look at those cavemen go; it's the freakiest show
Complex 7-G
Misriah Armories
Blomkamp Peninsula, Mars
Beneath the grass, the dirt still usually looked like rust, and in the early hours, the Sun lit the sky an ominous scarlet, but for over a millennium, Earth's nearest neighbor had been considered a terraforming success. Arid plains, sparkling waters, and lush jungles between them combined to provide a pleasantly temperate, if occasionally somewhat thin, air to the little planet.
A cooling breeze blew in off of Pearl Bay as a swirling green-and-black portal opened and Grif stepped out. Though he normally traveled alone, today he had passengers. First to follow were the two Colonels in full service uniform: McBride in Army green, beret keeping his salt-and-pepper hair (truthfully, more salt than pepper) out of his weather-beaten face, and Holbrook in Marine olive, his shades glinting in the sun as he grinned into the wind blowing through his wavy blond tousle.
The rear of the group was brought up by a man who, though he lacked any military finery, was nonetheless imposing in his own way. A full three inches over the ONI agents' six feet, with receding grey hair swept back from a patrician face, his business suit was sharply tailored in a tasteful tweed. It was unusual to bring a civilian along on this sort of thing, but Archie Bauchau not only worked for Grif, but also had once worked for Misriah. His clearances were still good, and his familiarity with his previous employer had made him the obvious choice to act as a technical liaison.
As his passengers took a quick moment to satisfy that instinctive concern, after their first teleport, that everything was where it was supposed to be, Grif looked instead outwards to the sky. This was the closest he'd gotten to Hawaii since the draft. He wondered if he could--
Holbrook came up beside him and asked, "What, are you trying to see your house from here or something? Earth's on the wrong side of the planet right now." This got him a glare, once Grif took off his helmet, and a flipping of the bird before the door to the building they'd appeared before opened and they turned to face it.
The man who walked out was middle-aged, with dark brown hair and a square chin framing a hawk-nosed face. "Excellent, you're all here," he said. His smile was genuine enough, as was the pleased tone in his rough mid-ranged voice, but nonetheless carried the slight edge of a born and practiced salesman. Passing his hand around for shaking, he introduced himself. "Doug Michaels, Director of Sales Engineering. Pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Grif, and of course it's always a pleasure to have a visit from our friends and fans in military intelligence." Turning to the last of the group, he went from merely smiling to outright beaming. "Archie! Good to see you."
Archie accepted a slightly more enthusiastic handshake than the others had received, complete with a clap on his shoulder, with his usual calm equanimity. His voice, as ever, was blandly polite, slightly nasal with a faint Flemish accent. "Hello, Douglas. You're looking well. I take it that everything is ready?"
"Yes!" he exclaimed as he ushered the group inside. "Come on in. We've got a big day ahead of us."
First on the docket was a tour of the facilities, from engineering spaces to the manufacturing floor. For many companies, a visit such as this could be a tense time, but Misriah had been the UNSC's primary armorer for hundreds upon hundreds of years, serving proudly and well, and so it was instead an opportunity to show off a little. Indeed, the tour only really scratched the surface of the extent of the Armories' operations, since they occupied a number of complexes like this one all over Mars, as well as supplemental research facilities on more remote colony worlds. McBride and Holbrook were pleased by the neatness and efficiency of it all. Grif was too, but was also glad to have Archie around to explain things in layman's terms for him. The tour ended in a large area that had obviously been set up as a demonstration area and shooting gallery. Armored cases were set up, either on tables or free-standing depending on their size. Lab-coated technicians checked the equipment in the cases as they approached, and Doug provided introductions.
Finally, Grif put his helmet back on and they got down to business. For comparison's sake, Grif was asked to take the pistol he brought with him and fire a few shots at the provided target. The .50 magnum rounds' semi-armor-piercing penetrator tips punched through the ersatz Covenant Elite's armor, followed by the detonation of their high explosive cores, tearing open satisfyingly lethal holes in synthetic flesh. A new target was wheeled in, and Grif was directed to the first case.
"The first item we've got is our new M6H pistol," Michaels said. "We actually owe you a bit of a debt in its development: the examples you were able to provide from your armory were invaluable in unlocking some of the M6D's forgotten secrets. Once we'd accomplished that, we were able to improve them further using more modern materials to produce a weapon with greater accuracy, rate of fire, range, and overall reliability than any other previous M6 model, with a negligible increase in weight."
