0544 Hours, March 12, 2543 (Military Calendar) /
UNSC Tyger, en route to Zeta Reticuli System
John woke with a start.
For a moment, the nightmare lingered-sensations of horror, disgust, and desolation. But the feelings quickly faded as his brain automatically began a quick check of his body. Decades of mental and physical training quickly calmed him, lowering his blood pressure and steadying his heart rate. This was followed by a flood of information from his brain: his location, his mission, and last and least important, his identity.
"Master Chief."
The elegant voice, tinged with an aristocratic accent, was that of Grimalkin, the AI that had been assigned to the Tyger. He was on loan from the Office of Naval Intelligence under the auspices of Lieutenant Marv Reardon, the ONI spook in charge of the mission. The Chief felt a pang of annoyance at the thought of Reardon.
"What is it, Grimalkin?" he said in a low, measured voice-the same voice he used whether talking in private with friends or under heavy enemy fire.
A small, round screen of black glass on the night table began to glow. The eight-inch form of Grimalkin appeared in hologram, wearing a gray robe with a long beard to match. AIs were allowed to choose their own appearance, and this one fit Grimalkin's intelligent, aristocratic (and occasionally pompous) personality quite well.
"You have woken two hours before your customary time. Are you well? Do you require a medical diagnostic?"
John waved a hand dismissively. "I'm fine."
"Perhaps a psychological evaluation?"
"By who? You?"
Grimalkin raised an eyebrow-his equivalent of a shrug.
"Thanks, but no," said John. "How far are we from Zeta Reticuli?"
"We will arrive at our destination in approximately twelve hours."
"Good." Two weeks in slipspace was more than enough. It began to play with your mind; that was the only explanation for the Chief's poor sleep. He'd never had trouble sleeping before.
"Do you require anything else? A mild sedative, perhaps?" Grimalkin offered.
"No thanks," said the Chief, trying to hint that he wanted to be left alone. He wondered why he was being tactful with an AI.
"Very well," said Grimalkin, and he faded away.
The Chief sighed. They hadn't even reached their destination, yet this was already one of the most troubling missions he had ever been assigned to. He had been given only the vaguest details. According to the briefing he'd received from his commanding officer, the UNSC had received a distress signal from a group of terraformers on Acheron, an Earth-sized moon orbiting an immense gas giant in the Zeta Two Reticuli system at the edge of human-colonized space. The distress signal claimed a small group of Covenant had attacked the colony. The UNSC had sent a detachment of Marines from a nearby system to deal with the threat-and promptly lost contact with them.
Though he wouldn't voice his concerns to his superiors, John thought it was a bad idea to send three Spartans on a rescue mission to the outer limits of known space. But orders were orders, and the Master Chief had been ready to follow them without question...until Reardon showed up.
The presence of an ONI officer made this a black op, and that bothered John. There was no reason for a rescue mission to be a black op unless there was something they weren't being told.
John rose, stretched, and did a few exercises to get his muscles loose. After a quick shower, he went to the back of his quarters, where his MJOLNIR armor hung.
A metric ton of flexible black alloy and gleaming, light green ceramic plates, a MJOLNIR suit-which only the biologically-enhanced Spartans could wear-featured built-in tactical and diagnostic computer systems (controlled by the Spartan's mind via a neural implant), plasma-resistant plating, and reactive metal liquid crystal embedded within its structure to enhance the Spartans' already above-average strength and reflexes.
Encased in the airtight suit, a Spartan could maneuver in a vacuum for ninety minutes before the suit's oxygen supply ran out. All of this was powered by a built-in fusion pack that could last for months, even years if used conservatively.
The helmet's visor was made from a special tempered glass that allowed a perfect field of vision, but prevented anyone else from seeing his face. All they could see was a golden mirror. He had fought alongside many enlisted Marines who had known what he looked like. And yet, the sight of an armored Spartan could inspire hope and courage in even the most jaded veteran.
He carefully donned the battle armor. Fully suited, he stood over seven feet tall.
With their ETA only twelve hours away, the Master Chief decided it would be a good idea if he and the other two Spartans got in a quick training session before they arrived at Acheron.
#
John, a.k.a. Master Chief Petty Officer (or simply "Master Chief"), a.k.a. Spartan-117, was the result of an experiment by the United Nations Space Command to create the perfect warrior. He was selected for his genetic perfection and abducted from his home on Eridanus II at the age of six, then trained for the next eight years. At the age of fourteen, he and the seventy-five other children in the program were put through a torturous experimental process that strengthened their bodies, reflexes, and senses-and killed half of them. A few months later, they performed their first military operation. Soon after they were gifted with their distinctive MJOLNIR battle suits, which increased their strength and reflexes even more, while giving them significant protection from enemy weapons.
