted file in the ONI database, she had her answer: Section Three was on to her. They both decided to meet right before she was to depart with the delegation in hopes that if anyone discovered Caitrin’s intentions they would be too late to do much of anything.

Hopefully. She grabbed her chatter and headed out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, Caitrin got off the tram and hurried down the metal stairs to ground level. The streetlights burned dull amber, casting eerie shadows on the path that led to Moss Medical. Caitrin could see the small garden area resting just outside the old entrance: their designated rendezvous. Pausing at the edge of the pavilion, she doubled back and circled the outer sections of the facility, looking and listen for hidden observers. When her search came up empty, she ducked into the gazebo located in the center of the dimly lit garden area. A moment later Caitrin heard footsteps.

"Waxing," she challenged.

"Glowing." Powelson emerged from the darkness with the appropriate response, signaling he was not in duress. Likewise, he was dressed in dark, non-reflective clothing. He gave one last visual sweep of the area before sitting down with Caitrin. Without preamble he fished a small packet bound with string from inside his bulky coat and handed it to Caitrin. "Here’s everything you’ll need," he whispered.

She took the packet, looking it over without opening it. Datacards, Passports, Credits—quite a bit, actually— and a pressed Skyline Transport Security Detail uniform. She finally did pull out the ID card and examined the photo’s likeness to her own. She snorted. "Wow, you actually got a good match."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I do have some knack for the art of espionage." His expression turned to a glumness Caitrin had not seen before, one barely visible in the shadows of the gazebo. "I’m afraid I’ve done all I can for you, Mrs. Lann. Once you’re out of UNSC-controlled space, you’re on your own."

"On my own," she said ominously. "I’ve been there, Commander."

The silence lingered a few more heartbeats till Powelson patted Caitrin on the knee and stood up. "I have no doubt Section Three will be watching you. I’m not sure how, maybe they’ll have their own people onboard the delegation, but just remember this: Trust no one." He turned his head, looking out across the garden, so a sliver of pale orange light crossed over one side of his face. "Trust no one." With a final nod, he was gone, lost in the darkness.

 

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

 

 

With her duffel bag packed full of the necessary items, Caitrin waited inside the Ft. Stockton Railway Station for the MagLev train to arrive. Wearing her ersatz security uniform underneath a long raincoat, she could not shake the feeling of being watched at this early hour. It was 5:30 in the morning, just seven hours after her meeting with Powelson, and the people trickling in through the security gates were few. Caitrin kept her head low, as she sat on a bench, counting the seconds till the arrival of her train that would take her to the spaceport in Houston.

An elderly couple holding hands approached her from the right, and the older man helped his ailing wife sink into the spot on the bench next to Caitrin. Both were wrapped in layers, despite the uncomfortably warm interior of the station, but neither seemed to complain as they smiled at one another. The husband remained standing, as a new figure entered the scene, a younger man, probably in his late teens. Probably a grandson. The teen stumbled with several bags of luggage, nearly dropping one on Caitrin’s foot, and he gave an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, Ma’am." He situated the luggage into a pile next to the bench and wiped his sweating forehead. "That’s all of ‘em grandpa."

The older gentleman’s face scrunched up in a lack of understanding. "That small?"

"No, grandpa," the boy said, leaning in closer, "that’s all."

"Oh." He elongated his expression and nodded. "Thank you, Thomas."

Caitrin smile and rose from her seat. "Sir?" she asked loudly to make sure the elderly man could hear her, "would you care to sit down?"

The young man perked up. "Why thank you, Ma’am."

The previously unmoving old woman smacked her grandson away. "Manners, Thomas."

The old man shook his head. "No, I’m fine, Miss. But thank you." He scowled at Thomas and retrieved an old-fashioned pocket watch from the inside of his coat. He checked the minute, then returned the timepiece to his pocket and patted it. "The train is late."

