Chief Petty Officer Franklin Mendez coughed, ejecting the bronchial surfactant from his lungs.
He sat on a bench placed just a few meters from the cryopods. He’d emerged from his induced sleep just a few minutes ago, and had instinctively navigated blindly to the bench, grabbed his bucket, and started disgorging the substance from his body. It had been years since his last experience with cryosleep, but before that, he had been a ‘frequent flyer’, as they called it.Across the bay from him, two other people were doing the same, but with demonstrably less enthusiasm. Mendez tracked them on sound alone, not raising his head from where it was hanging low over the bucket. That was a mistake that he’d made once or twice, and it just prolonged the experience of coughing up the goop.
Rear Admiral Michael Stanforth had been a regular Navy man before he’d joined ONI, so he should have been more acclimatized to the experience. Of course, that was eight years ago. Doctor Catherine Halsey, on the other hand, was far more understandable. Despite her almost certain status as a former Insurrectionist super-soldier, she had not travelled as much as anyone else in the room, and she was making it clear with how violent her hacking was.“Good morning, boys and girls!” boomed a loud, enthusiastic voice. Mendez shifted his eyes, and spied mocha-brown feet plodding over the padded deck towards the rest of them. A sharp tinge of smoke reached his nose, and he recognized it immediately – a Sweet Williams.Gunnery Sergeant Johnson. Evidently the fastest to recover from his cryosleep, and his first action had been to withdraw a cigar from his personal locker and light it. It was likely just for the sake of his braggadocious persona.
“Why, look at you all,” Johnson laughed, with a puff of smoke. “You know, regular PT makes cryosleep easier. Just ask the Chief here, he’s already done.”Mendez shook his head once more, then pounded a clenched fist into his back to check – and sure enough, his lungs felt empty. He stood up, straightening his spine and pointedly not looking at where Johnson stood, naked as the day he was born save for his cigar and his uniform cap.“I will end you, Avery,” Catherine Halsey hissed, before a hurk sound burbled out of her throat, and she spat another lump of medicinal phlegm out. “Ah, don’t worry,” Johnson replied, so warmly that Mendez could practically see his pearly white teeth around that cigar. “Tell you what, once we’re done in Sydney, I’ll take all of you to Chicago, get you some real food to make up for it. Po'boys, the perfect sandwich.”Mendez ignored the man, and walked out of the cryobay, towards the showers. They’d be approaching Earth soon enough, and he intended to be fully dressed and prepared for their meeting.It was the first time in seven years that the three of them – himself, Michael, and Catherine – had left the Epsilon Eridani system. They’d been called away from their responsibilities, and had to leave David Meyer, Paul Wu, and Steve Sullivan in charge of the Spartan-II program while they were away.But there was no avoiding it. When HIGHCOM summoned you, you couldn’t argue. The word had arrived just a day ago from Mendez’s perspective, though it was more than a week ago after the Slipspace trip.
Mendez didn’t know why they needed all of them. Michael Stanforth was obvious, both as a Rear Admiral and as the son of Admiral Harold Stanforth. Catherine Halsey, likewise. But why Avery Johnson? Why him? He didn’t know, and like many things of that nature, he didn’t press. He’d find out soon enough.The showers were warm, and Mendez quickly went through his post-jump routine. A quick shave, a shower, and then dressing in his uniform, all in the communal locker room. The others joined him partway through, and all of the men studiously kept their gazes away from Catherine, though she didn’t demonstrate any shyness or body modesty – another point for Michael Stanforth’s theory.It was only after they were all dressed and eating a meal in the Vancouver-class courier’s small combination kitchen and mess hall, when the interruption arrived. The datapad on the center of the table chirped, and a voice spoke from it. “Mail drop just arrived,” said the voice of their pilot. “We have a personal message for a Sergeant Avery Johnson, and a classified message for the Admiral. I’m transferring over the personal message now, but I’m afraid that you’ll need to come to the cockpit for your message, Admiral Stanforth.”“Thank you Ensign,” Michael replied to the datapad. “I’ll be there shortly.”The Rear Admiral stood up and left the room, heading towards the cramped bridge of the courier, leaving Mendez and the other two behind in the kitchen.
