space_jam | Come on and slam

Come on and slam

It doesn't matter what was happening before. Wherever your character was? They just faceplanted into steel flooring. If they look around, it’s just a short narrow hallway, very characteristic of a transport vessel. Emergency lights flicker and faint, urgent beeping can be heard from the end, which opens up into a room that is currently producing a faint, blue glow.

A happy tone plays and is quickly followed by a chipper artificial voice:

Huh! How weird. I can’t believe we got another one! Well, welcome aboard the Ithaca. We’re having a bit of trouble with our warp drive right now. Please stand by.

Suddenly, the ship hits a bit of turbulence. Whoever’s in the hall may be thrown around bit, but luckily there aren’t too many sharp edges on the bulkhead. What are a few bumps and bruises anyway?

Oh, you may want to move. I think a new crew member is arriving.

Further questions are just met with an overly apologetic Please stand by! But turn their back for long enough? Another unlucky “crew member” may come catapulting into them. The artificial voice doesn’t seem too concerned with exploration, though. Every door is unlocked. The ship remains turbulent as it sometimes spits out unfortunate souls, but with steady feet, may find the following places of interest.

Navigation was where all that beeping was coming from. There’s a super fancy galaxy map that would certainly be a lot more interesting if actually contained planets your character knew. Sorry, there’s no Sol System or Federation Space here! In front of that is a cockpit which has a bunch of blinking consoles in front of a really comfortable looking pilot’s chair. It’s probably not wise to touch anything.

Head back to the crew quarters, and in between the rows of bunk beds, there are several lockers. Open them will reveal a myriad of (abandoned) personal items ranging from spare clothes to fit someone with six arms to a comic book collection ~~to an alien “personal massager.”~~ The stuff looks like it’s been left alone for at least a month. Maybe two.

If they head down a level, they might hit engineering or the cargo hold. Engineering has quite the array of tools, from the most basic to the most technologically advance. The most peculiar thing, though, is a meticulously organized collection of bright colored plastic tools. Across in the cargo hold, there are several wooden crates along with a few tamper proof containers. Most of the crates are all labeled with the same name, for someone on planet “Gotor.” A clever character might recognize this as a planet that the Ithaca is happily speeding towards right now according to the map in navigation. Most of the boxes contain bowler hats. The remaining to apparently be dropped off at Gotor contain bowling balls.

((GO FORTH AND BE IN SPACE! Have a massive pile up in the hall or bump into each other in engineering or explore together! It doesn’t matter. Feel free to have them encounter other strange things not written about here. Make the Ithaca spit out an unfriendly alien that they have to hit with a shovel. Make as many subthreads as your hearts desire. Really, do whatever. After a while, the turbulence will settle down and Edgar will explain. ))

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Kurt wasn't sure what had happened to him or how he'd been transported from Onyx's core to what was unmistakably a ship of some kind. He wasn't used to space ships jolting and shaking about so unsteadily however so he braced an arm against the bulkhead for balance and peeled himself up off the floor he'd just slammed into.

Considering all he could remember was an army of Covenant forces closing in on him and the motley crew of Spartan-II's and III's, he was automatically on high alert an seeking out potentially camouflaged Elites or anything else that might ping on his motion sensors. Unfortunately, he wasn't getting anything on his COM frequencies when he tried desperately to radio the rest of his team.

The active camo feature of his SPI armor kicked in as the near seven feet tall Spartan went nigh on invisible and started to make his way through the ship in search of some answers. Though there seemed to be little to be had.

It wasn't Covenant, it wasn't Forerunner, it wasn't UNSC, and those three facts exhausted John's ability to identify the vessel. Arachidamia was on her feet before he was, pacing and sniffing. To be fair, there was less of Arachidamia to move.

"Anything?" he said.

"Human," his dæmon reported. "But not recent." This was comforting, but only slightly. People could be talked to, sometimes.

The Chief gestured for Arachidamia to move and they headed for the end of the hall. They didn't reach it before she came to a sudden halt, ears up and tail high. John stopped.

Arachidamia turned her head to the left, indicating the direction the sound had come from, then shrank back to put the armored bulk of the Chief between herself and the unknown around the corner. She was wary of it, but not enough to pull him back too.

