The Fall of Reach

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

0915 Hours, August 25, 2552 (Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach UNSC Military Complex, planet Reach, Omega Wing—Section Three secure facility

“Good morning, Dr. Halsey,” Déjà said. “You’re fourteen point three minutes late this morning.”

“Blame security, Déjà,” Dr. Halsey replied, gesturing absently at the AI’s holographic projection floating above her desk. “ONI’s precautions here are becoming increasingly ridiculous.”

Dr. Halsey threw her coat over the back of an antique armchair before settling behind her desk. She sighed, and for the thousandth time, wished she had a window.

The private office was located deep underground, inside the “Omega Wing” of the super-secure ONI facility, codenamed simply CASTLE.

Castle was a massive complex, two thousand meters below the granite protection of the Highland Mountains—bombproof, well defended, and impenetrable.

The security had its drawbacks, she was forced to admit. Every morning she descended into the secret labyrinth, passed through a dozen security checkpoints, and submitted to a barrage of retina, voice, fingerprint, and brainwave ID scans.

ONI had buried her here years ago when her funding had been shunted to higher profile projects. All other personnel had been transferred to other operations, and her access to classified materials had been severely restricted. Even shadowy ONI was squeamish about her experiments.

That’s all changed—thanks to the Covenant, she thought. The SPARTAN project—unpopular with the Admiralty, and the scientific community—had proven most effective. Her Spartans had proven themselves time after time in countless ground engagements.

When the Spartans started racking up successes, the Admiralty’s reticence vanished. Her meager budget had mushroomed overnight. They had offered her a corner office in the prestigious Olympic Tower at FLEETCOM HQ.

She had, of course, declined. Now the brass and VIPs that wanted to see her had to spend half the day just getting through the security barriers to her lair. She relished the irony—her banishment had become a bureaucratic weapon.

But none of that really mattered. It was just a means to an end for Dr. Halsey... a means to getting Project MJOLNIR back on track.

She reached for her coffee cup and knocked a stack of papers off her desk. They fell, scattered onto the floor, and she didn’t bother to retrieve them. She examined the mud-brown dregs in the bottom of the mug; it was several days old.

The office of the most important scientist in the military was not the antiseptic clean-room environment most people expected. Classified files and papers littered the floor. The holographic projector overhead painted the ceiling with a field of stars. Rich maple paneling covered the walls and hanging there were framed photographs of her SPARTAN IIs, receiving awards, and the plethora of articles about them that appeared when the Admiralty had made the project public three years ago.

They had been called the UNSC’s “super soldiers.” The military brass had assured her that the boost to morale was worth the compromised security.

At first she had protested. But ironically, the publicity had proved convenient. With all the attention on the Spartans’ heroics, no one had thought to question their true purpose—or their origin. If the truth ever came to light—abducted children, replaced by fast-grown clones; the risky, experimental surgeries and biochemical augmentations—public opinion would turn against the SPARTAN project overnight.

The recent events at Sigma Octanus had given the Spartans and MJOLNIR the final push it needed to enter its final operational phase.

She slipped on her glasses and called up the files from yesterday’s debriefing; the ONI computer system once again confirmed her retinal scan and voiceprint.

IDENTITY CONFIRMED. UNAUTHORIZED ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE UNIT DETECTED. ACCESS DENIED.

Damn. ONI grew more paranoid by the day.

“Déjà,” she said with a frustrated sigh. “The spooks are nervous. I need to power you down, or ONI won’t give me access to the files.”

“Of course, Doctor,” Déjà replied calmly.

Halsey keyed the power-down sequence on her desktop terminal, sending Déjà into standby mode. This, she thought, is Ackerson’s work, the bastard. She had fought tooth and nail to keep Déjà free from the programming shackles ONI demanded... and this was their petty revenge.

She scowled impatiently until the computer system finally spit out the data she’d requested. The tiny projectors in the frames of her glasses beamed the data directly to her retina.

Her eyes darted back and forth rapidly, as if she had entered REM sleep, as she scanned the documentation from the debriefing. Finally she removed her glasses and tossed them carelessly on the desk, a sardonic smirk on her face.

The overarching conclusion of the finest military experts on the debriefing committee: ONI didn’t have a clue as to what the Covenant were doing on Sigma Octanus IV.

They had learned only four solid facts from the entire operation. First, the Covenant had gone to considerable trouble to obtain a single mineral specimen. Second, the pattern of inclusions in that igneous rock sample matched the signal that had been sent—and intercepted by the Iroquois. Third, the low entropy of the pattern indicated that it was not random. And fourth, and most important, UNSC translation software couldn’t match this pattern to any known Covenant dialect.

Her personal conclusions? Either the alien artifact was from a precursor to the present Covenant society... or it was from another, as yet undiscovered, alien culture.

When she had dropped that little bombshell of a speculation in the debriefing room yesterday, the ONI specialists had gone scrambling for cover. Especially that arrogant ass, Colonel Ackerson, she thought with a cruel smile.

The brass was not happy with either possibility. If it was old Covenant technology, it indicated they still knew virtually nothing about the Covenant culture. Twenty years of intensive study and trillions of dollars of research and they barely even understood the alien’s caste system.

And if it was the latter possibility, an artifact of another alien race... that could be even more problematic. Colonel Ackerson and some of the brass had immediately considered the logistics of fighting two alien enemies at once. Utterly ridiculous. They couldn’t even fight one. The UNSC could never hope to survive a war on two fronts.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Despite the grim conclusions, there was a silver lining in all this.

After the meeting, a new mandate had become the official secret policy of Fleet Command’s Special Operations Command—the parent organization for Naval Special Warfare, the Spartans’ service branch. ONI had new marching orders: to step up funding of Intel and reconnaissance missions by an order of magnitude. Small stealth ships were to be deployed to search remote systems and find where the Covenant were based.

And Dr. Halsey had finally received the green light to unleash MJOLNIR.

She had mixed feelings about it. The truth be told, she always had.

It would be the culmination of her life’s greatest work. She knew the risks—like spinning a roulette wheel, it was long odds, but the payoff was potentially huge.

It meant victory against the Covenant... or the death of all her Spartans.

The holographic crystals overhead warmed and Cortana appeared, sitting cross-legged on Dr. Halsey’s desk—actually she sat hovering a centimeter off the table’s edge.

Cortana was slender. The hue of her skin varied from navy blue to lavender, depending on her mood and the ambient lighting. Her “hair” was cropped short. Her face had a hard angular beauty. Lines of code flickered up and down her luminous body. And if Dr. Halsey viewed her from the right angle, she could catch a glimpse of the skeletal structure inside her ghostly form.

“Good morning, Dr. Halsey,” Cortana said. “I’ve read the committee’s report—”

“—which was classified as Top Secret, Eyes Only.”

“Hmm... ” Cortana mused. “I must have overlooked that.” She hopped off the desk and circled around Dr. Halsey once.

Cortana had been programmed with ONI’s best insurgency software, as well as the determination to use those code-cracking skills. While this had been necessary for her mission, when she grew bored, she caused chaos with ONI’s own security measures... and she often grew bored.

“I assume you have examined the classified data brought back from Sigma Octanus Four?” Halsey asked.

“I might have seen that somewhere,” Cortana said matter-of-factly.

“Your analysis and conclusions?”

“There is much more evidence to consider than the data in the committee’s files.” She looked off into space as if reading something.

“Oh?”

“Forty years ago a geological survey team on Sigma Octanus Four found several igneous rocks with similar—though not identical—anomalous compositions. UNSC geologists believe that these samples were introduced onto the planet via meteorite impacts—they typically are found in long-eroded impact craters on the planet surface. Isotopic dating of the site place those impact craters at present minus sixty thousand years—” Cortana paused as a hint of a smile played across her holographic features. “—though that figure may be inaccurate due to human error, of course.”

