Halo: Ghosts of Onyx

by Eric S. Nylund

  Whatever it was, it wasn't human; otherwise Kelly would have ripped its human arm from

  the socket.

  Her opponent twisted her wrist and escaped from Kelly's grip.

  Kelly was still faster—her other hand lashed out, palm flat, and impacted the solar

  plexus.

  The other figure flew back two meters, hit a tree, and slumped.

  "Stand down. Spartan!"

  Kelly whirled. She recognized the voice—not Mendez's but another voice from the past…

  one that couldn't be. That person was dead.

  Before her stood a figure wavering as if a mirage, then the active camouflage faded, and a person in what looked like cut-down MJOLNIR armor was there, one hand holding an MASK rifle pointed at the ground, the other held up.

  "No time to explain, Kelly," this man said over the COM. "Move! Hostiles in—"

  An explosion tore through the jungle.

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  1045 HOURS, NOVEMBER 3, 2552 (MILITARY CALENDAR) ZETA DORADUS SYSTEM, PLANET ONYX NEAR RESTRICTED REGION KNOWN AS ZONE 67

  Kelly ducked and placed herself between the blast and Dr. Halsey. Splinters and stones pelted the energy shield of her MJOLNIR armor.

  When the dust cleared, the other person—the one that had

  sounded impossibly like Kurt—had vanished. So was the soldier she had knocked out.

  Her questions would have to wait, because Kelly saw the source of that explosion: a drone identical to the ones they had seen in space now hovered ten meters off the jungle floor, moving like a moray eel through the trees and vines.

  She aimed her MA5B and fired.

  A burst of three rounds hit and deflected off a gold shimmer of shields.

  It turned toward Kelly, and its central sphere heated.

  Kelly sprinted to draw the fire away from Dr. Halsey. Five strides, darting between trees,

  and she suddenly stopped, spun— jumped.

  A flash of light blinded her, and then the world detonated where she had stood a second before.

  The overpressure propelled her into the air. Kelly's shields drained to half, and she felt the heat prick her skin.

  She hit the ground, chest first, rolled awkwardly, wobbled, and got to her feet.

  A direct hit from that energy weapon would collapse her shield, and possibly melt her armor… and her.

  Pistol fire crackled through the brush. The drone's shields glimmered, and the thing turned and moved away.

  Kelly made out the camouflaged outlines of three soldiers, drawing it toward them.

  She appreciated the help, but it was suicide for them.

  Kelly started toward them.

  An amber acknowledgment light flashed twice. That was the Spartan team "wait" signal.

  She took cover behind a tree trunk.

  The drone aligned for a clean shot on the two. Its center sphere glowed molten.

  The trees to either side of the drone blasted into smoke and splinters. It was the sharp crack of high explosives that Kelly

  recognized as a LOTUS antitank mine detonated above ground.

  Two of the drone's booms twisted, bent inward by the force of the blast. The machine fell to the ground with a thud.

  The trees that had held the antitank mines toppled as well and their two-meter trunks crushed the drone, the wood bursting into flames.

  "One more," a voice said over her TEAMCOM. "Ten o'clock. Coming in fast."

  She saw the new threat gliding toward them.

  That was defmatly Kurt's voice. His last words had haunted Kelly's dreams for years. She remembered him tumbling into the black of space. "/'// be okay. I'll be o—"

  She started to reply, but then realized he wasn't talking to her.

  "Team Saber," Kurt continued, "move and draw fire. LOTUS mines out of range."

  Green acknowledgment lights winked on her display, lights that been reserved exclusively for the Spartans of Blue Team.

  Kelly had the fastest reflexes of any Spartan, a fact she was keenly proud of, and she practiced every day with twitch-response drills and Zen "no-thought" fire practice to keep them razor honed. But her physical reflexes weren't the only things that were lightning fast.

  In a flash, several facts correlated in her brain.

  Those drones had shields, but they didn't operate continuously. The antitank mines had caught the one with its shields down.

  The drone had, however, seen her, anticipated her rifle fire, and countered. That meant either it had purposely activated shields or they were automatically triggered by motion or radar.

