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Staggering from the back, Ashton felt himself partially taken from his feet as a medical officer supported his shoulder and led him, among many others, towards the oh-so-familiar medical bay. He knew he would have to go to the Debriefing Room very soon, but he hoped the CO's understood his need, as well as many others, to take a quick mental and physical break before they recounted all the horrors they witnessed. He could feel the adrenaline from the fight had left him entirely by now, and the only thing keeping him from slipping back into his Forerunner-induced coma was the cocktail of stims, drugs, and nutrients he had forced into his own veins during the return flight. But even so, he was damn tired, and not just from disobeying the call of the coma to slip away again.

"Get me ... on a sub-dialasis filter." He fumbled over his own thickening speech, willing himself to be understood past the wall of sleepiness that seemed to be forming between himself and reality. "I need to get all this s**t out of my veins. And, get me a goddam drink while you're at it." The orderly that was supporting him glanced over as the illegal order was spoken, but Dansmith gave a half-hearted wink, letting the man know it was a joke: at least, that's what it had ended up as. He could really go for a nice, debilitating and stupefying drink, as could the rest of Able who had been through hell and back.

Dansmith, if you can manage to stay awake long enough for me to borrow some of the ship's processors, and have a little chat with my better half --literally-- then I should be able to remotely remove up to 90 percent of my bulk from your brain, but only temporarily. If I feel myself start to "slip", I'm going to have to ease back into your oh-so-comfy noggin. Fragment-Angel explained, keeping the conversation between only herself, Ashton, and the original Angel.
Yeah, uh, whatever, do what you need to, Angel. Just, no more shocks, if you please. I'd like to pass out once you're "out", if you don't mind.
He coud feel more endorphines released, but not into his own self: it was almost as if Fragment-Angel was laughing, but he didn't know. He just assumed it was himself, rewarding him after a short but sharp sojourn through the Hell Shell.

Staggering over to a gourney to sit down, he reached back to scratch his head... felt something wet.... he pulled his hand back into view, only to see it was covered in fresh blood. Oh, Dammit!! The A.I. port, it's opening at the sutures! he thought with a small panic. He knew it was really nothing a patch of ostioclasting {{"bone-building"}} gel couldn't fix, and maybe a fresh stem-cell patch, but even so, he wasn't so worried for himself as he was for the intricate and delicate connections he had with Angel, most of which no doubt resided in the neuro-chip implant site, located just below the rear occipital lobe of his brain, at the base of his spinal cord.

Keeping himself calm, he quickly but urgently thought to Angel, My Neuro-implant port is bleeding, I'm going to get myself checked out. Let me know if you start to feel any different, alright?
Very well, Dansmith. Lets just hope we don't have to play "pick-up-sticks" with your neurons, though. Brain surgery is not my speciality, as you well know.
Sighing at the ever-unsettling comment, he scurried for the neuro-surgery section of the Medical Bay, equipted with specialized, automated Med-Bed's. They consisted of a gourney (complete with straps and all), the held three robotic arms (accurate to half a micron, perfect for surgery directly on cells, not just cell groups). They were monitored by private "dumb" A.I.'s. In fact, these AI's were anything but dumb, but they were not fully intelligent in the way a "Smart" AI like Angel was: they only held specialtise in specific areas, such as education, battle tactics, or in this case, neuro-surgery.

He layed himself in the bed, and motioned for a suprised doctor to strap him in. "Uh, what's the occasion, marine?" He worriedly looked over Dansmith, noted the blood, and immediately inserted a coagulant-pack into Ashton's intravenus feed. The bloodflow slowed within ten seconds, down to just the occasional drip, drip, drip.
As the bed rotated him around his Z axis, so that now he faced the floor instead of the cieling, he explained quickly to the doctor:
"Neuro-chip port's bleeding, and I'm carrying, uh, unique cargo. Gotta patch it up fast-like, ya know?" By now the Med-Bed had him securely straped in, had a brace "under" his forehead, and was administering local anticeptic and numbing medications. Per his request, a small video screen was presented to his field of vision, so that he could watch the operation from the robotic arm's point of view as it was undertaken.