“Of course,” Dr. Halsey replied dryly.

“I have also, um... coordinated with UNSC’s astrophysics department and discovered some interesting bits archived in their long-range observational databases. There is a black hole located approximately forty thousand light-years from the Sigma Octanus System. An extremely powerful pulse-laser transmission back-scattered the matter in the accretion disk—essentially trapped this signal as this matter accelerated toward the speed of light. From our perspective, according to special relativity, this essentially froze the residue of this information on the event horizon.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Dr. Halsey said.

“This ‘frozen signal’ contains information that matches the sample from Sigma Octanus Four.” Cortana sighed and her shoulders slumped. “Unfortunately, all my attempts at translating the code have failed... so far.”

“Your conclusions, Cortana?” Dr. Halsey reminded her.

“Insufficient data for complete analysis, Doctor.”

“Hypothesize.”

Cortana bit her lower lip. “There are two possibilities. The data originates from the Covenant or another alien race.” She frowned. “If it’s another alien species, the Covenant probably wants these artifacts to scavenge their technology. Either conclusion opens several new opportunities for the NavSpecWep—”

“I am aware of that,” Dr. Halsey said, raising her hand. If she allowed the AI to continue, Cortana would talk all day. “One of those opportunities is Project MJOLNIR.”

Cortana spun around and her eyes widened. “They approved the final phase?”

“Is it possible, Cortana,” Dr. Halsey replied, amused, “that I know something you don’t?”

Cortana wrinkled her brow in frustration, then smoothed her features to their normal placid state. “I suppose that is a remote possibility. If you’d like, I can calculate those odds.”

“No, thank you, Cortana,” Halsey replied.

Cortana reminded Dr. Halsey of herself when she had been an adolescent: smarter than her parents, always reading, talking, learning, and eager to share her knowledge with anyone who would listen.

Of course, there was a very good reason why Cortana reminded Dr. Halsey of herself.

Cortana was a “smart” AI, an advanced artificial construct. Actually, the terms smart and dumb as applied to AIs, were misleading; all AIs were extraordinarily intelligent. But Cortana was special.

So-called dumb AIs were engineered to function only were misleading; within set limits of their dynamic memory-processing matrix. They were brilliant within their fields of expertise, but were lacking in “creativity.” Déjà, for example, was a “dumb” AI—incredibly useful, but limited.

Smart AIs like Cortana, however, had no limits on their dynamic memory-processor matrix. Knowledge and creativity could grow unchecked.

She would pay a price for her genius, however. Such growth eventually led to self-interference. Cortana would one day literally start thinking too much at the expense of her normal functions. It was as if a human were to think with so much of his brain that he stopped sending impulses to his heart and lungs.

Like all the other smart AIs that Dr. Halsey had worked with over the years, Cortana would effectively “die” after an operational life of seven years.

But Cortana’s mind was unique among all the other AIs Dr. Halsey had encountered. An AI’s matrix was created by sending electrical bursts through the neural pathways of a human brain. Those pathways were then replicated in a superconducting nano-assemblage. The technique destroyed the original human tissue, so they could only be obtained from a suitable candidate that had already died. Cortana, however, had to have the best mind available. The success of her mission and the lives of the Spartans would depend on it.

At Dr. Halsey’s insistence, ONI had arranged to have her own brain carefully cloned and her memories flash-transferred to the receptacle organs. Only one of the twenty cloned brains survived the process. Cortana had literally sprung from Dr. Halsey’s mind, like Athena from the head of Zeus.

So, in a way, Cortana was Dr. Halsey.

Cortana straightened, her face eager. “When does the MJOLNIR armor become fully operational. When do I go?”

“Soon. There are a few final modifications that need to be made in the systems.”

Cortana leaped to her “feet,” turned her back to Dr. Halsey, and examined the photographs on the wall. She brushed her fingertips over the glass surfaces. “Which one will be mine?”

“Which one do you want?”

She immediately gravitated to the picture in the center of Dr. Halsey’s collection. It showed a handsome man standing at attention as Admiral Stanforth pinned the UNSC Legion of Honor upon his chest—a chest that already overflowed with citations.

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, she did 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. “You asked 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 match was 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.

“The Pillar 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.

“The Pillar 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. The Autumn 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 the Iroquois.”

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 adrenaline 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, the Pillar 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 he had 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 from 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.

The range was divided into three areas: a live-fire obstacle course; a target practice range; and the P&R—“Prep and Recovery” area—which more often than not doubled as an emergency first-aid station. John had spent plenty of time in the aid station during his training.

The Master Chief walked briskly to the prefabricated structure. Another pair of MPs, MA5B assault rifles at the ready, double-checked his credentials before they admitted him to the building.

“Ah, here at last,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Let’s go, son, on the double, if you please.”

John paused; the speaker was an older man, at least in his sixties, in the coveralls and lab coat of a ship’s doctor. No rank insignia, though, John thought with a twinge of concern. For a moment, the image of his fellow Spartans—very young, and clubbing, kicking, and beating un-uniformed instructors into unconsciousness flashed into his memory with crystal clarity.

“Who are you, sir?” he asked, his voice cautious.

“I’m a Captain in the UNSC Navy, son,” the man said with a thin-lipped smile, “and I’ve no time for spit and polish today. Let’s go.”

A Captain—and new orders. Good. “Yes, sir.”

The Captain in the lab coat escorted him into the P&R’s medical bay. “Undress, please,” the man said.

John quickly disrobed, then stacked his neatly folded uniform on a nearby gurney. The Captain stepped behind him and began to swab John’s neck and the back of his head with a foul-smelling liquid. The liquid felt ice-cold on his skin.

A moment later, Dr. Halsey entered. “This will just take a moment, Master Chief. We’re going to upgrade a few components in your standard-issue neural interface. Lie back and remain still, please.”

The Master Chief did as she said. A technician sprayed a topical anesthetic on his neck. The skin tingled, then went cold and numb. The Master Chief felt layers of skin incised, and then a series of distinct clicking sounds that echoed through his skull. There was a brief laser pulse and another spray. He saw sparks, felt the room spin, then a sense of vertigo. His vision blurred; he blinked rapidly and it quickly returned to normal.

“Good... the procedure is complete,” Dr. Halsey said. “Please follow me.”

The Captain handed the Master Chief a paper gown. He slipped it on and followed the doctor outside.

A field command dome had been assembled on the range. Its white fabric walls rippled in the breeze.

Ten MPs stood around the structure, assault rifles in hand. The Master Chief noted these weren’t regular Marines. They wore the gold comet insignia of Special Forces Orbital Drop Shock Troopers—“Helljumpers.” Tough and iron-disciplined. A flash of memory: the blood of troops—just like these—soaking into the mat of a boxing ring.

John felt his adrenaline spike as soon as he saw the soldiers.

Dr. Halsey approached the MP at the entrance and presented her credentials. They accepted them and scanned her retina and voiceprint, then did the same to the Master Chief.

Once they confirmed his identify, they immediately saluted—which was technically unnecessary, as the Master Chief was out of uniform.

He did them the courtesy of returning their salute.

The soldiers kept looking around, scanning the field, as if they were expecting something to happen. John’s discomfort grew—not much spooked an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper.

Dr. Halsey led the Master Chief inside. In the center of the dome stood an empty suit of MJOLNIR armor, suspended between two pillars on a raised platform. The Master Chief knew it was not his suit. His, after years of use, had dents and scratches in the alloy plates and the once iridescent green finish had dulled to a worn olive brown.

This suit was spotless and its surface possessed a subtle metallic sheen. He noted the armor plates were slightly thicker, and the black underlayers had a more convoluted weave of components. The fusion pack was half again as large, and tiny luminous slits glowed near the articulation points.

