Legacy of the Precursors

Chapter 4: Discord

A loud clang rattled the sabre, the exoatmospheric fighter craft jostling against the magnetic docking clamps as they securely sealed to its hull, berthing it inside the belly of its new residence.

Six's eyes traveled past his methodically cluttered HUD and through his tinted canopy, observing the peculiarly designed hanger of this mercenary cruiser.

UNSC vessels maintained well-ordered and industrious fighter berths, achieved by strict military code and supervision of the attending staff assigned by the ship's captain. Everything from the stockpile of spares parts to the on-hand munitions store was meticulously overseen by the crew chief and his subordinates. Nothing was ever out of place and the flight deck was persistently cleared of detritus.

It would seem these aliens did not uphold the same strict standards.

Crates haphazardly littered the hanger floor with little signs of oversight or planning. The spartan could even see what looked like munitions stacked in the corner, a clear violation of UNSC shipboard regulations. Placing unsecured armaments on the deck was grounds for the offender to be reprimanded and even dismissed from the vessel if the captain so desired. In the likely event of combat, such materials could accidentally or purposefully be activated, whether by the luck of enemy fire or bungling crewman.

The only similarity they displayed was in the method they moored their fighters. Due to capacity restraints, standard cruiser weight vessels suspended their strike craft via docking clamps, freeing up additional room on the flight deck and preventing the obstruction of crew and materials.

It was not exactly like UNSC docking methods. Despite the size of this vessel, the hanger was smaller than he suspected. It only had enough room to house maybe ten to fifteen fighters of their dimensions and they were spaced farther apart than he felt was necessary, not utilizing valuable ship space. He suspected a hanger of this size would have only been capable of holding four longswords; they were several magnitudes larger than these alien craft. It was fortunate that sabres were designed to be much smaller than a GA-TL1; otherwise it would not have fit in the berth.

The gantry he used to suspend his sabre was at the end of the line of mechanized lofts. Only six of the fifteen were currently in use, which led the spartan to assume they were shorthanded. Perhaps they had more need of someone of his skills then he thought? It made sense considering how irrational it had been to seek to employ him with little regards to his past or future plans. From what he saw, they could certainly use more pilots. They had been outnumbered by the enemy, although victory had been attained, he imagined it could have gone down very differently if this mercenary team had not been present.

He had seen their cruiser in action. It was a powerful vessel, capable of standing against stacked odds. It had accounted for at least a quarter of the enemy's lost ships. And they had done much to nullify the enemy's large quantity of fighters.

The spartan could see the team of mercenaries exiting their ships. He could dwell on post-combat statistics later. It was time to speak with his…superior.

The unspoken word still managed to leave a foul taste on his lips, even worse than the lingering metallic tang of his own blood. To willingly serve under an alien…covenant or otherwise, it was enough to make his subconscious rebel.

This would be the most difficult assignment of his career as a spartan supersoldier. Even Reach's collapse had not chafed at him so.

Six pulled the handle at his side and disengaged the canopy's lock, the armored cover retracting from the cockpit and allowing him to climb out, sliding down the side and to the gantry connected to his fighter.

The spartan's titanium alloy greaves fell upon the industrial grate pathway with a loud clang, the metal straining against his extraordinary weight, more than half a ton of killing potential crafted to his muscular frame. Thankfully, it held and his mass did not warp the steel.

Six closed and locked his sabre, reluctantly leaving it behind. He still did not trust these aliens and probably never would. It was difficult for him to go without his equipment, but at least he carried his sidearm with him, not that he felt he needed it.

If necessary he knew he would be more than a match for any of these aliens. For whatever reason, they were shorter than standard non-augmented humans, which meant that they would be naturally weaker in the category of strength, but this was offset by their animalistic traits, claws, fangs and the like, which would place them on equal terms with a non-spartan. However, with his MJOLNIR and enhanced strength he doubted he would even have need of a weapon.  

Yet, he reminded himself to not rely so heavily on his armor's abilities. Like his instructors had told him many years, a soldier's greatest weapon is not their equipment, but their mind.

The spartan made his way towards Fox, the vulpine was the leader of this ragtag team of misfits, which meant that he now reported directly to him.

That would take some getting used to.

The group of aliens watched his advance with clear signs of unease. It was apparent they did not quite trust him yet either.

Perhaps they were not as foolish as he first anticipated?

Stopping in front of the orange furred vulpine, Six assumed parade rest, gauntlets clasped firmly together and placed at the center of his lower back. The performance was…difficult, his body instinctively fighting against him. Showing respect to an alien was galling, but as much as he disliked it, this…man, was now his acting commander.

“Captain Mccloud…." He attempted to greet the vulpine as civilly as was possible, but he could not keep all of the reluctant frustration from his voice, revealed in the slight growl that vented from deep within his chest.