Johnson, meanwhile, tapped through the datapad’s menu as soon as the call ended.“Do you want to take that in private?” Mendez asked the man, politely reminding him of their presence.“Nah, it’s fine,” Johnson said, waving him off. “The worst you’ll hear is some old flame cussin’ me out, and that’s not too likely these days.”The Marine NCO tapped the ‘pad once more, and an audio file began to play as he resumed eating his meal.“Sergeant Johnson, this is General Pearson,” spoke an older man’s voice from the device. “I am the senior officer at Shady Pines, and it is my unfortunate responsibility to inform you that your Aunt Marcille has passed away.”A clang of metal on ceramic rang out in the instant silence of the room. Avery Johnson’s face was pale, his eyes wide, and he stared at the datapad in shock. “We’ve already begun to handle the arrangements,” General Pearson’s voice continued. “I have been informed that you will be arriving on Earth shortly. The funeral is scheduled for Sunday the eleventh, at the Evangelical Promessic cemetery in Chicago. A spot will be held for you, if your duties allow. If they do not, please contact me at the following address, and we will reschedule.”
Catherine was the first to react to the news.
She set down her own utensils and placed a hand gently on Johnson’s extended arm. The Marine jolted, as if suddenly returning to reality.“Doc,” the Sergeant said, his voice rough, choked with emotion. “I – I can’t…”
The Orion-I was struggling to speak.“Take whatever time you need,” Catherine said, looking him dead in the eyes. “I’ll talk to Michael, and we’ll get you a flight to Chicago.”“But HIGHCOM-” Johnson started to say, before the civilian cut him off.“HIGHCOM can pound sand,” Catherine said slowly, emphasizing her words. “This is more important.”“What’s more important?” asked Michael Stanforth as he re-entered the room, holding a datapad of his own. His brow was furrowed, and he observed the tense mood of the room warily. “What happened?”Johnson opened his mouth to speak, and Catherine went to interrupt him again – but Mendez moved first, raising his hand and drawing her attention. She looked to him, confusion in her gaze, and Mendez shook his head. If she spoke up for Johnson, it wouldn’t help him. The man needed to say it himself. He needed to get used to the new reality, as painful as it was.
“My Aunt,” Johnson said, clearing his throat with a harsh cough. “My Aunt just died. The funeral’s in Chicago. But we’ve got our orders. Sir, I can’t ask for that. If HIGHCOM is calling, then it’s important. But…”He trailed off.“You have my condolences, Avery,” the Rear Admiral said softly. “Don’t worry about the funeral. You’ll be there.”Stanforth set his datapad down, and gestured to it. “Our meeting has been moved,” he told them all. “HIGHCOM apparently changed its mind. I’m told that can happen. Instead of Sydney, they want to meet us in Chicago.”“When?” Johnson asked, his voice tight, but his face hopeful.“Monday morning, bright and early,” Michael replied. Johnson let out a sigh of relief. His shoulders slumped, and he spoke no more. It was a drastic change in behavior from the normally jovial and boisterous man.
Mendez watched him carefully, and kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t good with sympathies, but even he knew that in a time like this, a man simply wanted to grieve.
Xxxx
The cemetery was overcast, but thankfully not raining when the staff car pulled up. Technically, it was the Rear Admiral’s staff car, but nobody was going to tell him that he couldn’t use it to transport the others.Mendez stepped out first, holding the door open politely first for Catherine Halsey, then Michael Stanforth, and then, finally, for Avery Johnson.It had been a bit of a struggle to keep Johnson from drinking when their shuttle had arrived at Naval Station Great Lakes the night before. His mood was dismal, and only the combined cajoling of Catherine, Stanforth, and Mendez himself had convinced Johnson that he did not want to go drown his sorrows. All of them, save Catherine, were wearing their dress white uniforms. It was, perhaps, fortuitous that they’d had those uniforms spiffed up in preparation for the HIGHCOM meeting. It felt… right, Mendez believed, to give Johnson’s aunt a send-off in full formality. Catherine herself was wearing a black dress that was more suitable for a boardroom meeting, but it was still formal enough to fit for a cemetery.Those uniforms also made them stand out, however. The cemetery itself was in a working-class area, and very much not the kind of place that saw Admirals often.Except, apparently, for today. Mendez spotted the funeral party already gathering, and he held back his instinctive urge to take a quick breath at the sight of so many uniforms. There were easily a two dozen, maybe three dozen UNSC personnel already present further in the cemetery, all in matching dress whites. They stood together as a solid block, away from the rest of the mourners. It was hard to tell from the distance, but they all looked older, and he saw the flashes of gold at their wrists and shoulders.