He and his comrades-called Spartans after the famous warriors of Greek history and legend-had evolved into the most efficient and deadly weapons in the UNSC's arsenal in the war against the alien invaders known as the Covenant.
Comprising several different alien races, the Covenant had appeared in UNSC space in 2525 and declared war on humanity by decimating an entire planet. Since then, humanity and the Covenant had fought a long war of attrition. Given the Covenant's superior firepower and seemingly endless supply of ships and troops, many within the UNSC ranks were beginning to think the war was hopeless. And since the Covenant had made it very clear they intended to destroy all of humanity, even surrender wasn't an option. Humanity was doomed.
But the Master Chief didn't think so.
As long as he could slap another clip into a rifle, as long as there was a man or woman left to fight the Covenant, the war wasn't over. UNSC scientists were working feverishly to develop new weapons-weapons like the Spartans. They had learned much from confiscated Covenant technology. It was only a matter of time, the Master Chief knew, before they found a weapon powerful enough to send the Covenant back to whatever black hole they crawled out of.
#
After their training session, the Spartans met in a small conference room for mission prep.
The Master Chief's teammates on this mission were Oleg (nicknamed "Ollie," Spartan-026) and Linda (Spartan-058). When not using team designations, the Spartans referred to one another by their first names. They had last names too, but other than official functions those names meant nothing to them anymore.
Ollie was one of the more talkative Spartans, and the only one of the three who had been specifically requested by ONI. He had a strong background in science, particularly biology, and an intense curiosity tempered only by his loyalty to the UNSC and his fellow Spartans.
Linda was the Spartans' best sharpshooter. She could hit targets with a sniper rifle that the Chief sometimes couldn't even see. But like many snipers, she was a bit taciturn. All her movements were swift, efficient, and deliberate.
"Let's start with the vehicles," said the Chief. "What have we got?"
"Two Pelicans, with one Warthog each," said Ollie. Pelicans were the UNSC's workhorses, small troop carriers that could land and take off from a planet. They were lightly armed but tough, and as reliable as any mass-produced UNSC product. The M12 light reconnaissance vehicle-nicknamed the Warthog-was a small, squat vehicle with two seats and a mounted machine gun in the back. It turned over a bit too easily, but otherwise it was another time-tested piece of equipment.
"I don't like having only two Pelicans," said Linda. "You know we're going to have to take both of them down there, and then what do we do if they're damaged? We'll be screwed."
"Too late now," said the Chief. "What about troops?" He knew exactly how many Marines they had, but he wanted to be thorough and lay it all out before they had to start thinking about deployment.
" Two squads of ODSTs, twenty-six total," said Ollie. "Not even a full platoon. And as you might expect, they're not too happy with us being here."
The Orbital Drop Shock Troopers were the main special forces unit of the UNSC. Their specialty was orbital insertions via Human Entry Vehicles (HEV)-basically black metal pods, each containing one ODST, that launched from orbit and landed on the planet. "Feet first into hell," was their motto, and they often referred to themselves informally as "Helljumpers." Once in a while an HEV got too hot on entry and the Marine inside was baked.
Thus, the ODSTs had a reputation for being a little crazy. But they were the best troops the UNSC had-outside of the Spartans. The ODST had a long-standing rivalry with the Spartans, often referring to them as "freaks," and resented the way the Spartans had usurped their place as the military's premiere special forces unit. It didn't help that the Spartans were technically part of the Navy, not the Marine Corps; the Chief had overheard ODSTs referring to the Spartans as "swabbies," the age-old Marine term for Naval servicemen.
And then there was that incident in 2525...but John didn't like to think about that.
"The ODSTs are commanded by Sergeant Major Yelena Hurd," Ollie was saying. "We've also got ten ONI specialists-engineers, scientists, techs. This really is a black op. If there's any significant resistance out there, we're going to be outnumbered."
The Chief nodded. There was one great equalizer for such a circumstance, however. "What about weapons?"
"We've got one HAVOK nuclear warhead," said Ollie. "If all else fails, we can always blow them up."
And all of us, too, the Chief thought. HAVOK warheads had a thirty-megaton yield. Not exactly "light fuse, run away." When you set off a HAVOK, you wanted to be somewhere else-preferably in orbit.
