The Master Chief activated his remote radio transceiver.
He quickly keyed in the final fail-safe code, then sent the coded burst transmission on its way.
A third sun appeared on the horizon. It blotted out the light of the system’s stars, then cooled—fromamber to red—and darkened the sky with black clouds of dust.
“Mission accomplished,” he said.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
0500 Hours, July 18, 2552 (Military Calendar) /UNSCIroquois , military staging area in orbit around Sigma Octanus IV
Captain Keyes leaned against the brass railing on the bridge of theIroquois and surveyed the devastation.The space near Sigma Octanus IV was littered with debris: the dead hulks of Covenant and UNSC shipsspun lazily in the vacuum, surrounded by clouds of wreckage: jagged pieces of decimated armor plate,shattered single-ship fuselages, and heat-blackened metal fragments created a million radar targets. Thedebris field would clutter this system and make for a navigational hazard for the next decade.
They had recovered nearly all the bodies from space.
Captain Keyes’ gaze caught the remnants of theCradle as the blasted space dock spun past. Thekilometer-wide plate was now safely locked in a high orbit around the planet. She was slowly being tornapart from her own rotation; girders and metal plates warped and bent as the gravitational stresses on theship increased.
The Covenant plasma weapons had burned through ten decks of super-hard metal and armor like somany layers of tissue paper. Thirty volunteers on the repair station had died piloting the unwieldy craft.
Admiral Stanforth had gotten his “win” . . . but at a tremendous cost.
Keyes brought up the casualty figures and damage estimates on his data pad. He scowled as the datascrolled across his screen.
The UNSC had lost more than twenty ships, and those that survived had all suffered heavy damage;most would require months of time-consuming repair at a shipyard. Nearly one thousand people werekilled in the battle, and hundreds more were wounded, many critically. Add to that the sixteen hundredMarine casualties on the surface—and the three hundred thousand civilians murdered in Cote d’Azur atthe hands of the Covenant.
Some “win,” Keyes thought bitterly.
Cote d’Azur was now a smoldering crater—but Sigma Octanus IV was still a human-held world. Theyhad saved everyone else on the planet, nearly thirteen million souls. So perhaps it had been worth it.
So many lives and deaths had been measured in this battle. Had the balance of the odds tipped slightly
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against them—everything could have been lost. That was something he had never taught any of hisstudents at the Academy—how much victory depended on luck as well as skill.
Captain Keyes saw the last of the Marine dropships returning from the planet surface. They docked withtheLeviathan , and then the huge carrier turned and accelerated out of the system.
“Sensor sweep complete,” Lieutenant Dominique reported. “I think that was the last of the lifeboats wepicked up, sir.”
“Let’s make certain, Lieutenant,” Keyes replied. “One more pass through the system please. EnsignLovell, plot a course and take us around again.”
“Yes, sir,” Lovell wearily replied.
The bridge crew was exhausted, physically and emotionally. They had all pulled extended shifts as theysearched for survivors. Captain Keyes would rotate shifts after this next pass.
As he looked at this crew he noticed that something was different. Lieutenant Hikowa’s movementswere crisp and determined, as if everything she did now would decide their next battle; it made astartling contrast to her normally lethargic efficiency. Lieutenant Hall’s false exuberance had beenreplaced by genuine confidence. Dominique almost seemed happy—his hands lightly typing a report toFLEET- COM. Even Ensign Lovell, despite his exhaustion, stepped lively.
Maybe Admiral Stanforth was right. Maybe the fleet needed this win more than he had realized.
They had beaten the Covenant. Although not widely known, there had been only three smallengagements in which the UNSC fleet had decisively defeated the Covenant. And not since AdmiralCole had retaken Harvest colony had there been an engagement on this scale. A complete victory—aworld saved.
It would show everyone that winning was possible, that there was hope.
But, he mused, was there really? They won because they had gotten lucky—and had twice as many shipsas the Covenant. And, he suspected, they had beaten the Covenant because the Covenant’s real objectivehadn’t been to win.
Naval Intelligence officers had come aboard theIroquois immediately after the battle. Theycongratulated Captain Keyes on his performance . . . and then copied and purged every single bit of datathey had intercepted from the Covenant planetside transmission.
Of course, the ONI spooks left without offering any explanation.