“This is the real MJOLNIR,” Dr. Halsey whispered to him. “What you have been using was only a fraction of what the armor should be. This—” She turned to the Master Chief. “—is everything I had always dreamed it could be. Please put the suit on.”

The Master Chief stripped the paper gown off and—with the help of a pair of technicians—donned the armor components.

Dr. Halsey averted her eyes.

Although the armor’s components were bulkier and heavier than his old suit, once assembled and activated, they felt light as air. The armor was a perfect fit. The biolayer warmed and adhered to his skin, then cooled as the temperature difference between the suit and his skin equalized.

“We’ve made hundreds of minor technical improvements,” she said. “I’ll have the specifications sent to you later. Two of those changes, however, are rather serious modifications to the system. It may take... some getting used to.”

Dr. Halsey’s brow furrowed. John had never seen her worried before.

“First,” she told him, “we have replicated, and I might add, improved upon the energy shield the Covenant Jackals have been using against us to great effect.”

This armor had shields? The Master Chief had known that ONI research had been working on adapting Covenant technology; Spartans had standing orders to capture Covenant machines wherever they could. The researchers and engineers had announced some breakthroughs in artificial gravity—some UNSC ships were already undergoing trials with the grav systems.

The fact that the MJOLNIR armor possessed shields was a stunning breakthrough. For years, there had been no luck back-engineering Covenant shield tech. Most in the scientific community had given up hope of ever cracking it. Maybe that’s why Dr. Halsey was worried. Maybe they hadn’t worked out all the bugs.

Dr. Halsey nodded to the technicians. “Let’s begin.”

The techs turned to a series of instrument panels. One, a slightly younger man, donned a COM headset.

“Okay, Master Chief.” The tech’s voice crackled through John’s helmet speakers. “There’s an activation icon in your heads-up display. There is also a manual control switch located at position twelve in your helmet.”

He chinned the control. Nothing happened.

“Wait a moment, please, sir. We have to give the suit an activation charge. After that, it can accept regenerative power from the fusion pack. Stand on the platform and be absolutely still.”

He stepped onto the platform that had held the MJOLNIR armor. The pillars flickered on and glowed a brilliant yellow. The pillars started to spin slowly around the base of the platform.

The Master Chief felt a static charge tingling in his extremities. The glow intensified and his helmet’s blast shield automatically dimmed. The charge in the air intensified; his skin crawled with ionization. He smelled ozone.

Then the spinning slowed and the light dimmed.

“Reset the activation button now, Master Chief.”

The air around the Master Chief popped—as if it jumped away from the MJOLNIR armor. There was none of the shimmer that normal Covenant shields had. Was it working?

He ran his hand over his arm and encountered resistance a centimeter from the surface of the armor. It was working.

How many times had he and his teammates had to find ways to slip past a Jackal’s shield? He’d have to rethink his tactics. Rethink everything.

“It provides full coverage—” Dr. Halsey’s voice piped through the speakers. “—and dissipates energy far more efficiently than the Covenant shields the Spartans have recovered, though the shield is concentrated on your arms, head, legs, chest, and back. The energy field tapers down to a hair under a millimeter so you don’t lose the ability to hold or manipulate items with your hands.”

The lead technician activated another control, and new data scrawled across John’s display. “There’s a segmented bar in the upper corner of your HUD,” the technician said, “right next to your biomonitor and ammunition indicators. It indicates the charge level of your shield. Don’t let it completely dissipate; when it’s gone, the armor starts taking the hits.”

The Master Chief slipped off the platform. He skidded—then came to a halt. His movements felt oiled. His contact with the floor felt tentative.

“You can adjust the bottom of your boot emitters as well as the emitters inside your gloves to increase traction. In normal use, you will want to set these to the minimal level—just be aware your defenses will be diminished in those locations.”

“Understood.” He adjusted the field strengths. “In zero-gee environment I should increase those sections to full strength, correct?”

“That is correct,” Dr. Halsey said.

“How much damage can they take before the system is breached?”

“That is what you will learn here today, Master Chief. I think you’ll find that we have several challenges in store for you to see how much punishment the suit can take.”

He nodded. He was ready for the challenge. After weeks spent traveling in Slipspace, he was long overdue for a workout.

John slid back his helmet visor and turned to face Dr. Halsey. “You said there were two major system improvements, Doctor?”

She nodded and smiled. “Yes, of course. ” She reached into her lab coat and withdrew a clear cube. “I doubt you’ve ever seen one of these before. It is the memory-processor core of an AI.”

“Like Déjà?”

“Yes, like your former teacher. But this AI is slightly different. I’d like to introduce you to Cortana.”

The Master Chief looked around the tent. He saw no computer interface or holographic projectors. He cocked an eyebrow at Dr. Halsey.

“There is a new layer sandwiched between the reactive circuits and the inner biolayers of your armor,” Dr. Halsey explained. “It is a weave of additional memory-processor super-conductor.”

“The same material as an AI’s core.”

“Yes,” Dr. Halsey replied. “An accurate analysis. Your armor will carry Cortana. The MJOLNIR system has the nearly the same capacity as a ship-borne AI system. Cortana will interface between you and the suit and provide tactical and strategic information for you in the field.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Cortana has been programmed with every ONI computer insurgency routine,” Dr. Halsey told him. “And she has a talent for modifying them on the fly. She has our best Covenant-language-translation software as well. Her primary purpose is to infiltrate their computer and communications systems. She will intercept and decode point-to-point Covenant transmissions and give you updated intelligence in the field.”

Intel support in an operation where there had been no reconnaissance. The Master Chief liked that. It would level the playing field significantly.

“This AI is the computer specialist we’ll be taking onto the Covenant ship,” the Master Chief said.

“Yes... and more. Her presence will allow you to utilize the suit more effectively.”

John had a sudden flash—AIs handled a great deal of point defense during Naval operations. “Can she control the MJOLNIR armor?” He wasn’t sure he liked that.

“No. Cortana resides in the interface between your mind and the suit, Master Chief. You will find your reaction time greatly improved. She will be translating the impulses in your motor cortex directly into motion—she can’t make you send those impulses.”

“This AI,” he said, “will be inside my mind?” That must have been what that “upgrade” to his standard-issue UNSC computer interface had been for.

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Halsey replied. “I can’t answer that, Master Chief. Not scientifically.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Doctor.”

“What is the mind, really? Intuition, reason, emotion—we acknowledge they exist, but we still don’t know what makes the human mind work.” She paused, searching for the right words. “We model AIs on human neural networks—on electrical signals in the brain—because we just know that the human brain works... but not how, or why. Cortana resides ‘between’ your mind and the suit, interpreting the electrochemical messages in your brain and transferring them to the suit via your neural implant.

“So, for lack of a better term, yes, Cortana will be ‘inside’ your mind.”

“Ma’am, my priority will be to complete this mission. This AI—Cortana—may have conflicting directives.”

“There is no need to worry, Master Chief. Cortana has the same mission parameters as you do. She will do anything necessary to make sure that your mission is accomplished. Even if that means sacrificing herself—or you—to accomplish it.”

The Master Chief exhaled, relieved.

“Now, please kneel down. It’s time to insert her memory-processor matrix into the socket at the base of your neck.”

The Master Chief knelt. There was a hissing noise, a pop, and then cold liquid poured into the Master Chief’s mind; a spike of pain jammed into his forehead, then faded.

“Not a lot of room in here,” a smooth female voice said. “Hello, Master Chief.”

Did this AI have a rank? Certainly, she was not a civilian—or a fellow soldier. Should he treat her like any other piece of UNSC-issued equipment? Then again, he treated his equipment with the respect it deserved. He made sure every gun and knife was cleaned and inspected after every mission.

It was unsettling... he could hear Cortana’s voice through his helmet speakers, but it also felt like she was speaking inside his head. “Hello, Cortana.”

