by Eric Nylund
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 theIroquois . 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!”
SECTION V REACH
CHAPTER THIRTY 0000 Hours, August 29, 2552 (Military Calendar) / narrow-band point-to-point transmission:
origin UNKNOWN; termination: Section Three, Omega secure antenna array, UNSC HQ Epsilon Eridani System, Reach Military Complex PLNBPriority Transmission XX087R-XX Encryption Code:GAMMA Public Key:N/A From:CODENAME:COALMINER To:CODENAME:SURGEON Subject:PROGRESS REPORT/OPERATIONHYPODERMIC Classification:EYES ONLY TOP SECRET (SECTION III X-RAY DIRECTIVE) /file extraction-reconstitution complete/ /start file/ Secured space-dock repair bay. CorvetteCircumference undergoing final stealth upgrades. Shipyard
records successfully altered. Queries detected from transient AI. Operation deemed AT RISK of being uncovered. As per contingency plan TANGO: ship registration numbers scrambled; hard isolated from dockside
computer network; counterintrusion software implemented; Alpha security protocols enacted onboard.
Just as you called it, sir. Don’t worry—as far as the station computers are concerned,Circumference never even existed. /end file/ /scrambledestruction process enabled/ PressENTER to continue.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
0447 Hours, August 30, 2552 (Military Calendar) / Remote Sensing StationFermion, Epsilon Eridani System’s edge
Chief Petty Officer McRobb entered the command center of Remote Sensing StationFermion . Lieutenants (JG) Bill Streeter and David Brightling stood and saluted.
He wordlessly returned their salutes.
The wall-sized monitors displayed the contents of the last Slipstream probes: multidimensional charts, a rainbow of false color enhancements, and a catalog of objects adrift in the alternate space. Some of the new officers thought the representations looked “pretty.”
To Chief McRobb, however, each pixel on the screens represented danger. So many things could hide in multidimensional space: pirates, black marketers . . . the Covenant.
McRobb inspected their duty stations. He double-checked that all programs and hardware were running within UNSC specifications. He ran his hand along the monitors and keypads looking for dust. Their stations were in tip-top shape.
Considering what they were guarding, Reach, anything less than perfection was unacceptable. He made certain his crew knew it, too.
“Carry on,” he said.
Since the battle of Sigma Octanus, FLEETCOM had reassigned top people to its Remote Sensing Stations. Chief McRobb had been pulled from Fort York on the edge of the Inner Colonies. He had spent the last three months helping his crew brush up on their abstract and complex algebras to interpret the probe data.
“Ready to send out the next set of probes, sir,” Lieutenant Streeter said. “Linear accelerator and Slipspace generators online and charged.”
“Set for thirty-second return cycle and launch,” Chief McRobb ordered.
“Aye, sir. Probes away, sir. Accelerated and entering the Slipstream.”
FLEETCOM didn’t really expect anything to attack the Reach Military Complex. It was the heart of the UNSC military operations. If anything did attack it, the battle would be a short one. There were twenty Super MAC guns in orbit. They could accelerate a three-thousand-ton projectile to point four-tenths the speed of light—and place that projectile with pinpoint accuracy. If that wasn’t enough to stop a Covenant fleet, there were anywhere from a hundred to a hundred and fifty ships in the system at any given time.
Chief McRobb knew, though, there had been another military base that was once thought too strong to attack—and the military had paid the price for their lack of vigilance. He wasn’t about to let Reach become another Pearl Harbor. Not on his watch.
“Probes returning, sir,” Lieutenant Brightling announced. “Alpha reentering normal space in three . . . two . . . one. Scanning sectors. Signal acquired at extraction point minus forty five thousand kilometers.”
“Process the signals and send out the recovery drone, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, sir. Getting signal lock on—” The Lieutenant squinted at his monitor. “Sir, would you take a look at this?”
“On the board, Lieutenant.”
Radar and neutron imager silhouettes appeared on-screen—and filled the display. Chief McRobb had never seen anything like it in Slipstream space.
“Confirm that the data stream is not corrupted,” the Chief ordered. “I’m estimating that object is three thousand kilometers in diameter.”
“Affirmative . . . thirty-two-hundred-kilometer diameter confirmed, sir. Signal integrity is green. We’ll have a trajectory for the planetoid as soon as Beta probe returns.”
It was rare for any natural object this large to be in Slipstream space. An occasional comet or asteroid had been logged—UNSC astrophysicists still weren’t sure how the things got into the alternate dimension. But there had never been anything like this. At least, not since—
“Oh my God,” McRobb whispered.
