The amphitheater was buzzing with activity. The usual dim lights, to better highlight the stage at the bottom of the bowl, had been raised to full brightness so that the ONI staffers could see what they were doing. A raised, curved table had been placed at the back half of the stage, with microphones and nameplates, including hers. A smaller table had been placed in front of the tribunal's place, where the subjects would sit when they answered questions.
In some ways, it resembled the old Congressional committee investigations, down to the height advantage given to the tribunal, so that they could loom over whoever they were interrogating.
But in other ways, it resembled nothing less than a theater production.
After all, everyone on that stage would be sitting in front of a microscope. There were a dozen rows of seats arcing up from just below the stage to high above it, and there would be hundreds of people filling those seats when the tribunal started. There was no pretense that the subjects would be ordinary people, equal with the crowd. Instead they would be singled out, made to sit apart from the rest.
So many people would be coming that some were jokingly calling the amphitheater 'the convention hall'. As if this was a gathering of geologists or some other group of professionals, and not the best and brightest from ONI and all the other intelligence services.
Vice Admiral Evelyn Caldwell watched the work detail put everything into place from the highest row in the room, near the main door. She was frowning.
What a mess, she thought to herself, restraining the urge to rub her forehead with long practice. No wonder Keeler and Parangosky aren't here. Avoiding the potential bias my ass, Marge. You just wanted to avoid the circus, and you stuck me with it.
Evelyn knew that thought wasn't accurate, even if she wished it was. She would have been put in charge of this circus even if it had been quietly covered up in the back-rooms of the Hive, and not blown up into a Broadway production.
Because that was her job. That was the sacrifice that she had made, the grenade she'd thrown herself on twenty years ago, knowing full well that she would be the one responsible for sorting out who was right, and who was wrong.
Head of Section Zero. What a joke.
Internal Affairs, like Human Resources before it, was a cursed position. It attracted the ambitious, malicious, and corrupt like flies. There was a reason that Juvenal's famous quote was still so damn popular with intelligence agencies.
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? – Who will watch the watchmen?
For the UNSC Navy, the answer to that was ONI. But within ONI itself, the answer was Section Zero.
God, she'd purged more back-stabbing, ladder-climbing, mono-maniacal morons from her own Section over the years than she had for any of the other Sections. It was the power, drawing them in like flies to honey. If you worked in Section Zero, then you had the power to fire people, and that meant that you could blackmail them with that power.
Even after Evelyn had painstakingly reshaped Section Zero into a more honest, humble organization, it was still constantly bombarded by dozens of demands for their service every year. Sometimes they felt more like civilian contractors than uniformed, oath-sworn members of the UNSC, with how much the rest of ONI dumped their workload on Section Zero and then tried to skate off unnoticed.
The power plays never stopped. Investigate my rival, he clearly bribed someone to get that project instead of me! Investigate this colonial informant, he clearly must be stealing from the taxpayer! Investigate my ex-wife, she clearly stole my confidential documents from my study when she was planning the divorce!
She was so tired of it. All the excuses, all the bullshit. People thought that Section Zero would be their attack dog, an unthinking animal that could be trusted to kill their enemies, and make a mess of their corpse. Never mind that it was waste of valuable time, never mind that it forced a screeching halt on the progress of whatever unit, command, or project they were investigating.
If Evelyn had her way, a false report to Section Zero would have been punishable by firing squad. But Marge had shot her down on that, every single time she proposed it. And she was right to deny it, which is why Evelyn only proposed it when they were sharing a drink in a quiet room while off-duty, in the rare days that she was on the same world as her old friend.
That was the fundamental dilemma of any ethical internal security: determining what was a legitimate breach of values, and what was an attempted weaponization of their job. Sometimes it made Evelyn wish that she didn't have her standards. After all, for an unethical security organization, there was no dilemma: everything could be gleefully weaponized against their chosen enemies.
Which one is this? Evelyn wondered, as she stared out at the battleground taking shape underneath the second Hive. Is this about a legitimate failure of our standards, and the immorality of child soldiers? Or is this about the petty spitefulness of everyone who thinks that Halsey is about to put them out of a job?