“Hmm... I’m detecting a high degree of cerebral cortex activity. You’re not the muscle-bound automatons the press makes you out to be.”

“Automaton?” the Master Chief whispered. “Interesting choice of words for an artificial intelligence.”

Dr. Halsey watched the Master Chief with great interest. “You must forgive Cortana, Master Chief. She is somewhat high-spirited. You may have to allow for behavioral quirks.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I think we should begin the test straightaway. There’s no better way for the two of you to get acquainted than in simulated combat.”

“No one said anything about combat,” Cortana said.

“The ONI brass have arranged a test for you and the new MJOLNIR system,” Dr. Halsey said. “There are some that believe you two are not up to our proposed mission.”

“Ma’am!” The Master Chief snapped to attention. “I’m up for it, ma’am!”

“I know you are, Master Chief. Others... require proof.” She looked around at the shadows cast by the Marines outside the fabric walls of the command dome. “You hardly need a reminder to be prepared for anything... but stay on your guard, just the same.”

Dr. Halsey’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I think some of the ONI brass would prefer to see you fail this test, Master Chief. And they may have arranged to make sure you do—regardless of your performance.”

“I won’t fail, Doctor.”

Her forehead wrinkled with worry lines, but then they quickly disappeared. “I know you won’t.”

She stepped back, and dropped her conspiratorial whisper. “Master Chief, you are ordered to count to ten after I leave. After that, make your way to the obstacle course. At the far end is a bell. Your goal will be to ring it.” She paused, then added, “You are authorized to neutralize any threats in order to achieve this objective.”

“Affirmative,” the Master Chief said. Enough uncertainty—now he had an objective, and rules of engagement.

“Be careful, Master Chief,” Dr. Halsey said quietly. She gestured at the pair of technicians to follow her, then turned and walked out of the tent.

The Master Chief didn’t understand why Dr. Halsey thought he was in real danger—he didn’t have to understand the reason. All he needed to know was that danger was present.

He knew how to handle danger.

“Uploading combat protocols now,” Cortana said. “Initiating electronic detection algorithms. Boosting neural interface performance to eighty-five percent. I’m ready when you are, Master Chief.”

The Master Chief heard metallic clacks around the tent.

“Analyzing sound pattern,” Cortana said. “Database match. Identified as—”

“As someone cycling the bolt of an MA5B assault rifle. I know. Standard-issue weapons for Orbital Drop Shock Troopers.”

“Since you’re ‘in the know,’ Master Chief,” Cortana quipped. “I assume you have a plan.”

John snapped his helmet visor back down and sealed the armor’s environment system. “Yes.”

“Presumably your plan doesn’t involve getting shot... ?”

“No.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Cortana sounded worried.

“I’m going to finish counting to ten.”

John heard Cortana sigh in frustration. John shook his head in puzzlement. He’d never encountered a so-called smart AI before. Cortana sounded... like a human.

Worse, she sounded like a civilian. This was going to take a lot of getting used to.

Shadows moved along the wall of the tent—motion from outside.

Eight.

There was a snag in this mission and he hadn’t even reached the obstacle course. He would have to engage his fellow soldiers. He pushed aside any questions about why. He had his orders and he would follow them. He had dealt with ODSTs before.

Nine.

Three soldiers entered the tent, moving in slow motion—black-armored figures, helmets snug over their faces, crouched low, and their rifles leveled. Two took flanking positions. The one in the middle opened fire.

Ten.

The Master Chief blurred into motion. He dove from the activation platform and—before the soldiers could adjust their aim—landed in their midst. He rolled to his feet right next to the soldier who fired first, and grabbed the man’s rifle.

John brutally yanked the weapon away from the soldier. There was a loud cracking sound as the man’s shoulder dislocated. The wounded trooper stumbled forward, off balance. John spun the rifle and slammed the butt of the weapon into the soldier’s side. The man exhaled explosively as his ribs cracked. He grunted, and fell unceremoniously to the floor, unconscious.

John spun to face the left-flank gunner, assault rifle leveled at the man’s head instantly. He had the man in his sights, but he still had time—the soldier was not quite in position. To John’s enhanced senses, amped up by Cortana and the neural interface, the rifleman seemed to be moving in slow motion. Too slow.

The Master Chief lashed out with the rifle butt again. The trooper’s head snapped back from the sudden, powerful blow. He flipped head over tail and slammed into the ground. John sized the man’s condition up with a practiced eye: shock, concussion, fractured vertebrae.

Gunner number two was out of the fight.

The remaining gunner completed his turn and opened fire. A three-round burst ricocheted off the MJOLNIR armor’s energy shield. The shield’s recharge bar flickered a hairbreadth.

Before the soldier could react, the Master Chief sidestepped and slammed his own rifle down—hard. The trooper screamed as his leg gave out. A jagged spoke of bone burst through the wounded man’s fatigues. The Master chief finished him with a rifle butt to his helmeted head.

John checked the condition of the rifle, and—satisfied that it was in working order—began to pull ammo clips from the fallen soldiers’ belt pouches. The lead soldier also carried a razor-edged combat knife; John grabbed it.

“You could have killed them,” Cortana said. “Why didn’t you?”

“My orders gave me permission to ‘neutralize’ threats,” he replied. “They aren’t threats anymore.”

“Semantics,” Cortana replied. She sounded amused. “I can’t argue with the results, though—” She broke off, suddenly. “New targets. Seven contacts on the motion tracker,” Cortana reported. “We’re surrounded.”

Seven more soldiers. The Master Chief could open fire now and kill them all. Under any other circumstances, he would have removed such threats. But their MA5Bs were no immediate danger to him... and the UNSC could use every soldier to fight the Covenant.

He strode to the center pole of the tent, and with a yank, he pulled it free. As the roof fluttered down, he slashed a slit in the tent fabric and shoved through.

He faced three Marines; they fired—the Master Chief deftly jumped to one side. He sprang toward them and lashed out with the steel pole, swiped out their legs. He heard bones crack—followed by screams of pain.

The Master Chief turned as the tent finished collapsing. The remaining four men could see him now. One reached for a grenade on his belt. The other three tracked him with their assault rifles.

The Master Chief threw the pole like a javelin at the man with the grenade. It impacted in his sternum and he fell with a whoopf.

The grenade, minus the pin, however, dropped to the ground.

The Master Chief moved and kicked the grenade. It arced over the parking lot and detonated in a cloud of smoke and shrapnel.

The three remaining Marines opened fire—spraying bullets in a full-auto fusillade. Bullets pinged off the Master Chief’s shield.

The shield status indicator blinked and dropped with each bullet impact—the sustained weapons fire was draining the shield precipitously. John tucked and rolled, narrowly avoiding an incoming burst of automatic-weapons fire, then sprang at the nearest Marine.

John launched an openhanded strike at the man’s chest. The Marine’s ribs caved in and he dropped without a sound, blood flowing from his mouth. John spun, brought his rifle up, and fired twice.

The second soldier screamed and dropped his rifle as the bullets tore through each knee. John kicked the discarded rifle, bending the barrel and rendering the weapon useless.

The last man stood frozen in place.

The Master Chief didn’t give the man time to recover; he grabbed his rifle, ripped off his bandolier of grenades, then punched his helmet. The Marine dropped.

“Mission time plus twenty-two seconds,” Cortana remarked. “Although, technically, you started to move forty milliseconds before you were ordered to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The Master Chief slung the assault rifle and bandolier of grenades over his shoulder and ran for the shadows of the barracks. He slipped under the raised buildings and belly-crawled toward the obstacle course. No need to make himself a target for snipers... although it would be an interesting test to see what caliber of bullet these shields could deflect.

No. That kind of thinking was dangerous. The shield was useful, but under combined fire it dropped very quickly. He was tough... not invincible.