Pointing to the prepared magazines nestled in the foam next to the pistol itself, he continued, "Modern materials also mean that the M6H can handle the pressures in the new round we've developed. The M234 round is what we're calling .50 caliber super-magnum, being slightly longer than the normal magnum-sized M225 round you may be used to from previous M6s. The penetrator uses an alloy with superior armor-piercing power and a reactive deformation system to prevent over-penetration. The penetrator also houses the impact-delay fuse, which detects when the round has come to a stop in the target before igniting the high explosive core. The core has, of course, also been upgraded with our most powerful high-ex composition yet."
A new target was brought out as Grif picked up the pistol and one of the magazines, felt the heft of each, then loaded it. Turning downrange, he sighted in (momentarily checking and pleased to find that it did, in fact, have a scope and not just a laser sight) and squeezed off a single shot. The sharp crack of the round being fired was almost immediately dwarfed by the boom as it took the false Elite high in one shoulder... and blew its arm clean off.
"Son of a bitch!" Grif exclaimed in mildly shocked glee. He'd actually intended to aim a little lower than he did, but having attained a sense of how the M6H handled, he was quickly able to compensate, and a few shots later, the target lay ruined in pieces on the ground. Nodding satisfactorily, he unloaded the pistol and put it away before moving to the next case.
"Now, you're familiar with the BR55 series of battle rifles?"
Grif gave a shrugging nod. "Yeah, I've carried one every so often. Personally, if I need something that fires more than one round per trigger pull, I usually prefer the bullet spam of an assault rifle."
Michaels chuckled. "Well, let's see if we can't change your mind on that. The BR56 has most of the same lines as its predecessor, though as you can see, some of its proportions are just a bit larger. There's a reason for that, largely having to do with applying the lessons we learned from the M6H."
"Does that mean you've upgraded its ammo, too?"
"Oh, we've done much better than that." Michaels' smile became downright shark-like, a look that Grif was himself familiar with when he sensed an opportunity to score major points in a negotiation. "Just like the M6H, the BR56 also fires M234 .50 caliber super-magnum. We even managed, somehow, to double the magazine capacity, even with the larger rounds, so if you really wanted to, you could switch it from burst-fire to full-auto and get your bullet spam. With the M234's sheer power, though, I'm inclined to suggest that that would be a bit of a waste in most circumstances."
It took a moment for Grif to get over his stunned awe at the promised specifications of the new rifle, and even then, the only thing that came readily to mind was, "...Dude." Michaels nodded knowingly, and after a few minutes of trying the battle rifle out, Grif admitted, "Yeah, okay, that's a pretty good set of arguments. I don't suppose you've managed to do the same thing with the sniper rifle, just to complete the trifecta?"
"Oh, if only. Not that we didn't try, but the best we could do wasn't nearly so big a leap. We think you might like our alternate solution instead, though." Michaels gestured to another case. Inside was a weapon that, based on the purple sheen of the metal and the unusual design, was almost certainly Covenant-derived. Its shape was roughly that of a very long isosceles triangle, with the handle forming the triangle's base. "The Type-50D. Earlier models of the Type-50 were straight-up particle beam rifles, and actually already pretty good. I mean, the blaze of such a tightly-focused ionized plasma stream makes it slightly more visible than the SRS99-series' smoke contrail, but it fades more quickly, the shots are whisper-quiet, and if you pace your shooting, its battery provides many more shots before needing to recharge than the '99's capacity.
"The D model, in addition to the heat-management and power-capacity improvements that we'd made with its predecessors, has one unique feature, which we again have you to thank for. We'd been getting annoyed at our inability to replicate the effects of your Gluon Gun, but those rifles you got from your friend's universe -- the Combine AR2? -- were just the kind of thing we could work with. The 'dark energy plasma' that their ammunition uses is similar in some ways to the plasma we're used to, but once we tuned a Type-50 to include synthesized dark energy in its plasma particle stream, the results were... amazing. I'm not sure I can adequately describe it."
Grif hefted the rifle, adjusting to its strange design. A new target was brought in, this time a replica of Covenant Hunter, a massive beast formed by a colony of worms interconnected within a suit of thick armor and carrying a shield that, according to histories of the Covenant War that Grif had read, was comparable to that of their starships, invulnerable to small arms of any form. The history books had it that the only way to kill a Hunter was to aim for the gaps in the armor, where the orange worms could be seen, but Michaels insisted that Grif aim for the shield anyway.