She didn't know. She'd only barely been read in on this tangled ball of knotted rope. She had plenty of details, but how many were trustworthy, and how many were edited or tweaked to entice an emotional reaction out of her, so that she would be biased towards their side?
The briefing hadn't even managed to give the project a consistent name. The opposition was still calling it Project Orion-II, the original specification. The defense was calling it the Spartan-II Program, which reeked of Section Two's propaganda and pretty little lies, the same way that they edited out the exit wounds on war photos of the 'honorable dead'.
And here she was, caught right in the middle of it, as the ultimate arbitrator and judge of whether Doctor Halsey's program would live or die.
What a mess, she thought for a second time.
It was after sundown when the Pelicans came in.
They didn't head for the usual landing fields. Instead, enormous rolling bulkheads were retracted, and the dropships landed in the rarely used underground hangars. In their pairs, in their quartets, the Pelicans descended into the bowels of the Earth, and by the time all of them had landed, nearly two dozen had arrived.
Evelyn watched from an observation deck, behind one-way glass, as people started to flood out of the Pelicans. Each one contained a fireteam of Beta-5 security, and four times that number in prisoners.
Some of those prisoners had no idea that they were prisoners right now. Some of them were all too aware. She couldn't even reliably say which group belonged to which. The children, for instance, might be naïve in their youth… but they'd also been trained for six years by the best that ONI could find, and from the reports Evelyn had read, they were real sharp cookies.
Most of the guards had no idea who they were escorting deeper into the Hive's underlevels, to their secured barracks blocks.
For extra irony, the only exception was Doctor Catherine Halsey, who the MP's all likely assumed was a war criminal, thanks to that spiteful little shit Wilson. Beta-5 likely didn't realize that both their shiny new armor and their fancy new helmets were the direct results of Halsey's Project GUNGNIR.
Halsey's name had crossed her desk dozens of times over the last year alone, but until now, the Doctor was guilty only of being polarizing. People in ONI either loved her or hated her, and there was no in-between.
That was a bad sign. It was a big red alarm that blared and shrieked like a CBRN warning. Not that Halsey was the cause, or the problem to be spotted. Halsey, herself, was a spotlight shining up at the problem looming above them.
Polarization meant deep fractures between factions. It meant grudges, it meant sabotage, it meant that the veneer of professionalism in the workplace was breaking down. When you can't trust your co-workers with an honest opinion, you're two steps away from a revolution.
Evelyn was reminded of the old fable about the goose that laid golden eggs. Halsey was the goose, and for the past six years, she'd laid golden egg after golden egg for nearly everyone in ONI. Yet now, they were planning to kill her for it.
You could think of the three Sections of ONI as three siblings, and it wouldn't be far off.
Section Three had been treating her like a rockstar ever since Project GUNGNIR delivered its first prototypes. They were the pampered third child, and they loved their new toys more than anything else. When BDU rev. 2519 had entered mass production, the ODSTs seconded to ONI had almost declared her an unofficial saint. And now, with more widespread implementation of things like the wrist-bracer system, the HUD eyepiece, and the improved alloys for standard Marine and Army BDU's… Halsey's classified role in those projects was the only reason she wasn't a beloved household name across both the Inner and Outer Colonies.
Section Two was positively bursting at the seams with anticipation for the completion of her treatments for Ehler-Danlos and brittle bones, and the good will that they could earn by associating them with ONI. Combined with her occasional forays into their offices in the Hive, where she made a habit of offering her advice on economic issues increasing Insurrectionist activity in the Outer Colonies, and the awkward middle-child of ONI was fascinated by the good Doctor.
Section One was the most unaffected by Halsey, but even then, they were mildly approving of her. Halsey's medical team had worked miracles aboard Medical Facility Endurance, up in Reach's orbit. No critical cases, of course, not with the travel time back to Reach from whatever planet they'd left. But the hardworking intelligence operatives from Section One had plenty of crippled limbs that needed the best quality of care if they ever wanted to walk or wave again, and Doctor Meyer's team had done the work without complaint.
But the three squabbling children weren't the only ones in ONI.
