CFV-88, 2/3 - Briefing
"Nothing as bad as you might be thinking, Captain." He held his hands up placatingly. "It's basically just that I'm fundamentally incapable of accepting military protocol and chain of command. And before anyone makes any wisecracks about how I should've thought of that before enlisting, uh, yeah, that's a story at least as long as what's happened to you, but at its core boils down to the phrase, 'only draftee in UNSC history.'"
"Ohhhh." Everyone looked at Serina, entirely unused to that tone of epiphany coming from her. "So that's why your transponder tag included the codename, 'The One Drafted Man.' I had assumed it meant that it only took one draft of beer to knock you out... but your explanation is probably more likely, as such things go."
Grif's expression, as he stared at the holopad for the next few seconds, was of a man who could not quite comprehend just what the hell had happened to him. When he finally recovered his powers of speech, he said, in a slow, still-uncertain tone, "Uh... Thanks, Serina. I... think."
"Oh, you're quite welcome." He squinted at her suspiciously, but she was once again the picture of helpful innocence. "Don't you have a briefing to give?"
After another few seconds of squinting, he closed his eyes, sighed a deep, long-suffering sigh, and turned back to the rest of the room. "Rrrrright. Captain, look, my name is Dexter Grif. I'm a Staff Sergeant in the UNSC Army's SPARTAN Corps, but I've also been seconded to ONI, Section One. They actually don't usually ask me to do very much, but I accepted this mission because of the ways each of our very long stories interconnect. Please, just call me 'Grif,' never mind any of that other stuff, and let me help you, because that's what I'm here to do, okay?"
Cutter gaze stared at Grif, eyes squinted with intensity, as he considered the matter. Something in Grif's tone and expression, weary and beseeching, seemed to help him make up his mind, as he nodded and said, "Proceed."
"Thank you." Grif looked back out into the audience again, trying to recapture the feeling he'd had before getting distracted. "From what little Serina told me, after your last known contact at Arcadia, you had an adventure at some sort of Forerunner-built world. You escaped, but without your Slipspace drive, so you pointed the ship back towards the inner colonies, flogged the regular engines to get as close to light speed as possible, and settled into cryo for a longer sleep than usual." He took a breath in, looking mildly uncomfortable. "Unfortunately, something happened in between, that threw you way off course. The war with the Covenant was still on, leaving no time for a search. You were first declared missing, then presumed lost. And, meanwhile, you continued to drift on.
"That was then. The facts, as they stand now: The year is 3349. Eight hundred years, folks. That's roughly how far out of time you are, and there's not really any way back. Since I'm sure you're wondering, given what was going on last you knew, the Covenant War continued on for years, after you disappeared, but we won, barely. You were recently found because a search had begun last year, for a different ship entirely. A ship which, like yours, is believed to have been traveling near light speed, without using Slipspace, and gone off-course, without anyone having thought to search for it. The search for that ship's still ongoing -- a lot of space this far out into deep space -- but I was asked to come help get you guys back to civilization."
The audience was, for the most part, a little stunned by the revelations Grif was providing. He could see that the SPARTANs were quietly gesturing among themselves, he suspected about synchronizing their the clocks in their armor with the ship's and comparing. Others simply looked at Serina, who just silently nodded. Grif cleared his throat, forestalling any further conversation and drawing their attention back to him.
"Now, given the earlier discussion, you're probably wondering why me, and that's reasonable. There are a few reasons. First is that, as strange as it may sound based on how long I said you were sleeping, I'm actually more or less a contemporary. I grew up during the Covenant War, and my being here in this time... well, see again about how my story is long, complex, and bizarre. I'm pretty much the only person they have who's familiar with the displacement you'll experience. The second is that the ship they're actually looking for is my sister's. The third and final reason is that I'm kind of the sole 'gatekeeper' for the technology I'll be using to get you home."
"What kind of technology are we talking about?" Professor Anders asked, her curiosity piqued. "Not Slipspace, presumably."
Grif snorted. "No, Slipspace still gets a lot of use, especially since they've included improvements from Covenant and Forerunner tech over the centuries. I've got no part of that, though, and I wouldn't wake all of you up just so you can go back into cryo. That'd just suck. Besides," he added with a grin, "does it look like I'm carrying a Slipspace drive in my back pocket? No. No, what I've got to offer works more like this."