  So she had, possibly, a way to take them out. It'd be risky but she wasn't going to stand by while Kurt's vulnerable team drew its fire and got roasted for their trouble.

  "Hold your fire," she said over TEAMCOM.

  With four pumping strides that gouged deeply into the jungle

  loam she accelerated to her top speed of sixty-two kilometers per hour.

  Kelly angled away from the drone, toward a tree just to its right.

  She jumped, hit the trunk three meters up—pushed off, flipped, propelling herself through the air straight at the hovering machine.

  No shields to stop her.

  She grabbed the port and starboard booms and swung both legs onto the bottom spar.

  Its central metal eye fixed her and heated to white-hot intensity.

  She let go and braced as best as she could on the slippery bottom boom, balled her hands into fists, and then hit the thing as hard as she could—impacting the eye dead center. Her shields flared as it repelled the intense heat.

  The sphere dented and spun backward.

  The drone spun as well from the momentum, and Kelly scrambled to regain purchase.

  She drew back once more, and before the thing could recover and blast her—she again

  struck a hammer blow. A crack appeared in the sphere's metal skin. Inside was a ball of blue-white heat. The

  metal edges of the sphere curled away from this breach, melting, bubbling.

  Kelly crouched and leapt, diverting all power to her shields.

  The air ignited a dazzling white. Her heads-up display flared with static. Kelly tumbled

  end over end, enveloped in fire and smoke—hit a tree, bounced, and fell to the jungle floor.

  She blinked and saw nothing but the red glare of flames. The jungle canopy was on fire; a shower of burning leaves rained down. Her vision cleared and she saw a blur of three

  figures approaching in active camouflage armor.

  She got to her feet.

  One of these figures had a curious handprint dent in their

  chest armor where Kelly had struck. The camo patterns there were misaligned, part

  shadow, part flames.

  The three stepped back, their MA5Ks pointed at the ground. Another camouflaged figure appeared and stepped between her and these soldiers. "Stand down, everyone," he said. "Welcome to my neck of the woods, Kelly" The voice was a perfect match from her memories. "Kurt?" she whispered. "I'm glad you remember." As if she could ever forget him. "Let me see your face," she said, keeping her hands up. The active camouflage faded and the gold mirrored faceplate unpolarized. Kelly peered inside the helmet. The slight cleft in his chin, the hazel eyes, the quick

  smile—it was Kurt. Around them, Kelly detected motion: two more in the curious armor, taking up good firing

  positions. That was smart. They were well trained.

  Kelly dropped her hands. "What's going on here?"

  "I'll explain everything," he said, "but we need to move. They hunt in threes now. A pair

  on patrol and one at high altitude on overwatch. They'll have our location."

  Kurt pointed to two on his team and then at the unconscious Dr. Halsey.

  Two soldiers went to her and wrapped her in a thermally reflective blanket. They carried

  her off between them.

  Kurt told Kelly, "Go COM silent." He then motioned to
her and to his team to follow.

  They moved quickly and silently through the brush.

  Kelly admired the caution, speed, and professionalism of these soldiers. Not a word from

  them. The two carrying Dr. Halsey kept up with the rest of them. No one broke the loose V formation.

  Still, something about these soldiers made her uneasy. It was

  nothing she could quantify, but as Kurt had often said, just a feeling.

  "Who's this Team Saber?" she asked Kurt in a whisper.

  "I'm disappointed you haven't guessed," he whispered back. "They're Spartans."

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  1125 HOURS, NOVEMBER 3, 2552 (MILITARY CALENDAR) ZETA DORADUS SYSTEM, PLANET ONYX RESTRICTED REGION KNOWN AS ZONE 67

  The pounding in Dr. Halsey's head brought her rudely to consciousness. She smelled burnt metal and blinked open her eyes. She was in a concrete room with a slit of a window high on one long wall.

  As her vision adjusted to the indirect light she saw Kelly and a figure in body armor next to her. The armor was a hybrid between the MJOLNIR and something older… like legionnaire armor, but it was difficult to tell the precise geometry as the light seemed to slide off its edges.