Above them all, like the distant mother-figure, was Section Zero – and Section Zero knew exactly where each and every one of those golden eggs had truly come from.
Now, the truth was coming out. Nearly everyone in ONI's higher echelons would soon learn what the Spartan-II Program was. They'd learn how Halsey had taken small cut-off sections of her demented science experiment and passed it off as completely unrelated research that they might like. They hadn't been gifted golden eggs – they'd been spray-painted turds, passed off without a care.
Section Three was full of elite soldiers that would fear their replacement or be ready to kill Halsey for kidnapping children. The propagandists in Section Two would scream when they realized the magnitude of the PR nightmare that Halsey had cooked up, completely obliterating every favor that she'd ever done for them. Section One would roll their eyes, and be annoyed that so much money had been wasted on mad science projects instead of just hiring more spies and building more listening posts.
It's hard not to see the metaphor here, Evelyn thought to herself, her forehead furrowing as she watched the MP's escort the children through the hangar, to their new temporary quarters. Halsey is to ONI what ONI is to the UNSC… and what the UNSC is to humanity as a whole. An overfunded, ill-advised, idealistic experiment that plenty of people would love to shut down.
She observed the children marching in clean ranks, unaffected by the MP's glowers and glares. They carried their kit-bags on their shoulders, not a single one speaking up, or looking around, or giving the slightest indication of lax discipline. They'd all been cooped up for hours in those dropships, but they didn't show any signs of irritation. They'd endured it without any sign of discontent – not just the boredom, but the almost certain knowledge that they were all in deep trouble
If all the UNSC's soldiers had behaved like the twelve-year-old Spartans, then this war would have been long over, and its causes would have been forgotten to time.
…and yet, Vice Admiral Evelyn Caldwell mused, finishing her earlier thought as she watched them. Halsey, ONI, and the UNSC itself… are simply still the least bad idea we've had yet.
Her aide set the pitcher of water down on the table next to her.
"Thank you," Evelyn said, nodding to him, as she shuffled her notes one more time.
The lights were already warming her up, sitting at the center of the high table. For the moment, the amphitheater was empty and the rows upon rows of bench seats were unoccupied. Soon enough, those far doors would open, and the tribunal would begin.
She glanced to her sides, at the four other officers that she had brought to this tribunals. As this was an 'all hands on deck' situation for Section Zero, she had brought her two deputies, Rear Admirals Darlan and Laborde. The final two spots were filled by Captains.
Their jobs were to question, listen, consider, and debate the testimony that they would hear today. They would lead the interrogations, asking the pre-determined questions and whatever follow-up questions of their own that they believed would be of vital importance to the investigation or the UNSC.
And then, after all five of them had retired to their chambers, they would all shut up and do whatever Evelyn Caldwell decided was the appropriate outcome.
This wasn't a democracy. This was a dictatorship, and there was no room for 'random chance' to put some soft-headed Insurrectionist sympathizer in a pivotal position to wreck one of ONI's most promising and controversial programs.
Especially not with the political ramifications. Not just the potential PR scandal, but the internal promotions.
Vice Admiral Evelyn Caldwell was seventy years old. Her boss and longtime friend, Margaret Parangosky, was nearly eighty. They'd held their posts for nearly three decades now, and the pressure was mounting on both of them to retire. The stress of managing the Insurrection's constant brushfires, the rising domestic turmoil over the war's legitimacy, and the increasing power and prominence of ONI was an unholy mix, and they'd been forced to drink it for far too long.
Neither Marge nor Eve was ready to hang up their hat, but that day was approaching in the distance, and they were forced to prepare for it.
It wasn't retirement, specifically, that was the issue. It was the problem of replacing either of them. At the bare minimum, there would be two vacancies at the highest level opening up – and depending on how things unfolded, potentially many, many more than that.
ONI was growing steadily in this new, asymmetrical war, and more and more young officers were joining the intelligence agency with their sights set on the power that they could wield if only they climbed the ladder high enough. Exactly the wrong mindset for a public servant, and exactly the reason why so many historical intelligence agencies had been burned to the ground by vengeful governments or mobs.