He'd take those odds.

John touched the top of the dog's head, a warning to stay back out of any potential line of fire, and stepped around the edge.

Kurt had found his way into the cargo hold in hopes of finding a Pelican or some kind of drop ship he could use to get the hell out of this strange ship. Unfortunately, he hadn't had much luck finding a ride out of here. He was turning to make his way back out into the hallway when he heard the click of canine nails tapping against the metal floor and the heavier footsteps of someone else.

Could it be a group of Jackals hunting him down? This ship was unlike any Kig-Yar ship he'd heard of however. The space faring pirates were prone to clutter and filling their strangely scavenged ships with trophies and other odds and ends of their victims. This ship was far too neat to be a Jackal ship. But what other Covenant did he know of with talons? It never even occurred to the Spartan that he'd be dealing with a dog on this ship.

Whether or not John would see the subtle ripple where the armored Spartan stood creeping around the edges of the shipping container labeled 'Gotor' was uncertain. The sight of the unfamiliar Spartan wearing what was unmistakably MJOLNIR armor however had Kurt pausing. It wasn't like the MJOLNIR suit he had hidden back in his quarters back at Camp Currahee but he recognized the design all the same.

He quickly weighed his options and whether he wanted to chance exposing his position versus the hope that this was one of his fellow Spartans. Another II perhaps? Ducking back behind the wooden shipping container, the Spartan keyed on his mic and whistled the simple six-note signal that every II knew. If he was in fact dealing with a fellow Spartan, they would get the signal. And if not, well he could only hope he could get out from behind this sad looking crate before the other person opened fire.

The other Spartan's head jerked slightly at the whistled notes, startled, and was still for a second. Something old and familiar in a completely strange place, it was jarring enough to stop him cold for just a moment before he answered.

"Oly Oly Oxen Free," the Chief whispered the countersign into the mic.

Who was here? He had to know.

No one but another II would have known that phrase surely. Why another II was on this strange alien ship was beyond Kurt however. He hadn't seen another II in nearly twenty years though so he found himself at a bit of a loss about what to do. Thankfully, years of military training took over and the other Spartan disengaged the active camo of his SPI armor and stepped around the edge of the crate.

When he turned the polarization of his visor completely off, the face behind the mask was one John hadn't seen in two decades. Kurt was older but those hazel green eyes were the same and it was unmistakably a Spartan who had been marked as MIA for twenty years.

"Who are you?" Unlike the last time he'd seen a fellow II, there was no helpful Spartan tags marked on the Chief's armor to tell him who he was dealing with.

The suit was unlike anything John had ever seen. There was a definite kinship between his suit and this one, but it was much lighter with a different purpose.

The face behind the visor was more important, and it was alarming how quickly he recognized it.

No.

SPARTAN-051 was dead. He was listed as MIA in all the files, but it was a mere formality. A defense of morale. "Spartans never die" went the phrase, a bitter and necessary lie that John had known false since the day of the funeral for those who hadn't survived augmentation.

This was impossible, but he returned the gesture and cleared the golden plate that usually hid his face. The years had worn hard on John, harder than their number should have. This war had not been gentle to either of them.

"One-One-Seven," he replied.

Two decades yawned between them, and he had no answer for that.

"You were dead."

The SPI armor was definitely a lot different from the MJOLNIR armor he had sitting back home hidden in his weapons locker. Kurt hadn't worn it in nearly twenty years but he could still remember the weight and the power it filled him with the first time he'd donned his suit.

Ackerson had never told him whether his fellow II's had mourned him or if there had even been a funeral for him. Those first few days had passed in a confusing blur as the newly minted Lieutenant Junior Grade had gotten used to the strange turn had taken. The years had passed quickly and Kurt had lost himself in training each class of Spartan-III's to be the best Spartans they could ever be but he'd never forgotten where he'd come from or the II's he'd grown up with.

When the visor cleared, Kurt instantly recognized John despite the weathering on the other Spartan's face. A quiet noise escaped the dark haired man and he found himself answering almost on autopilot; the words practically rote by now.

