Lieutenant Jacob Keyes looked out through the window in the back hatch, peering over the top of the supply crates that occupied the rest of the Pelican's cargo bay.
He couldn't see much, just more of the seemingly endless snow-covered mountains and forests that occupied the northernmost continent of Reach. Well, if you could call it a continent. He'd known, abstractly, that Reach was twenty percent larger than Earth, but it was much more evident to him now, after an hour of flying over the rugged landscape without any reprieve in the unrelentless mountains.
As the dropship dipped down and starting coming in for a landing, Keyes felt a huge sense of relief. After an hour's ride, he could be anywhere in the Highland Mountains, and he expected to look out the window and see the looming towers of FLEETCOM.
But he was disappointed, and instead he saw low buildings. They were pre-fabricated, the same type that UNSC colony ships would drop down for initial planetfall. Green-drab and standard markings. It looked like any other wayward outpost, despite the fact that it was on Reach. In the summer, he imagined that the buildings would blend in quite well from overhead, but with the fresh snowfall, it was far more obvious where the buildings laid.
"Now arriving," the pilot announced over the intercom.
Keyes stood, and straightened his uniform as best he could. He'd thought about wearing his dress uniform, but that could rub someone the wrong way. He'd gone with his service uniform, since he was technically assigned to a shoreside posting. He'd made sure his silver bars were shined to perfection, his tunic and pants were spotless, and his shoes were polished.
The back hatch cracked open, and Keyes stepped out onto the tarmac of the landing pad. It was already clear of snow, and it looked like someone had thoughtfully shoveled the paths between the buildings – though they were not all concrete or tarmac, and Keyes already knew that his shoes would be getting a little water-logged today.
A bevy of Navy men in working dress greeted him. The ever-present jumpsuit for physical tasks tipped him off instantly, and Keyes quickly walked past the thruster wash, and out of their way, as the men moved forward with jacks and handtrucks to begin unloading the Pelican.
One of the men, the senior NCO judging by his weathered face, stopped and saluted him. Keyes returned the salute, and refrained from raising an eyebrow as he spotted the sigil of the UNSC Marine Corps on the man's uniform, rather than the Navy's.
"Gunnery Sergeant," Keyes said, nodding to the man, his breath steaming out in the cold weather. "I've been told to report to Doctor Halsey's office. Can you point me to him?"
"Doctor Halsey's office is in the admin building, sir," the Gunny replied, nodding back. "Straight down the path, second building on the right."
"Thank you," Keyes said, and then set off, so that he'd not be interrupting the man's work with his presence.
The compound was very… interesting, he decided. For all that it was made up of air-droppable forward base blocks, there was a strange lived-in quality to the place, as if it had become more of a community than the exterior alone indicated. Much like a ship could grow foibles as seen through flyers posted on the common area poster-boards, or small personal touches that still fell within military decorum.
One of the barracks that he passed on the way to the admin block, for instance, had a large announcement board on its side, with a block-printed title that read TOP PERFORMER OF THE WEEK. Individual name placards were slotted into racks beneath it, counting out the top ten, though they only held the individual's first name, and presumably some kind of score. "John" was currently at the top, with one hundred and seventeen points, while a "Frederick" was in second place with one hundred and four, and then "Jerome", with ninety-two.
The mess hall, instantly recognizable with the smell coming out of it – split pea soup with salt pork, an old Navy favorite – had a few non-standard benches stacked up by the exterior wall, underneath a small lean-to. In the current weather, they were unneeded, but in warmer weather, perhaps the servicemen and woman might choose to eat outside.
In the distance, he could see a firing range set up. The exterior one looked to be closed due to the snowfall, but light and soft gunfire was streaming and echoing from an interior one next door, with what looked like another competition board mounted on the side of it.
Small touches, but good ones, Keyes thought to himself. You could tell a good commander by how good the morale of his men was, and little rewards like that were a simple way to keep everyone happy and motivated.
Those small touches were also the first sign of… anything that he had received about this assignment. He didn't know what he was supposed to be doing, or who was in charge, or why this base was located all the way out here in the wilderness. He'd only been given his orders – printed orders on paper, for a strange experience – when he'd gotten on board the Pelican, and after he'd read them over twice, the crew chief had taken the paper back.