He put on his helmet, stepped back from the podium, and held his arms out, as though demonstrating he had nothing up his sleeves. "Pretend I'm the ship, where I'm standing is where we are now, and the back of the room is New Reach, where I'll be taking you." With a brief flash of light, Grif PINned out of sight, reappearing almost instantly next to the SPARTANs. He turned to face the audience, which had themselves turned in their chairs to see him, and asked, "See? Nice and simp---"
In his peripheral vision, Grif caught motion, and he looked to his side... where Douglas-042's armored fist was headed straight for the facebowl of his helmet. Too surprised to dodge, he at least had barely enough presence of mind to activate his new secondary shield generator, putting a semi-solid blue-white barrier in front of him for the fist to strike first. An instant later, it did, and while the shield did a good job of protecting him from taking any damage from the punch, the force of it was enough to knock Grif back to collide with the bulkhead, his primary shields strobing yellow as they, too, worked to save him from harm.
"Son of a bitch, dude. What the fuck?!"
"Sorry. You startled me, is all." Behind Douglas, Alice-130 and Red Team leader Jerome-092 both stood in poses which made it clear that they, too, had been startled by Grif's arrival, and he'd have gotten punched no matter which of them he'd been closest to. Douglas reached a hand down to help Grif up, which was gratefully accepted.
After a moment to shake his head a bit, Grif took his helmet back off and looked to the rest of the audience. "Anyway, yes! The ship will teleport from here to New Reach, just like that... Except that, as Douglas has helpfully demonstrated, I will call ahead and let them know before we do, so that we don't get 'punched in the face' by orbital MAC guns and the like."
Most of the audience were a bit thunderstruck by what had just happened, but Professor Anders was giving Grif another of those unnervingly incisive looks. "That didn't look like any examples of Forerunner teleporter technology I've ever seen. Just where did you get it, and how did you mean, 'gatekeeper?'"
He grinned, as wide as he could. "That's part of a much longer story, but let's say for the moment that it involves the word, 'multiverse.'"
For a moment, it seemed like she was going to bombard him with questions anyway, her eyes wide with curiosity, but the Captain's voice cut her off. "Tell your stories later, Grif. Right now, what I want to hear are operational details for how you're getting my people home."
"Ohhhh." Everyone looked at Serina, entirely unused to that tone of epiphany coming from her. "So that's why your transponder tag included the codename, 'The One Drafted Man.' I had assumed it meant that it only took one draft of beer to knock you out... but your explanation is probably more likely, as such things go."
Grif's expression, as he stared at the holopad for the next few seconds, was of a man who could not quite comprehend just what the hell had happened to him. When he finally recovered his powers of speech, he said, in a slow, still-uncertain tone, "Uh... Thanks, Serina. I... think."
"Oh, you're quite welcome." He squinted at her suspiciously, but she was once again the picture of helpful innocence. "Don't you have a briefing to give?"
After another few seconds of squinting, he closed his eyes, sighed a deep, long-suffering sigh, and turned back to the rest of the room. "Rrrrright. Captain, look, my name is Dexter Grif. I'm a Staff Sergeant in the UNSC Army's SPARTAN Corps, but I've also been seconded to ONI, Section One. They actually don't usually ask me to do very much, but I accepted this mission because of the ways each of our very long stories interconnect. Please, just call me 'Grif,' never mind any of that other stuff, and let me help you, because that's what I'm here to do, okay?"
Cutter gaze stared at Grif, eyes squinted with intensity, as he considered the matter. Something in Grif's tone and expression, weary and beseeching, seemed to help him make up his mind, as he nodded and said, "Proceed."
"Thank you." Grif looked back out into the audience again, trying to recapture the feeling he'd had before getting distracted. "From what little Serina told me, after your last known contact at Arcadia, you had an adventure at some sort of Forerunner-built world. You escaped, but without your Slipspace drive, so you pointed the ship back towards the inner colonies, flogged the regular engines to get as close to light speed as possible, and settled into cryo for a longer sleep than usual." He took a breath in, looking mildly uncomfortable. "Unfortunately, something happened in between, that threw you way off course. The war with the Covenant was still on, leaving no time for a search. You were first declared missing, then presumed lost. And, meanwhile, you continued to drift on.