  In the far comer she spotted Chief Mendez, confirming at least part of her theories about this place. He considered an angle of light that streamed through the window. He puffed on his favorite, a Sweet William cigar, and blew smoke rings.

  There were seven others, sitting in the far corner, two sleeping, and five playing cards. Their helmets and boots were off, and their MA5Ks, cut-down versions of the standard MA5B assault rifle, were close at hand.

  At first, she thought they were ODSTs wearing pieces of what

  she now recognized as experimental infiltration armor systems. She had reviewed the technical specs on the systems: photo-reactive panels able to mimic surrounding textures, and underneath was a cushioning layer of liquid nanocrystals that provided more ballistic protection than three centimeters of Kelvar diamond weave without the bulk.

  One of the sleeping ones, a girl, dozed with one eye open. Her shorn hair had been buzz-cut to mimic animal claw marks. She couldn't be more than twelve. She blinked, sat up, and made a subtle sideways "cut" gesture to the others.

  They stopped and together turned to Dr. Halsey.

  Their faces were young, but they had the well-developed physiques of Olympic athletes. These had to be Ackerson's SPARTAN-IIIs.

  Dr. Halsey felt a curious mix of revulsion and maternalism.

  "How are you feeling?" Kelly asked.

  "Fine," she answered, and continued to examine her surroundings.

  There was carbon scoring and melted gobs of metal, as if the place had been bombed. Near Mendez was what looked as if it had once been a computer workstation—now a solid lump.

  Chief Mendez misread her gaze, and thinking she was looking at him, gave her a short bow.

  "Doctor, it's good to see you," he said, "but you and SPARTAN-087 have landed yourselves into a kettle of fish… boiling water and all. If you're well enough, I can fill you in. But take your time; there's no rush if you feel sick"

  "Indeed?" Dr. Halsey said, and raised one eyebrow.

  She resented being treated like an invalid moron. As if a minor acceleration-induced blackout had crippled her mental faculties.

  "Indulge me. Chief," she said. "Allow me to make a few educated guesses as to your 'kettle of fish'—just to test my mental state."

  Chief Mendez made a gracious gesture with his cigar. "Please, Doctor."

  "Where to start… ?" Dr. Halsey tapped her lower lip, thinking. "I suppose with you. Chief. You were recruited by Colonel Ackerson and some secret subcell of Section Three to train a new generation of Spartans."

  The Chief's cigar dropped from his fingers.

  She nodded toward the teens playing cards. "These must be the product of those efforts. I'm eager to question them about their training and augmentation and discover what else has been accomplished."

  The young Spartans looked amongst themselves, curiosity flickering over their faces.

  Kelly shifted in her kneeling stance, moved her weight onto her left foot as if preparing to pounce. Kelly was a finely honed weapon, but she had never learned how to conceal her emotions. Her body language spoke volumes: these third-generation Spartans made her nervous.

  That made her nervous, too.

  Dr. Halsey knew her conclusions about these new Spartans had been correct, but there were so many more unanswered questions. Mendez and Colonel Ackerson had had decades to produce and train two or three generations. If this were true, then why had she never heard of these Spartans? Keeping a pilot program secret was one thing; keeping dozens of next-generation Spartans who were likely fighting and winning battles hidden was another matter entirely.

  The implications of that silence chilled her to the bone.

  For now, though, she had to at least appear to know everything.

  Dr. Halsey stood and took a deep breath, smelling ash, vaporized aluminum, and the faint odor of carbonized meat.

  "Next," she said, "this bunker has been subjected to extreme temperature that approximately matches the blackbody radiation

  profile from the drones we encountered in space. I surmise that a battle has occurred here."

  She glanced at the young Spartans and the dents and flash-burn scoring on their armor.

  "A battle, I see, that has been rather one-sided."

  "The drones," the girl with the stylized buzz cut whispered. "What are they?"

  "A question, good." Dr. Halsey almost smiled. It was a fine beginning step between her and the new Spartans: teaching them. Trust would come later.

  "The drones, actually called Sentinels, are similar to those I have seen on an alien construct world," she explained. "Their builders, called Forerunners, possess technology more advanced than the Covenant. And they have just as much, or more, willingness to use that technology to destructive ends."