The Chief suspected Reardon's orders were to nuke the site if there were any sign of a threat, or even if the UNSC just couldn't get anything useful from it. It was standard operating procedure on uninhabited planets after any Covenant encounter. "What else?"
Ollie listed their remaining weapons: ten MA5B assault rifles, five M90 shotguns, forty fragmentation grenades, two M19 SSR SPNKr "Spanker" rocket launchers, and twelve LOTUS antitank land mines. Each of them also had a pistol, and Linda had her modified sniper rifle.
"It's too bad we have no idea what we're getting into," said Linda. "I'd like to know what sort of atmosphere and terrain we're facing. They haven't told us anything." This was a particularly sore spot for her; she often adjusted her sniper rifle to best suit the mission parameters. Some missions called for careful shots placed within a centimeter of a particular target; others needed heavy cover fire. They required different scopes and different rounds.
"I know you're both frustrated," said the Chief. "All I can tell you is that we'll arrive soon. I'm sure Reardon will fill us in then."
"I still don't get it," Ollie said, dropping his voice slightly. "Zeta Two Reticuli is outside colonized space. Just outside, yeah, but still, what were terraformers doing there?"
The Chief shook his head. "I don't know. All we're here to do is find the terraformers and the Marines and get them-"
He stopped when Linda made a slashing gesture across her throat. Reardon entered the room a moment later. The door was to Linda's back; the sniper seemed to have a sixth sense about such things. The Spartans stood and saluted the lieutenant.
"At ease," said Reardon. Like many ONI spooks, Reardon was an unremarkable-looking man. He stood just under six feet, with the build of someone who kept himself fit but didn't make it a priority. His thick brown hair was longer than regulation allowed, but that was common among Intelligence officers. He had dark brown eyes and a round, youthful face. He couldn't have been older than thirty, the Chief decided.
"We'll reach Acheron in about eight hours," said Reardon as he got a cup of coffee from the kitchen. "Hurd is prepping the men now."
"Understood, sir," said the Chief.
Reardon nodded and took a seat at the table. "I know you're wondering what this is all really about," he said in a casual tone of voice, as if he were among friends and not their commanding officer. After a sip of coffee, he continued, "And yes, there's more to this than just a rescue mission. The fact is, we really don't know what happened on Acheron. And I can't tell you what we're going to find when we touch down, because I simply don't know," he said. "I just need to know you'll follow my orders, no matter what happens."
"Of course, sir," replied the Chief. He didn't look at Linda or Ollie, but he knew they both were thinking the same thing he was: the lieutenant's last statement had been the equivalent of an alert siren.
This was going to be very bad.
#
1739 Hours, March 12, 2543 (Military Calendar) /
UNSC Tyger, in orbit around Zeta Two Reticuli d-1 (also called Acheron), Zeta Reticuli System
The captain of the Tyger was Ben Arad, a white-haired veteran whose true age was the subject of much rumor and legend among his crew. While Reardon was ostensibly in charge of the mission, Arad wasn't about to give him free reign of his ship or crew. When Reardon arrived on the bridge, Arad was already giving orders to scan the moon.
The Master Chief had entered with Reardon. As the captain and his officers busied themselves teasing out whatever information they could, the Spartan took a good long look at the moon in the viewscreen.
Acheron seemed to be composed varying shades of gray. The visible landscape was little more than a darker version of Earth's moon. The clouds, which appeared to be one giant storm, were more gray than white.
"Any sign of survivors? Or the Covenant?" Reardon asked.
"Stand by," Arad growled as he moved among his officers. Behind his faceplate, the Chief allowed himself a small smile. The captain's tone seemed to say: you may be able to order me around, but I'll be damned if my people take orders from a spook.
"Found them, sir," said the tactical officer, Papalimberis. "Looks like they're on the far side of the moon. I've got two vessels. A Prowler called the Mayberry, and a vessel of unknown origin." Prowlers were ONI's stealth vessels.
There never were any terraformers, the Chief realized.
"What can you tell us about the other ship?" Reardon asked.
"Preliminary scans don't match any known Covenant configurations," said Papalimberis. "I'm also getting very slim power readings from the Mayberry. Nothing from the other ship."
Arad didn't seem surprised by the lack of terraformers; the Chief supposed he'd seen through ONI's flimsy cover story from the very beginning. "Good work, lieutenant," the captain said. "Any sign of Covenant activity?"
"None, sir," said Papalimberis. "In fact, there's no evidence of any other vessels landing on Acheron at any time in the recent past."
Arad looked at Reardon. "What do you want to do?"