"That was then. The facts, as they stand now: The year is 3349. Eight hundred years, folks. That's roughly how far out of time you are, and there's not really any way back. Since I'm sure you're wondering, given what was going on last you knew, the Covenant War continued on for years, after you disappeared, but we won, barely. You were recently found because a search had begun last year, for a different ship entirely. A ship which, like yours, is believed to have been traveling near light speed, without using Slipspace, and gone off-course, without anyone having thought to search for it. The search for that ship's still ongoing -- a lot of space this far out into deep space -- but I was asked to come help get you guys back to civilization."
The audience was, for the most part, a little stunned by the revelations Grif was providing. He could see that the SPARTANs were quietly gesturing among themselves, he suspected about synchronizing their the clocks in their armor with the ship's and comparing. Others simply looked at Serina, who just silently nodded. Grif cleared his throat, forestalling any further conversation and drawing their attention back to him.
"Now, given the earlier discussion, you're probably wondering why me, and that's reasonable. There are a few reasons. First is that, as strange as it may sound based on how long I said you were sleeping, I'm actually more or less a contemporary. I grew up during the Covenant War, and my being here in this time... well, see again about how my story is long, complex, and bizarre. I'm pretty much the only person they have who's familiar with the displacement you'll experience. The second is that the ship they're actually looking for is my sister's. The third and final reason is that I'm kind of the sole 'gatekeeper' for the technology I'll be using to get you home."
"What kind of technology are we talking about?" Professor Anders asked, her curiosity piqued. "Not Slipspace, presumably."
Grif snorted. "No, Slipspace still gets a lot of use, especially since they've included improvements from Covenant and Forerunner tech over the centuries. I've got no part of that, though, and I wouldn't wake all of you up just so you can go back into cryo. That'd just suck. Besides," he added with a grin, "does it look like I'm carrying a Slipspace drive in my back pocket? No. No, what I've got to offer works more like this."
He put on his helmet, stepped back from the podium, and held his arms out, as though demonstrating he had nothing up his sleeves. "Pretend I'm the ship, where I'm standing is where we are now, and the back of the room is New Reach, where I'll be taking you." With a brief flash of light, Grif PINned out of sight, reappearing almost instantly next to the SPARTANs. He turned to face the audience, which had themselves turned in their chairs to see him, and asked, "See? Nice and simp---"
In his peripheral vision, Grif caught motion, and he looked to his side... where Douglas-042's armored fist was headed straight for the facebowl of his helmet. Too surprised to dodge, he at least had barely enough presence of mind to activate his new secondary shield generator, putting a semi-solid blue-white barrier in front of him for the fist to strike first. An instant later, it did, and while the shield did a good job of protecting him from taking any damage from the punch, the force of it was enough to knock Grif back to collide with the bulkhead, his primary shields strobing yellow as they, too, worked to save him from harm.
"Son of a bitch, dude. What the fuck?!"
"Sorry. You startled me, is all." Behind Douglas, Alice-130 and Red Team leader Jerome-092 both stood in poses which made it clear that they, too, had been startled by Grif's arrival, and he'd have gotten punched no matter which of them he'd been closest to. Douglas reached a hand down to help Grif up, which was gratefully accepted.
After a moment to shake his head a bit, Grif took his helmet back off and looked to the rest of the audience. "Anyway, yes! The ship will teleport from here to New Reach, just like that... Except that, as Douglas has helpfully demonstrated, I will call ahead and let them know before we do, so that we don't get 'punched in the face' by orbital MAC guns and the like."
Most of the audience were a bit thunderstruck by what had just happened, but Professor Anders was giving Grif another of those unnervingly incisive looks. "That didn't look like any examples of Forerunner teleporter technology I've ever seen. Just where did you get it, and how did you mean, 'gatekeeper?'"
He grinned, as wide as he could. "That's part of a much longer story, but let's say for the moment that it involves the word, 'multiverse.'"
For a moment, it seemed like she was going to bombard him with questions anyway, her eyes wide with curiosity, but the Captain's voice cut her off. "Tell your stories later, Grif. Right now, what I want to hear are operational details for how you're getting my people home."