by Eric Nylund
Cortana framed her fingers around the man’s face. “He’s so serious,” she murmured. “Thoughtful eyes, though. Attractive in a primitive animal sort of way, don’t you think, Doctor?”
Dr. Halsey blushed. Apparently, shedid think so. Cortana’s thoughts mirrored many of her own, only unchecked by normal military and social protocol.
“Perhaps it would be best if you picked another—”
Cortana turned to face Dr. Halsey and cocked an eyebrow, mock stern. “Youasked me which one I wanted. . . .”
“It was a question, Cortana. I did not give you carte blanche to select your ‘carrier.’ There are compatibility issues to consider.”
Cortana blinked. “His neural patterns are in sync with my mine within two percent. With the new interface we’ll be installing, that should fall well within tolerable limits. In fact—” Her gaze drifted and the symbols along her body brightened and flashed. “—I have just developed a custom interface buffer that will match us within zero point zero eight one percent. You won’t find a better match among the others.
“In fact,” she added coyly, “I can guarantee it.”
“I see,” Dr. Halsey said. She pushed away from her desk, stood, and paced.
Why was she hesitating? The matchwas superb. But was Cortana’s predilection for Spartan 117 a result of him being Dr. Halsey’s favorite? And did it matter? Who better to protect him?
Dr. Halsey walked over to the picture. “He was awarded this Legion of Honor medallion because he dove into a bunker of Covenant soldiers. He took out twenty by himself and saved a platoon of Marines
who were pinned down by a stationary energy weapon emplacement. I’ve read the report, but I’m still not sure how he managed to do it.” She turned to Cortana and stared into her odd translucent eyes. “You’ve read his CSV?”
“I’m reading it again right now.” “Then you know he is neither the smartest nor the fastest nor the strongest of the Spartans. But he is the bravest—and quite possibly the luckiest. And in my opinion, he is the best.”
“Yes,” Cortana whispered. “I concur with your analysis, Doctor.” She drifted closer.
“Could you sacrifice him if you had to? If it meant completing the mission?” Dr. Halsey asked quietly. “Could you watch him die?” Cortana halted and the processing symbols racing across her skin froze midcalculation. “My priority Alpha order is to complete this mission,” she replied emotionlessly. “The Spartans’ safety
as well as mine is a Beta-level priority command.” “Good.” Dr. Halsey returned to her desk and sat down. “Then you can have him.” Cortana smiled and blazed with brilliant electricity. “Now,” Dr. Halsey said, and tapped on her desk to regain Cortana’s attention. “Show me your pick of
our ship candidates for the mission.” Cortana opened her hand. In her palm there was a tiny model of a Halcyon-class UNSC cruiser. “ThePillar of Autumn,” Cortana said. Dr. Halsey leaned back and crossed her arms. Modern USNC cruisers were rare in the fleet. Only a
handful of the impressive warships remained . . . and those were being pulled back to bolster the defense
of the Inner Colonies. This junk-heap, however, was not one of these ships. “ThePillar of Autumn is forty-three years old,” Cortana said. “Halcyon-class ships were the smallest vessel ever to receive the cruiser designation. It is approximately one-third the tonnage of the Marathon- class cruiser currently in service.
“Halcyon-class ships were pulled from long-term storage—they were designated to be scrapped, in fact. TheAutumn was refit in 2550, to serve in the current conflict near Zeta Doradus. Their Mark Two fusion engines supply a tenth of the power of modern reactors. Their armor is light by current standards. Weapon refits have upgraded their offensive capabilities with a single Magnetic Acceleration Cannon and six Archer missile pods.
“The only noteworthy design feature of this ship is the frame.” Cortana reached down and pulled off the skin of the holographic model as if it were a glove. “The structural system was designed by a Dr. Robert McLees—cofounder of the Reyes-McLees Shipyards over Mars—in 2510. It was, at the time, deemed unnecessarily overmassed and costly due to series of cross-bracings and interstitial honeycombs. The design was subsequently dropped from all further production models. Halcyon-class ships, however, have a reputation for being virtually indestructible. Reports indicate these ships being operational even after sustaining breaches to all compartments and losing ninety percent of their armor.”