All Keyes knew was that he was to report to a Doctor Halsey upon arrival, and that he would brief him further. Nothing more.
Keyes carefully walked through the compacted snow to the admin block. Just like he'd thought, his service dress shoes were already getting a little wet, and he mentally grimaced. So much for a nice, clean first impression.
As soon as he entered the admin block, Keyes carefully wiped his shoes off. He didn't have a cloth or anything to buff them with, but he tried his best by tapping them on the edges of the doorframe, making sure to dump the small clinging bits of ice and snow outside the building.
Fortunately for him, there was a Navy man in battle dress uniform waiting for him, a Petty Office Third Class. He saluted Keyes promptly, and Keyes returned it.
"Lieutenant Keyes?" the Petty Officer asked. "Follow me, please."
Slightly odd, but Keyes brushed it aside without much thought. The compound was fairly extensive, but as remote as it was, the man had probably already been informed of Keyes's arrival and purpose.
However, he couldn't help but notice that the Petty Officer had a few noticeable scars. There was a line drawn across his temple, as if from shrapnel, and poking out from his undershirt was a twisted, tangled knot of flesh, as if he'd taken a bullet. Wherever the man had served previously, he had seen real combat, the kind that was highly unusual for a sailor.
The Petty Officer led him just a couple doors down the hallway, and stopped before an unmarked door. He rapped sharply on the door three times, and a voice called out from within with something slightly inaudible from where Keyes was standing. He opened the door, and Keyes stepped through.
Doctor Halsey was not, as he'd expected, a man. Instead, a woman sat at the desk before him. She had dark, brunette hair with blue eyes, and she was wearing clothing far more suited to the weather, a sweater and snow pants, with a larger parka hanging on a coatrack by the door.
"Ah, Lieutenant Keyes," Halsey said, standing up with a smile. "Please, come in."
Keyes shut the door behind himself, and made his way over to the chair in front of Halsey's desk. The surface of the desk was neat, tidy, and empty of any paperwork or objects. He couldn't help but notice a small indentation near the far edge, as if someone had dropped something heavy on the desk's corner. The empty desk was a curious sign, especially since the walls of the office were not empty.
Instead, along the left wall was an archaic blackboard, with chalk writing scrawled across it. Along the right wall was a series of printed photographs, along with what looked like classes of students from some school, though Keyes didn't bother to look too closely. Behind Halsey, in the small space to the side of the large smart window that was currently tinted enough to dim the glare of the wintery landscape of the compound, was a set of diplomas and degrees – more than he'd expected, with a little less than a dozen crammed into neat columns.
"Reporting as ordered, Doctor Halsey," Keyes said, erring on the side of caution and giving her a formal acknowledgement – though he refrained from saluting, as he didn't see any indicators of military rank on her office's cluttered walls.
"At ease, Lieutenant," Halsey said, chuckling lightly. "Sit, sit. Welcome to our little base. I'm sure you're wondering why you've been assigned here."
"Only as much as any sailor does," Keyes replied. They both sat down, and Keyes schooled his expression back into professional attentiveness. His words were a bit more forward than he liked, but the Doctor had said 'at ease'. "I'm prepared to do my duty with whatever you require."
"Excellent," Halsey said, a broad grin spreading across her face. "Most excellent indeed. Now, I don't believe I need to tell you, but just to make sure we don't skip all the formalities, I must inform you that this entire program is classified as 'Eyes Only', and that Security Code 447-R27 will apply to everything you learn here. The price of being an ONI operation, of course."
Keyes nodded. Nobody had informed him that this was an ONI gig, but it wasn't a surprise with how hush-hush everything had been up to now. It did, however, make him wonder why he'd gotten the spot. He'd never worked in intelligence before, and he was only two years out of OCS himself, so it had been a real shock after his Ensign cruise aboard the UNSC Meriweather Lewis.