In an action that irritated Six, the fox smiled past his anger and even managed to greet him with an air of comradery and that insufferable grin.

“Hey Six, didn't I say there were no ranks here? Please, just call me Fox, none of that captain or Mccloud junk."

Six's unseen gauntlets tightened into fists.

Such blasé disregard for any structured command or protocol scraped against the spartan's principles.

“Is that an order…Sir?"

“Order…?" The vulpine's muzzle twisted in confusion. “No. It's just a request."

Six could see now, the vulpine was indeed clever.

This must be a veiled test to see how he would respond to these…requests in the future. ONI had tested him many times like this before they were satisfied enough to release him on his first assignment.

“As you say, Fox..."

“There, that's much better." Fox cleared his throat officiously. “Now that you are aboard, I would like to properly welcome you to the team and you can see the last member of the crew." The vulpine reached for the odd device wrapped around his wrist and spoke into it. “Hey Peppy, head on down to the common room, you should meet our newest team member."

“New team member, dear me, it would seem I have missed a great deal. I will be down shortly."

The voice was old, older than any present, Six was curious as to how timeworn this individual was. By the sound of it, he should have put down the gun many years ago,

Fox dropped his paw to his side and turned to Six. “Follow me. It will be best to conduct this in the common room. And after the little meet and greet, I'll show you to your private quarters and help you get settled in."

Six found this…perplexing.

His previous commanders had made no attempt to…get to know him. They had simply thrust the next data slate of information into his gauntlets and sent him on his way. The spartan decided that this must be another one of the vulpine's tests.

“After you, Sir."  

Fox groaned.

“Ugh, none of that Sir, stuff either. Seriously dude, just call me Fox."

Six nodded hesitantly.

This one was as crafty as his name suggested. There must be some grand scheme at work here. No matter, he would get to the bottom of it eventually.

Seeing the spartan nod in confirmation, Fox led the way out of the hanger.

Six decided to stay in the back of the small party. Having no desire to leave his back exposed.

As he followed, Six studied the internals of the ship.

The interior was just as alien as the exterior. The corridors were spacious and well lit, lined with silver and blue, a normal human might have even gone so far as to call it warm or friendly.

Six thought it was too damn bright.

Although, given their short stature, the spartan was surprised that the hallways were tall enough for his extensive height, even if just barely.

Any form of acrobatics would be inadvisable.

Many doors were spaced in even intervals along the sides of the corridor, no doubt crew quarters. The one at the far end on the right hand side had a holographic label atop the doorway that read Infirmary.

Six doubted he would ever have need of it. His boosted immune response system was incredibly resilient and meticulously efficient. Even such a tenacious malady as the common cold would find no ground inside him and he was confident no enemy in this place could seriously wound him.

At the end of the hall was a large pair of doors, opening to reveal an elevator much like a cargo lift. It should be able to hold his weight, even with the addition of the aliens.

His assumption proved correct when the lift managed to safely activate, although there was some difficulty during the initial ascent.

The avian made some remark as to his weight, and Six refrained from decorating the interior with the fowl's inoperable grey matter.

In other words it was a pleasant ride.

Exiting the lift revealed another corridor of similar nature as to its predecessor, with the exception of the nearest left side door, which was the ship's engineering and mechanics sector.

Six admitted that he was somewhat curious as to what the inner functions of the ship might be. Long operations behind enemy lines meant that he had to be able to tackle many unsuspected scenarios. So he had been trained in many fields, dressing wounds and preforming emergency battlefield surgery, repairing vehicles, how to properly snap the cervical vertebrae and efficiently sever the spinal cord, maintenance on his MJOLNIR armor, all standard information that anyone should know. 

From this the spartan had developed a minor aptitude and fondness for things of mechanical nature. Another lesson his instructors had imparted on him was the need for respecting and maintaining ones equipment. If your mind was your greatest asset, then your gear was what helped keep it in one piece.

He decided to possibly investigate the room later, after Mccloud finished with his inane introductions. Six did not need or care for the knowledge of who he worked alongside. If anything, the avian proved that his decision to join had been a mistake. But he would play the vulpine's frivolous game…for now.

All he knew was that he better get the information he was looking for.

The chamber at the end of the hall must have been their destination. He had seen its like before on many of the warships he had been ferried in throughout the war. Regular soldiers needed somewhere to rest and relax with their peers. Spartans did not have need of such luxuries.

They had been bred solely for war. They did not need to unwind…such would only seek to weaken them and ensure critical loss of focus. Besides, no one wished to interact with a spartan. They were after all, just mindless drones, incapable of understanding or exhibiting real human emotion or pain, even as their lives had been ruined and their realities shattered. They were just dangerous creatures, liable enough to kill you just as they would the Covenant.

Six had been content to keep his distance from these dens of preconceived prejudice.