“Their duty record?” Dr. Halsey asked.
“Substandard,” Cortana replied. “They are slow and ineffective in offensive combat. They are somewhat of a joke within the fleet.”
“Perfect,” Dr. Halsey said. “I concur with your final selection recommendation. We will start the refit operations at once.”
“All we need now,” Cortana said, “is a Captain and crew.”
“Ah yes, the Captain.” Dr. Halsey slid on her glasses. “I have the perfect man for the job. He’s a tactical genius. I’ll forward you his CSV, and you can see for yourself.” She transferred the file to Cortana.
Cortana smiled, but it quickly faded. “His maneuvers at Sigma Octanus Four were performed without an onboard AI?”
“His ship left dock without an AI for technical reasons. I believe he has no compunctions about working with computers. In fact, it was one of the first refit requests he put in for theIroquois .”
Cortana did not look convinced.
“Besides, he has the most important qualification for this job,” Dr. Halsey said. “The man can keep a secret.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
0800 Hours, August 27, 2552 (Military Calendar) / Epsilon Eridani System, FLEETCOM Military Complex, planet Reach
This was the third time John had been in this highly secure briefing room on Reach. The amphitheater had an aura of secrecy, as if matters of grave importance had regularly been discussed within its circular wall. Certainly, every time he had been here, his life had changed.
His first time was his indoctrination into the Spartans—a lifetime ago. He recalled with a start how young Dr. Halsey had looked then. The second time was when he graduated from the Spartan program, when he had last seen Chief Mendez. He had sat on the bench next to him—where the Chief was sitting now.
And today? He had a feeling that everything was about to change all over again.
Clustered around him were two dozen Spartans: Fred, Linda, Joshua, James, and many others he had not spoken to for years; constant battle had kept the tight-knit Spartans light-years apart for more than a decade. Dr. Halsey and Captain Keyes entered the chamber.
The Spartans stood at attention and saluted. Keyes returned their salute. “At ease,” he said. He escorted Dr. Halsey to the center stage. He sat while she stood at the podium.
“Good evening, Spartans,” she said. “Please take your seats.”
As one, they sat down.
“Assembled here tonight,” she said, “are all surviving Spartans save three, who are otherwise engaged on fields of combat too distant to be easily recalled. In the last decade of combat there have only been three KIAs and one Spartan too wounded to continue active duty. You are to be commended for having the best operational record of any unit in the fleet.” She paused to look at them. “It is very good to see you all again.”
She slipped on her glasses. “Admiral Stanforth has asked me to brief you on the upcoming mission. Due to its complexity and unusual nature, please disregard your normal protocol and ask any questions you have during my presentation. Now, on to the business at hand: the Covenant.”
Holographic projectors overhead warmed and sleek Covenant corvettes, frigates, and destroyers appeared in a neat row on Dr. Halsey’s left. On her right were a collection of Covenant species, roughly one-third their normal size. There was a Grunt, a Jackal, the floating, tentacled creature John had seen on Sigma Octanus IV, as well as the heavily armored behemoths he and his team had bested.
A spike of adrenal
ine burned through the Master Chief at the sight of the enemy. Intellectually, he knew that the images were not real . . . but after a decade of fighting, his instincts were to kill first and get the details later.
“The Covenant are still largely unknown to us,” Dr. Halsey began. “Their motivations and thought processes remain a mystery—though our best analysis points to some compelling hypotheses.”
She paused, and added, “The following information is, naturally, classified.
“We know that the Covenant—our translation of their name for themselves—are a conglomerate of a number of different alien species. We believe that they exist in some kind of caste structure, though to date the exact nature of that structure remains unknown. Our best guess is that the Covenant conquer and ‘absorb’ a species, and adapt its strengths into their own.
“The Covenant’s science is imitative rather then innovative, a by-product of this societal ‘absorption,’ ” Dr. Halsey continued. “This is not to say that they are lacking intelligence, however. During our first encounter they gathered computer and network components from our destroyed ships . . . and they learned at an astonishing pace.
