PROLOGUE 0103 time, September 19, 2552
(Military Calendar) / UNSC CruiserPillar of Autumn,
The location is unknown.
Technical Officer (Level 3) Sam Marcus swears that the walkie-talkie made him wake up from proper sleep. He blinked his eyes and glanced at the Mission Clock on the wall above his bed. He has slept for three hours - his first sleep cycle was within thirty-six hours, damn it. To make matters worse, this is the first time he has been able to sleep since the ship jumped.
"Jesus," he muttered. "It would be better to do so.
After the pillars of autumn jumped from Reach, the old man let the technicians fall three shifts. After the battle, the ship became a mess, and the rest of the work of the engineers worked around the clock to keep the aging cruiser in one. Nearly one-third of Technicians died during Reach's flight, and each department was training the skeleton.
Of course, everyone else has entered the freezer - during the Slipspace jump, unnecessary people will always take a nap. In more than 200 battle cruises, Marcus spent less than 72 hours in cryopreservation. But now, he is very tired, if it means he can control some uninterrupted sleep, even the discomfort of low temperature recovery sounds very attractive.
Of course, it's hard to complain; Captain Case is a talented tactician - everyone in the fall knows how close they are to destruction when Dah falls into the hands of the enemy. A major naval base was destroyed and millions of people died or died because the Convention burned the earth into cinder - one of the few remaining defenses on Earth turned into corpses and slag.
All in all, they are fortunate enough to escape - but Sam can't help but feel that everyone in the fall lives by borrowing time.
The walkie-talkie creaked again and Sam pulled himself out of the bed. He slammed the communications control.
"Marcus is coming," he growled.
"I am sorry to wake you up, Sam, but I need you to be disappointed in Cryo Two." Tech Chief Shepard sounds very tired. "this point is very important."
"Cryo Two?" Sam repeated in confusion. "What is the emergency situation, Tom? I am not a refrigeration expert."
"I can't give you specific details, Sam. The captain wants it to be unaffected by communication," Sheppard replied, his voice almost whispering. "In case we have eavesdroppers."
Sam flinched with his high-level voice. Since the college, he has known Thom Shephard and has never heard the man's voice so severe.
"Look," Sheppard said. "I need someone I can rely on. Whether you like it or not, it is you, friend. You have cross-checked the cryogenic system."
Sam sighed. "A few months ago. . . . , yes."
"I'm sending a feed to your terminal, Sam," Shephard continued. "In any case, it will answer some of your questions. Transfer it to a portable mat, grab your gear and go down here."
"Roger," Sam said. He stood up, shrugged his shoulders and went to his terminal. He activated the computer and waited for Shephard's upload.
While he was waiting, his eyes were locked on a small photo attached to the edge of the screen. Sam wiped the photo with his finger. Young beautiful woman freezing in the photo smiled.
When Shephard's feed appeared in Sam's message queue, the terminal rang. "Received feed, chieftain," he called the walkie-talkie pickup.
He opened the file. When he scrolled a new message on the screen, his frown frowned his tired character.
File Encryption / Eye Only / MARCUS, SAMUEL N./SN: 18827318209-M. Decryption key: [Personalization: "ELLEN'S ANNIVERSARY"]
He looked back at his wife's photo. In fact, he hasn't seen Allen for almost three years since he left the world for the last time. He did not know who could see their loved ones for many years. War is not allowed at all.
Sam's frown has deepened. UN Security Council personnel usually avoid talking about people who go home. This war has been going on for a long time, so that morale is low. Thinking about the family front will only make things worse. The fact that Thom personalizes the security code is very unusual; in the process, Sam is reminded that his wife does not have the character of Shepard Chief. For paranoia, someone maintains a sense of security.
He hit a series of numbers - his wedding date - and enabled the decryption kit. After a few seconds, the screen is full of schematics and technical readings. The eye he practiced scanned the file - the adrenaline suddenly thrived in his fatigue like a lightning bolt.
"Christ," he said, his voice suddenly became hoarse. "This is this. . . Who do I think?"
"Too fucking right. In the doubles, please arrive at Cryo Two, Sam. We have an important solution that can be thawed - we will soon return to realspace."
"My way," he said. He killed the walkie-talkie connection and his exhaustion was forgotten.
Sam quickly dropped the technical file into his portable compad and removed the original from his computer. He strode to his cabin door and stopped. He snatched Allen's photo from the workstation - almost an afterthought - and then stuffed it into his pocket.
He sprinted for the elevator. If the captain wants to resurrect the residents of Cryo Two, it means that Case thinks the situation is getting worse. . . Or it already has it.
Unlike human-designed ships - the command area is almost always at the bow of the ship - the Covenant ships are built in a more logical way, which means that their control rooms are deeply buried in the heavy armored hull, making them free from any less Influence rather than mortal blows.