Holding the door open, Mccloud gestured for them all to head inside, Six reluctantly doing so.

The room was large, enough space to house a sizeable group of marines. Much of the cham was filled with impractical amenities, tables, chairs, couches, electronics, and things of that ilk. The only useful object he spied was a device that looked to be a food service provider, a wall mounted machine with a small rectangular portal and list of what could only be meals of some kind, if the pictures were to be believed.

He decided to stick with his MRE's.

The team seemed to know what they were doing because they milled out amidst the room, making themselves comfortable. The frog, (or rather toad as Six humorously recalled), sat beside what appeared to be a hare or rabbit. The wizened gentleman had obviously been around the block a few times, as his whitening fur and slightly stooped appearance would suggest.

Six was at a loss as to what to do so he merely stood in place, waiting for the next thing to happen. This was not like anything he was used to. Once more he questioned not only the events leading up to this, but his entire existence as a whole.

Eventually, he was the last one standing. He supposed it might have been awkward, if a spartan could feel such an emotion.

“Come on, sit down, you're amongst friends." Fox assured him, motioning for the spartan to take one of the many chairs in the room.

Friends…what a presumptuous and false declaration, spartans did not have friends, if anything they had allies. These two things were not analogous with the other and they were certainly neither friend nor ally, merely a group of temporary convenience.

Still, Six did as ordered and sat at one of the chairs as far from the group as he could, selecting one made of steel, figuring it would hold his weight the best. The spartan rested his gauntlets on his thighs, ready to draw his weapon.

“I am sitting…" Six declared matter of factly.

Again, that unbearable grin, “Yeah, you are." The vulpine admitted with a chuckle.

Six suffocated the desire to howl in rage. He had no desire to banter words.

“There was a reason we are here." Six alluded curtly.

'Yes…" That damnable grin and open smile. 

Six's immensely powerful muscles strained against his steadfast discipline, refusing to let his gauntlet reach for the magnum at his side, how easy it would have been to just ensure that damned muzzle could never form that contemptable smirk.

If only the vulpine was aware of how close he danced with death, he might have chosen his words with more care.

Lucky for him and his cohorts, he discontinued his irksome game.

“Since you are a part of the team now, Six, I feel a more comprehensive introduction is warranted. I'll start with myself." He tapped his chest with a claw. “My name's Fox Mccloud. My father started Starfox and after his death I took his place. I'm the tod in charge. That means I make the rules and I expect them to be followed."

The warning was quite clear.

Six was caught by surprise at the sudden forceful authoritative tone in the male vulpine's voice. Perhaps he was not as gutless as the spartan thought. Six felt the dawning of respect for this one, a faint waning ember of respect, but still, respect nonetheless.

“Understood…" Six dipped his helm in acknowledgment.

Fox shifted his claw towards the bird…that damned unendurable pheasant.

“The asshole sitting there is Falco Lombardi, the teams heavy weapons expert. Don't put too much stock into his words, no one else does."

“Hey!" The avian squawked angrily.

Six was startled to feel a slight smile creep onto his visage. Perhaps this vulpine would not be too bad of a commander…perhaps.

“Despite that, he's an excellent pilot and a good soldier. Anything you wanna add?" He asked the bird.

“Nah, you've said enough already." The multicolored avian grumbled, folding his feathered arms crossly.

“Thought I might've." The chuckling vulpine's furred digit passed on to the toad.

“That there's Slippy Toad, he handles all the mechanical needs of the team and his brains as big as his heart. You got something broken or making weird noises, he's your guy."

The amphibian beamed at the praised and blushed.

“Aw shucks, Fox, I'm not that good."

“Just giving praise where it's due." The vulpine replied with a shrug.

That made him curious. He would not have expected the toad to perform such a vital function. He supposed that looks, indeed, were not everything.

“Anyways, the older gentleman in the lab coat there, he's Peppy Hare, the team's tactical coordinator and soundboard. If you ever have something on your mind he's the guy you can talk with."

“Yes, in fact, if you would not mind, I would like to speak with you when you have a moment later." The hare spoke to Six directly, his voice calm and collected.

The spartan was not sure what he wanted, but he supposed that speaking with him would not be too much of a pain.

Six nodded, accepting his request.

Fox thumbed over his shoulder, pointing to that brash feline, who was flashing a fanged grin in his direction.

“Miyu Lynx is the team's interceptor pilot. Her ship is as fast and deadly as her mouth. She's in charge of the Great Fox's armory and maintains security."

“From the looks of it, I might be out of a job. What'd they feed you growing up, steroids?" Her muzzle still had that grin molded to it and she spoke in a husky drawl. It reminded him of a marine he served with briefly. The man had come from Texas, but never had the chance to return.

A brute had ripped his spinal cord from his still living body and used the attached skull as a mace.

Six had taken his time with that one, its death had been…gruesome.

