July 23, 2539
The mechanic looked at the disaster zone that was his new workshop.
A run-down barn miles outside a small town on a backwater moon. Filled with old engine parts, scrap metal, dead machines, and unidentifiable junk. Some of it probably left over from when the colony was settled a hundred years ago.
He began cleaning. He dragged box after box out the door. He hauled out engine blocks, old radios, water pumps, power inverters - they all went in the junk pile. He didn't care about any of it. He shoved anything that looked salvageable into the lean-to around the corner.
He pulled his shirt off and wiped the sweat from his face, growling in irritation, and tossed the shirt onto the workbench. The heat and humidity were miserable here. He missed the dry cool air of New Fairbanks. His home. Now dry, hot, and filled with toxic fumes from a Covenant glassing.
Now here he was, in a sweltering alien jungle, with only two crates of belongings to call his own.
He was lucky to have that much.
Phillip was his name. A mechanic by trade, he had left behind a huge collection of tools. A garage full of parts and projects. Junk he fixed up and sold. It was all glass now. Along with almost everyone, everything, and every place he'd ever known and loved.
The ship he evacuated on landed at some Inner Colony metropolis. It was the first time he had been to a big city. After a few hours, he had decided it was enough to last him the rest of his life. They wanted to herd everyone into refugee camps.
He would rather have stayed behind under the glassing beams.
He spent weeks loitering around the spaceport, trying to bum a ride to anywhere less populated.
The last thing he wanted was to be stuck on some crowded Inner Colony, suffocating in the noise and commotion, always under the prying eyes of ONI and the UNSC.
He had work to do, and he knew they'd want a piece of it.
Too bad for them. They'd get to see it when he was good and ready to share. Not a minute sooner.
After a few hops around on private starships, trading work for passage, Phillip had landed here. Amazonia. A tiny colony settled by Portuguese and indigenous Brazilians. Their ancestors, coming from the South American interior, must have felt right at home in this moon's rainforests.
Phillip made arrangements with one of the locals to stay in his old barn. In exchange for a roof over his head and a workspace, Phillip would help the old man keep his homestead running. The arrangement suited both men just fine.
"Do whatever you want with the stuff in there," the old colonist had told Phillip in his thick accent. "You're young and you look like a hard worker, you'll make better use of it than I will."
As much as Phillip disliked the climate, this felt more like home than any city. He might even come to like it here. Eventually.
He looked around for a moment, taking stock of the junk that was left in his workspace. He grabbed a relatively clean canvas tarp and some rope. Ten minutes later, he had a hammock strung up in a corner. Grunting, he dragged the crate with his clothes and personal effects over to the hammock, and shoved it up against the wall. A dresser and a nightstand, two in one. He nodded in satisfaction. That was all the luxury he needed or wanted for now.
The other crate, he dragged over to a large workbench. He took stock of the clutter on the bench. He picked out a couple useful items, and shoved the rest aside in a heap.
He opened he other crate and pulled out a few handfuls of tools - he had managed to save a few of his best ones. A datapad with his CAD software and a holoprojector. Some cleaning supplies. He set these all neatly on the workbench, before pulling out a tarp from the crate. He paused as he contemplated what was underneath.
A Covenant combat harness, a plasma pistol, and a shield gauntlet. All liberated from a Jackal whose body was now scattered carbon on New Fairbanks.
The Jackal had wandered off on its own, breaking into the shop where Phillip worked. It was the last mistake it ever made.
It shot Phillip's boss in the face, left its plasma pistol on the counter, and immediately started looting - oblivious to Phillip's presence in the back room. Phillip snuck up behind it and bashed its skull in with a crowbar.
He picked up the alien's weapon and shield gauntlet. It only took him a moment to figure out how to use them. Securing the gauntlet on his wrist, he turned to leave. But as he took a moment of silence for his boss, he thought, That alien was going to kill us and run off with whatever he could carry. Might as well return the favor. If their armor's as good as their weapons, I want it.
Phillip stripped the bird-like alien and stuffed its armor and gear into a duffel bag. He tried to remove the holster for the plasma pistol, but it was firmly attached to the bodysuit. He settled for carrying the unwieldy weapon in a waist satchel.
The Covenant attack was off to a slow start. He saw only a few scattered Jackal patrols, who seemed more interested in looting than killing humans. No Elites or others. Only a few aircraft.
