PROLOGUE

2205 HOURS, 19 DECEMBER 2536 (UNSC MILITARY CALENDAR)

LOW ORBIT OVER SOL-VI (PLANET SATURN), SOL SYSTEM

ON BOARD UNSC POINT OF NO RETURN

Six months hardly seemed like a long time to most people, while seeming interminably long to some others. For Captain Aaron Gibson, the last two months had been a mixture of both. At times, the minutes had stretched out into days, tearing the sanity from his mind. At other times, the hours and days had flown by so quickly, he was hardly aware if the last time he'd eaten was a day ago, a week ago, or even a month ago. All that he knew was that he could breathe easy in a few minutes. Either that or he could write a farewell note to his wife.

Months- no, years of preparation had gone into this. He was ready now. There was no turning back, especially not from this. He'd heard that only one person had ever crossed Vice Admiral Margaret O. Parangosky and survived, and while he was not doing this to become the second person to do so beside Catherine Elizabeth Halsey, the thought of edging himself into a strategic niche from which he could not be dislodged appealed to him. After all, it had worked for James Ackerson. In all fairness, though, he mused, Ackerson was one slippery son-of-a-bitch. He could convince an ONI operative that shooting himself would defeat the Covenant off if he ever wanted to.

Gibson was not such a brilliant orator, but he did have the determination to see this through. Besides, one could never have too many cards in play.

The door in front of him opened, admitting him into 'Odin's Eye', the most secret and secure location in human-controlled space. Gibson remembered the last time he was here- it seemed fitting that on that occasion Spartans had also been the topic of conversation. Projects of that sort seemed to be taking up more and more of his time nowadays.

As he sat down in one of the sterilized metal chairs, the door behind him hissed open and into the room walked five people. Good. One of the things he hated most about meeting superior officers was that they never took their subordinates' time seriously- various admirals and variations thereof, whether rear or vice- had kept him waiting at least half a dozen times in as many years.

Four of the personnel in the room, though, were just there for show. Gibson would never dream of threatening, much less harming the room's final occupant. The quartet of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers in the room stood to attention and snapped off a salute when they saw Gibson, and then parted to allow the one they were guarding through.

Rear Admiral Ned Rich eyed Gibson apprehensively. It was the first time they'd seen each other since 2531, both having been on Point of No Return for the birth of the SPARTAN-III program. The Rear Admiral did not look in the least bit happy. On the contrary- he looked positively livid. Gibson filed this away in his head, and promised himself he would never take a desk job working directly beneath Vice Admiral Parangosky.

The four ODSTs left, MA5B rifles at the ready. Despite Rich's bringing them here being a redundant security measure on the safest ship in the whole fleet, Gibson admired the troopers- fearless, dedicated, and a little crazy all at the same time- almost perfect soldiers, in other words. But then again, that was why he was here. Almost perfect wasn't good enough. No-one was. ONI had tried three times to make the perfect soldiers, but they had failed. The second and third attempts lacked the qualities of each other- if he got a shot, Gibson would get a chance to correct that. The fourth attempt would be unparalleled.

Rich sat down opposite Gibson. Let the showdown begin, Gibson thought. This might be interesting after all.

"What do you want, Captain? Do you know how hard it is to get off Earth when the old hag's in a bad mood? I had to fly subluminal the whole goddamned way- she's got her eye on every Slipspace-capable craft in-system."

Gibson raised an eyebrow. "Why not take Charon's Twin?" he asked, referring to the only other destroyer-sized prowler in the UNSC fleet, completed after the recruitment of Kurt-051 into the SPARTAN-III program. Charon's Twin was also stationed in the Sol system at Admiral Parangosky's personal request. Rich's answer, therefore, did not surprise Gibson.

"How do you think Parangosky's keeping tabs on all the jumps? And of course, you took the only other thing that could have gotten me here under the VA's nose." Rich took a glass on the table and filled it with water from the pitcher also resting on the table's surface. He took a heavy gulp, set the glass back down, and looked at Gibson. "So make your case, Captain, because I don't feel like wasting time."

Gibson smiled. He didn't want to waste time either. How convenient.

"The tablet, Rear Admiral, can explain things much more quickly than I can. If you would," Gibson said, gesturing towards a holographic-display tablet resting on the table.

Rich, with a skeptical look on his face, picked up the tablet. Within a minute of glancing at it, he practically slammed the device back down on the table. He then turned to Captain Gibson with an expression that could have indicated either disgust or trepidation.

"You must be joking, Captain. Spartans? You've dragged me onto this forsaken ship for the second time in five years to talk about Spartans? And you're doing this when the performance evaluation for Ackerson's Spartan Alpha Company is due next year? I'm telling you, Captain, I have had it up to here," he made a 'cut' across past his temple, "with Spartans."