  Dr. Halsey turned and stepped toward the other unknown figure in full camouflaging armor. "But before I continue along theoretical lines of speculation, let me finish with the simple chains of logic."

  The unknown person stood nearly two and a half meters tall in his armor.

  "I recognize my work," she declared. "You are a SPARTAN-II." Very few soldiers in the UNSC were so tall or moved with such liquid grace.

  The figure nodded.

  Dr. Halsey walked around this unknown Spartan.

  "Despite the UNSC policy of listing every Spartan as missing or wounded in action when killed," Dr. Halsey continued, "I have kept track of those actually 'missing.' There was Randall in 2532, Kurt in 2531, and Sheila, in 2544."

  She completed her circle around the Spartan and gazed directly into his mirrored faceplate.

  "Sheila is dead," Dr. Halsey said. "I personally witnessed her killed in the Battle of Miridem. Which means you are Kurt or

  Randall. If I had to guess, I would say Kurt, because he made an effort to understand people and their feelings. If I were running a secret Spartan program, he would have been the one to select to lead them."

  The helmet's faceplate unpolarized and Kurt smiled at her.

  "Is there anything you don't know, Dr. Halsey?" Kurt said.

  She closed her eyes, suddenly weary, and then patted his gauntleted hand. "It is good to see you alive."

  She couldn't let slip exactly how happy she was to see Kurt. One of her Spartans come back from the dead, it was a small victory in a war of endless defeats. It redoubled her determination to save them all from the growing threats. But she had to maintain control. Spartans responded to authority and commands—never sentimentality.

  "We need to get a message to FLEFTCOM," she said. "Get help, and perhaps discover what the Forerunners are looking for here."

  Get help would translate as ships capable of translight flight, a way for Dr. Halsey to lead the last remaining Spartans to safety.

 
"Our COM options are nil," Mendez said, and snuffed his cigar on the concrete wall. "All ships in orbit…" He shook his head. "The Agincourt was destroyed days ago by drones."

  "Destroyed?" Dr. Halsey asked. "They should have been able to outrun the smaller craft."

  "The drones can combine," Kurt told her, "giving them cumulative power to their weapon systems, thrust, and shield capabilities."

  "The Beatrice was severely damaged on reentry," Kelly said. "Main engines inoperable. There is no possibility for a Slipspace transition."

  Dr. Halsey lowered her voice, a whisper, but still loud enough so everyone could hear. "We must find a way off this world, or a way to contact the UNSC. Another Forerunner ruin was recently

  discovered, a ring construct built for one purpose: the annihilation of all life in the galaxy. If the Onyx Sentinels are part of a similar weapon system…"

  She let that thought hang in the air.

  "Our COM options are not entirely nil," Kurt said. He crossed his arms, frowned, and hesitantly added, "I am breaking code-word secrecy, but there is apparently no alternative."

  "Go on," Dr. Halsey insisted.

  Kurt inhaled deeply then said, "There are two things. First, these drones may not be 'looking' for anything here. They may have always been here."

  He relayed the contents of the flash communication from Endless Summer. How Onyx was home to a vast top-secret complex of alien ruins.

  "We may have accidentally triggered their activation," he said.

  Dr. Halsey's mind raced, connecting the clues: facts from Cortana's log, the stone on Cote d'Azure, the alien passages and crystal under Reach.

  "When, precisely, did they appear?" she asked.

  "The morning of September twenty-first," Kurt replied.

  "That timing coincides with the activation of an alien weapon world—before John thankfully destroyed it. It is no coincidence that the Sentinels appeared then. It must be part of a larger Forerunner plan."

  Dr. Halsey strained to find the conclusion to these disparate facts, but failed. She needed more data.

  "I must have access to this Endless Summer AI," she said, "and all records on Zone 67."

  "That's not possible," Kurt said. "We fell back to this bunker because our base was found and vaporized. These Sentinels analyze our tactics, learn, and become harder to defeat. I can only surmise that the AI and ONI ops center is deep inside Zone 67, a region heavily patrolled by drones. With only seven of my