Evelyn was hopeful that none of the three Section Heads possessed that toxic mindset, but she couldn't say the same about their own replacements. What would happen if Vice Admiral Keeler was tapped to become the new Commander-in-Chief of ONI, and a hyper-aggressive muscle-head took over Section Three after he left? They'd have assassination teams running around blowing off the heads of colonial governors, driving more systems into the Insurrectionists arms!
Like so many other issues with ONI, it wasn't clear what would happen next. So many people jockeying for their future positions, they'd bounce off each other. Ripples on ripples, and who could tell what the final outcome would be?
This tribunal, right here and now, was the first stone cast into the pond. It was the first battleground, and it was Section Three's infighting that would start the fire.
It wasn't clear who was the hardliners, and who was the moderates. Did Halsey's use of child-soldiers and human experimentation make her the villain? Did Wilson's revenge plan, sponsored by officers far higher up than him, make him the monster? It wasn't clear, and frankly, it didn't matter.
What mattered, more than anything else, was that Evelyn Caldwell did her best to keep ONI's politicking and backstabbing from sinking the entire ship, while Marge Parangosky tried to steer the ship in the right direction.
"Ready for this?" Rear Admiral Darlan asked, setting down his cup of coffee.
"No," replied Rear Admiral Laborde, grimly. "It would be better if Admiral Keeler had handled this in-house. Failing that, Admiral Parangosky, as the next up the chain of command."
Darlan rolled his eyes, while Laborde repositioned his chair so that he could sit straighter, even though he was already sitting at nearly a perfect ninety degree.
The two Rear Admirals disliked each other, but they performed their duties well enough that Evelyn hadn't yet seen fit to dismiss either from their positions. Darlan was more flexible, willing to adapt to look at the bigger picture, but still holding that core of loyalty and duty that determined right from wrong. Laborde was more rigid, holding tighter to the rules and regulations, the honor code that underpinned the culture of the military as an institution.
Either of them would do her job well, in peacetime… but this wasn't peacetime, and Evelyn sometimes wondered which of those two approaches would work better in the future. Flexibility and adaptability, or unyielding endurance?
The two Captains kept their mouths shut. Good on them. That was their entire job today. Almost all of the speaking would be done by Darlan and Laborde.
"Five minutes," Evelyn decided, tapping her microphone with a finger to activate it. "In five minutes, we'll open the doors."
Her subordinates nodded, and the ONI staffers near the edges of the auditorium started rushing to-and-fro, double-checking the audio-visual recorders, the seating arrangements, and the final requirements for the first day of the tribunal.
Laborde gestured to her, subtly. Evelyn tapped off her microphone, and quirked an eyebrow at him.
"When will we talk to the children?" Laborde asked quietly, but insistently, his voice pitched just low enough to be shared between the three Admirals. "They will be the easiest source of answers."
"After we talk to Halsey," Evelyn told him.
"And…" Laborde hesitated. "You are sure about including them in the tribunal?"
"Yes," she replied firmly.
"Some could take that as a sign of favor towards Wilson's faction," Darlan warned her softly, leaning in.
It wasn't often that he agreed with Laborde on a topic like this, but that too was a promising sign for both men, even if it was short-sighted. Both of the men were concerned with the well-being of the children. Let them be. Evelyn was concerned with the well-being of the ONI, and the UNSC.
"Let them think that," Evelyn countered. "We're lancing a boil, gentlemen. This is not the time for half-measures."
Darlan pursed his lips, but nodded.
Four minutes later the doors opened, and Doctor Catherine Halsey was led into the room, escorted by two MP's, in advance of everyone else. She wasn't handcuffed or restrained in any way, and it wasn't fully clear whether the MP's were guarding her from other people, or vice versa.
Evelyn Caldwell had not yet had the dubious pleasure of meeting the infamous Catherine Halsey, but her initial impression was not positive. The woman had no emotion showing on her face, and she moved like a machine, every step precisely measured and every swing of her arm exactly the same. She wore an unadorned ONI uniform, despite her civilian status, with a white labcoat thrown over top as if to remind people that she was a scientist.