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Keyes toyed with his pipe, replaying the battle in his mind. No. The Covenant had lost because theywere really after something else on Sigma Octanus IV—and the intercepted message was the key.
“Sir,” Lieutenant Dominique said. “Incoming orders from FLEETCOM.”
“Put it through to my station, Lieutenant,” Captain Keyes said as he sat in his command chair. Thecomputer scanned his retina and fingerprints and then decoded the message. He read on the smallmonitor:
United Nations Space Command Priority Transmission 09872H-98
Encryption Code:Red
Public Key:file /lightning-matrix-four/
From:Admiral Michael Stanforth, Commanding Officer, UNSCLeviathan / USNC Sector ThreeCommander/ (UNSC Service Number: 00834-19223-HS)
To:Captain Jacob Keyes, Commanding officer UNSCIroquois / (UNSC Service Number: 01928-19912-JK)
Subject:ORDERS FOR YOUR IMMEDIATE CONSIDERATION
Classification:SECRET (BGX Directive)
/start file/
Keyes,
Drop whatever you’re doing and head back to the barn. We’re both wanted for immediate debriefing byONI at REACH Headquarters ASAP.
Looks like the spooks at Naval Intelligence are up to their normal cloak-and-dagger tricks.
Cigars and brandy afterward.
Regards,
Stanforth
“Very well,” he muttered to himself. “Lieutenant Dominique: send Admiral Stanforth my compliments.
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Ensign Lovell, generate a randomized vector as per the Cole Protocol, and make ready to leave system.Take us out for an hour in Slipstream space, then we’ll reorient and proceed to the REACH MilitaryInstillation.”
“Aye, sir. Randomized jump vector ready—our tracks are covered.”
“Lieutenant Hall: start organizing shore leave for the crew. We’re heading back for repairs and somewell-deserved R and R.”
“Amen to that,” Ensign Lovell said.
That wasn’t technically in his orders, but Captain Keyes would make sure his crew got the rest theydeserved. That was the least he could do for them.
TheIroquois slowly accelerated on an out-system vector.
Captain Keyes took one long last look at Sigma Octanus IV. The battle was over . . . so why did he feellike he was headed into another fight?
TheIroquois plowed through a haze of titanium dust—condensed from a UNSC battleplate vaporized byCovenant plasma. The fine particles caught the light from Sigma Octanus and sparkled red and orange,making it look like the destroyer sailed through an ocean of blood.
When there was time, a HazMat team would sweep the area and clean up. In the meantime, junk—ranging in size from microscopic up to thirty-meter sections ofCradle —still drifted in the system.
One piece of debris in particular floated near theIroquois .
It was small, almost indistinguishable from any of a thousand other softball-sized blobs that clutteredradar scopes and polluted thermal sensors.
If anyone had been looking close enough, however, they would have seen that this particular piece ofmetal drifted in the opposite direction from all the other masses nearby. It trailed behind theacceleratingIroquois . . . and edged closer, moving with purpose.
When it was close enough, it extended tiny electromagnets that guided it to the baffles at the base oftheIroquois ’ number-three engine shield. It blended in perfectly with the other vanadium steelcomponents.
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The object opened a single photo eye and gazed at the stars, collecting data to reference its currentposition. It would continue to do this for several days. During that time it would slowly build up acharge. When it reached critical energy, a tiny sliver of thallium nitride memory crystal would be ejectedat nearly the speed of light, and a minute Slipstream field would generate around it. If its trajectory wasperfect, it would intercept a Covenant receiver located at precise coordinates in the alternate space.
. . . and the tiny automated probe would reveal to the Covenant every place theIroquois had been.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
1100 Hours, August 12, 2552 (Military Calendar) /Epsilon Eridani System, Reach UNSC Military Complex, planet Reach, Camp Hathcock
The Master Chief steered the Warthog to the fortified gate and ignored the barrel of the chain-gun thatwas not quite pointed in his direction. The guard on duty, a Marine Corporal, saluted smartly when Johnhanded over his identification card.
“Sir! Welcome to Camp Hathcock,” the Corporal said. “Follow this road to the inner guardpost andpresent your credentials there. They’ll direct you to the main compound.”
John nodded. The Warthog’s tires crunched on gravel as the massive metal gate swung open.
Nestled in the Highland Mountains of Reach’s northern continent, Camp Hathcock was a top-levelretreat; heads of state, VIPs, and top brass were the facility’s normal occupants—these and a division ofveteran, battle-hardened Marines.