Gibson breathed deeply and silently- one of them had to keep a cool head. "Sir, I know you realize full well that there will always be attempts to improve on what has gone before. SPARTAN-II had its problems, and Ackerson wanted to resolve them his own way- a sequel. SPARTAN-III is not the magic bullet; even you can see that, sir. New Constantinople, Mamore, Bonanza- the SPARTAN-IIIs have shown critical flaws at each engagement- flaws that are mostly absent in SPARTAN-IIs. On the obverse, the S-IIs' weaknesses are absent in the S-IIIs. You see the problem- each has its own sphere, but there is nothing to cover the gaps."

Rich raised his eyebrow. Gibson pressed on before he could interrupt.

"Much as I hate to admit it, Ackerson was right- we need more Spartans. But we can't get more if they're going to be as effective as a smaller number of the older-generation Spartans- we can't sacrifice quality for numbers. I've looked at the specs for the S-III hardware- it's nothing compared to what the S-IIs are using- one hit with plasma on an SPI suit will kill the user- MJOLNIR performs much, much better. We need a middle ground between the two classes of Spartan- more numerous than the second generation, but with a longer lifespan than the third." Sweat was now pouring down Gibson's head, and the back of his throat was beginning to itch. He poured out a small glass of water for himself, downed the entire cup in one gulp, and continued to speak.

"Everything is lined up, sir. There are only one or two final hurdles to leap, and I need a few things to that end."

A furrow appeared in Rich's brow, and the Rear Admiral spoke. "What 'hurdles' are we talking about here, Captain?"

Gibson steeled himself. "Personnel. Facilities. Equipment. Candi-"

"Everything, in short, that the program cannot go ahead without."

Gibson stopped as though Rich had just struck him in the ribs. The momentum he'd been building crashed to a halt and died. He struggled to recover, but the Rear Admiral cut him off.

"I can give you everything you need, Captain, except one thing. Funding. Our resources were pushed when we funded Ackerson's little venture- what makes you think we can field the same number as Ackerson's Spartans with the same hardware as Halsey's? That simply isn't possible."

Gibson struck at his only chance. "It is, sir. I've made a few changes here and there to old equipment- limits cost compared to SPARTAN-II, and vastly increases projected survival rate compared to SPARTAN-III. Couple that to the improved augmentations Alpha Company used and we've got a group that will have fewer washouts than Halsey's, but at the same time can do the job just as well. This is the best of both worlds, and at a lesser expense than SPARTAN-II."

"But you incur a greater expense than SPARTAN-III. Where is the funding coming from, Gibson?"

"The Army isn't doing much. The Marine Corps is the one getting its ass kicked out in the Colonies. Strauss can't exactly say no- people would wonder why he needs the money, given that his branch is constrained to Earth."

Rich's eyes both widened- it was evident that he'd been surprised. "Nicholas- Strauss?"

Gibson made a serious face and looked at Rich directly. "The funding is no object- especially given the changes I've made to the equipment- especially the armor systems. Screen fourteen will explain."

Rich scrolled to the mentioned screen on his tablet and frowned as he scrutinised the readouts on the display. "MJOLNIR Mk. IV-" he paused momentarily- "IC variant?"

"Irregular Combat- it's not built for heavy combat as much as the standard Mk. IV, but better protective value than the SPI suit. And it's still quiet as a whisper, not to mention cheaper than its mainstream counterpart."

Rich cocked an eyebrow, and his eyes went down to the screen. "If the numbers I'm looking at here are correct, this is the mainstream variant- we're not building 300 standard Mk. IV suits- you could basically consider the ones the SPARTAN-IIs are wearing an enhanced version of this."

Gibson simply nodded. There was no time to waste. "There are two other limitations, sir."

Rich actually broke into a smile at this. "Let me guess- your first problem is that you can't have a Spartan to train yours, and you don't have Frank Mendez."

"Yes, sir- all the Spartan-IIs are on combat tours, and at any rate, Ackerson took the one Spartan that would be best suited to training others. I've found a way around this, but I still need other instructors. I need DIs, specialists, weapons experts, and so on."

"Those can be dealt with- just tell me what your solution is. No-one is left of the crew who trained Halsey's Spartans save Mendez."

"I wouldn't say that, sir."

Gibson stood up and walked over to one wall, where a portable computer unit stood. Rich hadn't asked what it was- Gibson was sure that it was his bad mood that had contributed to his inattentiveness of objects standing in the room- never a good trait in a military officer, a member of ONI brass, no less. He shook his head to clear it- now was not the time to muse about his superiors. He booted up the unit, and a voice came through a speaker built into the terminal. The voice was female, as smooth as glass, without as much as a single imperfect inflection.

"Good evening, Rear Admiral Rich. Good evening, Captain Gibson."

