The Fall of Reach h-1 Page 10

  “And this is what the Heracles battlegroup found in orbit,” Admiral Stanforth told them.

  The blurry outline that was still visible, hanging in the air, sharpened into crisp focus. It looked smooth and organic, and the hull possessed an odd, opalescent sheen—it looked more like the carapace of an exotic insect than the metal hull of a spacecraft. Recessed into the aft section were pods that pulsed with a purple-white glow. The prow of the craft was swollen like the head of a whale. John thought it possessed an odd, predatory beauty.

  “The unidentified vessel,” the Admiral said, “launched an immediate attack against our forces.”

  Blue flashes strobed from the ship. Red motes of light then appeared along its hull. Bolts of energy coalesced into a fiery smear against the blackness of space. The deadly flashes of light impacted on the Arabia, splashed across its hull. Its meter of armor plating instantly boiled away, and a plume of ignited atmosphere burst from the breach in the ship’s hull. “Those were pulse lasers,” Admiral Stanforth explained, “and—if this record is to be believed—some kind of self-guided, superheated plasma weapon.”

  The Heracles and Vostok launched salvos of missiles toward the craft. The enemy’s lasers shot half before they reached their target. The balance of the missiles impacted, detonated into blossoms of fire... that quickly faded. The strange ship shimmered with a semitransparent silver coating, which then vanished.

  “They also seem to have some reflective energy shield.” Admiral Stanforth took a deep breath and his features hardened into a mask of grim resolve. “The Vostok and Arabia were lost with all hands. The Heracles jumped out of the system, but due to the damage she sustained, it took several weeks for Captain Veredi to make it back to Reach.

  “These weapons and defensive systems are currently beyond our technology. Therefore... this craft is of nonhuman origin.” He paused, then added, “The product of a race with technology far in advance of our own.”

  A murmur buzzed through the chamber.

  “We have, of course, developed a number of first contact scenarios,” the Admiral continued, “and Captain Veredi followed our established protocols. We had hoped that contact with a new race would be peaceful. Obviously this was not the case—the alien vessel did not open fire until our task force attempted to initiate communications.”

  He paused, considering his words. “Fragments of the enemy’s transmissions were intercepted,” he continued. “A few words have been translated. We believe they call themselves ‘The Covenant.’ However, before opening fire, the alien ship broadcast the following message in the clear.”

  He gestured at Beowulf, who nodded. A moment later, a voice thundered from the amphitheater’s speakers. John stiffened in his seat when he heard it; the voice from the speakers sounded odd, artificial—strangely calm and formal, but laden with rage and menace.

  “Your destruction is the will of the Gods... and we are their instrument.”

  John was awestruck. He stood.

  “Yes, Spartan?” Stanforth said.

  “Sir, is this a translation?”

  “No,” the Admiral replied. “They broadcast this to us in our language. We believe they used some kind of translation system to prepare the message... but it means they’ve been studying us for some time.”

  John took his seat.

  “As of November 1, the UNSC has been ordered to full alert,” Stanforth said. “Vice Admiral Preston Cole is mobilizing the largest fleet action in human history to retake the Harvest System and confront this new threat. Their transmission made one thing perfectly clear: they’re looking for a fight.”

  Only years of military discipline kept John rooted to his seat—otherwise he would have stood up and asked to volunteer on the spot. He would have given anything to go and fight. This was the threat he and the other Spartans had been training for all their lives—he was certain of it. Not scattered rebels, pirates, or political dissidents.

  “Because of this UNSC-wide mobilization,” Admiral Stanforth continued, “your training schedule will be accelerated to its final phase: Project MJOLNIR.”

  He stepped away from the podium and clasped his hands behind his back. “To that end, I’m afraid I have another unpleasant announcement.” He turned to the Chief. “Chief Petty Officer Mendez will be departing us to train the next group of Spartans. Chief?”

  John grabbed the edge of the riser. Chief Mendez had always been there for them, the only constant in the universe. Admiral Stanforth might as well have told him that Epsilon Eridani was leaving the Reach System.