“Sir, please follow the Blue Road to this point here,” the Corporal at the inner gate instructed, gesturingat a point on a wall-mounted map, “and park in the Visitors’ Parking area.”
Minutes later, the main facility was in sight. John parked the Warthog and strode across the pleasantlyfamiliar compound. He and the other Spartans had covertly made their way up here during their training.John suppressed a smile as he remembered how many times the young Spartans had commandeeredfood and supplies from the base. He inhaled deeply, smelling pinon pines and sage. He missed thisplace. He had been away from REACH for far too long.
Reach was one of the few places that John considered “safe” from the Covenant. There were a hundredships and twenty Mark V MAC guns on the orbital stations overhead. Those guns were powered byfusion generators, buried deep within REACH. Each Mark V could propel a projectile so massive, andwith such velocity, he doubted if even Covenant shields could withstand a single salvo from them.
His home would not fall.
Tall fences and razor wire encircled the inner compound of Camp Hathcock. The Master Chief stoppedat the inner gate and saluted the MP there.
The Marine MP looked over the Master Chief in his dress uniform. He snapped to attention—his mouth
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dropped open and he stared unblinkingly. “They’re waiting for you, Master Chief, sir. Please go right onin.”
The guard’s reaction to the Master Chief—and the medals on his chest—was not uncommon.
First word of the Spartans and their accomplishments had spread despite the cloak of secrecy ONI hadtried to surround them with. Three years ago the information had gone public at Admiral Stanforth’sinsistence—for morale purposes.
It was hard to mistake the Master Chief for anything other than a Spartan. He stood just over two meterstall and weighed in at 130 kilos of rock-hard muscle and iron-dense bone.
There was a special insignia on his uniformed as well: a golden eagle poised with its talons forward—ready to strike. The bird clutched a lightning bolt in one talon and three arrows in the other.
The Spartan insignia was not the only thing about his dress uniform that called attention to him.Campaign ribbons and medals covered the left side. Chief Mendez would have been proud of him, butJohn had long ago stopped keeping track of the honors that had been heaped upon him.
He didn’t like the flashy ornamentation. He and the other Spartans preferred to be inside their MJOLNIRarmor. Without it, he felt exposed somehow, like he’d left his quarters without his skin. He had grownused to the enhanced speed and strength, to his thought and actions melding instantaneously.
The Master Chief marched into the main building. Outwardly, it had been designed to look like a simplelog cabin, albeit a large one. Its inner walls were lined with Titanium-A armor plate, and undergroundwere bunkers and plush conference rooms that extended a hundred meters below the earth and into themountain of rock.
He rode the elevator to Subbasement III. There, he was instructed by the Military Police attendant towait in the debriefing lounge for the committee to summon him.
Corporal Harland sat in the lounge, reading a copy ofSTARS magazine, nervously tapping his foot. Heimmediately stood and saluted as the Master Chief entered the room.
“At ease, Corporal,” the Master Chief said. He glanced disapprovingly at the thickly padded couchesand decided to stand.
The Corporal stared at the Master Chief’s uniform, nervous. Finally he straightened and said, “May I askyou a question, sir?”
The Master Chief nodded.
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“How do you get to be a Spartan? I mean—” His gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, if someone wanted tojoin your outfit. How would they do that?”
Join? The Master Chief pondered the word. How hadhe joined? Dr. Halsey had picked him and the otherSpartans twenty-five years ago. It had been an honor . . . but he had never actuallyjoined . In fact, he hadnever seen any other Spartans other than his class. Once, shortly after he’d “graduated” from thetraining, he had overheard Dr. Halsey mention that Chief Mendez was training another group ofSpartans. He had never seen them—or the Chief.
“You don’t join,” he finally told the Corporal. “You are selected.”
“I see,” Corporal Harland said, and wrinkled his brow. “Well, sir, if anyone ever asks, tell them to signme up.”
The Military Police attendant appeared. “Corporal Harland? They’re ready for you now.” A set ofdouble doors opened on the far wall. Harland gave John another salute, and nodded.
As the Corporal got up and strode toward the doors, he passed an older man on his way out. He wore theuniform of a UNSC Naval officer, a Captain. John sized the man up quickly—polished shoulderinsignia, new material. The man was a newly ordained Captain.