The lieutenant made a show of thinking it over. "Let's get a closer look at those ships."
Arad nodded. "Let's see the Mayberry first," he said to Papalimberis.
The tac officer tapped a few keys. The holo emitter in the center of the bridge flickered and a bright, three-dimensional image of the Prowler appeared.
"Sir," said Corrdin, the comm officer. "I've traced the source of the distress signal. It's not coming from the Mayberry-it's coming from the unknown vessel."
Arad looked at Reardon. The intelligence officer said nothing, but it was clear this was not news to him.
"Lieutenant?" said the Captain to Papalimberis.
"Scanning," said the tac officer. "Getting some deeper readings now. It's definitely not a Covenant ship-the hull composition is all wrong. I've never seen anything like it, sir."
The seemingly unflappable Arad looked surprised. "You mean this is a new alien race?"
Papalimberis looked up. "I don't know, sir. But it's possible. The ship is very big, too. About the size of one our smaller destroyers."
"Let's see it," said Arad.
Papalimberis worked at his console for a moment. The image of the Mayberry shifted and was replaced by a view of the alien ship. There were a few mutters of surprise from the bridge crew.
The ship was shaped roughly like a "U" but thicker in the center. It appeared to have crashed into the surface at a severe angle, and the rounded edge-the apex of the U-was half-buried in the terrain. At each end of the U were large structures, presumably some sort of propulsion system, but they were asymmetrical in design; one was positioned vertically to the plane of the ship, while the other lined up horizontally.
The overall effect of the derelict's shape was disorienting. It was far more alien in appearance than any known Covenant creation. While Covenant vessels looked somewhat organic, this alien ship seemed less like a vehicle than a living creature, albeit a loathsome one.
"That is one ugly ship," one of the crew muttered.
The Chief had to agree. In fact, he found he had an irrational dislike of the thing just from the holo image. Reardon, however, seemed entranced.
"Getting more readings, sir," Papalimberis said. "Judging from the condition of the hull, it's..." He hesitated, a puzzled look on his face. "It's at least a thousand years old."
Everyone was silent for a moment, digesting this information. "Incredible," said Arad.
"Captain," said Reardon without taking his eyes off the holo, "please enter orbit over the landing site. We're going to the surface." He tore his eyes away and looked at Arad. "Once we leave, I want you to make a system sweep for any Covenant vessels."
Arad raised an eyebrow. "We've got no evidence of a Covenant presence. And this is a big system. That will put us out of COM range for at least two days. You'll be on your own."
"Better that than risk a Covenant surprise attack." Reardon turned to the Master Chief. "Prep your team, Chief. We're going down."
"Aye, sir," the Chief said.
As the Chief followed Reardon off the bridge, Arad gave him a meaningful look. The Chief returned a slight nod. The message was clear: the old vet didn't like this any more than the Chief did.
#
1954 Hours, March 12, 2543 (Military Calendar) /
Acheron, Zeta Reticuli System
The two Pelican dropships they took down to the surface had been modified for the mission. One of them, Bravo 304, had a troop carrier attachment to carry the extra ODSTs-a Pelican's usual complement was no more than a dozen troops. The other ship, Delta 421, bore a cargo container for the specialists' equipment. The attachments made them a lot slower and less maneuverable than an unladen Pelican. It was just one more thing that bothered the Master Chief; if they had to get off-planet in a hurry, their options were already limited.
The initial drop was uneventful. The Pelicans landed two kilometers from the Mayberry. Once they had situated themselves, the Master Chief suggested to Reardon that he and the other Spartans scout the ships before Reardon and the Marines arrived.
Sergeant Hurd overheard the exchange. "Sir," said Hurd to Reardon, ignoring the way the Spartan towered over her, "with all due respect to the Master Chief and his team, three troops may not be enough to secure the ship, especially if there are enemy contacts."
The Master Chief had reviewed Hurd's record and was surprised to discover she had survived over a dozen engagements with the Covenant with minimal injuries-already beating the odds for most ODSTs. In her late thirties, Hurd stood only about five feet tall, with tightly-cropped blonde hair and bright green eyes. A long, pale scar ran from her forehead to her cheek.
Technically, the Master Chief and Hurd had the same level of rank, but the Marines had been assigned to the mission as security and the Chief controlled that aspect of the operation, so she and the rest of the ODSTs were under his command. That didn't mean she was going to call him "sir," though.
Reardon looked annoyed. "I understand your concern, Sergeant, but given how little we know about the threat and the difficult weather conditions, I would prefer the Spartans, with their powered armor, handle the recon."