The brilliant purple-white shot punched through the shield, and then continued on through the armor and fake worm-flesh of the arm and chest. The touch of the dark energy plasma on the worms caused a chain reaction that vaporized them all in an instant, the armor falling to pieces on the ground. The holes in the armor continued to expand for several seconds after that, becoming several times as large as the original beam.
Grif nearly dropped the rifle in shock. "Holy shit, that was fucking awesome!" He looked back at the others standing behind the safety line. The ONI agents were still gaping in shock. The technicians who'd been tending the equipment before their arrival were doing a jubilant little jig, pleased with his reaction. Archie, having been involved in the project, knew what to expect, but Grif could still see that glint of bemusement in the older man's eye.
Michaels, meanwhile, was smug beyond belief. "I'm glad you like it. We're calling it the 'DEPP Rifle,' for 'Dark Energy Plasma/Particle.' I'll make sure to pass on your compliments to our research team. I'm sure they'll appreciate it after having had to rebuild half their lab in a near-disaster with one of those dark energy spheres. There's more than this, but we've only got one other particularly impressive item to show you. Well, only one other here, but we'll get to the other later." One of the cases on a table had remained closed, but now he worked the latches and opened it up, extracting a device whose appearance was familiar to Grif.
"Uh, yeah, it's a PINjammer casing. We're sitting on a couple thousand spares in storage somewhere." Grif knew there had to be more to it than that, but still felt obligated to provide the man with an opening.
He did not, however, expect that opening to be that of the jammer's casing itself, revealing gleaming circuitry within. "A couple thousand casings minus one, actually. We just helped out with the filling."
Grif stared into the jammer's workings for a couple of seconds more, then took off his helmet so that he could unleash the fullness of his accusatory glare at the ONI agents. "This is where you tell me that you weren't involved in this, because we agreed that you guys wouldn't work on technologies for getting into the Nexus. Right?"
Holbrook held up his hands in surrender. "Wasn't us, man. We're as surprised as you. If you'll recall, while we did help you with firing control in the battle against the Ice Hellions, it was through the access that you provided through your armor. We're still sticking to the deal."
"Then how...?"
Archie made a throat-clearing noise, but it was obviously merely to get the group's attention; his voice was calm and clear as he said, "There's a bit of a story in that, actually. You recall young Mr. Roebuck, who we hired not long after you bought Jullun Industries?" Grif allowed that he did, and Archie continued, "Well, as it happens, he developed something of a fascination with the PINpoint devices since you showed them to us. He'd been taking time, whenever he had one at hand for installing in something, to study it as best he could." That bemused glint was in his eyes again. "Given enough time, I expect he would've been able to work the technology out on his own, but... I think he might've taken a bit of umbrage, both personally and for the pride of the company, in your volunteering to have us only make the casings and leave the esoteric elements to your acquaintance. He asked me to place some calls, and the Armories were willing to lend some of their resources to crunching the numbers and speed up the process as a favor to our working partnership." His expression turned mildly, wryly chiding. "I think you owe some apologies."
Such a rebuke, despite or perhaps even because of the quiet way in which it was spoken, could've been considered dangerously sharp to be speaking to one's employer, regardless of how correct it was. Grif respected Archie enough, however, to take the barb in the fairly light manner in which it was meant, and with a grinning nod, he turned to the agents. "Apparently I jumped the gun. Sorry." He then looked back at Archie. "I'll apologize to Shane for my lack of faith when I drop you off later. All right?"
Archie nodded quietly, satisfied, and they moved on.
The demonstrations after that were, indeed, pretty much an anticlimax. Yes, the addition of a sophisticated homing system into the upgraded SPNKr rockets was nice, but even their bigger boom failed to top what he'd already seen, and there's only so much more you can do with the admitted awesomeness of an 8-gauge shotgun. There was, however, one last thing, for which Michaels actually turned things over to the ONI agents. All any of them would say was that it wasn't in a Misriah facility. It wasn't even on Mars at all, in fact, but rather required a short Pelican ride up into orbit, where a station of minimalist but still functional design awaited them.