The first thing he noticed was that the port had melted a bit, sealing the chip into its socket. The vessels which had immediately scabbed over this wound had, by now, reopened, and were presenting a fresh flow of blood to the ouside, and was what had caused him to be in alarm. Aside from the obvious problem of the melting metal around his skull, he noticed that some of his veins in the local area (freshly shaven, thanks to the Med-Bed) were scarred and calloused over, and had long-ago died. Problem was, dead veins didn't glow a faint blue, which his were. As the robotic arm prodded the area to test if the pain was gone from it yet, a horrible yelp from Dansmith--"GHAA!! WHOOO-HOOO!!"-- was clear enough indication that it was not, indeed, numb yet. The robotic arm administered 3x the normal doseage of numbing medications, and started again.

This time, the tissue was good and senseless, and the laser-scalpel had no trouble skinning the area around the Neuro-Chip implant site, and the now-dead tissue was carried away by the arms. Ashton now saw, on his tiny view screen, that the "blue" veins were actually filled with trace amounts of A.I. liquid-crystal processing material. In essence, he had a miniature AI's brain floating around his implant site, at the very least. The processing material, the liquid-crystal, was like the AI's CPU. It provided room for the AI to think with. The chip, or in most cases, U.N.S.C. space-faring ship, provided the AI a place of residence. That was like the RAM.
Problem was, human brains weren't designed to be AI CPU's. At least, human brains weren't. He didn't know about Forerunner brains, which would seem to be the next likely explanation.

-------------

Half an hour later, the much-confused Med-Bed (which had seen nothing like this in its catalogues of data, and had wanted him dissected and sent to NavSpecWar) patched him up with extra-durrable Stem-Cells and a fresh Neuro-Chip anchoring plate, although the actual Neuro-Chip had proven to be the real problem: the damn thing wouldn't come out. It was fused into his brain, through whatever force (perhaps the Liquid-Crystal processing material was a better bonding adhesive than previously thought). In effect, Angel was stuck on him.
Might as well move in and get comfy, Angel. Looks like you're stuck here.
I know, I observed the whole operation, and passed all the relevant files to Commander Hammer, Captain Lee, and to a secure database onboard the Monterey. You should have heard what my other self thought of it.
I'd rather not know, actually. "She" probably has her own theories as to what should be done with my now-intrigueing brain. I, for one, opt for it to stay inside my head.

Dansmith walked, fully healed and sealed, out of the Neurosurgery section, and into the mess-hall. As far as anyone aside from the CO's needed to know, he was just a normal guy, getting his daily slop from the cook.

Ashton grabbed a tray and stepped in the not-so-populated line. A lot of good men and women had died, and their places, even here, crowding the mess hall, would be sorely missed. Dansmith was just glad he had been able to do his part and save the ones he had. It was just that many more people who didn't need funeral detail to collect their tags.

Accepting the fresh squeeze of protein-and-calcium jelly (raspberry flavored, though it tasted more like phlem), Ashton moved over to the main attraction: the steak vendor. This little piece of Golden Heaven produced perfectly sized, if artificial, beef tip steaks. It had to be the one piece of food the U.N.S.C.D.F. got right, and he was damn thankful for it. He just didn't know how he would function without his beef-tips and gravey. Too bad the whole thing was a bit tarnished by the powderey crap they tried to pass off as potatoes. A supplement drink, flavorless, filled out the meal's nutrition requirements, though it left much to be desired in the way of variety. On whole, the mess hall was able to serve 3,500 different combinations of dishes. Too bad all but 5 of them tasted the same.

Striding over to a table with a collapsed marine on it, Dansmith took a seat at the far corner of the table, not wanting to disturb the fatigued marine, who was probably catching the only sleep he would get for days now (unless cryo-sleep was counted, but that hardly made one feel restful). It took Dansmith a few bites into his meal to really scrutinize his silent, if snoring, companion at the table.

"...Warren...?!" He looked at the marine, sure of it now, but still decided it best if he let the man sleep. Its what he planned to do, himself, once he was done filling his stomach.

Picking at a bite of his steak, Ashton regarded the Master Sergeant.
"Better than you, it looks like. Well, aside from the fact that I got an A.I. burned into my brain, you know, pretty good other than that. I suggest you try the steak, good s**t."

Ashton prodded his fork, steak-and-gravy-laden, at Warren's face, then stuffed it into his own mouth. He chewed and swallowed, sighed, and leaned back in his booth a bit.
"God, feels like the first solid meal I've had in days. Probably is. A good meal takes a lot off the mind, you know? And, Lord knows I have enough on my mind for two people!" Ashton laughed at his own joke, though he was fairly confident the Master Sergeant could care less about his jokes right now.
Ha ha ha, Lance Corporal. I'll shut off your hunger drive, you know. Make you feel like you've already eaten a cow. Too bad you'll know better than that, and will be wishing you would eat more of your glorious steak. Just keep that in mind while I run a few diagnostics around the ship, alright?
Man, you're no fun at all, Angel. Just trying to ease the tension...
More caringly this time, I know, Ashton. Me too.