To her credit, Hurd didn't argue further. "Understood, sir," she said, and walked away.
"As for you," said Reardon, turning to the Chief, "just secure the Mayberry and see if you can find any survivors. Don't do anything else until I get there."
The Chief nodded. He still wondered what the alien derelict was, and what ONI wanted with it...or had already tried to do with it. Whatever had happened, it may already have cost several dozen lives.
The Pelicans had dropped off the two Warthogs before landing; the Spartans would have to exit through the airlock. Acheron's atmosphere consisted mostly of nitrogen, crystallized carbon dioxide, and methane, and its temperature was well below freezing. The Spartans would be safe and warm for more than an hour in their MJOLNIR armor, and whatever oxygen the suit could draw from the atmosphere would be added to their air supply.
The Spartans selected their gear. Linda took her sniper rifle, while Ollie and the Master Chief each took an MA5B assault rifle. The workhorse of the UNSC, the MA5B was a mechanically simple weapon, not too different from its ancestors of five hundred years earlier.
During the interplanetary wars of the late twenty-second century, UNSC scientists had experimented with advanced nanotechnology, creating rifles made entirely from nanorobots that could make use of clips made from solid, generic high-density material to create any kind of ammunition-bullets, shot, grenades-within seconds, as well as reconfigure the entire weapon to fit whatever need the tactical situation required. The weapons had been heralded as the future of warfare.
At their first operational engagement, the enemy generated an electromagnetic pulse that fried the nanorobots, then used conventional weaponry to slaughter the UNSC forces.
Ever since, gas-powered weaponry had been UNSC standard issue. The MA5B had an electronics suite that aided in ammunition tracking, maintenance and a few other housekeeping functions, but if the suite was knocked out by an EMP pulse from, say, a nearby tactical nuke, you could still fire twelve rounds a second.
Each Spartan took spare clips, some frag grenades, and a medical kit, then crowded into the Pelican's airlock. There was a loud hiss as the chamber depressurized. Then the outer airlock door popped open and the Spartans set foot on Acheron.
#
The Master Chief had been on many worlds during his time in the UNSC (and even a few back in the misty days before the Spartan program), but they had always been habitable worlds—made so either by human terraforming or, far more rarely, cosmic luck. He had done a number of asteroid operations, but asteroids were small and couldn't hold an atmosphere.
No, this was about as close to hell as he'd ever been.
The wind was the worst part. It whipped by them with near-hurricane force and pelted them with an endless cloud of gray dust. Though it was currently midday on the moon, visibility was near zero. Using the link-up between his helmet and his neural implant, the Chief instinctively activated his image enhancements; the gray, dusty scene was immediately replaced with a bright tactical display. He had to dampen his audio receptors as well; the wind's howl was deafening.
Two green lights flickered on his heads-up display, indicating Linda and Ollie's status. "Let's get to the Warthog," he said over the proximity COM channel. "I'll drive. Blue Two, you're riding shotgun-I want you keeping an eye up ahead with the scope. Blue Three, you're on the gun."
The Chief got into the driver's seat of a Warthog. Linda took the passenger seat, her sniper rifle at the ready, while Ollie manned the triple-barreled, swiveling machine gun mounted in the rear of the vehicle.
The Chief scanned the landscape ahead. There wasn't anything even remotely resembling a flat stretch of ground. The Warthog was designed for all kinds of rough terrain, but it wasn't designed for a smooth ride. As he stepped on the gas and the Warthog vaulted forward, he wondered whether the civilian version of the Warthog, a favorite toy of many wealthy colonials, came with better shocks.
The 'Hog covered the distance in a quarter of an hour. At one point they hit a low hill and the bouncing Warthog launched into the air, coming down with a bone-crunching impact.
"Yee-ha!" Ollie shouted over the COM channel. "Excellent driving, sir!"
Behind his faceplate, the Chief grinned. Despite the war, despite the troubling mystery of the mission, despite Reardon, despite the hellish landscape of Acheron, they were having fun. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.
"Coming up on the landing site," said Linda, scanning ahead through her sniper scope. "No sign of activity. The Mayberry's loading ramp looks like it's taken heavy damage."
#
The Warthog rolled to a stop a few meters from the Mayberry.
The ship was long and streamlined, its hull coated with a matte black material for increased stealth. It looked like just another hunk of black rock against the gray landscape of Acheron.
"All right, lock and load," said the Chief, shouldering his assault rifle. "Blue Two, scout the other side and see if there's any more damage, then come on in. Blue Three and I will enter through the ramp."
