Shadows of Reach: A Master Chief Story

by Troy Denning

  “Their tunnel?” Castor asked. “A tunnel they finished digging less than a day after landing hundreds of kilometers away?”

  “That would be some very fast digging indeed,” ‘Gadogai said. “What length is this tunnel?”

  “The canal runs more than five kilometers from base to river,” Deukalion said. “We think the tunnel ran beneath it the entire length.”

  “Ran?” Ballas had returned to his place in the diamond and was now standing opposite Castor. “Has it slithered away?”

  “The enemy trapped it with explosives,” Deukalion said. “Our trackers kept getting killed. And then the demons finally demolished the rest of the tunnel.”

  “And now you have no idea where the Spartans are—and no way to follow them.” Castor could not quite keep the aggravation out of his voice—because he had no idea where they had gone either. It was as if they had simply vanished during the battle, excavation equipment and all. “Tell me I am wrong.”

  “I know where they are not.” Deukalion’s tone was growing sharp again. “They are not attacking my bases.”

  “They are not attacking any bases,” Castor said. “Because they’re on the way to destroy the portal, you muttle—”

  “Dokab, I share your alarm,” Ballas said, wisely interrupting before Castor could finish the insult. The last thing the parley needed was another confrontation. “But not your certainty. If the demons are here to destroy the portal, why did they attack Kisköre Base?”

  “As a diversion,” ‘Gadogai said. “That is why I would have done it—so I could vanish.”

  “Of course you take the dokab’s side,” Deukalion said. “You are practically his second.”

  “I am taking the side of reason, Chieftain,” ‘Gadogai said. “There is no possibility that four Spartans and a human crew could dig a five-kilometer tunnel within an hour or two—not with the two small machines they had.”

  “They escaped into a tunnel,” Deukalion said. “I saw the hole they used with my own eyes.”

  “But how do you know the tunnel was not already there?” ‘Gadogai asked. “Or that they did not have help?”

  “You are thinking of the glass-breakers,” Ballas suggested, using the mocking Banished nickname for the human settlers futilely attempting to reclaim the planet. “Perhaps the Spartans are here to help them.”

  Castor shook his head. “No. If they were here to help the glass-breakers, there would be more than four.” He tried to keep his growing anger out of his voice; he would never intimidate Ballas and Deukalion into helping him find the Spartans. “There would be a hundred.”

  “How do you know they are not here already?” Deukalion’s tone was agitated once more. “There could be three demons under every Banished base on this forsaken world, and we would never know it.”

  “And it still would not matter,” Castor said. “We came to find the portal. It is time that you two ceased your petty skirmishing over farmland and helped me.”

  Ballas cocked his head. “I thought you already knew where the portal is.”

  “He knows it lies in the Highland Mountains,” ‘Gadogai said quickly. “And that the Spartans are on their way to destroy it.”

  “Maybe he does,” Deukalion said. “Or maybe Ballas is right, and the demons are only here to help the glass-breakers defend their pitiful settlements.”

  “That is not a chance we can afford to take,” Castor said. “If we lose a few bases, we can take them back later. But if we lose the portal… we lose everything.”

  “Including your heads,” ‘Gadogai added. “Escharum would be very unhappy, were the portal destroyed.”

  Ballas studied the blademaster, and Castor began to think ‘Gadogai’s direct threat might tip the balance in his favor.

  Then Ballas said, “But there are thousands of separate mountains in the Highlands. Maybe tens of thousands.”

  “So you can see why we must find the Spartans,” ‘Gadogai said. “If we cannot follow them to the portal, we must kill them before they reach the mountains.”

  “We need to send everything we have,” Castor said. “Right now.”

  Castor did not think that Deukalion’s resentment would matter. Ballas was the key, and given his fear of Escharum’s wrath, Castor was convinced Ballas would support him. Then Deukalion would be forced to go along, or stand as one against two until his clan finally grew so weak that the survivors joined the Ravaged Tusks.