“Amongst other things." Six replied seriously. He was sure that there were many different kinds of steroids in the chemical cocktail they used to turn him into a spartan.

The cat must have thought he was joking, judging by the chuckle she let out. It mattered not if she believed him.

Fox shifted his attention to the snow white canine sitting beside the spotted cat.

“Fay Spaniel is the team's tech specialist, she can hack into just about anything and she helps Slip with the repairs.

The dog must be a shy one, because unlike the others she only meekly waived at him.

He was thankful that at least one of them did not like to run their mouth.

Fox gestured to the room's final occupant, the cerulean vixen sitting next to him.

Six's instincts screamed for him to be wary of this one. He did not know why, but they did not like her at all.

And judging from that hard emerald glare, she shared the same sentiment.

“Last but not least is Krystal. She is my second in command, so her word is as good as mine. She's the team's resident telepath and CQC expert."

Six was not quite sure he heard that right.

“Telepath…?" There were rumors of individuals like that operating in the NAVSPECWAR division, but he was certain it was all just speculation.

“Fox is correct, I am a telepath."

Six could hear no trace of deception in her voice.

Instantly, the spartan shot up from his seat and reached for his sidearm, the action so swift that no one had realized what was happening until the magnum was leveled at the vixen, who serenely gazed up into the barrel of the deadly weapon. No doubt the damnable woman had already been aware of what his response would be. He would not allow the information he carried to be compromised. There were countless ONI secrets and plans stored within.

Fox did not react nearly as calmly as she did.

“What in the fuck?! Six put the damn gun down!" The vulpine barked in shock and anger.

The rest of the team looked to have been stunned into silence by his sudden actions.

The spartan ignored him, speaking to the vixen evenly and directly.

“Have you been in my mind?" If she had, her life would have immediately been rendered forfeit.

She smiled pleasantly, seemingly indifferent to the possibility of death. “No. But not for a lack of trying, you have a well-guarded mind there, Six. It is actually most impressive."

Once more he did not sense any fallacy in her response.

With a curt nod he holstered his magnum and lowered himself back down to his chair.

Fox's eyes flashed between the two of them, taking a heavy exhale and sagging back into his own seat.

“I'm not sure what the hell just happened. But I would appreciate it if you did not aim your gun at your teammates. That's kind of contradictory to what that word means."  He muttered as he rubbed the bridge of his snout.

“It will not occur again." Six replied, his ire still firmly locked onto the vixen, who remained smiling as she gazed back at him serenely.

He did not add whether it was a permanent promise.

“Well, that was certainly something." Falco remarked blandly.

“Anyways…if you are done threating the team…?" Fox wondered with a small smile.

Six nodded. As long as they did nothing to jeopardize his well-being, they would remain breathing.

“Then how about you return the favor and introduce yourself?"

Six frowned. He did not like speaking of himself, and was even less enthusiastic of talking about his past.

“What do you wish to know?"

“Oh I don't know? A real name might be a good start." The vulpine replied with a laugh.

Six scowled.

“What I have given you is my real name. It would be in your best interest to respect that. It is not something I dole out often. Most who have gained this knowledge are dead." Six had gone by many names in his career, the covenant had called him and others of his kind demon and the anarchists of the rebel faction had christened him wraith in hushed tones, speaking of the silent killer in the night, the terror of the insurrection. But Six was the name that belonged to him, and only fellow spartans and his superiors held this knowledge.

Fox stopped laughing. The gravity of the spartan's tone weighing in.

“Really, your actual name is Six?" He asked in disbelief. Fox had thought it was just some sort of code word or acronym for something else, not the man's genuine name.

“Yes, whatever I may have been called before has long since faded into forgotten memory."

ONI had revoked his birth name after they took him from the program in an effort to sever all ties from his previous life. He was thusly named for the reason that he was their sixth attempt at creating a spartan that would fit the office's inhuman standards. The first five had either broken down and committed suicide during the brutal training or failed to meet their merciless requirements. And, seeing no other option, he embraced it. He had done what the first five could not…adapt. Six was who he was, the sixth test, a survivor. And with the relentless and brutal war, it paid to be one.

It was just an ironic twist of fate that he had been the sixth member of Noble Team.

“How could you have forgotten your own name?" Miyu asked gently, her fierce amber gaze toned down to a softer level. The thought that your name, the thing that identified who and all that you are, could be lost… It was horrible.

“It was…taken from me." Six admitted after a moment of silence. “But that was a long time ago. What is it next that you wish to know?"

The spartan wanted to finish this unwanted interview as quickly as possible.

Now, Fox was more respectful and courteous when he spoke.

Six found that…appreciative.

“Who exactly are you, Six? Where did you come from?"

There was nothing they could do with this particular set of information, practically every human knew of them. He would be offering these aliens no distinct advantage. Not that they would ever be in a position to use this knowledge in any helpful way.