Not since Sigma Octanus.
“We’re not waiting for Beta probe,” Chief McRobb barked. “We are initiating the Cole Protocol. Lieutenant Streeter, purge the navigational database, and I meanright now . Lieutenant Brightling, remove the safety interlocks on the station’s reactor.”
His junior officers hesitated for a moment—then they understood the gravity of their situation. They moved quickly.
“Initiating viral data scavengers,” Lieutenant Streeter called out. “Dumping main and cache memory.” He turned in his seat, his face white. “Sir, the science library is offline for repairs. It has every UNSC astrophysics journal in it.”
“With navigation data on every star within a hundred light-years,” the Chief whispered. “Including Sol. Lieutenant, you get someone down there and destroy that data. I don’t care if they have to hit it with a goddamn sledgehammer—make sure that data is wiped.”
“Aye, sir!” Streeter turned to the COM and began issuing frantic orders.
“Safety interlocks red on the board,” Lieutenant Brightling reported. His lips pressed into a single white line, concentrating. “Beta probe returning, sir, in four . . . three . . . two . . . one. There. Off target one hundred twenty thousand kilometers. Signal is weak. The probe appears to be malfunctioning. Trying to scrub the signal now.”
“It’s too much of a coincidence that it’s malfunctioning, Streeter,” the Chief said. “Get FLEETCOM on Alpha channel on the double! Compress and send the duty log.”
“Aye, sir.” Lieutenant Streeter’s fingers fumbled with the keypad as he typed—then had to retype the command. “Logs sent.”
“Beta probe signal on the board,” Lieutenant Brightling reported. “Calculating the object’s trajectory . . . ”
The planetoid was closer. Its edges, however, had abnormalities—bumps and spikes and protrusions.
Chief McRobb shifted and clenched his hands into fists.
“It will pass though Reach System,” Lieutenant Brightling said. “Intersecting the solar plane in seventeen seconds at the system’s outer edge at zero four one.” He inhaled sharply. “Sir, that’s only a light-second away from us.”
Lieutenant Streeter stood and knocked over his chair, almost backing into the Chief.
McRobb righted the chair. “Sit down, Lieutenant. We’ve got a job to do. Target the telescope array to monitor that region of space.”
Lieutenant Streeter turned and gazed into the rock-solid features of the Chief. He took a deep breath.
“Yes, sir.” He sat back down. “Aye, sir, moving the array.”
“Gamma probe returning in three . . . two . . . one.” Lieutenant Brightling paused. “There’s no signal, sir. Scanning. Time plus four seconds and counting. Probe may have translated on a temporal axis.” “I don’t think so,” the Chief murmured. Lieutenant Streeter said, “Telescope array now on target, sir. On the main view screen.” Pinpoints of green light appeared at the edge of the Reach solar system. They collected and swarmed as
if they were caught in a boiling liquid. Space stretched, smeared, and distorted. Half the stars in that
region were blotted out. “Radar contact,” Lieutenant Brightling said. “Contact with . . . more than three hundred large objects.” His hands started to shake. “Sir, silhouettes match known Covenant profiles.”
“They’re accelerating,” Lieutenant Streeter whispered. “On an intercept course for the station.”
“FLEETCOM network connections are being infiltrated,” Lieutenant Brightling said. His trembling hands could barely type in commands. “Cutting our connection.” Chief McRobb stood as straight as he could. “What about the astrophysics data?” “Sir, they’re still trying to end the diagnostic cycle, but that takes a few minutes.” “Then we don’t have a lot of options,” McRobb muttered. He set his hand on Lieutenant Brightling’s shoulder to steady the young officer. “It’s all right,
Lieutenant. We’ve done the best we could. We’ve done our duty. There’s nothing more to worry about.” He set his palmprint on the control station. The Chief locked out the reactor safeties and saturated the fusion chamber with their deuterium reserve tanks. Chief McRobb said, “Just one last order to carry out.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
0519 Hours, August 30, 2552 (Military Calendar) / UNSCPillar of Autumn , Epsilon Eridani System’s edge
Something was wrong.
John felt it in his stomach first: a slight lateral acceleration—that became a spin strong enough that he had to brace his legs. ThePillar of Autumn was turning. Every other Spartan in the storage bay felt it as well; they paused as they unloaded equipment from
crates and readied the cryo tubes for their journey.