Rich's turned to Gibson, his expression incredulous. "Is that-?"

"Déjà."

"You removed her from CASTLE Base? Do you want me to serve your head on a platter to HIGHCOM? She isn't supposed to be-"

"Unlike smart AIs," Gibson said, cutting through Rich's sputter, "dumb AIs do not accumulate data feedback cycles based on the amount of data they have stored. While this limits their ability to expand the parameters of their knowledge, a limit that does not exist in smart AIs, dumb AIs can maintain their essential core processes indefinitely, giving them a theoretically infinite lifespan. You know that when AIs are duplicated any errors and feedback loops present in the original are duplicated into the new one, so it's impossible to lengthen the lifespan of a smart AI by copying it. This problem is non-existent in dumb AIs. This duplicate is every bit as good as the original Déjà."

Rich looked dazed, as though he'd just been punched between the eyes. After several more moments, he recovered.

"Fine. I'll buy into this-for now. You're going for a class size of three hundred, like Ackerson's, but they're wearing MJOLNIR, like Halsey's. So where's the training location you had in mind? Onyx or Reach? Your preference may cement the association with one of the predecessor programs." The last sentence smacked of sarcasm. Gibson instantly hated it.

"Sir, I actually had a different location in mind. The last page has a list of possible locations, including the one which I think most ideal."

Rich glanced back down at his tablet, and looked straight back up towards Gibson inside of a second, who reflexively tensed, and attempted to mentally isolate all external sources of sound. It didn't work.

"HARVEST? You want to train these new Spartans on HARVEST? That is, without a doubt, the absolute most stupid idea I have EVER heard, Captain! Did you catch Boren's syndrome, or something?"

"Sir, please calm yourself. It is the best location for such a program. The Covenant fleet has already glassed it, so no more Covenant ships will come calling there. The UNSC has also vacated the sector surrounding Epsilon Indi, so the risk of discovery by Parangosky is minimal. You have my personal guarantee."

Rich stared at him skeptically for a moment- a guarantee from an ONI officer was basically worthless- before recommencing the attack. "And what do you do about the ships that mysteriously disappear for days into sectors that have already fallen to the Covenant?"

Gibson cleared his throat- Rich was playing right into his hands. "Screen thirty-one will elaborate." As Rich scrolled through his tablet, Gibson took another sip of water; his throat was parched.

"Project BROKEN WINDOW; a low-brow project initiated by the UNSC Science Corps for the purpose of ascertaining the ultimate usefulness of glassed planets- can we get them back, etc., etc. It's the perfect cover story if the vectors towards Harvest are discovered, which I very much doubt." Despite his parry of Rich's misgivings, Gibson began to feel nervous- he was starting to run out of counter-arguments.

For the first time, however, Rich actually seemed impressed. He leaned back in his chair and nodded towards Gibson. "Congratulations, Captain. You've actually secured my interest- the necessary personnel and equipment will be made available shortly, and you can begin selecting candidates immediately. Have you thought of a name for this project? SPARTAN-IV, perhaps?"

Gibson shook his head. "No, sir. I actually intended to model them after the SPARTAN-IIs, and that's how they'll be filed. They'll be the continuation of Halsey's project; proof positive that the next generation will surpass the first. They will be Class II of the SPARTAN-II program- the soldiers Halsey never got. She'd be so pleased if she knew- which of course, she will not."

Rich actually broke into a smile. "That is true." The smile did not last long, though. Rich got right back down to business. "But also on the list of people who must NOT find out is-"

"Maggie Parangosky, I know," Gibson said, noting the look on Rich's face. "She will never find out, believe me."

"Well you'd better be damned believable, because I will personally lead you to the gallows if she gets wind of it, do you hear me?"

"Crystal clear, sir."

"Then we're clear. I expect to see a report on your selections in six months' time. Dismissed, Captain."

"Sir, yes sir. Would you like a lift back to Earth?"

"Anything beats waiting two months flying the slow way here. Set course for Earth immediately, Captain."

"Yes, sir." Gibson stood up and strode over to the door of Odin's Eye. Opening it, he turned to Rich. "After you, sir."

Rich stood and went through the door, and three of the four ODSTs standing outside went with him. The fourth trooper stood back and turned to Gibson, snapping off a salute as he did so. "Is there anything you need, sir?" he asked, his face invisible through his polarized faceplate.

Gibson shook his head. "No, trooper. And you can stand at ease. You are free to leave with the Rear Admiral."

The trooper nodded and relaxed. "Sir, thank you sir," he said, before walking down the corridor after Rich.

Gibson shook his head and a wide smile broke out across his face. The UNSC would need more Spartans to replenish their losses- it would never know about its existence, but it would owe these three hundred its survival. It seemed odd how Ackerson had made that same case for his SPARTAN-IIIs.