Of course, the promotion to full Lieutenant, only six months after his promotion to Lieutenant Junior Grade, had been even more of a shock. He hadn't questioned it, hadn't protested a peep, but it had been eating at him for a while. This assignment coming so soon afterwards was as plausible an explanation as any.
"Your job here will be very simple," Halsey explained. "This facility currently houses a group of young cadets who have bright futures in the UNSC. You will be teaching them naval tactics, starting from the basics and progressing as far as you can."
Keyes wanted to frown, but he stayed in control and kept that from showing. He'd had excellent scores at OCS, of course, but that didn't seem to warrant the classification that she'd just mentioned.
"Some kind of… young leaders group?" he said, unable to resist asking the question.
"Correct," Halsey agreed, her voice warming at his answer. "Think of it as a… running start for these young cadets, before they attend OCS. In the interests of their future careers, as well as the greater benefit to the UNSC as a whole, they're receiving a little more attention and tutoring than most."
Keyes nodded slowly. That seemed to make sense. He'd heard plenty of rumors about nepotism in the Navy, but in his limited experience, his classmates at OCS from those kinds of families had been far more prepared than other kids. Perhaps it was just to meet the higher expectations, or to ward off the potential controversies with high performance. The classification seemed a bit much, but just because something was 'Eyes Only' didn't automatically make it strategically important – it could be to make sure that no rumors spread of this place, potentially damaging morale of normal academy students or enlisted.
Heck, maybe he'd gone to school with some kids who'd gone through this place. A few weeks of extra tutoring wasn't much for imparting the actual specifics, but it could do wonders with helping people learn the right study habits and mindset to adapt to the Navy. It also explained his promotion – maybe there was a minimum rank requirement, or maybe it was a bribe to convince him to stay silent about this.
Doctor Halsey, then, was some kind of… psychologist, then, serving as a motherly figure to the cadets out here on rotation. That made sense too. If this was a preparatory course, then many of the kids had likely never been away from home before. A housemaster, or a den mother, or whatever those boarding schools called it. It certainly fit the kind attitude she had, and the worry-free expressions on her face. Maybe one of those degrees was a psychology degree, to better teach the young children or relatives of high-ranking UNSC officers how to acclimatize to their chosen careers.
"I understand," he said, as he felt the tension in his shoulders relax. "When will I start?"
Halsey didn't answer, and instead rose from her seat again, and Keyes matched her. Clearly, they were coming to the end of his initial on-boarding, brief though it had been.
"Right away," Halsey told him. "The cadets are just finishing up some morning activities at the firing range, and they'll be in the classroom shortly."
She reached across the desk with a hand, and he clasped it, a little bit surprised at the firmness of her grip
"Welcome to the Spartan-II Program," Halsey said, beaming.
The 'classroom' was more like an amphitheater, with five rows of semi-circular benches in recessed tiers. It was larger than Keyes had expected, but it should still be fine. He'd been a voluntary TA for basic naval tactics in his senior year at OCS, so he was accustomed to what would come next.
He found all the familiar tools available to him – the projectors, the wireless links to his newly issued datapad, the presentation clicker and even a microphone that he probably wouldn't need, thanks to the room's innate acoustics. There were storage rooms, closets, and overhead racks of additional equipment he could use, everything from older two-dimensional presentations, to modern per-student sensors that tracked every individual's eyelines to ensure they could see and hear his teaching properly, and adjusted the presentation to match.
There wasn't a holotable, however, which he found slightly unusual. It was an advanced device, not quite as widespread in the civilian world, but it was standard at Luna Officer Candidate School for a reason, and to not have one here, in an otherwise highly advanced base was strange.
"May I help you, Lieutenant Keyes?" a female voice asked him out of nowhere, as he was searching through the storage room one final time.
Keyes jolted, and spun around. But there was no woman standing behind him.
"Hello?" he asked, tentatively.
"Hello, I'm Déjà," the voice said. "I'm afraid I don't have any projectors in that room, but if you return to the stage, you'll be able to see me."
To 'see' her? Keyes thought to himself, frowning.
But there was no point in remaining in the dark when he could solve the mystery, so he returned to the amphitheater.