He emerged at the beginning to the obstacle course. The first part was a run over ten acres of jagged gravel. Sometimes raw recruits had to take off their boots before they crossed. Other than the pain—it was the easiest part of the course.

The Master Chief started toward the gravel yard.

“Wait,” Cortana said. “I’m picking up far infrared signals on your thermal sensors. An encrypted sequence... decoding... yes, there. It’s an activation signal for a Lotus mine. They’ve mined the field, Master Chief.”

The Master Chief froze. He’d used Lotus mines before and knew the damage they could inflict. The shaped charges ripped though the armor plate of a tank like it was no thicker than an orange peel.

This would slow him down considerably.

Not crossing the obstacle course was no option. He had his orders. He wouldn’t cheat and go around. He had to prove that he and Cortana were up for this test.

“Any ideas?” he asked.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Cortana replied. “Find the position of one mine, and I can estimate the rough position of the others based on the standard randomization procedure used by UNSC engineers.”

“Understood.”

The Master Chief grabbed a grenade, pulled the pin, counted to three, and lobbed it into the middle of the field. It bounced and exploded—sending a shock wave through the ground—tripping two of the Lotus mines. Twin plumes of gravel and dust shot into the air. The detonation shook his teeth.

He wondered if the armor’s shields could have survived that. He didn’t want to find out while he was still inside the thing. He boosted the field strength on the bottom of his boots to full.

Cortana overlaid a grid on his heads-up display. Lines flickered as she ran through the possible permutations.

“Got a match!” she said. Two dozen red circles appeared on his display. “That’s ninety-three percent accurate. The best I can do.”

“There are never any guarantees,” the Master Chief replied.

He stepped onto the gravel, taking short, deliberate steps. With the shields activated on the bottoms of his boots, it felt like he was skating on greased ice.

He kept his head down, picking his way between red dots on his display.

If Cortana was wrong, he probably wouldn’t even know it.

The Master Chief saw the gravel had ended. He looked up. He had made it.

“Thank you, Cortana. Well done.”

“You’re welcome ... ” Her voice trailed off. “Picking up scrambled radio frequencies on the D band. Encrypted orders from this facility to Fairchild Airfield. They’re using personal codewords, too—so I can’t tell what they’re up to. Whatever it is, I don’t like it.”

“Keep your ears open.”

“I always do.”

He ran to the next section of the obstacle course: the razor field. Here, recruits had to crawl in the mud under razor wire as their instructors fired live rounds over them. A lot of soldiers discovered whether they had the guts to deal with bullets zinging a centimeter over their heads.

Along either side of the course there was something new: three 30mm chain-guns mounted on tripods.

“Weapons emplacements are targeting us, Chief!” Cortana announced.

The Master Chief wasn’t about to wait and see if those chain-guns had a minimum-depth setting. He had no intention of crawling across the field and letting the chain-guns’ rapid rate of fire chip away at his shields.

The chain-guns clicked and started to turn.

He sprinted to the nearest tripod-mounted gun. He opened fire with his assault fire, shot the lines that powered the servos—then spun the chain-gun around to face the others.

He crouched behind the blast shield and unloaded on the adjacent gun. Chain-guns were notoriously hard to aim; they were best known for their ability to fill the air with gunfire. Cortana adjusted his targeting reticle to sync up with the chain-gun. With her help, he hit the adjacent weapon emplacements. John guided a stream of fire into the guns’ ammo packs. Moments later, in a cloud of fire and smoke, the guns fell silent... then toppled.

The Master Chief ducked, primed a grenade, and hurled it at the closest of the remaining automated weapons. The grenade sailed through the air—then detonated just above the autogun.

“Chain-gun destroyed,” Cortana reported.

Two more grenades and the automated guns were out of commission. He noted that his shields had dropped by a quarter. He watched the status bar refill. He hadn’t even known he had taken hits. That was sloppy.

“You seem to have the situation under control,” Cortana said, “I’m going to spend a few cycles and check something out.”

“Permission granted,” he said.

“I didn’t ask, Master Chief,” she replied.

The cool liquid presence in his mind withdrew. The Master Chief felt empty somehow.

He ran through the razor fields, snapping through steel wire as if it were rotten string.

Cortana’s coolness once again flooded his thoughts.

“I just accessed SATCOM,” she said. “I’m using one of their satellites so I can get a better look at what’s happening down here. There’s a SkyHawk jump jet from Fairchild Field inbound.”

He stopped. The automatic cannons were one thing—could the armor withstand against air power like that? The SkyHawk had a quartet of 50mm cannons that made the chain-guns look like peashooters. They also had Scorpion missiles—designed to take out tanks.

Answer: he couldn’t do a thing against it.

The Master Chief ran. He had to find cover. He sprinted to the next section of the course: the Pillars of Loki.

It was a forest of ten-meter-tall poles spaced at random intervals. Typically, the poles had booby traps strung on, under, and between them—stun grades, sharpened sticks... anything the instructors could dream up. The idea was to teach recruits to move slowly and keep their eyes open.

The Master Chief had no time to search for the traps.

He climbed up the first pole and balanced on top. He leaped to the next pole, teetered, regained his balance—then jumped to the next. His reflexes had to be perfect; he was landing a half ton of man and armor on a wooden pole ten centimeters in diameter.

“Motion tracking is picking up an incoming target at extreme range,” Cortana warned. “Velocity profile matches the SkyHawk, Chief.”

He turned—almost lost his balance and had to shift back and forth to keep from falling. There was a dot on the horizon, and the faint rumble of thunder.

In the blink of an eye, the dot had wings and the Master Chief’s thermal sensors picked up a plume of jetwash. In seconds, the SkyHawk closed—then opened fire with its 50mm cannons.

He jumped.

The wooden poles splintered into pulp. They were mowed down like so many blades of grass.

The Master Chief rolled, ducked, and flattened himself on the earth. He caught a smattering of rounds and his shield bar drooped to half. Those rounds would have penetrated his old suit instantly.

Cortana said, “I calculate we have eleven seconds before the SkyHawk can execute a maximum gee turn and make another pass.”

The Master Chief got up and ran through the shattered remains of the poles. Napalm and sonic grenades popped around him, but he moved so fast he left the worst of the damage in his wake.

“They won’t use their cannons next time,” he said. “They didn’t take us out—they’ll try the missiles.”

“Perhaps,” Cortana suggested, “we should leave the course. Find better cover.”

“No,” he said. “We’re going to win... by their rules.”

The last leg of the course was a sprint across an open field. In the distance, the Master Chief saw the bell on a tripod.

He glanced over his shoulder.

The SkyHawk was back and starting its run straight toward him.

Even with his augmented speed, even with the MJOLNIR armor—he’d never make it to the bell in time. He’d never make it alive.

He turned to face the incoming jet.

“I’ll need your help, Cortana,” he said.

“Anything,” she whispered. The Master Chief heard nervousness in the AI’s voice.

“Calculate the inbound velocity of a Scorpion missile. Factor in my reaction time and the jet’s inbound speed and distance at launch, and tell me the instant I need to move to sidestep and deflect it with my left arm.”

Cortana paused a heartbeat. “Calculation done. You did say ‘deflect’?”

“Scorpion missiles have motion-tracking sensors and proximity detonators. I can’t outrun it. And it won’t miss. That leaves us very few options.”

The SkyHawk dove.

“Get ready,” Cortana said. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Me, too.”

Smoke appeared from the jet’s left wingtip and fire and exhaust erupted as a missile streaked toward him.

The Master Chief saw the missile’s track back and forth, zeroing in on his coordinates. A shrill tone in his helmet warbled—the missile had a guidance lock on him. He chinned a control and the sound died out. The missile was fast. Faster than he was ten times over.

“Now!” Cortana said.