The difference did not end there. Rather than using a variety of control interfaces around themselves, plus fewer creatures that need to be equipped with them, elites prefer a central command through a barren platform fixed by a grid of opposite gravity beams.
However, none of these things appeared at the forefront of Captain Orna'Fulsamee because he stood in the center of his destroyer's control room, staring at the projection of data that seemed to float in front of him. One person showed the ring world, Halo. Near that, a small arrow tracks the route of the intruder. The second projection shows a schematic picture titled "HANAN ATTACK SHIP, C-11". The third scrolls the constant flow of target data and sensor readings.
He resisted a bit. These dirty primates are worth a real name to some extent - not to mention the names of their inferior structures -
Make him his core. It's not normal. The name implies legitimacy, and the pest is only worthy of extinction.
Humans have "your own name" - "elite" - and the smaller races in the covenant: "Wolf", "咕噜", "Hunter." Dirty creatures are shockingly rash, they dare to say that his people use The rough wild barbarian tongue has gone beyond the paleness.
He paused and recovered his calm. 'Fulsamee clicked on his mandible - the equivalent of a shrug - and recited a real proverb in spirit. He believes that this is the decree of the prophet. A person does not question such a thing, even if a person is the captain. The prophet has given the enemy a name, and he will abide by their decrees. Less is a shameful dereliction of duty.
Like all of him, the covenant officer seems to be actually bigger than him because of the armor he wears. It gave him an angular, slightly curved appearance that, when combined with a heavy, aggressive chin, made him look like him: a very dangerous warrior. When assessing the situation, his voice was calm and well adjusted. "They must follow one of our ships. The culprit will be immediately discovered and executed to achieve the prestige reputation."
The man floating next to 'Fulsamee' shook gently with a burst of air and gently pushed his body away. He wore a tall, ornate headpiece made of metal and set with amber panels. The prophet had a serpentine neck, a triangular skull and two bright green eyes, sparkling with vicious wisdom. He wore a red coat, a golden dress, hidden somewhere underneath all the fabrics, a counter-revolutionary belt, used to hang his body on the deck. Although it was only a small prophet, he still surpassed 'Fulsamee' because his position was clear.
In addition to the real words, the captain can't help but think of the tiny, sharp rodents that he had captured in his childhood. He immediately released the blood memory on his paws and transferred his attention to the prophet and his boring assistant.
The assistant was a low-level elite named Bako'Ikaporamee, who spoke on behalf of the Prophet on behalf of the Prophet. He has an annoying tendency to use the royal "we", which angers 'Fulsamee'.
"That is unlikely, Captain. We suspect that humans have the ability to follow our ship by jumping. Even if they do, why do they only send a cruiser? Isn't it the way they drown us with their own blood? No, we think it is safe to speculate that the ship arrived at the system by chance."
The fact that this sentence is succumbing to condescension makes the captain angry but unable to solve it. Not direct, of course not the presence of the prophet, although 'Fulsamee is not willing to be completely in trouble. "So," Fulsamee carefully pointed his comment to 'Ikaporamee alone', would you let me believe that the intruder came here by chance?
"No, of course not," Ikaporamee replied proudly. "Although our standards are primitive, these creatures have feelings. Like all sentient beings, they are unconsciously attracted to the truth and knowledge of the ancients."
Like all members of his caste, 'Fulsamee knows that the Prophet has evolved on a planet where the mysterious truth provider once lived, and then, because of what the ancients knew, was later abandoned. This circular world is a good example of the power of the ancients. . . And incomprehensibility.
'Fulsamee found it hard to believe that human beings would be attracted here, despite the wisdom of the ancients, but 'Ikaporamee speaks for the Prophet, so it must be true. 'Fulsamee met the light board in front of him. A symbol flashes red. "Get ready to fire the plasma torpedo. Start my order."
'Ikaporamee raised his hands in horror. "No! We ban it. The human blood vessels are too close to the structure! What if your weapon is going to destroy the holy things? Chasing the ship, boarding the ship, and taking control. Everything else is too dangerous."
He was irritated by the so-called 'Ikaporamee's interference', and Fulsamee gnashed his teeth. "The action plan recommended by the saint is likely to cause a lot of casualties. Is this acceptable?"
"The opportunity to transcend the entity is a worthy gift," another responded. "Humans are willing to live their lives - can we do less?"
No, 'Fulsamee thought, but we should be eager for more. He clicked on the mandible again and touched the light board. "Cancel the previous order. Load four vehicles with troops and launch another fighter. Neutral intruder's weapon before the boarding boat reaches the target."
There were a hundred units at the stern, sealed in the fire control center of the destroyer, and a semi-commander admitted the order and issued his own instructions. The lights began to strobe, the deck radiated low-frequency vibrations, and more than 300 covenant warriors prepared for battle - humans called elites, a mixture of jackals and snoring - hurriedly boarded the designated means of transport. Someone wants to kill.
They don't want to miss this fun.