“What the…” Stanforth muttered, his brow furrowing, before he cut himself off.
Catherine exchanged a glance with Mendez, showing him a grimace of concern. Mendez tightened his lips, knowing that there was nothing he could say to explain the confusing situation, and Catherine’s expression softened, as if she understood him.Johnson didn’t react. He hadn’t said much that morning. His behavior was the complete opposite of his normal mannerisms. Gone was the volume, the vocabulary, the vigor. The Marine walked slowly, like the sun had gone out and he was stumbling in the dark. They formed up around Johnson, and made their way over to the gathered mourners.
There was a priest already present near the casket. It was an old man that looked distinctly uncomfortable, and who latched onto the sight of their approaching party like a drowning man onto a life preserver. “Avery,” the priest greeted them, walking quickly to Johnson. “Robert,” Johnson said weakly. “It’s been a while. Sorry for missing so many services.”“It happens,” the priest replied. “Marcille kept telling me that you were in a better place.”Johnson blinked, and for a moment, life returned to his eyes – in the form of confusion.“I was at a better posting, not…” he started to say, before trailing off, and trying again. “She didn’t…”“Oh, she did,” the priest said, nodding. “She had me going for a few seconds. And then she blamed me for assuming she meant… well, you know.”Johnson shook his head, but Mendez saw the tiniest signs of a smile on his lips – the first since the news had arrived.“She always did love teasing people, didn’t she?” Johnson murmured.“Well, she apparently succeeded one more time,” the priest said, glancing at Mendez, Catherine, and Stanforth, and nodding to each of them. “I was a little concerned at the, uh, unexpected arrivals. I thought it was one last prank from Marcille. But I see now that they’re here because of you?”
The priest’s tone was polite, but he was still definitely asking a question.
“Just these ones,” Johnson said, gesturing to Mendez and the other two. “I don’t know what’s up with the others.”
Xxxx
The funeral service was nice, Mendez thought.
The priest struck the right balance of solemn professionalism. Not so dramatic that it seemed fake, and not so efficient that it seemed uncaring. He shared a few details on Marcille Johnson, almost all of which seemed to fit Avery Johnson just as well, and he moved the ceremony along at just the right pace.Johnson was nearly silent the entire time, of course. His eyes were on the casket throughout the service. When it came time to close it, and lower it into the ground, the Marine NCO nearly broke. His eyes teared up, his jaw clenched… but he managed to do his part in the service, and soon enough, it was over.Originally, the plan had been to attend the funeral, and then for the Spartan-II leadership cadre to drag Avery out of there to some place that he could mourn in peace. Johnson had told them that while he knew several of the likely attendees at the funeral, he didn’t particularly want to spend time with them – he said he left that part of his life behind when he joined the Marine Corps over thirty years ago, and he didn’t want to deal with the awkward questions that might come.But that plan was gone now. Destroyed by Marcille Johnson, even beyond the grave.Marcille Johnson had not been a uniformed member of the UNSC. She wasn’t entitled to a military funeral. Yet two or three dozen UNSC personnel had shown up anyway… and each and every one of them was a flag-rank officer.Generals and Admirals of the Army, the Marines, the Navy, even the Air Force were attending the funeral of Johnson’s aunt. There were even security personnel in bland uniforms circling around the cemetery, wearing coats that could easily conceal an MA5K carbine, likely to protect those high ranking personnel.It put Mendez on edge. These were not bored enlisted men, perhaps trying to do a good deed by serving as extra mourners for a serviceman’s dead aunt. These men had stars on their shoulders. They were ancient, well past the UNSC’s mandatory retirement age, but they had clearly been movers and shakers in the organization back in their day. He saw one-stars, two-stars, even three-star Generals standing in the ranks during the funeral. Some of them must have been on HIGHCOM at some point.