Linda's light on his HUD winked in acknowledgment, and she slowly moved around behind the ship. The Chief and Ollie approached the loading ramp. The sensor-resistant metal had been melted and twisted outward.
"The readings from the Tyger said the ship was depressurized from a dozen holes," said the Master Chief. "Most of them small, except for this one."
Ollie stopped near the edge of the gaping hole and moved in closer. "That's strange," he said, fingering a piece of the melted bay doors.
"What is it?"
"Well, the bay doors are blown outward," Ollie said. "That means the explosion came from inside the ship, which is strange enough. But some of this doesn't look like blast scoring. These look like acid burns."
"Acid burns? On Titanium-A plating?"
"Well, they're not very deep," said Ollie. "Just enough to be noticeable. But look—there are more on the floor. They're all over the place."
The Chief knelt down and sure enough, there were small gouges along the segmented plating of the ramp. As Ollie had noted, none were very deep, but the Chief knew that for an acid to even make a scratch on Titanium-A, it would have to be pretty damned corrosive.
And there was something more. Some of the gouges came in long streaks, while others flowered out violently from a central spot. They seemed eerily familiar to the Chief, and suddenly he knew why.
"These look like blood spray patterns," he said.
"You're right," said Ollie, surprised. "But...that doesn't make any sense."
The Chief stood. "Let's keep going."
They reached the door. Ollie gave an impressed whistle. It looked as if the door had been wrenched open-not by arms fire or explosives, but by some physical force.
"The entire ship must be depressurized," said Ollie. "If Reardon's techs can't get some air in here, we may have to abandon it."
"Or nuke it," said the Chief.
They crawled through the torn door into a dimly-lit hallway. The Spartans adjusted their image enhancement filters and the hallway flared into view. It was a wreck; walls were scorched and the floor was littered with spent shells.
"What the hell happened here?" said Ollie.
"Blue Two," said the Chief over the COM channel, "what can you see out there?"
"Not too much on this side of the ship, sir," said Linda. "No evidence of damage. I did find something odd on the ground-a piece of tubing. I think it may be organic."
"Hang on to it," said the Chief. "And come on in out of the wind. We've found evidence of a firefight in here, along with some unusual acid burns. Possibly a new Covenant weapon. Blue Three and I are heading to the bridge."
The Chief activated a map of the Mayberry on his HUD. It was a three-dimensional hologram that appeared to float a few inches in front of his visor, though it was really just generated within his helmet. He marked a red NAV arrow on the map and transmitted it to Linda. "Head to the engine room and see if you can get us some more power."
"Roger that," said Linda.
The next stop on their inspection was the cryo chamber. Yet another bizarre sight awaited them: six of the cryotubes had been shattered.
"Smashed from the inside again," said Ollie. "Like the loading ramp doors."
The Chief didn't reply. He'd started with a bad feeling about this mission, and every new discovery confirmed it.
Their next stop was the crew's quarters, which were empty. They moved on to the bridge, where the crew appeared to have made a last stand. Blood was splattered all over the floor and walls.
There was only one problem. Prowlers were smaller than the big cruisers or even a frigate, but at 160 meters long, they weren't exactly runabouts either. A typical Prowler had a crew of ninety, and couldn't fly with less than forty.
"Where are the bodies?" said Ollie. Despite all the blood, there wasn't a single corpse on the bridge.
"How about the ship's logs? Any visual records?" asked the Chief.
Ollie bent over the operations station. He spent a few minutes tapping at keys. "Looks like they were having power problems," he said. "And a lot of the cameras were damaged."
He worked at the console for a few more minutes while the Chief continued investigating the bridge. The strange acid burns were evident here as well.
"I've got something from the firefight inside the landing ramp, I think," said Ollie. "Hang on, I'll key it up."
The Chief sidled up next to Ollie to watch the small viewscreen. It flickered to life, providing a view of the hallway on the other side of the ramp airlock. The lighting was dark red-emergency illumination.
"Sorry, no sound," Ollie said.
As they watched, half a dozen Marines suddenly scurried into view. They were panicked and firing recklessly behind them. They reached the door on the other side of the hallway and, apparently unable to open it, started pounding on the metal.
"They locked the door," said Ollie. "The people inside locked them out."
The Chief didn't reply. He'd had to make hard decisions before.
The desperate Marines took up positions with their backs to the door, six assault rifles pointing at whatever was pursuing them from the other end of the hallway.