Her eyes stood out. Vibrant blue, almost cold. If Evelyn didn't know any better, she'd have thought that they were slightly glowing, even as Halsey descended the amphitheaters stairs towards her.
After the Doctor had been seated, the MP's stepped down from the stage and took up posts by the stairs. More of the Beta-5 Division was already entering the room, taking up guard positions. The Hive was more secure than anywhere else on Reach, and any other location in the galaxy save for Sydney's HIGHCOM Tower, but that was no excuse to skip out on protection… and if it reminded the audience that they were to keep a civil tongue, all the better.
Minutes trickled by as more officers entered the auditorium, finding their seats. The event wasn't open invite, for obvious reasons. Every single officer here, be they ONI, Marine, Army, or Air Force, already knew about the Spartan-II program to a degree that was alarming, in the words of Halsey's detractors. Few of them should be lower than an O-5, and most were O-6's – Majors, Lieutenant Colonels, Navy Captains, and full-bird Colonels.
Finally, at long last, Evelyn glanced at Laborde, and nodded. The Rear Admiral swallowed hard, his jugular shifting, and he spoke softly into his earpiece.
The sound of footsteps came through the open doors at the top of the amphitheater, enough of them to echo down into the bench seats. The few dozen officers sitting in those seats turned, curious at the noise, and stiffened in place as they caught sight of who, exactly, was approaching.
Seventy five children walked into the amphitheater, in two long columns. They were dressed in bland grey jumpsuits and stripped of all identifying insignia or name-plates, and escorted in by MP's. They were led down to the very bottom-most row, to a reserved section behind the right-hand side of Catherine Halsey.
Nobody spoke up. There was no rustle of whispers from one officer to the next, building upon each other into a low hum of noise. Evelyn knew that was more because ONI officers didn't trust each other enough to gossip, than because they were truly, utterly shocked. Each of them had known about this program. Some of the officers had actually seen the children before, those officers from the ODST's, NAVSPECWEP, Army Rangers, Air Force, who had been a part of Halsey's GUNGNIR project, and trained the children.
The silence was like a physical presence, weighing down on everyone's shoulders as the children sat down… and that was exactly why Evelyn did it.
This might be one of the most important moments for the future of ONI. It didn't matter whether that was because of what it meant for Halsey and her program, or what it meant for the future power games of Sections Zero through Three, or what it meant for the inevitable replacement of Parangosky or Evelyn herself.
All that Evelyn cared about was that everyone in this room understood that this was bigger than their petty personalities.
The Doctor didn't turn from her chair to look at them. Her face was exactly as emotionless as before. Evelyn watched her eyes, and she saw the tiniest tightening, the smallest twitch. Halsey knew exactly what was happening behind her, somehow, even without seeing it.
The doors were shut, and Evelyn tapped her microphone on.
"Today is Friday, July 5th, 2523," she recited, as the cameras in the back started recording. "I am Vice Admiral Evelyn Caldwell of the Office of Naval Intelligence. Today, and for the duration of the investigation, we will be determining the extent of any and all violations of UNSC and ONI regulations in the project known as Orion-II, or Spartan-II."
"These violations have already been confirmed," Rear Admiral Darlan continued, on cue. "The charges stand at several hundred counts of breaching security classifications, several thousand counts of theft of UNSC resources and material, and direct disobedience and usurpation of the chain of command."
There was no movement among the crowd, but Evelyn still felt some of them tense as they heard those words.
"Doctor Halsey, when you were hired by the Office of Naval Intelligence, you were informed of the rules and regulations you would have to follow, is this correct?" Rear Admiral Darlan asked, starting with the first and least important question.
"Correct," Halsey replied.
Her voice was unhurried. Not flat, not emotionless, but perfectly normal, as if she had no idea how severe the situation was. Of course, that was impossible.
Yet her face was still frozen, unmoved, like a slab of stone.
"In the interest of clarity," Darlan continued, "Your employment has not been terminated at this time, nor any criminal charges pressed. That may change at any time. Do you understand that?"
Doctor Catherine Halsey looked at each of them, her face still emotionless as she turned from one Section Zero officer to the next.
"I understand completely," she replied.