New Fairbanks got lucky - as far as glassed colonies go. The initial invasion was only a scouting party of Kig-Yar, who decided to start looting instead of waiting for reinforcements. Taking heavy casualties from the armed locals, they retreated and used their corvette to take potshots at the major settlements. The rest of the fleet didn't arrive for several days. Phillip and thousands of others were able to escape. Only two of his friends were among them. They came with him to Amazonia.
For the first time in his life, Phillip felt something other than sadness and anger about the death of his parents two years ago. At least they didn't have to go through this. At least he didn't have to worry about them.
Phillip laid the Covenant gear out on the workbench and looked at it thoughtfully.
A keen intelligence began to stir.
He had always had a sharp mind. His teachers encouraged him to apply for university. He could get into any of them, they said. He could land a job with any big corporation, they said. Even a cushy government gig.
He wanted no part of that life.
He liked his home. He liked the small colony, with its beautiful landscapes, dramatic seasons, and challenging environment. He liked his small, close-knit circle of friends and his simple life. He studied advanced physics, engineering, and materials science as a hobby, but he was never interested in a career with that kind of stuff. It was too far removed from any real-world benefit, as far as he was concerned.
So he worked as a mechanic. He fixed things and built things. By the age of 22, he was playing a significant role in keeping his town's infrastructure running. He was happy with that. He had a nice, simple life, a comfortable home, and his work served a real purpose for his community. He was even starting to think about finding a girl to settle down with. What more could a man ask for?
Now, that was all gone. His life, his work, his purpose.
But now, he'd found a greater purpose.
He was going to help close the technological gap that let the Covenant slaughter humans with impunity.
Humanity was sorely outmatched. Human ships had no shields, no plasma weapons. Covenant weapons cut through them like paper. It was the same on the ground. Superior weapons, armor, shields - the Covenant had it all.
But not forever. Not if Phillip had anything to say about it.
He knew full well what a huge undertaking it was. Some would say insane. Delusionally ambitious. He didn't care. He was going to give it his best effort, and see how far he could get.
Phillip was sure the UNSC had people working on this stuff. Good for them. He didn't know if they'd made much progress. He did know that he wouldn't work well with the military-industrial complex. He wasn't a joiner.
He'd contribute to humanity's survival in his own way.
Phillip picked up the shield gauntlet. He thought about how he used it on New Fairbanks, blocking plasma from hitting himself and a couple other evacuees. What an incredible technology! Just from seeing it in action, he had some ideas on how it might work.
It would take a lot of work to test those theories. A lot more work to truly understand the technology - assuming his ideas were even close to correct. And with the equipment he had to work with… maybe he should start with something simpler.
He put down the gauntlet, and looked at the combat harness.
The armored outfit was such a simple, common thing among the Covenant troops, like a Marine's BDU. But to human eyes, it was an engineering marvel. Phillip picked up an armor plate, amazed at its light weight, its incredible hardness, the sheen of its surface. It was like no alloy he had ever seen. Neither was it a plastic, carbon, or any other material he was familiar with. He suspected it was some kind of nanolaminate. He had no idea how it was manufactured.
He picked up a sleeve of the bodysuit with equal fascination. He couldn't tell what it was made of. Lightweight; flexible yet tough; soft like gel on the inside. He had tried wearing it - after a thorough cleaning - but the proportions were wrong. It felt like it would be incredibly comfortable if he could figure out how to tailor it. He noticed it seemed to regulate temperature - he could stick his arm in a sleeve and it would feel comfortably cool - even in the sweltering jungle heat. Oh, if only he could figure out how that worked!
The whole suit was impressive in how it fit together - a seamless, ergonomic system. Instead of cumbersome straps like most human armor, the plates attached directly to the bodysuit by some kind of nanotech coupling that could latch or release like an electromagnet. It took Phillip forever to figure out how to use this function - it required gripping the edge of the plate simultaneously in certain spots marked by glyphs. Once he understood that, the plates could be removed and reattached easily.
Phillip was more impressed with every moment he spent examining the Covenant gear.
The technology in it could offer such huge benefits to humanity, in so many ways. Already, Phillip was thinking beyond combat applications. The properties of the clothing, the power density of the weapon's battery… so many possibilities!
He turned on his datapad and initialized its dumb AI - a very rudimentary system by modern standards, but one he designed and coded himself. Extremely helpful for taking notes, organizing data, run simulations - pretty much anything Phillip needed. Perfectly in tune with its maker's personality and work style.
"Online and ready," chimed the artificial voice.
"All right," Phillip said. "We've got work to do."