"The Chiron Test Station," McBride said as he led the group through its corridors. "Back in the 26th century, during the Covenant War, it was one of the UNSC's major training facilities, providing a wide array of environments. It had long since fallen into disuse, but we recently set to fixing it up enough to support one training location in particular..."
The group came to a door, which McBride opened, squiring them into a large room whose lights switched on as they entered. A large bank of windows along the wall opposite the door looked down onto a complex of small, independent buildings. Lights switched on in the expanse of space above the buildings, whose roofs turned translucent to the view of the people in the room. Displays arrayed around the windows switched on, providing views from cameras throughout the interior. Each building had a couple of rooms separated from each other more by differences in elevation than walls. Arrayed around the external walls of the buildings were anywhere from two to four very short, red-painted hallways that ended in a shimmering curtain of green light.
"TL 34," McBride finished.
Grif was, once again, astonished. "That's the goddamned janitor's closet!" That was, at least, the nickname that Simmons had given the place the last time Grif had been there, back in the old civil war days.
"That's right," Holbrook chimed in. "This is the facility where your old squadmate first learned how to replicate and later improve upon Omega's modifications to Blood Gulch's teleporters. Over two dozen of them, just sitting here unused. Ever need to get more than one teleport done at once?" He grinned.
Grif couldn't quite believe it. "Are you seriously telling me you're going to just give me all of these teleporters to work with?"
"There'll be restrictions," McBride said. "Here's the deal: We have our friends from Misriah double-check that they're functional and make all of the extra mods that Blood Gulch's has. They'll be programmed so that only you have the ability to control them, but only when we enable your access to the control system. You won't be able to play with them willy-nilly, but you tell us when you need the extra power and why, and we'll try to be understanding. Otherwise, they'll remain locked down, preserving our existing agreements about Nexus access. Any objections?"
Grif thought about it. On the whole, it was actually fairly reasonable, even if he really would've preferred unfettered availability. He nodded. "Yeah, no, that's fine. I think I can live with that."
"Good. I think that just about concludes our business."
Thanks were extended all around. Doug Michaels took the Pelican back down to Mars' surface, while Grif, Archie, and the agents left directly from the station. Over the course of a day, Grif had been provided with a variety of new weapons and ways to fight... but it wouldn't be for several days afterwards that he'd find out about his own failure to actually be there for the fight itself.
Misriah Armories
Blomkamp Peninsula, Mars
Beneath the grass, the dirt still usually looked like rust, and in the early hours, the Sun lit the sky an ominous scarlet, but for over a millennium, Earth's nearest neighbor had been considered a terraforming success. Arid plains, sparkling waters, and lush jungles between them combined to provide a pleasantly temperate, if occasionally somewhat thin, air to the little planet.
A cooling breeze blew in off of Pearl Bay as a swirling green-and-black portal opened and Grif stepped out. Though he normally traveled alone, today he had passengers. First to follow were the two Colonels in full service uniform: McBride in Army green, beret keeping his salt-and-pepper hair (truthfully, more salt than pepper) out of his weather-beaten face, and Holbrook in Marine olive, his shades glinting in the sun as he grinned into the wind blowing through his wavy blond tousle.
The rear of the group was brought up by a man who, though he lacked any military finery, was nonetheless imposing in his own way. A full three inches over the ONI agents' six feet, with receding grey hair swept back from a patrician face, his business suit was sharply tailored in a tasteful tweed. It was unusual to bring a civilian along on this sort of thing, but Archie Bauchau not only worked for Grif, but also had once worked for Misriah. His clearances were still good, and his familiarity with his previous employer had made him the obvious choice to act as a technical liaison.
As his passengers took a quick moment to satisfy that instinctive concern, after their first teleport, that everything was where it was supposed to be, Grif looked instead outwards to the sky. This was the closest he'd gotten to Hawaii since the draft. He wondered if he could--
Holbrook came up beside him and asked, "What, are you trying to see your house from here or something? Earth's on the wrong side of the planet right now." This got him a glare, once Grif took off his helmet, and a flipping of the bird before the door to the building they'd appeared before opened and they turned to face it.
The man who walked out was middle-aged, with dark brown hair and a square chin framing a hawk-nosed face. "Excellent, you're all here," he said. His smile was genuine enough, as was the pleased tone in his rough mid-ranged voice, but nonetheless carried the slight edge of a born and practiced salesman. Passing his hand around for shaking, he introduced himself. "Doug Michaels, Director of Sales Engineering. Pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Grif, and of course it's always a pleasure to have a visit from our friends and fans in military intelligence." Turning to the last of the group, he went from merely smiling to outright beaming. "Archie! Good to see you."