  But Deukalion’s resistance was only increasing. “That is all you think of—the portal. And what happens if we open the portal, but cannot hold Reach?”

  This thought had never occurred to Castor. The only concern was opening the portal so he could take his Keepers to the Ark and, if at all possible, begin the search for the blessed site that could activate the Sacred Rings. That was all that mattered to him. It had not even crossed his mind that once Atriox activated the portal, the Banished would need to hold it. Reach was a dead world with a handful of poorly equipped human settlers. He had simply assumed that the Banished would hold it.

  But the presence of the Spartans changed everything.

  “Yes, it leaves me speechless too,” Ballas said after a moment. “Deukalion is actually right.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” Ballas said. “It would be worse to open the portal, then lose it to the demons, than to see them destroy it in the first place. The last thing we need is an army of Spartans portal-jumping into battle behind Atriox’s back.”

  “It is only four demons,” Castor said. “Not an ‘army.’ ”

  “Even one demon is too many,” Ballas said. “You know very well of this. And you have seen only four—but who knows how many dropships you failed to intercept? There could be scores here right now, and we would be unaware of it. You cannot even locate the four you were tracking!”

  “It matters not how many Spartans there are,” Castor said. “To open the portal, they would need a shard of the Holy Light, and Atriox has all three shards with him on the Ark.”

  “All three known shards,” Ballas replied. “Who is to say there are not four shards? Or ten? The humans could have found their own—or even had them all along. The only thing we know for certain is that the slipspace crystal was destroyed during the battle, and Tartarus recovered only three pieces of it afterward.”

  Castor had to admit that this had not occurred to him either, perhaps because he knew so little about the circumstances surrounding the Holy Light’s theft and destruction. And, as valid as Ballas’s argument might be, the Ravaged Tusks chieftain was hardly in a position to know more—he had not even been in the Covenant when the crystal was lost.

  Castor turned to ‘Gadogai. “Is this possible?”

  ‘Gadogai spread his hands. “Anything is possible,” he said. “I know only what I saw in the Sanctum of the Hierarchs. Who can say what happened before?”

  Before Castor could reply, Ballas said, “The Ravaged Tusks’ first priority is to secure our bases. Once we know the Spartan threat is neutralized, I will give you all the warriors you need to search the Highland Mountains.”

  “By then it will be too late,” Castor replied. “The portal will be captured or destroyed.”

  “Not if you find the demons quickly,” Deukalion said. “The Legion of the Corpse-Moon will join the Keepers in killing all the Spartans you can find. And once the enemy has been eliminated, we also will join you and the Ravaged Tusks in locating the portal.”

  Castor found his empty hands balling into fists and cursed the absence of his gravity hammer. He began to wonder if that had been the real reason ‘Gadogai had encouraged him to leave it behind, because the blademaster had known all along that the parley would end badly.

  “Escharum will take note of your devotion,” Castor said. He doubted that either Deukalion or Ballas would be moved by the veiled threat, but his anger demanded some expression. “Will you at least allow us free movement near Kisköre Base? If we are to have any hope of finding the Spartans before
they reach the portal, we must begin at the point where you lost them.”

  Deukalion’s lips pulled back. “Had you warned us of their approach, the demons would already be dead. But I have no wish to interfere with your search. You may send ten Kig-Yar to track them across any of my territories.”

  “Ten Kig-Yar is nothing,” Castor said. “The demons will slaughter them all without hesitation.”

  “Then you should remain in constant communication with them,” Ballas said. “When the Kig-Yar fall silent, you will know where to find the demons.”

  “If you fail to find the Spartans the first time your Kig-Yar fall, you can send out another ten,” Deukalion said. “I have no wish to be difficult.”

  “And yet, I will be forced to tell Escharum you have been most difficult,” ‘Gadogai said. “Both of you. Ten Kig-Yar is a farce.”

  Deukalion’s eyes bulged, but before he could object, Ballas gestured for patience. “Let us hear the number the blademaster would find more reasonable, my brother.”

