“Please breathe normally,” Dr. Halsey told him, “but otherwise remain absolutely still.”
John held himself as motionless as he could. The armor shifted and melded to the contours of his form. It was like a second skin … and much lighter than he had thought it would be. It heated, then cooled—then matched the temperature of his body. If he closed his eyes, he wouldn’t have known he was encased.
They set the helmet over his head.
Health monitors, motion sensors, suit status indicators pulsed into life. A targeting reticle flickered on the heads-up display.
“Everyone move back,” Halsey ordered.
The Spartans—from their expressions, they were concerned for him, but still intensely curious—cleared a ring with a radius of three meters around him.
“Listen carefully to me, John,” Dr. Halsey said. “I just want you to think, and only think, about moving your arm up to chest level. Stay relaxed.”
He willed his arm to move, and his hand and forearm sprang forward to chest level. The slightest motion translated his thought to motion at lightning speed. It had been so fast—if he hadn’t been attached to his arm, he might have missed that it had happened at all.
The Spartans gasped.
Sam applauded. Even lightning-fast Kelly seemed impressed.
Dr. Halsey slowly coached John through the basics of walking and gradually built up the speed and complexity of his motions. After fifteen minutes he could walk, run, and jump almost without thinking of the difference between suit motion and normal motion.
“Petty Officer, run through the obstacle course,” Dr. Halsey said. “We will proceed to fit the other Spartans. We don’t have a great deal of time left.”
John snapped a salute without thinking. His hand bounced off his helmet and a dull ache throbbed in his hand. His wrist would be bruised. If his bones hadn’t been reinforced, he knew they would have been pulverized.
“Carefully, Petty Officer. Very carefully, please.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
John focused his mind on motion. He leaped over a three-meter-high wall. He punched at concrete targets—shattering them. He threw knives, sinking them up to their hafts into target dummies. He slid under barbed wire as bullets zinged over his head. He stood, and let the rounds deflect off the armor. To his amazement, he actually dodged one or two of the rounds.
Soon the other Spartans joined him on the course. Everyone ran awkwardly through the obstacles, though they had no coordination. John expressed his worries to Dr. Halsey. “It will come to you soon enough. You’ve already received some subliminal training during your last cryo sleep—” Dr. Halsey told them. “—now all you need is time to get used to the suits.”
More worrisome to John was the realization that they’d have to learn how to work together all over again. Their usual hand signals were too exaggerated now—a slight wave or tremble translated into full-force punches or uncontrolled vibrations. They would have to use the COM channels for the time being.
As soon as he thought of this, his suit tagged and monitored the other MJOLNIR suits. Their standard-issue UNSC neural chip—implanted in every UNSC soldier at induction—identified friendly soldiers and displayed them on their helmet HUDs. But this was different—all he had to do was concentrate on them, and a secure COM channel opened. It was extremely efficient.
And much to his relief, after drilling for thirty minutes, the Spartans had recovered all of their original group coordination, and more.
On one level, John moved the suit and, in return, it moved him. On another level, however, communication with his squad was so easy and natural, he could move and direct them as if they were an extension of his body.
Over the hangar’s speakers, the Spartans heard Dr. Halsey’s voice: “Spartans, so far so good. If anyone is experiencing difficulties with the suit or its controls, please report in.”
“I think I’m in love,” Sam replied. “Oh—sorry, ma’am. I didn’t think that was an open channel.”
“Flawless amplification of speed and power,” Kelly said. “It’s like I’ve been training in this suit for years.”
“Do we get to keep them?” John asked.
“You’re the only ones who can use them, Petty Officer. Who else could we give them to? We—” A technician handed her a headset. “One moment, please. Report, Captain.”
Captain Wallace’s voice broke over the COM channels. “We have contact with the Covenant ship, ma’am. Extreme range. Their Slipspace engines must still be damaged. They are moving toward us via normal space.”
“Your repair status?” she asked.