"Do we have any better angles?" asked the Chief.
"No, this is it," said Ollie. "Looks like the one at the other end got knocked out when the ramp doors were blown."
They continued to watch the doomed space marines. After a few moments of tense waiting, the troops opened up with everything they had at the unseen enemy. The Chief watched, expecting to see a Covenant-an Elite, perhaps, or a group of Grunts-rush the Marines. Something large and dark suddenly rushed in front of the camera, but the streams of bullets sent it hurtling out of range.
The Marines began to run out of ammo and switched to pistols in desperation. Then, without warning, something rushed them. They swarmed the Marines, whose began to fire wildly, and somewhere in the confusion the camera went dead.
"Back it up," said the Chief. "Can we get a visual on the enemy?"
Ollie ran the tape back, pausing at several points, but the images were too blurry to make out. Except-
"What's that?" said the Chief, tapping the screen at a long, thin curved shadow along one wall. "Is that a tail?"
"I don't know," Ollie said. "Could be. Whoever-or whatever-they are, they don't look like the Covenant."
"The LT can review the rest of the log," said the Chief, shouldering his rifle. "Let's head to the lab."
#
The laboratory was on the other side of the ship. They had to pass through the ship's conference room to get there. "Looks like the meeting was adjourned in a hurry," Ollie said, nodding at the chairs that were scattered around the conference table.
Like the rest of the ship, the lab was mostly dark. It was small, but well-equipped. On either wall was a long desk with three workstations each. Two long tubes—medical stasis pods, the Chief realized-rested in one corner. The rest of the room was taken up with a number of lab tables.
Standing on the farthest table was a pair of cylindrical glass tanks. A dark shadow floated in each-whatever they were, the Spartans' image enhancement software wasn't familiar with them and therefore couldn't extrapolate an image.
The Master Chief had seen more than a few science labs in his experiences with the creator of the Spartan-II program, Dr. Catherine Halsey. But he'd never seen one like this on a UNSC vessel.
"Let's check them out," the Chief said, motioning toward the tanks. For some reason, he felt compelled to raise his rifle as he walked. A faint memory of his dream from that morning haunted him.
Ollie had reached the tanks and was peering closely at one of them. His suit's sensors were scanning the thing inside, attempting to provide him with a detailed profile. "What the hell-"
There was a vibration throughout the ship, and the lights abruptly came on. As they did, the thing in the tank lunged toward Ollie. It took all the Spartans' training not to pull their triggers.
The creature kept scrambling frantically at the glass, trying to get at Ollie, who lowered his rifle to peer closer. "What the hell is it?"
The Master Chief remembered seeing images of deep sea crabs in science classes during the early years of his Spartan training. The thing in the tank resembled them, but it was bright pink in color and had a long, segmented tail. It had four pairs of "legs," though they looked more like long, thin fingers. The rest of the body consisted of two small sacs just behind the legs. Some sort of mouth, or tube, projected from the center of the thing's underside and seemed to suck at the glass. The tail whipped at the bottom of the tank.
"Did they find that thing here?" Ollie said.
"I don't know," said the Chief. He looked at the other tube. It also contained one of the creatures, but it lay motionless at the bottom of the tank, apparently dead.
"Blue Two here," said Linda's voice over the COM. "Are the lights working there, sir?"
"Affirmative," said the Chief. "We're in the lab. How are the engines?"
"Inoperable," said Linda. "They've been wrecked. I got a generator going for the lights, and life support if we can get it working, but we're not getting this bird in the air without some spare parts and a full repair crew."
The Chief paused, digesting the news. "Roger that. Rendezvous outside the loading ramp in five."
"Aye, sir."
"Chief," said Ollie. "Look at this." He was kneeling next to a ragged hole in the floor. It was about twenty centimeters in diameter; the edges appeared to have melted. "More of that acid. It goes through to the next deck, at least. Four inches of titanium."
The Chief examined the hole, then stood. "Take a look at the computers. See if you can find anything out."
Ollie's gaze lingered on the hole, then he moved to obey the Chief's order.
The Chief checked the stasis pods. To his surprise, one of them contained a person. If the readouts were to be believed, a living person.
"Check this one out," said the Chief, gesturing with his rifle.
"Ensign Piers Batelli," Ollie read off the monitor screen. "Placed in stasis about ten days ago. It says they were 'unable to remove the parasitoid.' I think they're referring to one of those crab things." He fiddled with the controls. "I've got an image up. It looks like-looks like he has one of those things on his face. Want me to open it, sir?" There was a trace of eagerness in his voice. The discovery of a new alien life form, however horrific, was exciting to a science junkie like Ollie.