Caitrin sat back down and checked the time herself. 5 minutes past due. Public mass transit being late was nothing new under the sun, but a MagLev was so punctual, you could set your watch by it. Nervousness started to seep into her consciousness and Caitrin gripped her bag tighter, the leather straps creaking as she did so.

"Don’t worry, Miss," said the old woman, patting Caitrin on the arm. "I get a little scared of these crazy machines as well."

Caitrin looked down at the elderly hand, creased with wrinkles and wearing a wedding ring. She gazed at the ring, seeing her tiny convex reflection in yellow gold, and wondered if she would ever get a point in her life where fast-moving transportation was all she feared. Here was this couple, full of days and memories, and Caitrin found herself fighting an emotion. Jealousy. Jealousy for the love and joy the couple obviously shared, and for her apparent lack there of. Caitrin closed her eyes to try and force away the bitterness. If my emotions aren’t in check, I’ll end up reacting rather than thinking my way through this whole ordeal. She rose from the bench and nodded to the three. "I’ll go check with the station manager. Perhaps he knows when—"

The rumbling sounds of steel running against steel echoed throughout the giant chamber and the Green Line pulled up to stop with a hiss. It was a moment before passengers began departing, mostly business men and women on their way to work, and when all were clear, Caitrin grabbed her back and entered the third car down. She noticed the elderly couple and Thomas had taken their seats in the car behind hers, and Thomas waved a hand. She smiled and sat down in the last row to the right. Caitrin could hear the grandmother say, "Leave her alone, she’s fine up there," followed by an exasperated sign from the teen.

At least this leg of the journey will be short. She leaned back and found the hardened headrest to be stiff and uncomfortable. She took off her jacket, bundled it up, and placed it behind her head to use as a makeshift pillow. Several minutes later, the train started moving and Caitrin closed the blinds and tried to relax.

She was about to close her eyes when motion for the front of the car stole her attention. It was a tall man with a thick neck wearing the same Skyline Transport Security Detail outfit she was—and he was heading her way. She did a quick scan of the car itself and found no one else was with them, whether by misfortune or design, as her stomach began to grow cold.

He looked in her direction and Caitrin could see recognition in his eyes. A smile spread across his face, all sinister-looking. He took the seat to her left, the last row on an otherwise empty car, and turned to face her. "Well, what do we have here? What are the odds that two STS employees would be on the same MagLev?" he asked sarcastically.

Caitrin brought her left hand up to retrieve her jacket from behind her head, hoping to mask the movement of her right hand towards her sidearm sling. "Yeah, what a coincidence," she said blandly. "This early, I thought I would be all alone." She almost had her M6B in her hand—

"Don’t." The big man tapped the protruding end of a barrel Caitrin hadn’t noticed sticking out underneath his luggage. "You aren’t that fast."

She lowered her hands to rest them in her lap. "Maybe." Her mind raced as she tried to think of something to do, but a quick breeze washed over her face and both looked up to see an attendant making her way down the aisle with a ticket scanner in her hand. Caitrin looked back to the thug and he gave an abbreviated shake of the head that told her not to try anything. Yeah, right.

The petite young woman smiled warmly and said, "tickets, please." She then glanced back and forth between the two. "Oh, it looks like you found her, sir," the attendant added with a tiny voice. She stood in the aisle and motioned for Caitrin to wave her ticket before the scanner.

Here’s my chance. Caitrin patted each pocket of her uniform, exaggerating worry on her face and said, "I think I left it in my bag." She quickly stood up, causing the attendant to take a step back and temporarily block the tall man’s view. Caitrin was a blur as she threw open the rear doors and stepped into the adjoining restroom section Cars 3 and 4 shared. She struggled to find an open lavatory and panic rose to find a home inside her chest.

"Hey!" both the attendant and the man yelled simultaneously. The thug pushed the petite woman aside and took three long strides to reach Caitrin.

She tried to pull out her pistol, but the man swatted away her right hand and gripped her neck, lifting her a few centimeters off the ground. The thug was fast, slamming her head back against a lavatory door, and stars exploded before her eyes. Caitrin reached up to pry his fingers loose, but his hold began to tighten, limiting her breath. She brought her knee up to strike at his groin, but the man turned and took the blow on the hip. She started to gasp for breath.