  “Ah. So now our two warring chieftains are brothers?” ‘Gadogai tipped his head in Castor’s direction. “Well done, Dokab. Escharum shall hear of your peacemaking talents.”

  “It was never a war—more of a disagreement,” Ballas said. “What number, Blademaster?”

  “They are not my Keepers,” ‘Gadogai said. “How many then, Dokab?”

  “It will take more than warriors alone,” Castor said. “They will need support.”

  “How much support?” Deukalion demanded. “I have no more trust for your Keeper zealots than I do for the Spartans.”

  “A hundred warriors of my choosing,” Castor said. “And support in the form of…”

  He started to calculate how many talons of Seraphs and Banshees he would need in the air, and the number of Prowlers and Choppers required on the surface, and the kind of equipment necessary to track the Spartans under the glass—and Castor realized the chieftains would never agree. They would interpret his requirements as a mere ruse to get his forces near enough to seize bases from them that he did not need or want.

  And then Castor had an inspiration.

  He did not need any troops to follow the Spartans across the basin. Deukalion and Ballas were the ones with bases to protect, and they would take every precaution to defend them. To find the Spartans, all Castor need do was monitor the patrols that his counterparts sent out. He would know the demons had been found when Ravaged Tusks and Legion of the Corpse-Moon warriors started to die in droves.

  Deukalion dragged him away from such thoughts. “In what form? Know that I will allow you one talon of Banshees and—”

  “That will no longer be required,” Castor said. “In fact, do not concern yourself. I have a new plan, one that does not need any support at all.”

  “Oh no?” ‘Gadogai asked. “Are you certain?”

  “I am,” Castor said. “Because the Keepers will not be sending any warriors to hunt for the Spartans.”

  “I don’t see how that would be wise,” the Sangheili remarked.

  “I do,” Castor said. “That is all that matters.”

  ‘Gadogai’s voice grew firm. “It matters that Escharum sees the wisdom too. Explain.”

  Castor thought about defying the blademaster as Deukalion and Ballas had been doing almost since the day they’d arrived, but ‘Gadogai was Escharum’s eyes and voice here on Reach, and the Keepers would still need Banished support even after they found the portal. Besides, ‘Gadogai had treated Castor and the Keepers with nothing but honor, and he would not disgrace himself by behaving any less decently.

  “If I am wrong,” Castor began, “and the Spartans are here to help the reclamation settlers, we will know soon enough.”

  “When they attack the next base, you mean,” ‘Gadogai said.

  “Exactly. It is a waste of the Keepers’ time to follow them.”

  “That is fine for you to say,” Deukalion said. “They are not your bases that will be destroyed.”

  “That is the dokab’s point,” Ballas said. He looked to ‘Gadogai. “But you can see how bad it would be for all of us, were Reach to fall. We must defend the planet to defend the portal.”

  “The portal we have not yet found?” ‘Gadogai asked. “The portal that you have given up searching for?”

  “I have not given up,” Ballas said. “I have a hundred warriors scouting Szurdok Ridge right now.”

  “How impressive,” ‘Gadogai said. He looked back to Castor. “And if you are right? If the Spartans are here to destroy the portal?”

  “Or claim it,” Deukalion added. “As is more likely.”

  “If you say so,” ‘Gadogai said. “Dokab? What if the Spartans are here for such a purpose?”

  “They have been traveling west across the Arany Basin toward the Highland Mountains,” Castor said. “All the Keepers need do is be there when they arrive.”

  “True enough,” ‘Gadogai said. “But the Highland Mountains is a large range, many hundreds of kilometers long. How can you be certain you’ll see them when they arrive?”

  “That will not be a problem.”

  Castor wasn’t foolish enough to reveal that he would be using his Seraphs and Banshees to follow the trail of dead Ravaged Tusk and Legion of the Corpse-Moon warriors the Spartans left in their wake as they crossed the basin. The last thing he wanted was for Deukalion and Ballas to grow cautious and hold their patrols close to home.