Archie accepted a slightly more enthusiastic handshake than the others had received, complete with a clap on his shoulder, with his usual calm equanimity. His voice, as ever, was blandly polite, slightly nasal with a faint Flemish accent. "Hello, Douglas. You're looking well. I take it that everything is ready?"
"Yes!" he exclaimed as he ushered the group inside. "Come on in. We've got a big day ahead of us."
First on the docket was a tour of the facilities, from engineering spaces to the manufacturing floor. For many companies, a visit such as this could be a tense time, but Misriah had been the UNSC's primary armorer for hundreds upon hundreds of years, serving proudly and well, and so it was instead an opportunity to show off a little. Indeed, the tour only really scratched the surface of the extent of the Armories' operations, since they occupied a number of complexes like this one all over Mars, as well as supplemental research facilities on more remote colony worlds. McBride and Holbrook were pleased by the neatness and efficiency of it all. Grif was too, but was also glad to have Archie around to explain things in layman's terms for him. The tour ended in a large area that had obviously been set up as a demonstration area and shooting gallery. Armored cases were set up, either on tables or free-standing depending on their size. Lab-coated technicians checked the equipment in the cases as they approached, and Doug provided introductions.
Finally, Grif put his helmet back on and they got down to business. For comparison's sake, Grif was asked to take the pistol he brought with him and fire a few shots at the provided target. The .50 magnum rounds' semi-armor-piercing penetrator tips punched through the ersatz Covenant Elite's armor, followed by the detonation of their high explosive cores, tearing open satisfyingly lethal holes in synthetic flesh. A new target was wheeled in, and Grif was directed to the first case.
"The first item we've got is our new M6H pistol," Michaels said. "We actually owe you a bit of a debt in its development: the examples you were able to provide from your armory were invaluable in unlocking some of the M6D's forgotten secrets. Once we'd accomplished that, we were able to improve them further using more modern materials to produce a weapon with greater accuracy, rate of fire, range, and overall reliability than any other previous M6 model, with a negligible increase in weight."
Pointing to the prepared magazines nestled in the foam next to the pistol itself, he continued, "Modern materials also mean that the M6H can handle the pressures in the new round we've developed. The M234 round is what we're calling .50 caliber super-magnum, being slightly longer than the normal magnum-sized M225 round you may be used to from previous M6s. The penetrator uses an alloy with superior armor-piercing power and a reactive deformation system to prevent over-penetration. The penetrator also houses the impact-delay fuse, which detects when the round has come to a stop in the target before igniting the high explosive core. The core has, of course, also been upgraded with our most powerful high-ex composition yet."
A new target was brought out as Grif picked up the pistol and one of the magazines, felt the heft of each, then loaded it. Turning downrange, he sighted in (momentarily checking and pleased to find that it did, in fact, have a scope and not just a laser sight) and squeezed off a single shot. The sharp crack of the round being fired was almost immediately dwarfed by the boom as it took the false Elite high in one shoulder... and blew its arm clean off.
"Son of a bitch!" Grif exclaimed in mildly shocked glee. He'd actually intended to aim a little lower than he did, but having attained a sense of how the M6H handled, he was quickly able to compensate, and a few shots later, the target lay ruined in pieces on the ground. Nodding satisfactorily, he unloaded the pistol and put it away before moving to the next case.
"Now, you're familiar with the BR55 series of battle rifles?"
Grif gave a shrugging nod. "Yeah, I've carried one every so often. Personally, if I need something that fires more than one round per trigger pull, I usually prefer the bullet spam of an assault rifle."
Michaels chuckled. "Well, let's see if we can't change your mind on that. The BR56 has most of the same lines as its predecessor, though as you can see, some of its proportions are just a bit larger. There's a reason for that, largely having to do with applying the lessons we learned from the M6H."
"Does that mean you've upgraded its ammo, too?"
"Oh, we've done much better than that." Michaels' smile became downright shark-like, a look that Grif was himself familiar with when he sensed an opportunity to score major points in a negotiation. "Just like the M6H, the BR56 also fires M234 .50 caliber super-magnum. We even managed, somehow, to double the magazine capacity, even with the larger rounds, so if you really wanted to, you could switch it from burst-fire to full-auto and get your bullet spam. With the M234's sheer power, though, I'm inclined to suggest that that would be a bit of a waste in most circumstances."