They moved together. He shifted his muscles and the MJOLNIR—augmented by his link to Cortana—moved faster than he’d ever moved before. His leg tensed and pushed him aside; his left arm came up and crossed his chest.

The head of the missile was the only thing he saw. The air grew still and thickened.

He continued to move his hand, palm open in a slapping motion—as fast as he could will his flesh to accelerate.

The tip of the Scorpion missile passed a centimeter from his head.

He reached out—fingertips brushed the metal casing—

—and slapped it aside.

The SkyHawk jet screamed over his head.

The Scorpion missile detonated.

Pressure slammed though his body. The Master Chief flew six meters, spinning end over end, and landed flat on his back.

He blinked, and saw nothing but blackness. Was he dead? Had he lost?

The shield status bar in his heads-up display pulsed weakly. It was completely drained—then it blinked red and slowly started to refill. Blood was spattered across the inside of his helmet and he tasted copper.

He stood, his muscles screaming in protest.

“Run!” Cortana said. “Before they come back for a look.”

The Master Chief got up and ran. As he passed the spot where he had stood to face down the missile, he saw a two-meter-deep crater.

He could feel his Achilles tendon tear, but he didn’t slow. He crossed the half-kilometer stretch in seventeen seconds flat and skidded to halt.

The Master Chief grabbed the bell’s cord and rang it three times. The pure tone was the most glorious sound he had ever heard.

Over the COM channel Dr. Halsey’s voice broke: “Test concluded. Call off your men, Colonel Ackerson! We’ve won. Well done, Master Chief. Magnificent! Stay there; I’m sending out a recovery team.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, panting.

The Master Chief scanned the sky for the SkyHawk—nothing. It had gone. He knelt and let blood drip from his nose and mouth. He looked down at the bell—and laughed.

He knew that stainless-steel dented shape. It was the same one he had rung that first day of boot. The day Chief Mendez had taught him about teamwork.

“Thank you, Cortana,” he finally said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You’re welcome, Master Chief,” she replied. Then, her voice full of mischief, she added: “And no, you couldn’t have done it without me.”

Today he had learned about a new kind of teamwork with Cortana. Dr. Halsey had given him a great gift. She had given him a weapon with which to destroy the Covenant.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

0400 Hours, August 30, 2552 (Military Calendar)

UNSC Pillar of Autumn, in orbit around Epsilon Eridani System, Reach Military Complex

Cortana never rested. Although based approximately on a human mind, AIs had no need to sleep or dream. Dr. Halsey had thought she could keep Cortana occupied by checking the systems of the Pillar of Autumn while she attended to her other secret projects.

Her assumption was incorrect.

While Cortana was intrigued with the unique design and workings of the ship—its preparation barely occupied a fraction of her processing power.

She watched with the Pillar of Autumn’s camera as Captain Keyes approached the ship in a shuttle pod. Lieutenant Hikowa left to greet him in the docking bay.

From C deck, Captain Keyes spoke over the intercom: “Cortana? Can we have power to move the ship? I’d like to get under way.”

She calculated the remaining reactor burn-in time and made an adjustment to run it hotter. “The engines’ final shakedown is in theta cycle,” Cortana replied. “Operating well within normal parameters. Diverting thirty percent power to engines; aye, sir.”

“And the other systems’ status?” Captain Keyes asked.

“Weapons-system check initiated. Navigational nodes functioning. Continuing systemwide shakedown and triple checks, Captain.”

“Very good,” he said. “Apprise me if there are any anomalies.”

“Aye, Captain,” she replied.

The COM channel snapped off.

She continued her checks on the Pillar of Autumn as ordered. There were, however, more important things to consider; namely, a little reconnaissance into ONI databases... and a little revenge.

She dedicated the balance of her run time toward probing the SATCOM system around REACH for entry points. There. A ping in the satellite network coordination signal. She broadcast a resonant carrier wave at that signal and piggybacked into the system.

First things first. She had two loose ends to take care of.

While she and the Master Chief had been on the obstacle course, she had commandeered SATCOM observation beacon 419 and rotated it to view them from orbit.

She reentered the back door she had left open in the system, and rewrote the satellite’s guidance thruster subroutine. If the system was analyzed later, it would be determined that this error had altered it to a random orientation rather than a planned position.

She withdrew, but left her back door intact. This trick might come in handy again.

The other loose end that required her attentions was Colonel Ackerson—the man who had tried to erase her and the Master Chief.

Cortana reread Dr. Halsey’s recommended test specifications for the MJOLNIR system on the obstacle course. She had suggested live rounds, yes. But never a squad of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, chain-guns, Lotus mines... and certainly not an air strike.

That was the Colonel’s doing. He was an equation that needed to be balanced. What Dr. Halsey might have called “payback.”

She linked to the UNSC personnel and planning database on Reach. The ONI AI there, Beowulf, knew her... and knew not to let her in. Beowulf was thorough, methodical, and paranoid; in her own way, Cortana couldn’t help but like him. But compared with her code-cracking skills, he might as well have been an accounting program.

Cortana sent a rapid series of queries into the network node that processed housing transfer requests. A normally quiet node—she overloaded it with a billion different pings per minute.

The network attempted to recover and reconfigure, causing all nodes to lag, including node seventeen—personnel records. She stepped in and inserted a spike wedge, a subroutine that looked like a normal incoming signal, but bounced any handshake protocol.

She slipped in.

The Colonel’s CSV was impressive. He had survived three battles with the Covenant. Early in the war, he received a promotion and volunteered for a dozen black ops. For the last few years, however, his efforts had focused on political maneuvers rather than battlefield tactics. He had filed several requests for increased funding for his Special Warfare projects.

No wonder he wanted the Master Chief gone. The Spartan IIs and MJOLNIR were his direct competition. Worse, they were succeeding where he failed.

At best, Ackerson’s actions were treason. But Cortana wasn’t about to reveal all this to the ONI oversight committee. Despite the Colonel’s methods, the UNSC still needed him—and his SpecWar specialists—in the war.

Justice, however, would still be meted out.

From the ONI database, she masqueraded as a routine credit check and entered the Colonel’s bank account—to which she wired a substantial amount to a brothel on Gilgamesh. She made sure the bank queries sent to confirm the transaction were copied to his home immediately. Colonel Ackerson was a married man... and his wife should be there to receive them.

She cut into his personal E-mail and sent a carefully crafted message—requesting reassignment to a forward area—to personnel. Finally, she inserted a “ghost” record, an electronic footprint that identified the source of the alterations: Ackerson’s personal-computer pad.

By the time Ackerson was done untangling all of that, he’d be reassigned to field duty... and get back to fighting the Covenant where he belonged.

With all loose ends neatly tied up, Cortana rechecked the Pillar of Autumn’s reactor; the shakedown was proceeding nicely. She tweaked the magnetic-field strength, and part of her watched the output from the engines for fluctuations. She inspected all weapons systems three times, and then went back to her own personal research.

She considered how well the Master Chief had performed this morning on the obstacle course. He was more than Cortana could have hoped for. The Master Chief was much more than Dr. Halsey or the press releases had indicated.

He was intelligent... not fearless, but as close to it as any human she had encountered. His reaction time under stress was one-sixth the standard human norm. More than that, however, Cortana had sensed that he had a certain—she searched her lexicon for the proper word—nobility. He placed his mission and his duty and honor above his personal safety.

She reexamined his Career Service Vitae. He had fought in 207 ground engagements against the Covenant, and been awarded every major service medal except the Prisoner of War Medallion.

There were holes in his CSV, though. The standard black-out sections courtesy of ONI, of course... but most curious, all data before he entered active duty had been expunged.

Cortana wasn’t about to let a mere erasure stop her. She traced where the order to erase that data had originated. Section Three. Dr. Halsey’s group. Curious.