“United Nations Space Command, special warfare group three, rank First Lieutenant, Spartan-B312 Beta Company." Six recited instinctively, it having been bred and at times beaten into him.

“Beta Company? First Lieutenant? You were a soldier in an army?" Fox had thought he was a mercenary.

“Correct, UNSC naval special forces."

“You're a commando?" Cornerian commandos were the best trained infantryman the republic could field, hardened veterans of countless engagements.

“More than that…I am spartan"

“What is a…spartan?" Slippy asked curiously. They had never heard of one before.  

“UNSC supersoldier, created to protect humanity from threats both internal and external."

“Humanity…? You're not a cornerian?" Miyu asked in astonishment. She had not considered that she was speaking with an honest to god alien.

“Definitely not," he scoffed. To be confused with one of their kind was insulting.

“We've never heard of humans before." Falco eyed him suspiciously. To the avian this sounded far too ludicrous to be believed and he was confident the man was making it up to hide the truth.

“I would think not, my methods of coming here were…dubious. Suffice to say; returning home is not an option"

However, of all of them, the cerulean vixen was still caught up on one word.

“What do you mean by created?"

That question was not one he was uncomfortable with answering.

“Classified information…"

Krystal frowned. Just when he had been starting to peak her interest she hit a proverbial brick wall.

Six did not have an endless well of patience, the spartan turning to Fox.

“I tire of these questions. Is what I have said sufficient for the moment?"

“Sure…that's enough." The vulpine mumbled distractedly, still dwelling on all of this new information. He had not expected for him to reveal so much, and yet. He felt as if Six did not really tell them anything.

“You said there would be a room? I desire solitude."

“Right…right, follow me." Fox rose up from his seat and the spartan followed suit.

Before leaving, he turned to the rest of his team. “Alright, you know the drill. The rest of the day is free." Whether Pepper had more for them to do tomorrow was another matter. Fox did not know to what extent this invasion stood, or if it affected other worlds, but for now he would let them rest. They had earned it. And the vulpine wanted to know a little more about his newest member before he was willing to have him fight alongside the team. Repelling the attack took precedence above this, but now it was over for the moment, he could afford to delve deeper into who exactly he had hired on.

With the orders given, he left the room with the massive soldier in tow.

*****

It was a silent journey to the private crew quarters. For whatever reason, his father made this ship big enough to house a full complement of crew, but with only a handful of people in mind. Fox wished that he could have asked his father why, however that was just one of the countless questions he wished he could have asked him.

If he could have has just one more day with him…

Fox sighed and cleared his head. Now was not the time for those thoughts.

Since there were only seven of them, now eight with Six, they appropriated the rooms nearest to the bridge. They were higher up on the ship and of a better quality than the others. Fox had of course taken the room his father would have, the one right next to the elevator. From there it went down with no real sense of order. Each of them taking which ever room they felt they wanted.

When the elevator opened, Fox and the spartan exited and the vulpine gestured outwards.

“So…which of these tickles your fancy?"

Fox was curious as he studied the giant of blue and white. Six was an alien as he first suspected, but that only made him more inquisitive. What was this UNSC, and what did he mean about being created? As much as Fox wanted to press for information, it was quite obvious that the spartan as he was called, had reached his limit of patience at the moment.

Perhaps later in the day he might try and do a little one on one. But for now, he had enough information to satisfy Pepper's interest. No doubt the canine would want to receive even more after hearing what Fox had to tell him.

Six traveled down the hall, stopping at the door at the very end.

“Sorry, that room's taken, it belongs to Krystal."

The spartan made no outward sign that he understood Fox, but he did turn and take the room opposite.

Fox stepped ahead of the spartan and opened the door, leading him inside.

Flicking the lights, he revealed a comfortably small cabin with a mid-sized bed and desk with similarly proportioned closet and lavatory. It would have been perfectly accommodating for a cornerian, but it was most assuredly not designed with a human in mind.

It was almost comical, seeing such a large individual in such a tiny space. Still, Fox held back any laugh.

“Sorry we don't have anything bigger. We cornerians appear to be smaller than you humans."

“It will service its purpose. All I require is a means of cleansing the blood from within my armor, and other...fluids." Six studied the crimson splatters on his MJOLNIR. Perhaps he should take some care to…minimize, the results of his bloodletting?

That's right! Fox remembered he was wounded.

“Do you need medical assistance? The ship has an Infirmary. MAD can take a look at you."

“I will manage on my own." Six replied stiffly. He did not know what this MAD was, but he could tend to his own needs.

The vulpine did not press the matter. “Well, if you change your mind, the Infirmary's on deck three."

“I will keep that in mind."

Fox suspected he already discarded his suggestion, but smiled anyways.