“By the time Admiral Cole’s fleet arrived at Harvest, the Covenant initiated a communications link and attempted a primitive software infiltration of our ship AIs. In a matter of weeks, they had learned the rudiments of our computer systems and our language. Our own attempts to decipher Covenant computer systems have only been partially successful, despite our best efforts and decades of time.
“Since then they have made increasingly successful forays into our computer networks. That is why the Cole Protocol is so important and carries the punishment of treason for failure to comply. The Covenant may one day not need to capture a ship to steal the information within its navigational databanks.”
The Master Chief stole a glance at Captain Keyes. The Captain cupped an antique pipe in one hand; the Navy officer puffed on it once, and stared thoughtfully at Dr. Halsey and the examples of the Covenant vessels. He slowly shook his head.
“As I stated earlier,” Dr. Halsey continued, “the Covenant are a collection of genetically distinct groups in what we believe is a rigid caste system.” She waved toward the Grunts and Jackals. “These are most likely part of their military or warrior caste—not the highest ranking caste, either, given how many are sacrificed during ground operations. We believe there is a ‘race’ of field commanders, which we are currently calling ‘Elites.’ ” She stepped toward the floating, tentacular aliens. “We believe these are their scientists.” As she moved closer, the figure animated; the image showed the creature disassembling an electric car of human manufacture. John instantly recognized his own battlefield recording.
She pointed to the giant armored creatures. “This was recorded on Sigma Octanus Four. A heavily armored warrior superior to either Grunts or Jackals.” The massive aliens also sprang into motion, lumbering into combat, until Dr. Halsey froze the images in place.
She turned and strolled back to the podium. “ONI hypothesizes at least two additional castes. A warrior capable of commanding ground forces and possibly piloting their ships, and a leadership caste. We have deciphered a handful of Covenant transmissions that refer to—” She paused, checking notes on the data screen in her glasses. “—Ah, yes. ‘Prophets.’ We believe that these Prophets are in fact the leadership caste, and that they are viewed by the Covenant rank and file with an almost religious reverence.”
Dr. Halsey removed her glasses. “This is where you come in. Your mission will involve these so-called Prophets, and will be executed in four phases.
“Phase one. You will engage the Covenant and sufficiently disable, but not destroy, one of their ships.” She turned to face Captain Keyes. “I leave that in the capable hands of Captain Keyes and his newly refitted ship, thePillar of Autumn .”
Captain Keyes acknowledged her compliment with a curt nod. He tapped the stem of his pipe on his lips thoughtfully.
The Master Chief was unaware of any Covenant ship ever being captured. He had read the reports of Captain Keyes’ actions at Sigma Octanus IV . . . and considered the odds of actually capturing a Covenant vessel. Even for a Spartan, it would be a difficult mission.
“Phase two,” Dr. Halsey said. “Spartans will board the disabled Covenant ship—neutralize the crew, and crack their navigation database. We will do precisely what they have been trying to do to us: find the location of their home world.”
The Master Chief raised his hand.
“Yes, Master Chief?”
“Ma’am. We will be given mission specialist personnel to access the Covenant computers?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she said, and looked away. “I will come to that point in a moment. Let me assure you, however, that these specialists will cause you no serious complications during this phase. In fact, they will prove rather useful in combat. Shortly, you shall have a demonstration.”
Like Captain Keyes’ statement that winning wasn’t everything . . . Dr. Halsey’s reply was another puzzle. How would such computer specialists not be a liability to the Spartans in combat? Even if they could fight, it was unlikely they’d be anything but weak links in combat. If they couldn’t fight, the Spartans would be forced to baby-sit a vulnerable package in a hot combat zone.
“Phase three,” Dr. Halsey said, “will consist of taking the captured Covenant ship to their homeworld.”
