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2. HOLD ON
John doesn’t think actively about it, but he knows he’s got a problem with flying.
Flying is not the same as driving and it’s also very distinct from piloting.
Flying is when he’s packed on the back of a Pelican, usually with the cargo bay door open and overlooking at several miles of fall, contemplating the force of gravity that will suck him down planet-side and inevitably turn him into Master Chief toothpaste.
Driving is on land. Land is fine.
Piloting is when he’s in the cockpit, and that’s mostly in space. In space there’s many more dangers, true, but it’s less likely that you will get sucked down by gravity to your undeniable, painful demise.
Yes, he is aware that his armor would help him resist the fall, that he is most likely to make it out alive and not turned into toothpaste. Tested and proved too. He just can’t shake the feeling.
Now, on top of flying in the cargo bay of a crowded Pelican with the door open, add the vastness of the open ocean beneath the wings.
Not just falling and plummeting down, but also sinking and drowning.
The flimsy lever he was holding on to creaked and bent under his inhumanly strong grip.
His boots were locked, and still…
And still, she noticed.
“Relax, Chief. I can hear your teeth grinding from the cockpit.”
Cortana’s mischievous voice in his ears almost startled him. John didn’t reply.
Her tone softened. “I’m sorry there’s no place for you to strap on.”
“I’m fine.” he said, a little tense.
“Hm.” she pondered, with irony. “Looks like the rest of you didn’t get the memo. Your body temperature, blood pressure, brainwave readings and adrenaline meter are almost on the opposite of fine. Want to try again?”
His right eyebrow twitched.
“It’s just a few minutes.” John deflected again.
Cortana remained silent for an exceedingly long time, considering how persistent she could be when her shark-like senses picked up on something. The Master Chief turned his head to affix his eyes somewhere far away near the cockpit door, keeping the open maw to his left out of his peripheral vision. Useless. He was still overly aware of the whine of the engines and the howling wind. It only had been a moment…
“Ah. I know what you need. Hold on.”
She was quiet again, for about two seconds.
John noticed her small avatar show up on the upper right corner of his display -not her usual spot- and some text dead center, right before his eyes:
CELLO SUITE Nº 1 IN G MAJOR - PRELUDE
JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH
Then, came the sound. Profound, celestial. A soundwave flickered under the text.
His mind filled with an elegant array of deep strings, rich and powerful. Slow, pleasing. The performer was skilled and respectful of the craft. The melody was somewhat sad, melancholic, but it got lively after the seven-minute mark. John took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment or two, just paying attention to the soothing music and how it varied in pitch and tempo. His senses zeroed in easily, Cortana had muted the radio chatter leaving him with his breath, the music and his thoughts.
Next time he opened his eyes, the Master Chief observed that her digital lips were curled in a soft smile. Cortana had chosen that new spot of his HUD on purpose. If he was looking at her, he was distracted from the blurry surface of the water several miles below. She tilted her head to one side and the other, waved her hand in the air slowly, keeping up with the highs and lows of the melody. She looked like she was directing.
John let his shoulders relax and sag a little.
Hand clasped tight to the bent lever, the Spartan allowed himself to close his eyes again and revel in the sensations. Something primitive inside of him imagined the ghostly brush of fingers on his scalp, running through his hair.
He didn’t realize he couldn’t hear the whining engines until much later.
The flight ended before the full piece did, Cortana lowered the volume to bring him back.
“Touchdown, Chief. Let’s get this people somewhere safe.”
He sprang back to action immediately, letting go of the flimsy lever.
John observed the LZ with wary eyes and moved down the ramp, falling back to a defensive stance along with the rest of his team, securing the location for the civilians to exit safely. The group of dirty refugees came out in droves, dragging the few personal possessions they had managed to gather. It didn’t take much longer for the backup platoon to show up with the trucks and medical personnel, to get the situation off their hands.
As he oversaw the unloading of supplies and the deployment of tents, Cortana showed up on her usual spot, still smiling.
“So, how was it? Is Bach down your alley?”
Being able to read everything about him like an open book, she didn’t have to ask.
But John appreciated that she did.
“Not bad.”
“You’re welcome.” Cortana quipped, smug.
“Next time, I pick the music.”
“My taste doesn’t please you?”
“I could make a few suggestions.”
Her blue avatar scoffed, still smiling, and turned her head to the side. Cortana’s defiant eyes were shining with the thrill of the intellectual challenge.
“Sure thing, Chief. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
END