Standing on the stage was a glowing woman made up of blue light. It was an A.I. of some kind, dressed in some ancient style with a linen toga and with a golden circlet around her head. There was no overhead projector, however, nor a holo-display. She was simply standing there as if she was a normal human, as large as any living person rather than the usual miniature size that A.I.'s typically were.
"Is the entire stage a holo-display?" Keyes asked her with a gesture at her feet, barely able to keep his incredulity from slipping out.
It seemed like the only explanation, but it was ridiculous. Holo-displays weren't too expensive, but they could be fragile, and it seemed ridiculous to have a hardened, ruggedized one serve as the floor to an entire stage, when you could just have a separate tank and emitter.
"Correct, Lieutenant," the A.I. – Déjà – answered, with a smile and a nod. "I am the primary instructor here at the Spartan-II Program. I am specialized in general education, and more knowledgeable instructors are occasionally required, such as yourself. Of course, I'm fully available to assist you with any part of your lessons."
"Thank you," Keyes said, hesitantly.
He'd seen A.I.'s before, and even interacted with some when it came to the administrative work at OCS, but to have an A.I., even a 'dumb' one, dedicated just to teaching seemed like an extravagance beyond compare to him.
Still, for the teenaged sons and daughters of high-ranking politicians and officers, maybe no expense was too much. He swallowed his instinctive distaste, and set it aside.
"I haven't been informed of how long I'll be assigned here," Keyes said to the A.I., cautiously. "I want to make sure I do a good job of teaching the cadets, but I don't know how compressed my lessons will have to be. Would you happen to know that?"
"Your assignment here is contingent on performance," Déjà told him with a serene, detached voice. "If you perform well, you can expect this to be a long term station for you. If I might make a recommendation, you should pace your first lesson as if you have a three month semester."
"Just for naval combat tactics?" Keyes asked, frowning. "I can do that, but it'll be rushed."
"I would start with naval history for your first semester," Déjà advised him. "The cadets have a solid grounding in the historical eras up until the late twentieth century, but they've not had any focused explanations on the whys and hows of naval combat, simply the results. Perhaps it would be best to start with the ancient Greek, Persian, Roman, and Carthaginian navies, and battles such as Salamis and Actium, and then the slow progress of counters being developed to existing tactics."
"Okay," Keyes said, biting at his lip. He wished that he could chew his grandfather's old pipe, but that was probably a bad look for this first day on the job.
Normally, re-arranging the lesson plan would have taken him far, far longer. He'd prepared a generalized look at naval combat tactics starting with the second World War, a common starting place at OCS. That meant pictures and diagrams, video clips and recorded interviews, which could illustrate the concepts and events of the conflict. The sinking of USS Arizona, the battles at Coral Sea, Midway, Leyte, Samar, and more. Replacing all of those for a different conflict two thousand years prior was a very daunting task.
Déjà was a godsend, in that regard. Keyes directed her through the initial stages of the data-retrieval, pulling archival documents and lesson plans from FLEETCOM's databases. She even managed to set up a quick holographic display of the battles themselves, lines of holographic ships sailing against each other, to be played on the stage's floor while Keyes himself could walk through the intangible waves and narrate events.
It was a fascinating experience, even before he actually taught anyone. Hell, it was so good that he wondered what life would be like if more teachers could have a dedicated A.I. assistant to help with those fiddly details that took so long to get just right.
After about ten minutes, he was ready for the students, and said so to Déjà.
"Excellent, they'll be in shortly," the A.I. replied, before winking out as the projectors deactivated.
Keyes stepped to the side of the stage, behind a small podium that he'd hauled out of storage. There were a few brief notes dictated there, just for the beginning of the lecture, and then he could step away from the podium and begin the more dynamic aspect of the lesson. He knew most of the Battle of Salamis by heart, since the ancient Greece and Persia were some of the most influential nations in all of history.
The lights in the auditorium dimmed as the first of the swiftly programmed holo-displays came to life. The back wall was replaced with a video loop of the shores of the Aegean Sea, normally used for self-meditation, but here, would instead serve as a grounding of where the battle took place. Holographic waves lapped over the stage gently, moving towards the back wall, so that the cadets were sitting out, past the 'sea'. Once the lecture proper started, the ships would float across the stage, taking up positions in whatever formations Keyes wanted.