“You may tell Hare that I will speak with him in three hours' time." The spartan ran a gauntlet across the surface of the desk in his room, the soldier's helmet slowly scanning his new environment.

Fox had to remember that his new team member had been through a lot in the span of a single day. No doubt he wanted some time alone to reflect.

“Sure, he'll be waiting down in the common room." He was not sure if he should press his luck, but it had been bothering him for some time. “You know…Six, you don't have to wear your armor. You're safe here, among friends."  He wanted to cement the fact that he was in a place of security. It did not take a genius to see how unhinged Six was. He displayed all the symptoms of a soldier suffering from PTSD, the frayed patience, bouts of anger, and especially how he had reacted to Krystal. Six had seen a possible threat and immediately moved to neutralize it. Fox had seen it all before, during the first Lylat War.

Hearing the vulpine's offer, the spartan deliberately swiveled his helmet to regard Fox. He could almost physically feel the ire lying dormant behind that silver mask.

“Am I? Can you really be so naïve as to assume that I would trust you so easily? That we are friends? Why you have placed so much trust in me already is something I cannot fathom. You barely know who or what I am. You know not what I may do. Yet I am among you now, inside your fortress. If I so desired I could kill you all with little effort or remorse. Why…why have you placed so much trust in me?" Six demanded with unexpected fury, his voice seething with rage. It seemed that all of his repressed emotions had found a temporary crack in his otherwise impervious emotional barricade and were now spewing from the fissure.

And yet…Fox could detect more confusion than hate. There was far more to his question then what he asked.

“I have faith." Fox replied simply, smiling kindly up at the murderous warrior.

This seemed to genuinely baffle the spartan, halting his boiling rage in its furious tracks. The crackling flames of his ire ceased as fast as they had ignited, leaving a strange coldness in the air.

“Faith…?" He rumbled quietly, his helmet turning to the floor. The spartan's gauntlets unclenched and his shoulders sagged, virtually undetectable to the vulpine.

Fox took a step forward. “I have faith that you are a good man. That moment you offered your help because innocent lives were on the line I knew I could trust, that I might call you a friend. No evil man would selflessly risk his life for others. And only a truly good one would do so without hesitation. And a hero would put himself at risk to save a ship of a thousand souls when they could have easily turned a blind eye and no one would blame them."

For once, the spartan's voice held no spite or anger…only unseen emotion, the crack in his defenses already mending.

“I am no hero, Mccloud. You know not of the deeds I have done, the lives I have taken."

Fox shook his head adamantly.

“Alien or not, all soldiers doubt themselves, whether what they have done can be redeemed. Tell me…all these things you have done, were they to protect the innocent?"

“I-"

Fox cut him off. “No matter how terrible, in the end did they save lives?"

Six took a moment to think. Every target he had taken, every life he had ended, would have been responsible for loss of life. But how could he justify the pleading, the whimpers they had made for him to spare them, crowing about their families, wives and children, how only a monster could do this. When they had figured out that he would not spare them, their attitudes had changed. Inhuman, abomination, heartless machine, they had called him these and many more before the knife sliced into flesh or the gun released its deadly payload and silenced their insults.

Could he really be considered a good man?

One thing was certain.

“Yes."

What he had done did save lives, even at the cost of them. He supposed only his final judgment would let him know whether he had been in the right.

Fox grinned up at him. “Then you are indeed a good man, if you believe so or not, is irrelevant."

Six silently regarded the furred speaker.

Never had he considered in all the few years he had lived, that an alien would give him evocative counsel. Certainly he never suspected that he would speak with one not of his species without the intent to kill. He held a great deal of understandable hatred for aliens. They were responsible for the loss of his homeworld, family, and any chance at a normal life he could have had.

That being said, the spartan's next words were enormously difficult to produce.

“Maybe my first opinion on you and your species was…incorrect, Mccloud. You have given me much to think about. But I have nothing but bad experiences with alien races in the past. Do not think my prejudices will fade in a single night."

In response the vulpine chuckled, nothing but that charismatic individual he met earlier that same day.

“Well, it's a start." Fox replied as he held his paw out.

Six gazed down at the proffered furred limb and all that it signified, friendship, comradery, acceptance…all things he had been promised once before.

Hesitantly, he met the vulpine's paw with his gauntlet, his enormous hand eclipsing Fox's furry appendage.

“Yes….I would suppose it is. I will put my trust in you, Mccloud, as much as I am able. Do not break it. The consequences for doing so would be…unpleasant."

 “I promise you I won't." Fox vowed seriously. He knew that attaining this man's trust was a gift of momentous significance. He had gained the confidence of a warrior, and that was something to be treasured, for it was not something given lightly. And all this in a single day as well!

“Then so long as you uphold my trust I will follow you unto the gates of hell themselves Mccloud."

That oath stunned Fox into silence. Six was making a serious commitment.