“Long-range communications inoperable. Slipstream generators offline. MAC system destroyed. We have two fusion missiles and twenty Archer missile pods intact. Armor plating is at twenty percent.” There was a long hiss of static. “If you need more time … I can try and draw them away.”
“No, Captain,” she replied, and carefully scrutinized John and the other armored Spartans. “We’re going to have to fight them … and this time we have to win.”
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
2037 HOURS, NOVEMBER 27, 2525 (MILITARY CALENDAR) / IN ORBIT OVER CHI CETI 4
John piloted the Pelican through the exit burn of their orbital path, then sent the ship toward the last known position of the Commonwealth. The frigate had moved ten million kilometers in-system from their rendezvous point.
Dr. Halsey sat in the copilot’s seat, fidgeting with her space suit. In the aft compartment were the Spartans, the three technicians from the Damascus facility, and a dozen spare MJOLNIR suits.
Missing, however, were the AIs John had seen when they had first arrived. All Dr. Halsey had time to do was remove their memory processor cubes. It was a tremendous waste to leave such expensive equipment behind.
Dr. Halsey examined the ship’s short-range detection gear, then said, “Captain Wallace may be trying to use Chi Ceti’s magnetic field to deflect the Covenant’s plasma weapon. Try and catch up, Petty Officer.”
“Yes, ma’am.” John pushed the engines to 100 percent.
“Covenant ship to port,” she said, “three million kilometers and closing on the Commonwealth.”
John bumped up the magnification onscreen and spotted the ship. The alien vessel’s hull was bent at a thirty-degree angle from the impact of the MAC heavy round, but it still moved at almost twice the speed of the Commonwealth.
“Doctor,” John asked, “does the MJOLNIR armor operate in vacuum?”
“Of course,” she replied. “It was one of our first design considerations. The suit can recycle air for ninety minutes. It’s shielded against radiation and EMP as well.”
He then spoke to Sam over his COM link. “What kind of missiles is this bird carrying?”
“Wait one moment, sir,” Sam replied. His voice returned a moment later. “We have two rocket pods with sixteen HE Anvil-IIs each.”
“I want you to assemble a team and go EVA. Remove those warheads from the wing pods.”
“I’m on it,” Sam said.
Halsey tried to push her glasses up higher on her nose—instead she bumped up against the faceplate of her suit’s helmet. “May I ask what you have in mind, Squad Leader?”
John left his COM channel open so the Spartans would hear his reply.
“Requesting permission to attack the Covenant ship, ma’am.”
Her blue eyes widened. “Most certainly not,” she said. “If a warship like the Commonwealth couldn’t destroy it, a Pelican is certainly no match for them.”
“Not the Pelican, no,” John agreed. “But I believe we Spartans are. If we get inside the enemy ship, we can destroy her.”
Doctor Halsey considered, tapping her lower lip. “How will you get onboard?”
“We go EVA and use thruster packs to intercept the Covenant ship as it passes en route to the Commonwealth.”
She shook her head. “One slight error in your trajectory, and you could miss by kilometers,” D
r. Halsey remarked.
A pause.
“I don’t miss, ma’am,” John said.
“They have reflective shields.”
“True,” John replied. “But the ship is damaged. They may have had to lower or reduce shielding in order to conserve power—and if we have to, we can use one of our own warheads to punch a small hole in the barrier.” He paused, then added, “There’s also a large hole in their hull. Their shield may not cover that space entirely.”
Dr. Halsey whispered, “It’s a tremendous risk.”
“With respect, ma’am, it’s a bigger risk to sit here and do nothing. After they finish with the Commonwealth … they’ll come for us and we’ll have to fight them anyway. Better to strike first.”
She stared off into space, lost in thought.
Finally, she sighed in resignation. “Very well. Go.” She transferred the pilot controls to her station. “And blow the hell out of them.”
John climbed into the aft compartment.