"We let you go a little too far, didn’t we?" the thug asked through clenched teeth. "You’re never going to make it aboard that transport."

Suddenly the lavatory door to Caitrin’s right swung open in force to smack the thug on the side of the head. He blinked and loosened his grip on Caitrin. The metal door struck again, sending Caitrin’s assailant to the ground with her falling on top. Finding her strength, she jabbed him just below his ribcage then pulled out her M6B and whipped his left temple with the butt of her gun, causing a small cut to form along his hairline. The thug’s eyes rolled back into his head and his body slumped. Caitrin rolled off and gasped for breath, clutching the redness on her neck.

"Is he dead?"

She looked up to find Thomas still holding the door handle, ready to use his improvisational weapon in case the attacker rose again. She laughed through labored breaths. "No, he’s out cold. Thanks for the assist, by the way."

The teen looked at the motionless body, then at the door he still held. "You’re welcome, Ma’am," he said, as pride filled his words. "Are you okay?"

She swallowed with some difficulty, but found the sensation bearable. "I’ll be fine."

The attendant stood in the open doorway with a shocked look on her face. Her gaze met Caitrin’s and her eyes grew wide. "Are you hurt?"

"I’ll be fine," she repeated, as she stood up.

"What is this all about?" demanded a new voice behind Caitrin. It was a man dressed in a rent-a-cop uniform, obviously the hired security for the Green Line. Much good it did me ten seconds ago. He planted his hands on his hips, waiting for a reply.

An idea popped in her head and Caitrin explained. "My fellow employee here had a few too many drinks last night. He wasn’t in his right mind when he reacted." She shrugged. "Best to let him sleep it off."

The uniformed man frowned. "Well, I’m sorry Ma’am, but I’ll have to take him back to the holding compartment." He turned to talk into his comm unit, asking for assistance.

Caitrin winced. "Okay, but for his own good." She squatted down and checked his pulse while pulling his ID badge from inside his back pocket. She opened it causally to recite his full name to the security officer, all the while leafing through the cards beneath the plastic holder. There it is. An ONI passcard, similar to the one she herself had been given by Powelson. So Section Three did have their own infiltrator on the delegation security team. She hid the card inside her sleeve and handed the rest of the ID sheath to the rent-a-cop.

He nodded in appreciation. "Thank you Miss . . ."

"Collin. Taryn Collin." She turned from the gathering crowd of security officers and stepped over the thug’s body. She found her ticket inside her left back pocket and held it before the attendant, acting surprised. "It seems I had it on me all along."

Passively, the woman scanned the ticket, mostly watching Security haul off the attacker. "Have a nice trip."

Caitrin smiled and walked back to her seat, suddenly exhausted, and heard the clumsy footsteps of Thomas behind her. The teen boy was following her like a lost puppy. She internally sighed when he sat in the seat across the aisle, giving her a big smile.

At least this leg of the journey will be short.

 

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

 

 

At the Houston Spaceport, she stood at the loading ramp of the 180-meter yacht called Emissary. The sleek design spoke of its use as a political vessel, meant to give a soothing image without any harsh lines. Compressed air jetted out from underneath as mechanics did a final examination of the keel.

The commanding security officer checked Caitrin’s ID and nodded with acceptance. "Welcome aboard, Officer Collin." He glanced back and forth, sweeping the entire hangar with his eyes. "Have you seen Jensen? Tall, thick neck, kind of an ogre?" He sighed. "He hasn’t checked in yet. Didn’t he come by your way, out West?"

She frowned and shook her head. "Haven’t seen him. Maybe he’s still sleeping," she suggested. Caitrin walked past him up the ramp and cracked a smile.

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

Those be some long chapters, good work

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Design a Faction

http://www.halowars.com/forums/thread/795978.aspx