The Chief thought it over. "No," he said. "We'll let the LT look at it." All their questions-what the crab creatures were, where they had come from, and most importantly, what ONI wanted with them-would have to wait until the Mayberry was secure.
Ollie found the rest of the medical logs had been classified. No doubt Reardon would be able to access them. The two Spartans performed a quick inspection of the rest of the ship, then met Linda on the loading ramp.
"Where's that tube you found?" the Chief asked.
She reached into a compartment in her armor and drew out a small plastic bag taped tightly with EB Green, the Navy's ubiquitous green tape. She carefully opened the bag and handed the tube to the Chief. He peered at it curiously, holding it up to his faceplate.
It was a shiny and black, but dry and smooth, like the chitin of a beetle. It curved near the end in a very slight S-shape. The other end, which might have been the base of the tube, seemed to have been torn-or blasted-off, as Linda had said. On either side of the tube was a narrow segmented section, like the body of an earthworm. Peering through either end, the Chief could see a honeycomb of fleshy material.
"It looks like an organ," he said.
"But of what?" said Ollie.
The Chief gave the tube an experimental squeeze. He dropped it abruptly as a jet of pale liquid shot out over his shoulder and struck the side of the Mayberry, where it began to sizzle.
The other Spartans stifled a chuckle. If they could have seen past his faceplate, they would have caught a truly epic glare from their leader.
Ollie moved in for a closer look at the hull. "Well, we found the source of those acid burns, I think."
The Chief gingerly picked up the tube and handed it to Linda.
Reardon's voice suddenly barked in the Chief's helmet. "Master Chief! Sitrep."
"The Mayberry is secure, sir," the Chief said. "There's evidence of a heavy firefight with the Covenant. The engines have been rendered inoperable, possibly through sabotage. No survivors or bodies, except-"
"Did you find anything unusual?" Reardon asked in an impatient tone.
How much did the spook already know? the Master Chief wondered. "Yes, sir. We discovered creatures resembling large crabs in the science lab. One of the two specimens was alive. We also found a man in stasis with one of the creatures attached to him."
Reardon was silent a moment. "You say the Mayberry is secure?"
"Yes, sir."
"All right, hold your position. We're coming in." The line went dead.
The Chief opened a COM channel to the other Spartans. "The LT will be here in thirty. Let's get into the Mayberry and out of this wind."
The ship's small rec room seemed to have been relatively untouched by the carnage that reigned elsewhere on the ship, so the Spartans holed up there to wait for Reardon. Linda began to take apart her sniper rifle, clearing the gray Acheron dust out of its more delicate parts.
"Permission to speak freely, sir," said Ollie. The Chief nodded. "I find it odd the UNSC didn't send a larger vessel with dropships for the original mission. ONI would have no problem commandeering a frigate or a cruiser, even for a black op. Why send a single Prowler?"
The question hung in the air for a few moments. Then Linda said, "A few years back, we had an op on a colony in the Trianguli system. Some holdouts from the Brushfire Wars were giving them trouble and we were sent to quiet them down, one way or the other. They sent Vinh, Fred and me.
"It was a quick operation, over in just a couple of hours really, so we got to spend some time with the colonists. They had a lot of stories, as usual. And one story they loved to tell was about a colony that vanished here in Zeta Two Reticuli. They called it Roanoke, which wasn't the name of the colony but seemed to be some sort of joke. According to the colonists, the UNSC went to ZTR to investigate Roanoke's disappearance.
"The official report concluded that the colony had been destroyed by unexpected seismic activity. However, ZTR was declared off-limits by the UNSC. The Trianguli colonists suspected a conspiracy. They had a lot of theories about what happened to Roanoke, but the rumor most of them believed was that the UNSC found evidence of a new, unknown spacefaring race operating in the system, and since they were already at war with the Covenant, they weren't looking to start another fight. So they just closed off the system."
Ollie said, "If there were another spacefaring race around here, it would make sense to use smaller ships and try not to draw attention to ourselves. Even the Tyger is a relatively small frigate. But the Tyger's readings said the derelict is thousands of years old. That's hardly evidence of the active presence of another race. And the Tyger didn't pick up any evidence of a former colony here."
Linda shrugged. "Maybe this wasn't the planet they tried to colonize."
"Yeah, and maybe the derelict wasn't the evidence they found," Ollie agreed. "Maybe someone else is out here."
It wasn't a pleasant thought.