After the casket had been lowered, a small crowd of the civilian mourners gathered around Johnson, giving him their condolences and their well-wishes. They were likely from Marcille’s church, the same as the priest. Mendez, Catherine, and Stanforth stood aside, and it was awkward. Some of the UNSC officers walked away, towards a convoy of black SUV’s with waiting guards… but some of them approached. Three or four of them congregated towards Stanforth, probably because of his own rank, while a three-star Admiral had locked eyes with Catherine Halsey and engaged her in a conversation.One of them, amazingly enough, was walking towards Mendez.“Chief,” said a two-star Major General as he approached, holding out a hand.“General,” Mendez said, gladly taking the offer of shaking the hand, rather than saluting. “You knew Marcille?” the General asked, jutting his chin out towards the fresh grave.“Unfortunately, I did not have the privilege,” Mendez answered, keeping his voice polite. “I only knew her nephew, Sergeant Johnson.”“Yes, Avery,” the General said in a knowing tone, before repeating Mendez’s own words: “I have not had the privilege of meeting him. Marcille liked to tell stories, however, and so I think I know a least a little about him.”Mendez raised an eyebrow, but held his tongue. This man, retired or not, had an uncomfortable amount of power. Better to remain quiet and let him speak without interruptions.“She lived with at Shady Pines, the same as the rest of us retired folks” the General said, nodding towards the other flag rank officers. “Arrived a couple years back. Some of us wondered how she wound up there. But she made friends easily, and soon enough, she had us all wrapped around her finger.”The General laughed with melancholy. “I suppose we all got used to each other,” he said. “Old bitter rivalries from our time in service. Not much in the way of novelty. Then Marcille came in like a gust of fresh air. She started baking for us all, and insisting that we shouldn’t fight so much. Said it was… not worthy of us. That we were adults, not children. It got to the point that she made me and Admiral Conner watch the Army-Navy game without insulting each other, just to prove that we could.”He trailed off, and glanced pointedly at Mendez’s white dress uniform, marked by the UNSC Navy’s stylized anchor. “Don’t worry, Chief, I forgive you,” the Major General said, patting him on the shoulder with a friendly air. “Not everyone can join the Army.”“Of course, sir,” Mendez replied, not rising to the bait. Friendly banter or not, he had no desire to potentially offend such a powerful person.The General waited, and when Mendez said nothing further, his smile slipped off his face. For a moment, he looked unfathomably sad, like he had lost something important, never to be returned.“Go on, son,” he said quietly. “I’m old and retired. You don’t have to worry about rank.”Mendez hesitated. He’d always been a professional, and while he was of the natural opinion that the Navy was superior to the Army, he had rarely ever engaged in the traditional rivalry. Yet there was more to this. The General was not just giving him permission to rib him back, but acting as if he expected it. As if he was missing it. Like the heat of a rivalry was warmth that he longed for, a way to still remember who he was, and the branch he had served.“I… don’t wish to be rude at her funeral,” Mendez said at last, trying to excuse his reluctance, but knowing that it was likely just going to annoy the General anyway.The General’s smile returned, and this time, there was no bitterness in it.“Marcille Johnson would have forced me to defend the Navy, and you to do the same for the Army,” he told Mendez, with a soft, sorrowful voice. “She could dish it out just as well as any of us, Chief. You won’t be insulting her. She was a smart, capable woman.”“Sadly, that did not pass on to her nephew,” Mendez said, speaking quietly, so that Avery could not hear him. “I mean… the Marines, really? That’s just a half-way cross between the Army and the Navy, and worse than both. They shouldn’t exist at all.”Laughter burst from the General’s lungs, and Mendez let a tiny smile slip across his own face, as the General warmed up to the conversation. The General spoke again quickly, and Mendez lost track of time as they fell into the easy banter of the Army and the Navy once again arguing over which was the superior service.
The Army man shared stories of Johnson as a child, and of Marcille’s own antics at Shady Pines over the last few years, and from the sound of it, the two of them had been very similar, indeed. Boisterous, loud... and so very kind and warm.
Mendez told the man that Johnson had taught young cadets how to properly gamble and cuss with a grumble. The General laughed, and said that they’d be better cadets for it, just like any good enlisted man.By the time that they left the funeral, nearly an hour later, the General pressed a card into Mendez’s hand, and told him to stay in touch. It was lonely at the retirement home, he said – and it would be even lonelier without Marcille Johnson there to raise their spirits and rouse all the old men into a good argument.
Mendez accepted the card, and saw that Stanforth and Catherine had both received cards of their own, from some of the other Admirals and Generals that had attended. This is what I get for listening to the Doctor, Mendez thought to himself, as he bid the General goodbye. I used to be a respectable enlisted man… and now I’m becoming friends with flag officers. Despite that, he didn’t regret the past hour. Not just because the General had been warm and kind and a good person to talk with, but because in the coming days, perhaps that man’s card might be very useful indeed for the future of the Spartan-II Program… and maybe the UNSC as a whole.