She followed the order pathway—crashed into layers of counter code. The code started a trace on her signal.

She blocked it—and it restarted a trace of the origin of her block.

This was a very well-crafted piece of counterintrusion software, far superior to the normal ONI slugcode. If nothing else, Cortana liked a challenge. She withdrew from the database and looked for an unguarded way into ONI Section Three files.

Cortana listened to the hum of coded traffic along the surface of ONI’s secure network. There was an unusual amount of packets today: queries and encrypted messages from ONI operatives. She peered into them and unraveled their secrets as they passed her. There were orders for ship movements and operatives outbound from Reach. This must be the new directive to send scouts into the periphery systems and find the Covenant. She saw several ships docked in Reach’s space docks—ONI stealth jobs made to look like private yachts. They had cute, innocuous names: the Applebee, Circumference, and the Lark.

She spotted something she could use: Dr. Halsey had just entered her laboratory. She was at checkpoint three. The doctor waited as her voice and retina patterns were being scanned.

Cortana intercepted and killed the signal. The verification system reset.

“Please rescan retina, Dr. Halsey,” the system requested, “and repeat today’s code phrase in a normal voice.”

Before Dr. Halsey could do this, Cortana sent her own files of Dr. Halsey’s retina and voice scans. She had long ago copied them and occasionally they came in handy.

Section Three verification opened for Cortana. She had only a second before the doctor spoke and overrode the previous entry access.

Cortana, however, was a lightning strike in the system. She entered, searched, and found what she wanted. Every piece of data on SPARTAN 117 was copied to her personal directory within seventy milliseconds.

She withdrew from the ONI database, routing all traces of her queries back to her Ackerson “ghost.”

She closed all connections and returned to the Pillar of Autumn. One quick check of the reactor—yes, operating within normal parameters—and she sent a complete report to Lieutenant Hall on the bridge.

Cortana examined the Master Chief’s complete CSV. She scanned backward through time: his performance data on the obstacle course, and the debriefing he had given at ONI headquarters.

She paused and pondered the signal the Covenant had sent from Sigma Octanus IV. Intrigued, she tried to translate the sequence. The symbols looked tantalizingly familiar. Every algorithm and variation of the standard translation software she attempted, however, failed. Puzzled, she set it aside to examine later.

She continued, absorbing the data from the Master Chief’s files. She learned of the augmentations he and the other Spartans were made to endure; the brutal indoctrination and training they had received; and how he had been abducted at the age of six, and a flash clone used to replace him in an ONI black op.

All of it had been authorized by Dr. Halsey.

Cortana paused for a full three processor cycles churning this new data through her ethics subroutines... not comprehending. How could Dr. Halsey, who was so concerned for her Spartans, have done this to them?

Of course—because it was necessary. There was no other way to preserve the UNSC against rebellion and Covenant forces.

Was Dr. Halsey a monster? Or just doing what had to be done to protect humanity? Perhaps a little of both.

Cortana erased her stolen files. No matter. Whatever the Master Chief had been through in the past... it was done. He was in Cortana’s care now. She would do everything in her power—short of compromising their mission—to make sure nothing ever happened to him again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

0400 Hours, August 30, 2552 (Military Calendar)

UNSC Pillar of Autumn, in orbit around Epsilon Eridani System, Reach Military Complex

Captain Keyes tapped the thrusters of the shuttle pod Coda. The tiny craft rolled and the Pillar of Autumn came into view.

Normally, Captains did not ferry themselves around the space docks of Reach, but Keyes had insisted. All unauthorized personnel were restricted to a narrow flight path around the Pillar of Autumn, and he wanted to take a careful look around the outside of this ship before he took command.

From this distance, the Pillar of Autumn could have been mistaken for an elongated frigate. As the shuttle pod moved closer, however, details appeared that betrayed the ship’s age. The Pillar of Autumn’s hull had several larger dents and scratches. Her engine baffles were blackened. The portside emergency thrusters were missing.

What had he gotten himself into by signing up for Dr. Halsey’s mission?

He moved within a hundred meters and circled to the starboard. The shuttle bay on this side was sealed off. Red-and-yellow hazard warnings had been painted on metal plates that had been hastily welded over her entrance.

He closed to ten meters and saw the plate was not a solid sheet of metal—he could see armored ports, heavily reinforced... almost solid titanium A. Honeycombed throughout this section were the round covers of Archer missile pods. Captain Keyes counted: thirty pods across, ten down. Each pod held dozens of missiles. The Pillar of Autumn had a secret arsenal to rival any real cruiser in the fleet.

Captain Keyes drifted toward the stern and noticed concealed and recessed 50mm autocannons for defense against single ships.

Underneath were bumps—part of the linear accelerator system for the ship’s lone MAC gun. It looked too small to be truly effective. But he would reserve judgment. Perhaps, like the rest of the Pillar of Autumn, the weapon was more than it appeared to be.

He certainly hoped so.

Captain Keyes returned to the port side and drifted gently into the shuttle bay. He took note of three Longsword single ships and three Pelican dropships in the bay. One of the Pelicans had double the normal armor plating and what looked like grappling attachments. A serrated titanium ram decorated the dropship’s prow.

He touched down on an automated landing platform and locked the controls down. A moment later the shuttle descended belowdecks and was cycled through the airlock. Captain Keyes gathered his duffel bag and stepped onto the flight deck.

Lieutenant Hikowa was there to meet him. She saluted. “Welcome aboard, Captain Keyes.”

He saluted. “What do you think of her, Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant Hikowa’s dark eyes widened. “You’re not going to believe this ship, sir.” Her normally serious face broke with a smile. “They’ve turned it into something... special.”

“I saw what they did to my starboard shuttle bay,” Captain Keyes remarked sourly.

“That’s just the start,” she said. “I can give you a full tour.”

“Please,” Captain Keyes said. He paused at an intercom. “Just one thing first, Lieutenant.” He keyed the intercom. “Ensign Lovell, plot a course to the system’s edge and move the Pillar of Autumn on an accelerating vector. We will jump to Slipstream space as soon as we get there.”

“Sir,” Lovell replied. “Our engines are still in shakedown mode.”

“Cortana?” Captain Keyes asked. “Can we have power to move the ship? I’d like to get under way.”

“The engines’ final shakedown is in theta cycle,” Cortana replied. “Operating well within normal parameters. Diverting thirty percent power to engines; aye, sir.”

“And the other systems’ status?” Captain Keyes asked.

“Weapons-system check initiated. Navigational nodes functioning. Continuing systemwide shakedown and triple checks, Captain.”

“Very good,” he said. “Apprise me if there are any anomalies.”

“Aye, Captain,” she replied.

“We finally have an AI,” he remarked to Hikowa.

“We’ve got more than that, sir,” Hikowa replied. “Cortana is running the shakedown and supervising Dr. Halsey’s modifications to the ship. We have a backup AI to handle point defense.”

“Really?” Keyes was surprised; getting a single AI was tough enough these days. Getting two was unprecedented.

“Yes, sir. I’ll see to the initialization of our AI as soon as Cortana is through running her diagnostics.”

Captain Keyes had meet Cortana briefly in Dr. Halsey’s office. Although every AI he had met was brilliant, Cortana seemed exceptionally qualified. Captain Keyes had posed several navigation problems and she had figured out all the solutions... and had come up with a few options he had not considered. She was somewhat high-spirited, but that was not necessarily a bad thing.

Lieutenant Hikowa led him into the elevator and punched the button for D deck.

“At first,” Hikowa said, “I was concerned with all the ordnance on board. One penetrating shot and we could explode like a string of firecrackers. But this ship doesn’t have much empty space—it’s full of braces, honeycombed titanium-A, and hydraulic reinforcements that can be activated in an emergency. She can take a tremendous beating, sir.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to test that,” Captain Keyes said. He checked that this pipe was in his pocket.