  The Chief stepped to the podium and clasped its edges.

  “Recruits,” he said, “soon your training will be complete, and you will graduate to the rank of Petty Officer Second Class in the UNSC. One of the first things you will learn is that change is part of a soldier’s life. You will make and lose friends. You will move. This is part of the job.”

  He looked to his audience. His dark eyes rested on each one of them. He nodded, seemingly satisfied with what he saw.

  “The Spartans are the finest group of soldiers I have ever encountered,” he said. “It has been a privilege to train you. Never forget what I’ve tried to teach you—duty, honor, and sacrifice for the greater good of humanity are the qualities that make you the best.”

  He was silent a moment, searching for more words. But finding none, he stood at attention and saluted.

  “Attention,” John barked. The Spartans rose as one and saluted the Chief.

  “Dismissed, Spartans,” Chief Mendez said. “And good luck.” He finished his salute.

  The Spartans snapped down their arms. They hesitated, and then reluctantly filed out of the amphitheater.

  John stayed behind. He had to talk to Chief Mendez.

  Dr. Halsey spoke briefly with the Chief and the Admiral, then she and the Admiral left together. Beowulf backed toward the far wall and faded away like a ghost.

  The Chief gathered his hat, spotted John, and walked to him. He nodded to the hologram of the scorched colony, Harvest, still rotating in the air. “One final lesson, Petty Officer,” he said. “What tactical options do you have when attacking a stronger opponent?”

  “Sir!” John said. “There are two options. Attack swiftly and with full force at their weakest point—take them out quickly before they have a chance to respond.”

  “Good,” he said. “And the other option?”

  “Fall back,” John replied. “Engage in guerrilla actions or get reinforcements.”

  The Chief sighed. “Those are the correct answers,” he said, “but it may not be enough to be correct this time. Sit, please.”

  John sat, and the Chief settled next to him on the riser.

  “There’s a third option.” The Chief turned his hat over in his hands. “An option that others may eventually consider... .”

  “Sir?”

  “Surrender,” the Chief whispered. “That, however, is never an option for the likes of you and me. We don’t have the luxury of backing down.” He glanced up at Harvest—a glittering ball of glass. “And I doubt that an enemy like this will let us surrender.”

  “I think I understand, sir.”

  “Make sure you do. And make sure you don’t let anyone else give up.” He gazed into the shadows beyond the center platform. “Project MJOLNIR will make the Spartans into something... new. Something I could never forge them into. I can’t fully explain—that damned ONI spook is still here listening—just trust Dr. Halsey.”

  The Chief dug into his jacket pocket. “I was hoping to see you before they shipped me out. I have something for you.” He set a small metal disk on the riser between them.

  “When you first came here,” the Chief said, “you fought the trainers when they took this away from you—broke a few fingers as I recall.” His chiseled features cracked into a rare smile.

  John picked up the disk and examined it. It was an ancient silver coin. He flipped it between his fingers.

  “It has an eagle on one
side,” Mendez said. “That bird is like you—fast and deadly.”

  John closed his fingers around the quarter. “Thank you, sir.”

  He wanted to say that he was strong and fast because the Chief had made him so. He wanted to tell him that he was ready to defend humanity against this new threat. He wanted to say that without the Chief, he would have no purpose, no integrity, and no duty to perform. But John didn’t have the words. He just sat there.

  Mendez stood. “It has been an honor to serve with you.” Instead of saluting, he held out his hand.

  John got to his feet. He took the Chief’s hand and they shook. It took a great deal of effort—every instinct screamed at him to salute.

  “Good-bye,” Chief Mendez said.

  He turned briskly on his heel and strode from the room.

  John never saw him again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  1750 Hours, November 27, 2525 (Military Calendar)

  UNSC frigate Commonwealth en route to the UNSC Damascus Materials Testing Facility, planet Chi Ceti 4

  The view screen in the bunkroom of the UNSC frigate Commonwealth clicked on as the ship entered normal space. Ice particles showered the external camera and gave the distant yellow sun, Chi Ceti, a ghostly ring.