“This is a gift for you and you alone. For you have shown me something I had not thought possible, that even an alien can have a soul. Now leave, before my gregariousness fades." The spartan actually chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm and friendly, unlike the one from before.

“Right, see you later Six." The vulpine grinned once more and headed towards the door.

“Farwell Mccloud." The spartan replied absentmindedly in dismissal, already lost in his thoughts.

Perhaps, in time, he could get the spartan to call him Fox…and maybe even brother.

Fox let the door close in front of him and walked away, heading towards his own room while whistling a pleasant tune.

He had known Six was a man to be trusted.

*****

After his enlightening conversation with Fox, it took about an hour for Six to remove his MJOLNIR. One of the many skills he had been taught was the capability to manage his own suit. In his operations it was not always feasible to have an experienced tech staff on hand to take care of his various needs, so he had to adapt to the situation. His armor carried a small technical kit that helped him exit his armor as well as containing a handful of tools he could use to affect minor repairs when needed.

The work was soothing in its repetitive familiarity. He had spent many hours tinkering over his suit, patching minor damage and inscribing Norse runes upon the titanium plates as well as reapplying the bone white paints once they were worn down by time and battle.

Many years ago, in a rare act of humanity, he had covertly hacked into ONI's database and looked for information pertaining to his past. He had unfortunately been unable to find anything regarding his name or family. They had even stricken that from their electronic records. But he did find some information on the world he had lived on.

Concord Dawn had been an agricultural colony mostly populated by Scandinavians and therefore heavily influenced by their culture. Wanting some way to stay connected with his already faded past, Six had sought to keep his heritage in some form. He knew nothing of it and spent hours combing the net for anything useful he could find. However, in the end he did not care for most of what he read as it was irrelevant, but he did find its more martial aspects appealing.   

The meanings held behind the glyphs themselves were not as important as what they represented, a physical manifestation of his forgotten history, each a reminder of what had been taken from him and what could have been.

Six did not know what kind of man he could have been if not for the war. And now, after all this time…he didn't want to. Only the agony of loss lay in wait inside those self-centered thoughts.

Six gazed at his battered armor as it lay on the deck in front of him, (being far too heavy to place on the diminutive desk), the cerulean paint flaked in spots and was completely worn away in others, revealing the tarnished silver sheen of the hybridized titanium underneath. Where once a crimson plume resided upon the crest of his helmet only the arc of beaten steel remained. The GALEA helm was a rare pattern of MJOLNIR, coming from the masterful minds of ONI's science division and augmented by the LORICA armor system belonging to a long abandoned ONI project that never got off its feet. Only one of the advanced suits had been constructed, and not wanting it to sit unused, the prototype been given to him, their most efficient weapon.

It was the most cutting-edge powered assault armor ever designed, featuring reinforced multilayered alloy plating, redundant shield generators, enhanced reactivity in the crystalline gel layer, additional refractive coating, and a heavily redesigned body suit with a supplementary stratum of titanium plating for increased protection.

All together and it surpassed both the MARK V and developing MARK VI in combat durability and efficiency. He had been told that it would be many years before such a successful design could be mass produced and distributed to the rest of the spartan program. It was as costly as it was effective. Six often attributed his survival to it.

Since he had donned the armor, not once had it failed him.

The spartan looked down upon his unarmored form, or at least it was less armored. The body suit was still more than adequate to deserve the title. He had always been fascinated by the armor's underlayer. The strange black fiber optic cabling wrapped snugly around him like a second skin and appeared much like human muscular tissue uncovered by the vulnerable trappings of flesh.

Within a few more minutes he stripped out of the underlayer and neatly folded it beside the rest of his equipment.

It had been more than a few weeks since he last had the opportunity to shower, and he wanted to use the facilities of the room he had been gifted. He was hesitant to expose himself on this ship, but he trusted Fox enough to the point where while not necessarily comfortable, he felt that he could at least afford the luxury of a shower.

Leaving everything but his body behind, the soldier opened the door to the lavatory and stepped inside.

It took him longer than he would have liked to admit, but he eventually discovered how to utilize the facilities. Six washed away all the blood, grit, and ash that had somehow managed to find a way onto his skin. As he showered, Six glanced at his torso, revealing an ugly purplish bruise under his right pectoral.

He had been lucky that the glancing impact from the hunter's shield had only cracked a few ribs. If it had landed a solid blow, he doubted even his superior armor could have saved him.

Another mark of his previous engagement lay across his back, a stripe of discolored skin where the intense scorching heat from one of the hunter's assault cannons phased through his armor and seared his flesh.

With his more recent wounds was the ever-present collection of faded scars and burns of a lifetime of war. Even with his MJOLNIR he did not completely escape injury, mended bullet holes, plasma burns, lacerations, if it could hurt you, he had endured it.