"Spartans never die, you know that." They weren't the type of people to hug or indulge in wild displays of emotion. And this place was definitely not the place for heartfelt reunions but there was a hint of wryness in Kurt's face that conveyed a whole host of unspoken questions and greetings.

"We should figure out what's going on here, One-One-Seven." The codename instead of the real name because they were still in unknown territory and possibly surrounded by enemies.

It made no sense for Kurt to be here but even the suspicion it gave the Chief couldn't quite suppress that he was glad to see another II. Even as the visor faded back to mirrored gold anonymity, he swiped a hand across where his mouth would be to form the old signal for a smile. It was brief and perfunctory, but they'd have time to speak later. It was an acceptance, a greeting, and said more than a word would have.

"Agreed."

A voice came from around the corner, gruff but female. "Clear?"

"Clear," John replied. "One of ours."

Arachidamia stepped around and, rather than take her usual place near John's leg, began immediately to investigate the shipping crates. She flicked an ear in Kurt's direction, but that was the only indication his dæmon gave that she noticed him.

How to explain this?

"This is Arachidamia. Long story."

"Not so long," she objected.

"Very long."

The Spartan 'Smile' was an achingly familiar signal and one he'd taught to his III's after a fashion. Kurt found himself returning the gesture in kind as his own visor darkened once again to that inscrutable gold.

Kurt had seen canines before but never a talking canine. It was a good thing his visor had finished polarizing; otherwise John might have been able to see the look of dumbfounded shock on the other II's face. As it was, the SPI armored Spartan's helmet tilted back and forth between his former comrade and the dog currently sniffing about the shipping containers.

"It sounds like it. How-" He seemed at a loss about just who he was supposed to address his question to and finally decided there would be no chance for satisfactory answers right now. They could discuss this in depth once they figured out what was going on here. "I'm not getting anything on my team COMM. What about you?"

He was going to have to go over this eventually. He'd have to explain how apparently he'd accidentally clipped through to another reality and apparently his soul fell out and somehow that manifested itself as a talking dog.

There was no way it wasn't going to sound insane, because it had never sounded sane to John in the first place. Arachidamia was an inconvenient reality of his new life, whatever it meant, and he'd just grudgingly accepted her and moved on.

"Nothing. I've been out of contact for months. Some things happened." He tilted his head in Arachidamia's direction, the dog being the most obvious indicator that Things Had Gone Amiss. "You just appear, too?"

Now that his faceplate had completely polarized once more, it was impossible to see the vaguely troubled and uncertain expression that flickered across the other Spartan's face. No, Kurt wouldn't understand the concept of stumbling through some other reality only to find one's soul being ripped out of their body and shoved into that of an animal.

"Months?" There was a subtle stress to that word. "You weren't on Reach when it--" Kurt broke off abruptly because he didn't know just how much John was aware of. And the news that their most advanced military position--and the only home any of the II's could remember--had fallen to the Covenant was too bitter a pill to swallow. "How much do you know, One-One-Seven? How long have you been missing?"

The oddly armored Spartan nodded tersely in answer to that question. Kurt wouldn't let the worry for his Spartans and the rest of the team back on Onyx interfere with his currant circumstances. He couldn't afford to become emotionally compromised. "Lets find some comms gear and try and get in touch with our people?"

"I was," the Chief corrected flatly. And he'd gone back. So many were dead that it still didn't sink all the way in, he didn't have time for grief. Someday he'd have to stop long enough for it to catch up, but John was never one to sit idle for any length of time.

"Before I was on Halo."

Arachidamia moved before the Chief did, back the way they'd come.

"This way's to the fore," she said. She didn't pause to see if they'd follow. She knew John would.

"I see," Even though Onyx was off the beaten trail, they'd heard about the fall of Reach. The complete loss of Noble, a team he'd helped to assemble and handpick was just another insult added to injury.

"So it's true then? About the Halo array?" Considering the Halo array being but back into service had been what was apparently causing all the strife in his life back home...well, could you blame him?

Kurt was still horribly unsettled by this talking dog of John's and quite pointedly gave Arachidamia a lot of personal space as they made their way back out of the cargo area. "This doesn't look like any Covenant ship I've ever seen. Who did this, I wonder?"

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Come on and slam

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