  John watched and continued to ponder the word Mjolnir as they sped in-system. He had looked it up in the education database. Mjolnir was the hammer used by the Norse god of thunder. Project MJOLNIR had to be some kind of weapon. At least he hoped it was; they needed something to fight the Covenant.

  If it was a weapon, though, why was it here at the Damascus testing facility, on the very edge of UNSC-controlled space? He had only even heard of this system twenty-four hours ago.

  He turned and surveyed the squad. Although this bunkroom had one hundred beds, the Spartans still clustered together, playing cards, polishing boots, reading, exercising. Sam sparred with Kelly—although she had to slow herself down considerably to give him a chance.

  John was reminded that he didn’t like being on starships. The lack of control was disturbing. If he wasn’t stuck in “the freezer”—the starship’s cramped, unpleasant cryo chamber—he was left waiting and wondering what their next mission would be.

  During the last three weeks the Spartans had handled a variety of minor missions for Dr. Halsey. “Tying up loose ends,” she had called it. Putting down rebel factions on Jericho VII. Removing a black-market bazaar near the Roosevelt military base. Each mission had brought them closer to the Chi Ceti System.

  John had made sure every member of his squad had participated in these missions. They had performed flawlessly. There had been no losses. Chief Mendez would have been proud of them.

  “Spartan-117,” Dr. Halsey’s voice blared over the loudspeaker. “Report to the bridge immediately.”

  John snapped to attention and keyed the intercom. “Yes, ma’am!” He turned to Sam. “Get everyone ready, in case we’re needed. On the double.”

  “Affirmative,” Sam said. “You heard the Petty Officer. Dog those cards. Get into uniform, soldier!”

  John double-timed it to the elevator and punched the code for the bridge. Gravity faded out and then back again as the elevator passed between rotating sections of the ship.

  The doors parted and he stepped onto the bridge. Every wall had a screen. Some showed stars and the distant red smear of a nebula. Other screens displayed the fusion reactor status and spectrums of microwave broadcasts in the system.

  A brass railing ringed the center of the bridge, and within sat four Junior Lieutenants at their stations: navigation, weapons, communications, and ship operations.

  John halted and saluted Captain Wallace, then nodded to Dr. Halsey.

  Captain Wallace stood with his right arm crooked behind his back. His left arm was missing from the elbow down.

  John remained saluting until the Captain returned the gesture.

  “Over here, please,” Dr. Halsey said. “I want you to see this.”

  John walked across the rubberized deck and gave his full attention to the screen Dr. Halsey and Captain Wallace were scrutinizing. It displayed deconvoluted radar signals. It looked like tangled yarn to John.

  “There—” Dr. Halsey pointed to a blip on the screen. “It’s there again.”

  Captain Wallace stroked his dark beard, thinking, then said, “That puts our ghost at eighty million kilometers. Even if it were a ship, it would take a full hour to get within weapons range. And besides—” He waved at the screen. “—it’s gone again.”

  “May I suggest that we go to battle stations, Captain,” Dr. Halsey told him.

  “I don’t see the point,” he said condescendingly; the Captain was clearly less than pleased about having a civilian on his bridge.

  “We haven’t let this be widely known,” she said, “but when the aliens were first detected at Harvest, they appeared at extreme range... and then they were suddenly much closer.”

  “An intrasystem jump?” John asked.

  Dr. Halsey smiled at him. “Correctly surmised, Spartan.”

  “That’s not possible,” Captain Wallace remarked. “Slipstream space can’t be navigated that accurately.”

  “You mean we cannot navigate with that kind of accuracy,” she said.

  The Captain clenched and unclenched his jaw. He clicked the intercom. “General quarters: all hands to battle stations. Seal bulkheads. I repeat: all hands, battle stations. This is not a drill. Reactors to ninety percent. Come about to course one two five.”