  “The Keepers will continue searching for the portal in the mountains,” Castor continued. “But I have no expectations of finding it before the Spartans arrive. We will have our best rangers hiding in the foothills, watching for them along the entire range. By the time the demons leave the glass barrens, we will have a good idea of where they might be going.”

  “And if not?” ‘Gadogai asked.

  “Then we kill them anyway,” Castor said. “One should never take chances with Spartans.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  1923 hours, October 8, 2559 (military calendar)

  Infirmary, Logistics Base Gödöllő, Bük Burn Cavity

  Arany Basin, Continent Eposz, Planet Reach

  The doctor held the necrometer so John could see the status bar, which was hovering inside the yellow area. Apparently John had not reached all of the dead tissue when he squeezed the debriding agent onto his wound through the burn-hole in his armor’s damaged cuisse.

  He was standing in a subterranean medical bay, being examined by a middle-aged militia member who had introduced herself as Dr. Somogy. The room was lit by the diffuse silver glow coming down through its lechatelierite ceiling, and three of the walls were made of ash-infused glass blocks. The fourth was a canvas privacy curtain, drawn across a three-meter opening. Although the glass-block examination table behind him might actually have supported his weight, John had not wanted to test its strength and had chosen to remain standing for the entire procedure.

  “Are you experiencing any nausea or chills?”

  Dr. Somogy did not look up as she asked the question. Seated on a folding chair in front of his left thigh, she was small and a little younger than John, with strands of flaxen hair hanging loose from an unruly bun. She had glass-gray eyes framed by deep laugh lines, and a broad mouth with upturned corners. A holographic locket around her neck displayed the images of two preteen boys who had her gray eyes and thin nose. The locket made John wonder. Reach had been glassed just seven years earlier, and now it had been invaded by the Banished. He wanted to ask whether the boys were still alive, but the question kept sticking in his throat.

  Forty-seven years old, and he still didn’t know how to ask a personal question.

  “Master Chief?”

  “Sorry, ma’am.” He smiled—not that she could see it through his mirrored faceplate. “Negative on the nausea and chills.”

  “How about headache or heart palpitations?”

  “Negative on the headache.” John checked his bio readouts on his HUD. “Negative on the palpitations.”


  “Your temperature is normal, and I don’t see any signs of cognitive impairment.” She stood. Instead of a lab coat with a proper name tape, Dr. Somogy wore a white chef’s apron over a tunic and canvas pants. John only knew she was a doctor rather than a medic because of how she had introduced herself. “So I don’t think you’re suffering any sepsis yet. Remove the damaged plate, reapply the debriding agent—thoroughly this time—and you’ll recover.”

  “Will do, as soon as we return to—” John caught himself about to say the Infinity, and wondered if she was totally correct about the cognitive impairment. “Our vessel.”

  Somogy frowned. “Now would be better. Sepsis can set in quickly with plasma burns, and our antibiotics don’t always work on alien—”

  “I understand, ma’am. I’ve taken plasma hits before.”

  “And you’re still on active duty?” She shook her head, then slipped the necrometer into an apron pocket. “How bad is the wound beneath?”

  “Better,” John said. “I can run on it without much pain.”

  “From what I heard, you were running on it while molten armor was still dripping down your leg.”

  “Affirmative. But it hurt.”

  “You should let me do an NPI,” Somogy said, referring to a nanoparticle image, used in combat hospitals to examine soft tissue damage. “We should confirm that all your muscles are still properly attached.”

  “Can you do it through five centimeters of titanium alloy?”

  “Uh… no.”

  “Then that’s a negative. Mjolnir armor isn’t designed to be removed casually.”

  “Treating an injury is hardly casual.”

  “Still not going to happen,” John said. “How about a medical readout?”

  Somogy rolled her eyes. “Sure. I’ll take what I can get.”

  John had his onboard computer isolate the data relevant to his wound, then transfer it to the palm-sized medical pad inside her apron pocket. When the device chimed, she lifted her brow and pulled it out.