"Well," Ashton put down his fork and studied the cieling lights, sterile white. "It turns out a lot happens when Shaw-Fujikawa fields -- raw slipspace, I mean-- combines with Forerunner technology and a Human AI."

"Sir I'm fin-" He was saying, but was cut off by the CO's question.
"Sir? You mean he wasn't on board the ship when we left? Impossible if you dont mind my saying sir."

Karr pinged the Captain's COM but nothing came up.
"Um, sir, I cant ping his COM. Lieutenant... did we LEAVE him back there?"
He continued with his past sentance. "And Lieutenant, trust me, I came through without a scratch. Now, shall I assemble a squad?"

In a secure locker room, far from the prying eyes of the UNSC Monterey's crew.

Mark cringed as he removed the chest plate of his standard-issue SPI armor, the bruises on his ribcage testament to the hard fall he had taken right before getting on the IIC that had taken them off the Dyson Sphere. It was unusual for a Spartan-III not to see something getting near them, but when it did happen it usually left more than just bruises. This time, what was even scarier was that two objects had been able to get near him during what they referred to as "Spartan Time", and one of them had been none other than a marine.

Absent-mindedly drawing shapes in the air with his combat knife, Mark recalled the events that led to his bruising....
A marine moving so fast Mark had barely had time to react to his tackle, balling up to avoid falling damage while the marine was propelled forwards by an explosion. Pieces of shrapnel had flown everywhere as Mark quickly regained his composure, just in time to see the marine's surprised facial expression as the man's body flew right above the spartan's head, followed by scraps of glowing metal and globs of molten alloy. Mark had lost sight of his benefactor for a few moments as the man's trajectory brought him out of the spartan's line of vision, but as he rose he heard on his enhanced-sound speakers what had to be metal piercing through flesh.
The instilled lack of outwards emotion in all spartans was strong, but Mark wasn't about to leave the man behind. He had walked forwards, dodging sentinel beams and shrapnel, and come face to face with the man that had probably saved his life. The sight that lay before him, though, was pretty hard to take.
The marine was lying in a small pool of his own blood, head and back against a large crate as his slacking form was illuminated by a nearby fire. A shaft of glistening reddened metal was sticking up through the man's stomach area, obviously puncturing vital organs and causing much hemorrhage. Not to mention pinning the man to the ground like a fly.
Picking up a nearby dead medic's pack, he quickly tore open the fabric to find inside the heavy-duty cutter used to both perform field amputations and removal of tricky objects.

There was no questioning the shaft through the man's stomach was a tricky object.

It had taken Mark not more than two seconds to cut off the base of the shaft, after which sealing the two wounds with biofoam took another three. Only phenomenal luck had kept Mark from being spotted during that time frame, and as he wrapped the man in insulating blankets and carried him back to the IIC he mentally noted the marine's name and rank.
LEE XIANG HAO
CAPTAIN

.... Back on the Monterey, Lee was unconscious, his body suspended in intensive care. His comm pinged twice, but he didn't answer. Where he was, he couldn't answer anything.

Seth thought on Karr's question. He knew that if Lee was stranded... They simply couldn't go back for him.

It would be too risky and too costly. But if Lee was stranded...they owed him more than a rescue.

"Karr-" Seth began and was cut off when he got a ping from a secondary channel, it was a female voice, "Lieutenant Adams, I'm to inform you that we have Captain Lee in the medical bay. He's unconscious, but stable for now." Seth didn't respond, and the medical staff paused a moment then finished, "Med bay out."

Seth looked at Karr, his expression was a bit blank, "We can belay any rescue mission...The Captain's accounted for." Seth voice was tired and a bit stressed.
He tried to move his arm up to wipe his brow, but didn't get anywhere.

The nerves in his shoulder must have been completely destroyed.
"I'm going to head down there myself Karr, I'll see you in the debriefing in three days. Gets some rest."

Seth waited a moment, taking in a silent breath and then left, heading to the medical bay to get his shoulder treated. All the while the metal "clinks" of the dogtags hounded him each step of the way.