Several questions immediately formed in the Master Chief’s mind. Who would pilot the alien ship? Had any one ever deciphered the Covenant control systems? It seemed unlikely since the UNSC had never captured one of their ships before. Were there Covenant recognition signals that had to be sent when entering their space? Or would they just steal their way in-system?
When a plan had so many missing pieces of data, the Spartans had been trained to stop and reconsider its effectiveness. Unanswered questions led to complications—“snags.” And snags led to injuries, death, and failed missions. Simple was better.
He held his questions, though. Dr. Halsey surely would have planned for these eventualities.
“Phase four,” she continued, “will be to infiltrate and capture the Covenant leadership and return with them to UNSC-controlled space.”
The Master Chief shifted uneasily. There was no intel or reconnaissance of Covenant-held space. What did a Covenant leader—a Prophet—even look like?
Chief Mendez had told him to trust Dr. Halsey. The Master Chief decided to hear all the details before he asked any further questions. To do so might undermine her authority. And that’s the last thing he needed the other Spartans to see.
And yet, there was one thing hehad to clarify. The Master Chief raised his hand again.
She nodded toward him.
“Dr. Halsey,” he said, “you did say ‘capture’ the Covenant leaders—not eliminate them?”
“Correct,” she replied. “Our profile of Covenant society indicates that if you were to kill one of their leader caste, this war could actually escalate. Your orders are to preserve any captured Covenant leaders at all costs. You will bring them back to UNSC headquarters, where we will then use them to broker a truce, possibly even negotiate a peace treaty with the Covenant.”
Peace? The Master Chief considered the unfamiliar word. Was that what Captain Keyes had meant? The alternative to winning wasn’t necessarily losing. If you chose not to play a game, then there could be neither winning nor losing.
Dr. Halsey took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Some of you already suspect this, but I shall state it anyway for emphasis. It is my opinion, and that of many others, that the war is not going well . . . despite our recent victories. What is not widely known is how badly it is going for us. ONI predicts that we have months, perhaps as much as a standard year, before the Covenant locates and destroys our remaining Inner Colonies . . . and then moves against Earth.”
The Master Chief had heard the rumors—and promptly dismissed them—but to hear the words fr
om someone he trusted chilled him to the core.
“Your mission will prevent this,” Dr. Halsey said. She stopped and frowned, lowered her head, then finally looked up at them again. “This op is considered extremely high risk. There are unknown elements involved and we simply do not have the time to gather the required intelligence. I have persuaded FLEETCOM not to order you on this mission. Admiral Stanforth is asking for volunteers.”
The Master Chief understood. Dr. Halsey was unsure if she would be spending their lives or wasting them on this mission.
He stood without hesitation—and as he did so, the rest of the Spartans stood as well.
“Good,” she said. She paused and blinked several times. “Very good. Thank you.”
She stepped away from the podium. “We will meet with you individually within a few days to continue your briefing. I will show you how you will get our computer experts on board the Covenant vessel . . . and I will show you the one thing that will let you get through this mission in one piece: MJOLNIR.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
0600 Hours, August 29, 2552 (Military Calendar) / Epsilon Eridani System, UNSC Military Reservation 01478-B, planet Reach
The firing range was uncharacteristically quiet. Normally, the air would be filled with noise—the sharp, staccato crackle of automatic-weapons fire; the urgent yells of soldiers practicing combat operations; and the barked, curse-laden orders of drill instructors. John frowned as he guided the Warthog to the security checkpoint.
The silence on the combat range was somehow unsettling.
Even more unsettling were the extra security personnel; today, there were three times the normal number of MPs patrolling the gate.
John parked the Warthog and was approached by a trio of MPs. “State your business here, sir,” the lead MP demanded.
Without a word, John handed over his papers—orders direct from the top brass. The MP visibly stiffened. “Sir, my apologies. Dr. Halsey and the others are waiting for you at the P and R area.”
The guard saluted, and waved the gate open.
On survey maps, the combat training range was listed as “UNSC Military Reservation 01478-B.” The soldiers who trained there had a different name for it—“Painland.” John knew the facility well; a great deal of the Spartans’ early training had taken place there.