“Yes, sir.”

Their elevator passed through the rotating section of the ship and Captain Keyes felt his weight ease and a flutter of vertigo. He grabbed hold of the rails.

The doors opened and they entered the cavernous engine room. The ceiling was four stories high, making this the largest compartment in the ship. Catwalks and platforms ringed the hexagonal chamber.

“Here’s the new reactor, sir,” Hikowa said.

The device perched within a lattice of nonferric ceramic and leaded crystal. The main reactor ring was nestled in the center of what appeared to be two smaller reactor rings. Technicians floated nearby taking readings and monitoring the output displays on the walls.

“I’m not familiar with this design, Lieutenant.”

“The latest reactor technology. The Pillar of Autumn is the first ship to get it. The two smaller fusion reactors come online to supercharge the main reactor. Their overlapping magnetic fields can temporally boost power by three hundred percent.”

Captain Keyes whistled appreciatively as he scrutinized the room. “I don’t see any coolant pipes.”

“There are none, sir. This reactor uses a laser-induced optical slurry of ions chilled to near-absolute zero to neutralize the waste heat. The more we crank up the power, the more juice we have to cool the system. It is very efficient.”

The smaller reactors flickered to life and Captain Keyes felt the ambient heat in the room jump, then suddenly cool again. He removed his pipe and tapped it in the palm of his hand. He would have to rethink his old tactics. This new engine could give him new options in battle.

“There’s more, sir.”

Lieutenant Hikowa led him back into the lift. “We have forty fifty-millimeter cannons for point defense, with overlapping fields of fire covering all inbound vectors.”

“What is our least defended approach vector?”

“Bottom fore,” she said, “along the lay line of the MAC system. There are very few gunnery placements there. Transient magnetic bursts tend to magnetize the weapons.”

“Tell me about the MAC gun, Lieutenant. It looks under-powered.”

“It fires a special light round with a ferrous core, but an outer layer of tungsten carbide. The round splinters on impact—like an assault rifle’s shredder rounds.” She was talking so fast she had to pause and take a deep breath. “This gun has magnetic field recyclers along the length that recapture the field energy. Coupled with booster capacitors, we can fire three successive shots with one charge.”

That would be very effective against the Covenant energy shields. The first shot, maybe the first pair of shots, would take down their shields. The last round would deliver a knockout punch.

“I take it you approve, Lieutenant?”

“To quote Ensign Lovell, sir, ‘I think I’m in love.’ ”

Captain Keyes nodded. “I notice we have several single ships and some Pelican dropships in the bay.”

“Yes, sir. One of the Longswords is equipped with a Shiva nuclear warhead. It can be remote-piloted. We also have three HAVOK warheads onboard.”

“Of course,” Captain Keyes said. “And the Pelicans? One of them had extra armor.”

“The Spartans were working on it. Some sort of boarding craft.”

“The Spartans?” Captain Keyes asked. “They’re already onboard?”

“Yes, sir. They were here before we got on board.”

“Take me to them, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Hikowa stopped the elevator and hit the button for C deck.

Twenty-five years ago Captain Keyes had helped procure the Spartan candidates for Dr. Halsey. She had said they might one day be the best hope the UNSC had for peace. At the time he’d assumed that the Doctor was prone to hyperbole—but it appeared that she’d been correct. That didn’t make what they had done right, though. His complicity in those kidnappings still haunted him.

The elevator doors opened. The primary storage bay had been converted into barracks for the thirty Spartans. Every one of them wore MJOLNIR battle armor. They looked alien to him. Part machine, part titan—but completely inhuman.

The room was filled with motion—Spartans unpacked crates, others cleaned and field-stripped their assault rifles, and a pair of them practiced hand-to-hand combat. Captain Keyes could barely follow their motions. They were so fast, no hesitation. Strike and block and counter-strike—their movements were a continuous stream of rapid-fire blurs.

Captain Keyes had seen the news feeds and heard the rumors, like everyone on in the fleet—the Spartans were near-mythological figures in the military. They were supposed to be super-human soldiers, invulnerable and indestructible—and it was almost the truth. Dr. Halsey had shown him their operational records.

Between the Spartans and the refitted Pillar of Autumn, Captain Keyes was beginning to believe Dr. Halsey’s long-shot mission might work after all.

“Captain on the deck!” one of the Spartans shouted.

Every Spartan stopped and snapped to attention.

“As you were,” he said.

The Spartans relaxed slightly. One turned and strode toward him.

“Master Chief SPARTAN 117 reporting as ordered, sir.” The armored giant paused, and for a moment, Keyes thought the Spartan looked uncomfortable. “Sir, I regret the unit was not able to ask your permission to come aboard. Admiral Stanforth insisted we keep our presence off the COM channels and computer networks.”

Captain Keyes found the reflective faceplates of the Spartans’ helmets disconcerting. It was impossible to read their features.

“Quite all right, Master Chief. I just wanted to extend my regards. If you or your men need anything, let me know.”

“Yes, sir,” the Master Chief said.

An awkward moment of silence passed. Captain Keyes felt like he didn’t belong here—an intruder in a very exclusive club. “Well, Master Chief, I’ll be on the bridge.”

“Sir!” The Master Chief saluted.

Captain Keyes returned the salute and left with Lieutenant Hikowa.

When the elevator doors closed, Lieutenant Hikowa said, “Do you think—I mean with all due respect to the Spartans, sir—don’t you think they’re... strange?”

“Strange? Yes, Lieutenant. You might act a little strange if you seen and been through as much as they had.”

“Some people say they’re not even humans in those suits—that they’re just machines.”

“They’re human,” Captain Keyes said.

The elevator doors parted and Captain Keyes stepped onto his bridge. It was much smaller than he was accustomed to; the command chair was only a meter from the other stations. View screens dominated the room, and a massive, curved window afforded a panoramic view of the stars.

“Status reports,” Captain Keyes ordered.

Lieutenant Dominique spoke first. “Communication systems are green, sir. Monitoring FLEETCOM Reach traffic. No new orders.” Dominique had gotten his hair shorn since he had been on the Iroquois. He also had a new tattoo around his left wrist: the wavy lines of a Besell function.

“Reactor shakedown eighty percent complete,” Lieutenant Hall reported. “Oxygen, power, rotation, and pressure all green lights, sir.” She smiled, but it wasn’t like before—an automatic gesture. She seemed genuinely happy.

Lieutenant Hikowa took her seat and strapped in. She gathered her black hair and tied it into a knot. “Weapons panel shows green, sir. MAC gun capacitors at zero charge.”

Ensign Lovell finally reported: “Navigation and sensor systems online, Captain, and all green. Ready for your orders.” Lovell was completely focused on his station.

A small hologram of Cortana flickered on the AI pedestal near navigation. “Engine shakedown running smoothly, Captain,” she said. “All personnel onboard. You have half-power now if you wish to move the ship. Fujikawa-Shaw generators on-line... you can take us into the Slipstream at your pleasure.”

“Very good,” Captain Keyes said.

Keyes surveyed his crew, pleased at how they had sharpened up after Sigma Octanus. Gone were the bleary, haggard expressions, and the tentative, nervous mannerisms.

Good, he thought. We’re going to need everyone at the top of their game now.

The crew had been briefed on their mission—part of it anyway. Captain Keyes had insisted. They were told they would be attempting to capture Covenant technology, with an aim to disabling one of the aliens’ ships and bringing it back intact.

What the crew didn’t know were the stakes.

“Approaching Reach system’s edge,” Ensign Lovell reported. “Ready to generate a Slipstream—”

“Captain!” Lieutenant Dominique cried. “Incoming Alpha priority transmission from FLEETCOM HQ at Reach... sir, they’re under Covenant attack!”