  The bridge lights darkened to a red hue. The deck rumbled beneath John’s boots and the entire ship tilted as it changed heading. Pressure doors slammed shut and sealed John on the bridge.

  The Commonwealth stabilized on her new heading, and Dr. Halsey crossed her arms. She leaned over and whispered to John, “We’ll be using the Commonwealth’s dropship to go to the testing facility on Chi Ceti Four. We have to get to Project MJOLNIR.” She turned back and watched the radar screen. “Before they do. So get the others ready.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” John keyed the intercom. “Sam, muster the squad in Bay Alpha. I want that Pelican loaded and ready for drop in fifteen minutes.”

  “We’ll have it done in ten,” Sam replied. “Faster if those Longsword interceptor pilots get out of our way.”

  John would have given anything to be belowdecks with the others. He felt as if he were being left behind.

  The radar screen flashed with blobs of eerie green light... almost as if the space around the Commonwealth were boiling.

  The collision alarm sounded.

  “Brace for impact!” Captain Wallace said. He laced his arm around the brass railing.

  John grabbed an emergency handhold on the wall.

  Something appeared three thousand kilometers off the Commonwealth’s prow. It was a sleek oval with a single seam running along its lateral edge from stem to stern. Tiny lights winked on and off along its hull. A faint purple-tinged glow emitted from the tail. The ship was only a third the size of the Commonwealth.

  “A Covenant ship,” Dr. Halsey said, and she involuntarily backed away from the view screens.

  Captain Wallace scowled. “COM officer: send a signal to Chi Ceti—see if they can send us some reinforcements.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Blue flashes flickered along the hull of the alien ship—so bright that even filtered through the external camera, they still made John’s eyes water.

  The outer hull of the Commonwealth sizzled and popped. Three screens filled with static.

  “Pulse lasers!” the lieutenant at the ops station screamed. “Communication dish destroyed. Armor in sections three and four at twenty-five percent. Hull breach in section three. Sealing now.” The Lieutenant swiveled in his seat, sweat beaded on his forehead. “Ship AI core memory overloaded,” he said.

  With the AI offline, the ship could still fire weapons and navigate through Slipstream space, but John knew it would take more time to make jump calculations.

&n
bsp; “Come to heading zero three zero, declination one eight zero,” Caption Wallace ordered. “Arm Archer missile pods A through F. And give me a firing solution.”

  “Aye aye,” the navigation and weapons officers said. “A through F pods armed.” They furiously tapped away on their keypads. Seconds ticked by. “Firing solution ready, sir.”

  “Fire.”

  “Pods A through F firing!”

  The Commonwealth had twenty-six pods, each loaded with thirty Archer high-explosive missiles. On screen, pods A through F opened, and launched—180 plumes of rocket exhaust that traced a path from the Commonwealth to the alien ship.

  The enemy changed course, rotated so that the top of the ship faced the incoming missiles. It then moved straight up at an alarming speed.

  The Archer missiles altered their trajectory to track the ship, but half their number streaked past the target, clean misses.

  The others impacted. Fire covered the skin of the alien ship.

  “Good work, Lieutenant,” Captain Wallace said, and he clapped the young officer on the shoulder.

  Dr. Halsey frowned and stared at the screen. “No,” she whispered. “Wait.”

  The fire flared, then dimmed. The skin of the alien ship rippled like heat wavering off a hot road in the summer. It fluttered with a metallic silver sheen, then brilliant white—and the fire faded, revealing the ship beneath.

  It was completely undamaged.

  “Energy shields,” Dr. Halsey muttered. She tapped her lower lip, thinking. “Even ships this small have energy shielding.”

  “Lieutenant,” the Captain barked at the nav officer. “Cut main engines and fire maneuvering thrusters. Rotate and track so that we’re pointing at that thing.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  The distant rumbling of the Commonwealth’s main engines dimmed and stopped and she turned about. Her inertia kept the ship speeding toward the testing facility—now flying backward.

  “What are you doing, Captain?” Dr. Halsey asked.