The doors at the back end of the amphitheater opened, and Keyes put on a professional mask of courteous disinterest as they entered, streaming down the stairs and into the benches.
"Welcome to Naval Combat Tactics," he said, projecting his words easily with the aid of the amphitheater's shape, not needing a microphone. "I am Lieutenant Jacob Keyes, and I will be your instructor."
The lights increased slightly, just enough for them to see him as he stepped away from the podium…
…and he stopped. He hadn't been able to see their faces before, but now, with slightly more illumination, he could.
These were not the teenagers that he'd expected, fourteen to sixteen years old. Their faces were still pudgy with baby fat, their bodies too small and short. These were children. They were eight years old, maybe nine at the most. They wore little uniform jumpsuits, their hair followed military restrictions, and they sat with formal attention, but they were indisputably pre-teens.
Keyes's throat tightened, and he swallowed, before forcing himself to continue the rest of his lecture.
"How old are those children?" he asked, after the lecture was over.
"That's classified," came the gruff response from the Navy man sitting across from him.
Chief Petty Officer Mendez was, apparently, the chief training officer for the Spartan-II program, and he was currently staring at Lieutenant Keyes with a keen look of inspection. This was another interview, like his previous one with Doctor Halsey, but this time he was being faced with the hostility and aggression that he'd expected from ONI, rather than a glorified den mother.
Small wonder they have someone like Halsey around, Keyes thought to himself, reflecting on the events of his lecture.
Keyes had lectured the children for an hour, explaining to them the history of their ancient ancestors, and the complex situations both before and during the Battle of Salamis. The lecture had been intended for teenagers, with a teenager's ability to understand and conceptualize the dry abstracts of politics, history, and naval combat, but the children – nine-year-olds, all – had absorbed it ably. Some of them had asked questions, and they'd been good questions, demonstrating an intelligence far beyond their physical ages.
As soon as the lesson had finished, the children had been whisked away by two dozen instructors in BDU's. Just like the Petty Officer before, these men had scars, and moved like combat veterans, which only added to the Lieutenant's feeling of unease regarding the situation.
Finally, one of the men had come for Keyes, and led him to another office in the admin building, this one occupied by a tall, well-built man. Both the man and the office were utterly unlike the female doctor that Keyes had met prior to his lesson – intimidating, fierce, driven, and with no decorations at all on the walls. It was a cold welcome, but that fit the feelings in Keyes's own stomach after what he'd just seen.
"Déjà tells me that you did well," Mendez told him. "She recommended your continued presence here. Doctor Halsey agrees with her."
"Why me?" Keyes asked. It wasn't what he wanted to say. He wanted to ask who the children were, what kind of program this was, what the hell was going on – anything to give voice to the suspicions in the back of his mind. But if even the ages of the children were classified, then he wasn't going to get anywhere with those questions, leaving him with precious few options.
"You refused to testify against an instructor during your time at OCS," Mendez said.
He didn't add anything else. He didn't need to.
A sucking void opened up in Keyes's chest. It had been a few years now, but the reminder brought him back. His palms felt cold. As cold as they'd been when he'd suffered third-degree burns across most of his body. The plasma had been so intense that his nerves had misfired, and he'd felt like he was shivering.
Mendez was still studying him with an even gaze. It occurred to Keyes that this man, with his leadership position over the other scarred, battle-hardened instructors, might be another one of those dangerous men. He might be able to read Keyes's emotions as easily as reading a newspaper. There wasn't much point in trying to keep a secret from a man like that.
Keyes waited, but Mendez didn't say anything else.
He understood what the NCO had meant. Keyes could be trusted to stay silent, even about ugly things, even when under enough pressure to shatter diamonds.
"…I assume I'm going to need your approval as well," Keyes said after a few minutes of silence. "To stay at this posting."
"You do," Mendez agreed, pointedly not saying whether or not he was giving it.
Keyes wanted to sigh. Cloak and dagger ONI stuff. He was starting to wonder how they got anything done, if they refused to just say what they wanted.