His Spartans stood at attention. He felt a rush of pride; they were ready to follow him as he leaped literally into the jaws of death.
“I’ve got the warheads,” Sam said. It was hard to mistake Sam even with his reflective blast shield covering his face. He was the largest Spartan—even more imposing encased in the armor.
“Everyone’s got one,” Sam continued as he handed John a metal shell. “Timers and detonators are already rigged. Stuck on a patch of adhesive polymer; they’ll cling to your suit.”
“Spartans,” John said, “grab thruster packs and make ready to go EVA. Everyone else—” He motioned to the three technicians. “—get into the forward cabin. If we fail, they’ll be coming after the Pelican. Protect Dr. Halsey.”
He moved aft. Kelly handed him a thruster pack and he slipped it on.
“Covenant ship approaching,” Halsey called out. “I’m pumping out your atmosphere to avoid explosive decompression when I drop the back hatch.”
“We’ll only get one shot at this,” John said to the other Spartans. “Plot an intercept trajectory and fire your thrusters at max burn. If the target changes course, you’ll have to make a best-guess correction on the fly. If you make it, we’ll regroup outside the hole in their hull. If you miss—we’ll pick you up after we’re done.”
He hesitated, then added, “And if we don’t succeed, then power down your systems and wait for UNSC reinforcements to retrieve you. Live to fight another day. Don’t waste your lives.”
There was a moment of silence.
“If anyone has a better plan, speak up now.”
Sam patted John on the back. “This is a great plan. It’ll be easier than Chief Mendez’s playground. A bunch of little kids could pull it off.”
“Sure,” John said. “Everyone ready?”
“Sir,” they said. “We’re ready, sir!”
John flipped the safety off and then punched in the code to open the Pelican’s tail. The mechanism opened soundlessly in the vacuum. Outside was infinite blackness. He had a feeling of falling through space—but the vertigo quickly passed.
He positioned himself on the edge of the ramp, both hands gripping a safety handle overhead.
The Covenant ship was a tiny dot in the center of his helmet’s view screen. He plotted a course and fired the thruster pack on maximum burn.
Acceleration slammed him into the thruster harness. He knew the others would launch right after him, but he couldn’t turn to see them.
It occurred to him then that the Covenant ship might identify the Spartans as incoming missiles—and their point-defense lasers were too damn accurate.
John clicked on the COM channel. “Doctor, we could use a few decoys if Captain Wallace can spare them.”
“Understood,” she said.
The Covenant vessel grew rapidly in his display. A burst from its engines and it turned slightly.
Traveling at one hundred million kilometers an hour, even a minor course correction meant that he could miss by tens of thousands of kilometers. John carefully corrected his vector.
The pulse laser on the side of the Covenant ship glowed, built up energy, until it was dazzling neon blue, then discharged—but not at him.
John saw explosions in his peripheral vision. The Commonwealth had fired a salvo of her Archer missiles. Around him in the dark were puffballs of red-orange detonations—utterly silent.
John’s velocity now almost matched that of the ship. He eased toward the hull—twenty meters, ten, five … and then the Covenant ship started to pull away from him.
It was traveling too fast. He tapped his altitude thrusters and pointed himself perpendicular to the hull.
The Covenant hull accelerated under him … but he was dropping closer.
He stretched out his arms. The hull raced past his fingertips a meter away.
John’s fingers brushed against something—it felt semiliquid. He could see his hand skimming a near-invisible, glassy, shimmering surface: the energy shield.
Damn. Their shields were still up. He glanced to either side. The huge hole in their hull was nowhere in sight.
He slid over the hull, unable to grab hold of it.
No. He refused to accept that he had made it this far, only to fail now.
A pulse laser flashed a hundred meters away; his faceplate barely adjusted in time. The flash nearly blinded him. John blinked and then saw a silvery film rush back around the bulbous base of the laser turret.
The shield dropped to let the laser fire?