He paid the myriad of old wounds little mind, as long as his body kept going and he could keep fighting than it mattered little what happened to it. What he did pay attention to was the hot stream of water emitting from the strangely designed shower head. He could not recall the last time he had been able to bathe, certainly before the Covenant attacked Reach. He did not get the chance to sleep let alone shower.

In fact he had not had the chance for more than a quick rest in between battles for many weeks. He could count the amount of consecutive hours he had slept on the hand of a sangheili warrior. And that was not considering how little he had eaten as well. Noble team had spent the entire invasion fighting the enemy. They had been offered little respite to maintain their bodies.

This was the reason he felt an uncharacteristic grumble emerge from his abdomen.  

Six reluctantly exited the hot shower and dried off, almost reaching for the weapon he did not carry when a loud hum filled the tiny shower stall. The spartan was barraged by warm air and he realized that it was simply air drying him from the vents along the walls, so instead he chuckled.

He was certainly still high strung.

The spartan slipped out of the shower and grabbed a small hand towel placed neatly on a rack by the sliding door, slinging it over his shoulders. As he turned to exit the bathroom, his eyes caught his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

A hard pair of crimson irises stared back at him.

It was strange, he had not seen his own face in…he could not recall the last time. He spent almost his entire life locked away under his armor, rarely if ever removing his helm. It had become his face, a silver and cobalt façade, resolute and unflinching, just like his determination to fight.

It had been many days since he last thought to shave or cut his hair. Short and neatly trimmed stubble finely decorated his thin cheeks and his mane of raven black locks had been roughly cut to a manageable level. A duel pair of scars was engraved into his otherwise undamaged visage, a shallow cut carving across the right side of his head, courtesy of a sangheili energy blade from a skilled zealot during the evacuation of New Alexandria, and a cragged mark drew itself across his left eye and down the bridge of his nose, the result of an insurrectionists fragmentation grenade received in a boarding action above Mamore.

But what surprised him most on finally seeing his face after so long, was the haggard look in his ruby red eyes.

Those windows to his soul had not always been the color of spilt blood. Once, they had been innocent and bright blue, just another part of him taken away by the program. The drug cocktail they used to augment his body had some minor side effects, thankfully all benign. He would have not been able to live with himself had he been crippled as many others had been. The procedure to turn a child into a superhuman was both incredibly dangerous and highly unethical. But he did not blame ONI or the UNSC for what they did to him and his fellows. Humanity had been losing the war, what mattered the lives of a few children if it meant the survival of their species?

Six traced the old scar over his eye, recalling the engagement where he had earned it.

That had been before he was valued enough of an asset to be given real MJOLNIR. Most S-III's were given SPI armor, still better than standard marine BDUs and ODST plating, but it was vastly inferior to its progenitor. Designed more for stealth, it lacked many of the superior aspects of MJOLNIR, such as its defensive capabilities.

The frag had landed atop a crate beside his head, the only thing saving him from death being the helmet he had been wearing and the rifle in his grip. The MA37 had absorbed most of the kinetic damage but not the shrapnel, which had sheared through the unshielded SPI helmet and sliced deeply into his flesh.

The blast had momentarily stunned him and he had been pulled back into cover by the squad of marines under his command.

The rest of the battle had gone smoothly and he captured the hijacked freighter with minimal casualties.

It had been a good op.

Six left the bathroom and his memory, stepping back into his cabin…the spartan was still unsure how to feel about that. He had never owned anything before, everything, even his armor belonged to ONI. He guessed that now his armor belonged to him as well. ONI could feel free to come find him and take it away if they so desired.

With a shrug, he dressed back into his undersuit and tinkered on his MJOLNIR for another solid hour before donning it as well. It was incredibly inconvenient to do so with the minimal space the room provided. He would see about finding a way past that later.

Slipping his helm back onto his head, Six once more felt at ease.

He checked the chronometer on the top left of his HUD, (reminding himself to find a way to sync it with this world's time when he could), and saw that he had been in his room for little more than three and a half hours, which meant he was late to speak with that old hare. He cared little for that, more concerned with this Peppy wanted. If he had more questions about him, then Six planed on getting some of his own answered as well.

Six glanced at the sidearm sitting by itself atop the bed's sheets, debating whether he would take it or not.

After the brief inner dispute, he decided that he could afford to leave it behind. If he was going to live in this world, he would have to adapt, even if that meant he could not carry a weapon everywhere.

Although leaving his armor behind was absolutely unacceptable. He did not trust these aliens that much.

Not wanting to leave the weapon sitting out, he placed it in one of the desk's drawers.

'At least it has a use.'

Six exited his quarters and preformed a habitual scan of the hallway, finding it suitably deserted.

The spartan patted one of the magazine containers on his breastplate and traveled to the elevator.

It was time to see what that hare wanted.