Except… they'd apparently gotten quite a lot done. Those kids were as smart as highschoolers, despite looking like they hadn't cracked double digits yet. More than that, they were humble and attentive, nowhere near as arrogant as Keyes might have thought. Their questions were insightful, easily allowing him to lead them along to the next conclusion, or spotting something that he had forgotten to mention.
"If you stay with this program, what would your highest priority be?" Mendez finally asked.
Keyes stared at him. That was a very open question, and it was as good as asking for a commitment… but a commitment to what? To ONI's goals, whatever they might be? To Mendez himself, and this program? To secrecy as an absolute principle?
He didn't know what answer Mendez wanted.
"The children," Keyes said, after a minute of contemplation. "I don't know what this program is intended for, and I don't know why it involves nine year olds… but they're good kids. I can only assume they're meant to be soldiers of some kind, and I think they should know about the realities of war before they have to discover it themselves."
Mendez nodded slowly, and Keyes couldn't tell if the man approved of his words, or was just humoring him, so solid was his poker face.
"I'll inform Doctor Halsey that you have my approval," the NCO said.
Normally, Keyes would have felt a little relief to learn that he'd gotten the job, and performed up to high expectations. This time, he wasn't sure. It said good things about him professionally, but the children were a major fly in the ointment.
"You'll have a single one-hour lecture block, six days a week," Mendez continued, "Current estimates for the cadets are about two years of lessons on naval combat. That'll include both history, and the basic, intermediate, and advanced tactics. An office has been set aside for you, including a bedroom."
"Ah, I'm currently housed at Kisköre Base, just outside the security clearance zone," Keyes said, awkwardly interrupting.
Mendez raised a single eyebrow.
"I have a young daughter," Keyes clarified. "Six years old. There's no one else to take care of her on Reach, and under UNSC regs, she can't stay inside the Highland Mountains."
The NCO frowned, and looked down at his desk. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a printed sheet of hardcopy that he inspected briefly. His mouth twitched for a moment, but Keyes couldn't tell if it was in amusement or annoyance before the man's face smoothed out again.
"It seems that Doctor Halsey has already prepared a solution," Mendez told him. "A Pelican will pick you up from Fairchild Field, just inside the security zone, and bring you back at the end of your day. You'll be sharing the ride with a supply run, just like today."
He didn't ask if that was acceptable for Keyes, and he didn't need to. A man that protested at sharing space with a few crates was a soul too sensitive for military service. Personally, Keyes was just happy he hadn't asked more about Miranda – such as her age, or why Keyes himself had a daughter at his own young age.
"These are the altered protocols that we adhere to," Mendez continued, handing over the sheet. "Here at the Military Wilderness Training Preserve."
"Awfully generic name," Keyes observed, as he scanned the sheet. It was a bit paranoid to not have these things recorded electronically, but Keyes wasn't going to complain – he preferred the old fashioned methods like this.
The list was surprisingly straightforward, and most of it wasn't applicable to him at all, since he'd be commuting in and out every day. Chow times for breakfast, lunch and dinner, a list of prohibited items, those things were normal for any military base – though the prohibited list was a blanket ban on any unauthorized electronic devices of any kind, even down to a watch.
Most of it was dedicated to rules for handling the cadets. Specific bed-times to be strictly adhered to, save for designated wilderness expeditions. Firm restrictions on any form of hazing or corporal punishment. Stipulations on appropriate language and interactions. And at the end, a rule that there was to be no communications with anyone regarding the Spartan-II project, regardless of rank, posting, or authority.
It was a strange mix of casual and paranoid. Keyes wondered if the casual inclusions were the result of Doctor Halsey trying to get the trainers to ease off on the children so that they could have as close to a normal life as possible. On the other end of the spectrum, Mendez definitely looked like the kind of black ops man that would impose the complete lockdown of any information into or out of the compound.
"Is there anything else I need to do?" Keyes asked, when Mendez didn't respond to his last comment. "Transfer paperwork, or…?"