The lateral motion slowed and stopped. ThePillar of Autumn ’s engines rumbled like thunder through the hull of the ship. Kelly approached him. “Sir? I thought we were accelerating to enter Slipspace?” “So did I. Have Fred and Joshua continue to prep the tubes. Have Linda get a team and secure our gear.
I’ll find out what’s going on.” “Aye, sir.” The Master Chief marched toward the intercom panel. He hated being on spaceships. The lack of control
was disturbing. He and the other Spartans were just extra cargo in a space battle.
He hesitated as he reached for the intercom. If Captain Keyes was involved in some tricky maneuver or engaging an enemy, the last thing he needed was an interruption. He pressed the button. “Cortana? We’ve changed course. Is there a problem?” Instead of her voice, however, Captain Keyes spoke over the channel: “Captain Keyes to Spartan 117.” He replied, “Here, sir.” “There’s been a change in plans,” Keyes said. There was a long pause. “This will be easier to explain
face-to-face. I’m on my way down to brief you. Keyes out.”
John turned and the other Spartans snapped to their tasks. Those without specific orders checked and
rechecked their weapons and assembled their combat gear. They had all heard the Captain, however. The sound receivers in their armor could pick up a whisper at a hundred meters.
And the Spartans didn’t have to be told this was trouble.
John clicked on the monitor near the intercom. The fore camera showed thePillar of Autumn had indeed turned about. Reach’s sun blazed in the center of the screen. They were heading back. Was something wrong with the ship? No. Captain Keyes wouldn’t be coming to brief him if that was the
case. There was definitely a snag. The elevator doors opened and Captain Keyes stepped off the lift. “Captain on the deck!” the Master Chief shouted. The Spartans stood at attention. “At ease,” Captain Keyes said. The expression on the Captain’s face suggested that “ease” was the last
thing on his mind. He smoothed his thumb over the antique pipe the Master Chief had seen him carry.
“There is something very wrong,” Keyes said. He glanced at the other Spartans. “Let’s talk in private,” he told the Master Chief in a low voice. He walked to the monitor over the intercom. “Sir,” the Master Chief said. “Unless you wish to leave the deck, the Spartans will hear everything we
say.” Keyes looked at the Spartans and frowned. “I see. Very well, your squad might as well hear this now,
too. I don’t know how they found Reach—they bypassed a dozen Inner Colony worlds to get here. It doesn’t matter. Theyare here. And we have to do something.” “Sir? ‘They’?” “The Covenant.” He turned to the intercom. “Cortana, display the last priority Alpha transmission.” A communiqué flickered on screen, and the Master Chief read:
United Nations Space Command ALPHA PRIORITY TRANSMISSION 04592Z-83
Encryption Code:Red Public Key:file /bravo-tango-beta-five/ From:
Admiral Roland Freemont, Commanding Fleet Officer, FLEETCOM Sector One Commander/
(UNSC Service Number: 00745-16778-HS) To:ALL UNSC warships in REACH, JERICO, and TANTALUS systems Subject:IMMEDIATE RECALL Classification:Classified (BGX Directive)
/start file/
Covenant presence detected on REACH system’s edge coordinates 030 relative.
All UNSC warships are hereby ordered to cease all activities and regroup at rally pointZULU at best speed. ALL SHIPSare to enact the Cole Protocol immediately.
/end file/
“Cortana has picked up ship signatures on thePillar of Autumn ’s sensors,” Captain Keyes said. “She cannot be sure how many because of electrical interference, but there are more than a hundred alien ships inbound toward Reach. We have to go. We have our orders. The Section Three mission has to be scrubbed.”
“Sir? Scrubbed?” John had never had a mission canceled.
“Reach is our strategic headquarters and our biggest ship-building facility, Master Chief. If the shipyards fall, then Dr. Halsey’s prediction of humanity having only months to survive will shrink to weeks.”
The Master Chief normally would never have contradicted a superior officer, but this time duty compelled him. “Sir, our two missions are not mutually exclusive.”
Captain Keyes lit his pipe—in defiance of three separate regulations of igniting a combustible on a USNC ship. He puffed once and thoughtfully examined the smoke. “What do you have in mind, Master Chief?”
“A hundred alien vessels, sir. Between the combined force of the fleet and Reach’s orbital gun platforms, it is almost guaranteed there will be a disabled ship my squad can board and capture.”
Captain Keyes mulled this over. “There will also be hundreds of ships exchanging fire with one another. Missiles, nukes . . . Covenant plasma torpedoes.”
“Just get us close enough,” the Master Chief said. “Punch a hole in their shields long enough for us to get on their hull. We’ll do the rest.”