It took a moment for Grif to get over his stunned awe at the promised specifications of the new rifle, and even then, the only thing that came readily to mind was, "...Dude." Michaels nodded knowingly, and after a few minutes of trying the battle rifle out, Grif admitted, "Yeah, okay, that's a pretty good set of arguments. I don't suppose you've managed to do the same thing with the sniper rifle, just to complete the trifecta?"
"Oh, if only. Not that we didn't try, but the best we could do wasn't nearly so big a leap. We think you might like our alternate solution instead, though." Michaels gestured to another case. Inside was a weapon that, based on the purple sheen of the metal and the unusual design, was almost certainly Covenant-derived. Its shape was roughly that of a very long isosceles triangle, with the handle forming the triangle's base. "The Type-50D. Earlier models of the Type-50 were straight-up particle beam rifles, and actually already pretty good. I mean, the blaze of such a tightly-focused ionized plasma stream makes it slightly more visible than the SRS99-series' smoke contrail, but it fades more quickly, the shots are whisper-quiet, and if you pace your shooting, its battery provides many more shots before needing to recharge than the '99's capacity.
"The D model, in addition to the heat-management and power-capacity improvements that we'd made with its predecessors, has one unique feature, which we again have you to thank for. We'd been getting annoyed at our inability to replicate the effects of your Gluon Gun, but those rifles you got from your friend's universe -- the Combine AR2? -- were just the kind of thing we could work with. The 'dark energy plasma' that their ammunition uses is similar in some ways to the plasma we're used to, but once we tuned a Type-50 to include synthesized dark energy in its plasma particle stream, the results were... amazing. I'm not sure I can adequately describe it."
Grif hefted the rifle, adjusting to its strange design. A new target was brought in, this time a replica of Covenant Hunter, a massive beast formed by a colony of worms interconnected within a suit of thick armor and carrying a shield that, according to histories of the Covenant War that Grif had read, was comparable to that of their starships, invulnerable to small arms of any form. The history books had it that the only way to kill a Hunter was to aim for the gaps in the armor, where the orange worms could be seen, but Michaels insisted that Grif aim for the shield anyway.
The brilliant purple-white shot punched through the shield, and then continued on through the armor and fake worm-flesh of the arm and chest. The touch of the dark energy plasma on the worms caused a chain reaction that vaporized them all in an instant, the armor falling to pieces on the ground. The holes in the armor continued to expand for several seconds after that, becoming several times as large as the original beam.
Grif nearly dropped the rifle in shock. "Holy shit, that was fucking awesome!" He looked back at the others standing behind the safety line. The ONI agents were still gaping in shock. The technicians who'd been tending the equipment before their arrival were doing a jubilant little jig, pleased with his reaction. Archie, having been involved in the project, knew what to expect, but Grif could still see that glint of bemusement in the older man's eye.
Michaels, meanwhile, was smug beyond belief. "I'm glad you like it. We're calling it the 'DEPP Rifle,' for 'Dark Energy Plasma/Particle.' I'll make sure to pass on your compliments to our research team. I'm sure they'll appreciate it after having had to rebuild half their lab in a near-disaster with one of those dark energy spheres. There's more than this, but we've only got one other particularly impressive item to show you. Well, only one other here, but we'll get to the other later." One of the cases on a table had remained closed, but now he worked the latches and opened it up, extracting a device whose appearance was familiar to Grif.
"Uh, yeah, it's a PINjammer casing. We're sitting on a couple thousand spares in storage somewhere." Grif knew there had to be more to it than that, but still felt obligated to provide the man with an opening.
He did not, however, expect that opening to be that of the jammer's casing itself, revealing gleaming circuitry within. "A couple thousand casings minus one, actually. We just helped out with the filling."
Grif stared into the jammer's workings for a couple of seconds more, then took off his helmet so that he could unleash the fullness of his accusatory glare at the ONI agents. "This is where you tell me that you weren't involved in this, because we agreed that you guys wouldn't work on technologies for getting into the Nexus. Right?"
Holbrook held up his hands in surrender. "Wasn't us, man. We're as surprised as you. If you'll recall, while we did help you with firing control in the battle against the Ice Hellions, it was through the access that you provided through your armor. We're still sticking to the deal."