"That's already been handled," Mendez dismissed, as he rose from his desk and offered Keyes an outstretched hand. "Welcome to the program, Lieutenant."
Keyes shook the offered hand, and nodded.
It was five o'clock when Keyes returned to his apartment in Kisköre. He took off his shoes at the door, and put his headgear on the hat-rack to the side of the mirror.
As he technically wasn't a married man, he shouldn't have received a married man's quarters, but upon his arrival to Reach the day before, he'd found that he'd received it anyway. At the time, he'd assumed that some kind-hearted bureaucrat had seen his situation, and decided to have mercy on him.
Now, though… was it just another way that ONI had rigged things for him? Trying to buy his favor?
In many ways, his new assignment was a dream. He'd been promoted to a full Lieutenant in less than a year. He had a great apartment in a nice section of Reach, south of the harsh conditions of the Highland Mountains. His work schedule was light enough that he could drop Miranda off at her new school in the morning and pick her up before dinner on most days. He was receiving a doubled living stipend due to his official posting being classified. His clearance had been upgraded to Top Secret.
With how generous ONI was being, Keyes even had the feeling that after this assignment was over, there might be another promotion waiting for him. A Lieutenant Commander at twenty-seven was unheard of. Maybe instead, it would be a plum choice of assignment, and a guaranteed promotion a few years down the line. A staff position at HIGHCOM, potentially.
All because of his new job. A secret program that involved teaching children in a hidden base.
"I'm home!" he called, trying to distract himself from the looming thoughts in his head.
"Daddy!" cried a high-pitched girl's voice.
A pitter-patter of bare feet greeted his ears as he turned towards the living room, a smile growing on his face as Miranda Keyes, his precious daughter, came flying around the corner with her hair ruffled and her bright eyes shining.
He knelt down and spread his arms, and grunted as Miranda collided with him.
"Not so fast!" he chuckled, wrapping her in a hug as he stood up. "You're going to hurt your old man one of these days."
Miranda pouted, and Keyes chuckled again as he carried her into the kitchen.
"What should we make for dinner tonight?" he asked, setting her down on top of the kitchen island.
Miranda curled her feet under her, and tilted her head thoughtfully.
"Mac and cheese!" she exclaimed after a moment.
"Alright, mac and cheese it is," Keyes replied easily. "I think I've got some of that around here…"
He opened up the kitchen cabinets and rummaged around for a moment, before pulling out a box of mac and cheese mix. He set it down on the counter, then went to the refrigerator, and pulled out a package of ground beef, and a couple carrots.
"No veggies!" Miranda protested.
"You remember our deal, right Miranda?" he asked her, glancing over from where he was retrieving a knife and chopping up the carrots. "Veggies and meat with every meal, so that you can grow up big and strong like me."
"But they don't taste good!" she countered.
"Maybe not, but they're still good for you," Keyes replied. He smiled at her, to lighten the words a little. "And besides, your taste buds will change. Why, when I was your age, I hated cheese."
"How are you alive, Daddy?" Miranda asked, eyes widening. "Cheese is great!"
"Sometimes I don't know," he said softly, as he stared down at the chopped carrots, and the old burn scars on his hands. The places where he'd taken the least of the burns, so his skin hadn't been replaced entirely.
Miranda fidgeted on the kitchen island, then clambered down from it with the aid of a nearby stool. She scampered over to him and flung her arms around his legs.
Keyes blinked, and looked down at her. He went to ask her why she'd done that, when her face looked up at him with a determined glare.
"Don't be sad!" she ordered him, her voice firm.
He stared at her for a moment, and then a bubbling sensation filled his stomach. A laugh slipped out of his mouth, and then another.
"Okay, Miranda," he said, as laughter slipped out around his words. "I won't be sad. Just for you, okay?"
"Good!" she replied, nodding firmly and releasing him.
Keyes turned back to the food as he prepared the simple dinner. It was a miracle that she was as well-behaved as she was. His parents had helped out during his time at OCS, and he had visited as much as he could, but this was his first real chance to be a good father to her – a long term, stable shoreside post.
And all it cost was training child soldiers, just a few years older than her, a quiet voice whispered in the back of his head.