CHAPTER ONE

1020 Hours, September 30, 2552, (Military Calendar)/UNSC Stealth Frigate Morning's Scimitar, near Hostel, location classified

The air was cold but surprisingly fresh on the bridge of the quiet vessel. A gentle hum could be heard under the hushed mutterings of the sparse officers at their stations, with one tall figure standing broad before the main viewing port. The captain, an elderly and portly statue of a military man, had one hand resting upon safety bar as he scanned the horizon. The starfield was bare, save for the large yellow sphere suspended before the Scimitar; the planet they were permanently assigned to, until the Office of Naval Intelligence said otherwise, at least.

The planet below, as well as its two picturesque but bare moons, represented a huge investment for ONI and many others in the UNSC, not that many of the military or naval personnel were actually aware of that, as several operations of the extremely classified nature were being conducted on the surface, and it had been that way since the range of Morning-class vessels were launched, some five years ago. Even they had been a major classified project, as they took on technology adapted from the highly prized human stealth vessels, as well as incorporating some of the greater firepower, speed and armour of the more general battleships and frigates. Naturally, this impeded their stealth assets, but not to too much of a degree. Unless other vessels were close, the UNSC Morning's Scimitar would not be detected. No system was perfect, though. Not even the Covenant ones.

It was only the highest of the highest, even on this most secret of all ships, that even had the slightest idea of what was going on down on the surface of HOSTEL. Rumours circulated around the ship, as they do, normally concerning theories of what was going on, based on what the Scimitar was responsible for ferrying to and from the planet. It was taken as given that some form of mining operation or excavation was occurring, as equipment was frequently brought to the base, as well as the fact that the base on HOSTEL itself is of alien origin. Another theory – an incredibly tangible one, it would seem – is that it had become the base for the training of Spartan supersoldiers; a few months ago, the Scimitar had been tasked with collecting a small contingent of armoured warriors and delivering them to the desert world.

However, none of that concerned Ensign Jack Crawley. What concerned Ensign Crawley was the blip in the sensor logs he was currently detecting. Scanners had picked nothing up in the sector since he had been assigned the role – amongst various threats to his well-being, should he not respect the nature of the mission – and was greatly alarmed by what he was reading off of his terminal. The captain, himself, seemed in deep thought, musing the intricacies of space, as did most of the bridge crew seem completely at ease, if not bored. Usually, he did, too. He double-checked the readings, and set the scanner off again, hoping it was a minor blip. He was not so lucky.

The terminal displayed what appeared to be a small collection of medium-sized vessels – somewhat larger than the human vessel – a system from their current location, meaning the Scimitar should be out of their sensor range, but nothing had ever come this close to HOSTEL before and stayed for very long; the area was, at first glance, pointless. No one would want to colonise a desert planet, and both humans and the Covenant were far too wrapped up in their war efforts to be suspecting of this empty area of space. This 'blip', however, seemed to contradict that. Nevertheless, it was not Covenant strategy to go out of their way to be particularly covert. Their typical plan of action would be to maraud their way into the system, use their superior firepower to take what they want, glassing anything that stood in their way.

Insurrectionists, maybe? Crawley considered to himself, resting one elbow on his station as he scratched his temple. Nah, this is too far out from their space. They have much more important things to be dealing with. He decided to come forward with his information, and spun his chair round energetically. "Captain Fairview, sir."

Nathaniel Fairview, deep into his fifties, turned graciously on the spot to face the fresh-faced ensign addressing him, running his right hand through his short, greying hair. "What is it, son?" A fatherly manner always seemed best when dealing with the younger staff, he had decided. Made them more comfortable on these covert assignments for the spooks at ONI.

"Well, sir. I'm not quite sure. You see," Jack noticed he was starting to stutter a bit as he spoke, but managed to maintain his composure as he continued his sentence. "Well, the sensor logs came up red for me about ten minutes ago, as they've been programmed to, indicating a presence in the nearby sector." He pointed to the diagram that came up on his screen that Fairview looked at with deep interest. "At first I thought it was a blip, or maybe someone just slipping through quickly. Bandits, or something, but I keep running checks and multiple scans. Nothing's changing."

If the captain was worried by this turn of events, he certainly didn't show any signs of it as he straightened his uniform. "How many?"

"Two, sir. One larger than the other."

"Your personal opinion?"

"Covenant, sir. They shouldn't be able to detect us from where they are, but they've not mov-" The two red blips on the screen disappeared, leaving the image of an empty star system with nothing unusual about it. The ensign's heart sank. He was pleased that there was nothing of particular interest that could endanger them, but his alerting the captain, when nothing actually came of it all, embarrassed him.

"Look, don't worry about it, son. This is one of those assignments. You did good letting me know." Fairview had caught onto Jack's mood, and squeezed him gently at the shoulder reassuringly. "You're gonna settle in here fine, kid. Just keep your eyes peel-"

The main lighting on the bridge shut off, leaving the command centre lit only by the faint images and designs of the computer terminals, with no emergency lights replacing the main ones. People began to talk loudly in alarm, only managing to make out basic features. The captain could be clearly seen in the basking light of HOSTEL to Jack's right, and his face remained as stiffly cool as ever, although the look in his glinting eyes betrayed him. It was amongst the now growing calls of the other officers, both on the bridge and from nearby stations down corridors that the terminals then shut themselves off. Fairview began barking orders at his officers, his demeanour less calm and more agitated. Whether or not anyone was listening, however, was another issue.

The gentle humming of the ship then ceased, and Jack felt his insides begin to churn. Artificial gravity had evidently failed, and he struggled in vain to grab the safety harness of his chair, but was too panicked and too slow to be successful, and ended up pushing himself further away from his workstation. People began to scream louder, with the captain – once so dominating and inspiring – failing to bring any order to the chaos that now engulfed his crew. The only noise that could be heard over the top of the squabbling was the sound of the blast doors that connected the bridge to the rest of the Scimitar sealing shut, and then the gentle clicking of life support shutting down. It was at this moment that Ensign Jack Crawley found himself shouting in desperation, although his – and indeed everyone else's – endeavours, only increased the rate at which air was consumed in this new metal tomb.

As bodies floated, flailed and collided, people's skin began to lose its colour as the temperature dropped down low. Jack was one of the last, as he found himself face to face with the commanding officer, white as a sheet, and eyes glassy and grey. If there were any breathable air left, the junior officer's dying scream would have been deafening.

I don't pretend to be a great physicist or to have a great understanding of how things would really have turned out in such a scenario, but I hope the picture painted is engaging enough for readers to be interested and enjoying the experience.