"Then how...?"
Archie made a throat-clearing noise, but it was obviously merely to get the group's attention; his voice was calm and clear as he said, "There's a bit of a story in that, actually. You recall young Mr. Roebuck, who we hired not long after you bought Jullun Industries?" Grif allowed that he did, and Archie continued, "Well, as it happens, he developed something of a fascination with the PINpoint devices since you showed them to us. He'd been taking time, whenever he had one at hand for installing in something, to study it as best he could." That bemused glint was in his eyes again. "Given enough time, I expect he would've been able to work the technology out on his own, but... I think he might've taken a bit of umbrage, both personally and for the pride of the company, in your volunteering to have us only make the casings and leave the esoteric elements to your acquaintance. He asked me to place some calls, and the Armories were willing to lend some of their resources to crunching the numbers and speed up the process as a favor to our working partnership." His expression turned mildly, wryly chiding. "I think you owe some apologies."
Such a rebuke, despite or perhaps even because of the quiet way in which it was spoken, could've been considered dangerously sharp to be speaking to one's employer, regardless of how correct it was. Grif respected Archie enough, however, to take the barb in the fairly light manner in which it was meant, and with a grinning nod, he turned to the agents. "Apparently I jumped the gun. Sorry." He then looked back at Archie. "I'll apologize to Shane for my lack of faith when I drop you off later. All right?"
Archie nodded quietly, satisfied, and they moved on.
The demonstrations after that were, indeed, pretty much an anticlimax. Yes, the addition of a sophisticated homing system into the upgraded SPNKr rockets was nice, but even their bigger boom failed to top what he'd already seen, and there's only so much more you can do with the admitted awesomeness of an 8-gauge shotgun. There was, however, one last thing, for which Michaels actually turned things over to the ONI agents. All any of them would say was that it wasn't in a Misriah facility. It wasn't even on Mars at all, in fact, but rather required a short Pelican ride up into orbit, where a station of minimalist but still functional design awaited them.
"The Chiron Test Station," McBride said as he led the group through its corridors. "Back in the 26th century, during the Covenant War, it was one of the UNSC's major training facilities, providing a wide array of environments. It had long since fallen into disuse, but we recently set to fixing it up enough to support one training location in particular..."
The group came to a door, which McBride opened, squiring them into a large room whose lights switched on as they entered. A large bank of windows along the wall opposite the door looked down onto a complex of small, independent buildings. Lights switched on in the expanse of space above the buildings, whose roofs turned translucent to the view of the people in the room. Displays arrayed around the windows switched on, providing views from cameras throughout the interior. Each building had a couple of rooms separated from each other more by differences in elevation than walls. Arrayed around the external walls of the buildings were anywhere from two to four very short, red-painted hallways that ended in a shimmering curtain of green light.
"TL 34," McBride finished.
Grif was, once again, astonished. "That's the goddamned janitor's closet!" That was, at least, the nickname that Simmons had given the place the last time Grif had been there, back in the old civil war days.
"That's right," Holbrook chimed in. "This is the facility where your old squadmate first learned how to replicate and later improve upon Omega's modifications to Blood Gulch's teleporters. Over two dozen of them, just sitting here unused. Ever need to get more than one teleport done at once?" He grinned.
Grif couldn't quite believe it. "Are you seriously telling me you're going to just give me all of these teleporters to work with?"
"There'll be restrictions," McBride said. "Here's the deal: We have our friends from Misriah double-check that they're functional and make all of the extra mods that Blood Gulch's has. They'll be programmed so that only you have the ability to control them, but only when we enable your access to the control system. You won't be able to play with them willy-nilly, but you tell us when you need the extra power and why, and we'll try to be understanding. Otherwise, they'll remain locked down, preserving our existing agreements about Nexus access. Any objections?"
Grif thought about it. On the whole, it was actually fairly reasonable, even if he really would've preferred unfettered availability. He nodded. "Yeah, no, that's fine. I think I can live with that."
"Good. I think that just about concludes our business."
Thanks were extended all around. Doug Michaels took the Pelican back down to Mars' surface, while Grif, Archie, and the agents left directly from the station. Over the course of a day, Grif had been provided with a variety of new weapons and ways to fight... but it wouldn't be for several days afterwards that he'd find out about his own failure to actually be there for the fight itself.