The laser started to build up charge again.
He would have to act quickly. His timing had to be perfect. If he hit that turret before it fired, he’d bounce off. If he hit the turret as it fired … there wouldn’t be much left of him.
The turret glowed, intensely bright. John set his thrust harness on a maximum burn toward the laser, noting the rapidly dwindling fuel charge. He closed his eyes, saw the blinding flash through his lids, felt the heat on his face, then opened his eyes—just in time to crash and bounce into the hull.
The hull plates were smooth, but had grooves and odd, organic crenellations—perfect fingerholds. The difference between his momentum and the ship’s nearly pulled his arms out of their sockets. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip.
He had made it.
John pulled himself along the hull toward the hole the Commonwealth’s MAC round had punched in the ship.
Only two other Spartans waited for him there.
“What took you so long?” Sam’s voice crackled over the COM channel. The other Spartan lifted her helmet’s reflective blast shield. He saw Kelly’s face.
“I think we’re it,” Kelly said. “I’m not getting any other responses over the COM channels.”
That meant either the Covenant ship shielded their transmissions … or there were no Spartans left to communicate with. John pushed that last thought aside.
The hole was ten meters across. Jagged metal teeth pointed inward. John looked over the edge and saw that the MAC heavy round had indeed passed all the way through. He saw tiers of exposed decks, severed conduits, and sheared metal beams—and through the other side, black space and stars.
They climbed down.
John immediately fell down on the first deck.
They continued inward, scaling the metal walls until they were approximately in the middle of the ship.
John paused and saw the stars wheel outside either end of the hole. The Covenant ship must be turning. They were engaging the Commonwealth.
“We better hurry.”
He stepped onto an exposed deck, and the gravity settled his stomach—giving him an up-and-down orientation.
“Weapons check,” John told them.
They examined their assault rifles. The guns had made the journey intact. John slipped in a clip of armor-piercing rounds, noting with pleasure that the suit immediately aligned the sight profile of the gun with his targeting system.
He slung the weapon and checked the HE warhead
attached to his hip. The timer and detonator looked undamaged.
John faced a sealed set of sliding pressure doors. It was smooth and soft to his touch. It could have been made of metal or plastic … or could have been alive, for all he knew.
He and Sam grabbed either side and pulled, strained, and then the mechanism gave and the doors released. There was a hiss of atmosphere, a dark hallway beyond. They entered in formation—covering each other’s blind spots.
The ceiling was three meters high. It made John feel small.
“You think they need all this space because they’re so large?” Kelly asked.
“We’ll know soon,” he told her.
They crouched, weapons at the ready, and moved slowly down the corridor, John and Kelly in front. They rounded a corner and stopped at another set of pressure doors. John grabbed the seam.
“Hang on,” Kelly said. She knelt next to a pad with nine buttons. Each button was inscribed with runic alien script. “These characters are strange, but one of them has to open this.” She touched one and it lit, then she keyed another. Gas hissed into the corridor. “At least the pressure is equalized,” she said.
John double-checked his sensors. Nothing … though the alien metal inside the ship could be blocking the scans.
“Try another,” Sam said.
She did—and the doors slid apart.
The room was inhabited.
An alien creature stood a meter and half tall, a biped. Its knobby, scaled skin was a sickly, mottled yellow; purple and yellow fins ran along the crest of its skull and its forearms. Glittering, bulbous eyes protruded from skull-like hollows in the alien’s elongated head.
The Master Chief had read the UNSC’s first contact scenarios—they called for cautious attempts at communication. He couldn’t imagine communicating with something like this … thing. It reminded him of the carrion birds on Reach—vicious and unclean.
The creature stood there, frozen for a moment—staring at the human interlopers. Then it screeched and reached for something on its belt, its movements darting and birdlike.
The Spartans shouldered their weapons and fired a trio of bursts with pinpoint accuracy.
The Fall of Reach Page 12