He turned away from the AI. “We have several important issues to cover this morning, so let’s getstarted.”
The lights dimmed. An amber sun appeared in the center of the room with three planets in close orbit.
“This is Harvest,” he said. “Population of approximately three million. Although on the periphery ofUNSC-controlled space, this world is one of our more productive and peaceful colonies.”
The holographic view zoomed in on the surface of the world and showed grasslands and forests and athousand lakes swarming with schools of fish.
“As of military calendar February 3, at 1423 hours, the Harvest orbital platform made long range radarcontact with this object.”
A blurry outline appeared over the stage. “Spectroscopic analysis proved inconclusive,” AdmiralStanforth said. “The object is constructed of material unknown to us.”
A molecular absorption graph appeared on a side screen, spikes and jagged lines indicating the relativeproportions of elements.
Beowulf raised a cloaked arm and the image darkened. The words CLASSIFIED—EYES ONLYappeared over the blackened data.
Admiral Stanforth shot a glare at the AI.
“Contact with Harvest,” he continued, “was lost shortly thereafter. The Colonial Military Administrationsent the scout shipArgo to investigate. That ship arrived in-system on April twentieth, but other than abrief transmission to confirm their exit Slipstream position, no further reports were made.
“In response, Fleet Command assembled a battle group to investigate. The group consisted of thedestroyerHeracles , commanded by Captain Veredi, as well as the frigatesArabia andVostok . They
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entered the Harvest System on October seventh and discovered the following.”
The holograph of the planet Harvest changed. The lush fields and rolling hills transformed, morphinginto a cratered, barren desert. Thin gray sunlight reflected off a glassy crust. Heat wavered from thesurface. Isolated regions glowed red.
“This is what was left of the colony.” The Admiral paused for a moment to stare at the image, and thencontinued. “We assume that all inhabitants are lost.”
Three million lives lost. John couldn’t fathom the raw force it had taken to kill so many—for a momenthe was torn between horror and envy. He glanced at the Purple Heart pinned to his chest andremembered his lost comrades. How did one simple bullet wound compare with so many wasted lives?He was suddenly no longer proud of the decoration.
“And this is what theHeracles 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 smoothand organic, and the hull possessed an odd, opalescent sheen—it looked more like the carapace of anexotic insect than the metal hull of a spacecraft. Recessed into the aft section were pods that pulsed witha purple-white glow. The prow of the craft was swollen like the head of a whale. John thought itpossessed 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 energycoalesced into a fiery smear against the blackness of space. The deadly flashes of light impacted ontheArabia , splashed across its hull. Its meter of armor plating instantly boiled away, and a plume ofignited atmosphere burst from the breach in the ship’s hull. “Those were pulse lasers,” AdmiralStanforth explained, “and—if this record is to be believed—some kind of self-guided, superheatedplasma weapon.”
TheHeracles andVostok launched salvos of missiles toward the craft. The enemy’s lasers shot halfbefore they reached their target. The balance of the missiles impacted, detonated into blossoms offire . . . that quickly faded. The strange ship shimmered with a semitransparent silver coating, whichthen vanished.
“They also seem to have some reflective energy shield.” Admiral Stanforth took a deep breath and hisfeatures hardened into a mask of grim resolve. “TheVostok andArabia were lost with all hands.TheHeracles jumped out of the system, but due to the damage she sustained, it took several weeks forCaptain Veredi to make it back to Reach.
“These weapons and defensive systems are currently beyond our technology. Therefore . . . this craft is
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of nonhuman origin.” He paused, then added, “The product of a race with technology far in advance ofour own.”
A murmur buzzed through the chamber.
“We have, of course, developed a number of first contact scenarios,” the Admiral continued, “andCaptain Veredi followed our established protocols. We had hoped that contact with a new race would bepeaceful. Obviously this was not the case—the alien vessel did not open fire until our task forceattempted to initiate communications.”
He paused, considering his words. “Fragments of the enemy’s transmissions were intercepted,” hecontinued. “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’sspeakers. 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 kindof 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 PrestonCole is mobilizing the largest fleet action in human history to retake the Harvest System and confrontthis 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 andasked to volunteer on the spot. He would have given anything to go and fight. This was the threat he andthe 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
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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 haveanother unpleasant announcement.” He turned to the Chief. “Chief Petty Officer Mendez will bedeparting 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 inthe universe. Admiral Stanforth might as well have told him that Epsilon Eridani was leaving the ReachSystem.
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 PettyOfficer Second Class in the UNSC. One of the first things you will learn is that change is part of asoldier’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 satisfiedwith what he saw.
“The Spartans are the finest group of soldiers I have ever encountered,” he said. “It has been a privilegeto train you. Never forget what I’ve tried to teach you—duty, honor, and sacrifice for the greater good ofhumanity 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 scorchedcolony, Harvest, still rotating in the air. “One final lesson, Petty Officer,” he said. “What tactical optionsdo 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
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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 thistime. 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 mayeventually consider. . . .”
“Sir?”
“Surrender,” the Chief whispered. “That, however, is never an option for the likes of you and me. Wedon’t have the luxury of backing down.” He glanced up at Harvest—a glittering ball of glass. “And Idoubt that an enemy like this willlet 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 shadowsbeyond 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 herelistening—just trust Dr. Halsey.”
The Chief dug into his jacket pocket. “I was hoping to see you before they shipped me out. I havesomething 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 himthat he was ready to defend humanity against this new threat. He wanted to say that without the Chief,
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he would have no purpose, no integrity, and no duty to perform. But John didn’t have the words. He justsat 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—everyinstinct 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.
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CHAPTER TWELVE
1750 Hours, November 27, 2525 (Military Calendar) / UNSC frigateCommonwealth en route to theUNSC Damascus Materials Testing Facility, planet Chi Ceti 4
The view screen in the bunkroom of the UNSC frigateCommonwealth clicked on as the ship enterednormal space. Ice particles showered the external camera and gave the distant yellow sun, Chi Ceti, aghostly ring.
John watched and continued to ponder the wordMjolnir as they sped in-system. He had looked it up inthe education database. Mjolnir was the hammer used by the Norse god of thunder. Project MJOLNIRhad to be some kind of weapon. At least he hoped it was; they neededsomething 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 stillclustered 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 hewasn’t stuck in “the freezer”—the starship’s cramped, unpleasant cryo chamber—he was left waitingand wondering what their next mission would be.
During the last three weeks the Spartans had handled a variety of minor missions for Dr. Halsey. “Tyingup loose ends,” she had called it. Putting down rebel factions on Jericho VII. Removing a black-marketbazaar 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 performedflawlessly. 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 everyoneready, in case we’re needed. On the double.”
“Affirmative,” Sam said. “You heard the Petty Officer. Dog those cards. Get into uniform, soldier!”
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John double-timed it to the elevator and punched the code for the bridge. Gravity faded out and thenback 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 thedistant red smear of a nebula. Other screens displayed the fusion reactor status and spectrums ofmicrowave 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 theelbow 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 CaptainWallace were scrutinizing. It displayed deconvoluted radar signals. It looked like tangled yarn to John.
