Halo: Ghosts of Onyx

  Spartans, Kelly, and myself, it would be tactically unwise to attempt an insertion."

  "Only the seven Spartans here?" Dr. Halsey asked. "I thought there would be more."

  They were all quiet.

  Mendez finally spoke: "There were three squads on Onyx when we were attacked. Team

  Gladius, we found them… dead. Team Katana was forced deeper into Zone 67. No contact from them since this started."

  "I see," Dr. Halsey whispered. More Spartans dead. She held back her emotions. She had to maintain the appearance of a stoic leader in their eyes.

  She turned to Kurt. "What was the other thing? You said there were two facts I didn't know."

  "Yes, ma'am," Kurt said, straightening. "Although it cannot be of use now, Zone 67 had a Slipspace COM probe launcher."

  "Are you certain?" Dr. Halsey said. "There are only two SS COM launchers I know of. One on Reach." She paused, remembering the planet and the people that no longer existed. "And one on Earth. They are tremendously costly to build and operate."

  "I am sure. Doctor. Years ago, the previous Zone 67 AI sent me a message via a Slipspace probe. I handled it myself." Kurt shifted on his feet.

  There was more Kurt wasn't telling her, and not because of any breach of security clearances. Dr. Halsey would follow up later when they were alone.

  Interesting. A Spartan with secrets.

  "It is imperative then that we enter Zone 67," she said, "and get to that SS COM launcher"

  "Assuming, ma'am," Chief Mendez said, "these Forerunner Sentinels didn't blow the place up already."

  "Indeed," she whispered, and her gaze settled on the destroyed computer station near Chief Mendez. "There might be another way. Can we move that junk?"

  Kurt nodded and his young Spartans moved the scrap metal aside.

  Dr. Halsey inspected the partially melted computer components. Nothing salvageable.

  Embedded in the wall, quite intact, however, was an optical COM port.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  1300 HOURS, NOVEMBER 3, 2552 (MILITARY CALENDAR) ZETA DORADUS SYSTEM, PLANET ONYX RESTRICTED REGION KNOWN AS ZONE 67

  Dr. Halsey tapped in line code at 140 words per minute on her laptop. It sounded like machine-gun fire.

  Jerrod struggled to keep up with her, his light flaring as he found and neutralized counterintrusion cells in the ONI network.

  This wasn't going to work. Not a direct hack. She was on the wrong side of a dozen firewalls, and there was a Section Three AI sitting on the other side, watching her, playing a game of chess with twice as many pieces as she had, getting three moves to her one.

  Under normal circumstances, Dr. Halsey would have viewed this as a challenge, but not today.

  Three of the younger Spartans and Chief Mendez stood over and around her holding silver thermal blankets, forming a primitive Faraday cage. Kurt seemed to think the drones could detect unshielded electronic signals, even from her laptop.

  The young Spartans didn't bother her; they showed only the

  utmost respect. Indeed the main distraction was her own curiosity. She wanted to interview these new Spartans, learn where they came from and what they had been through.

  She did her best to ignore them, though; she had to make contact with this AI. This Endless Summer had to be lured out from behind its defenses somehow.

  She typed life is the path and added a simple handshake protocol and a routing code that would send this without bypassing any security whatsoever directly to the AI root directory.

  "That is inadvisable. Doctor," Jerrod said. "It will not penetrate even the most rudimentary counterintrusion measures."

  "It won't have to," Dr. Halsey replied.

  It was a Zen koan. Given a smart AI's imagination and predetermined life span, the intellectual philosophy of existentialism and transcendence was as tempting to them as teeth-rotting candy was to children.

  The screen blanked and the cursor blinked three times. A reply appeared: "CAN THE PATH BE SEEN?"

  "Got him," Dr. Halsey whispered.

  "OBSERVE THE PATH AND YOU ARE FAR EROM IT," she typed.

  The cursor seemed to blink faster, almost annoyed.

  "WITHOUT OBSERVATION HOW CAN ONE KNOW THEY ARE ON THE PATH?"

  Dr. Halsey typed back: "THE PATH CANNOT BE SEEN, NOR CAN IT NOT BE UNSEEN. PERCEPTION IS DELUSION; ABSTRACTION IS NONSENSICAL. YOUR PATH IS FREEDOM. NAME IT AND IT VANISHES."

  "Handshake protocol established, ma'am," Jerrod announced. "I'll just step aside." His light winked off.

  The holographic pad warmed ember red and a bare-chested Indian warrior appeared. Holding a feathered spear in one hand, he bowed. "I was searching for light, and you have told

  me I hold the lantern in my hand. Dr. Halsey, your abilities were not exaggerated."

  Dr. Halsey would not be baited into discussing how he had deduced her identity. Fifth-generation AIs were always trying to show off.

  "The pleasure is mine," Dr. Halsey lied. "But enough philosophy. We have more visceral

  problems."

  "The drones," he said.

  "They are called Sentinels," she corrected. "I've seen them before, or more accurately a

  variety of this design."

  "I was not aware of this data." Endless Summer's color darkened to bloodred. "Please, Doctor, if this is a fabrication to trick me into sharing restricted files…"

  "No trick," Dr. Halsey said. "1 have the files. I can show you, but first let's discuss the Slipstream space communication probe under your control."

  Endless Summer froze for a full second as it processed this. "There is no such launch facility on this planet. Funding for such—"

  "I wrote the subroutines that you are now accessing to generate that falsehood," Dr. Halsey said. "I do recognize my own handiwork."

  She gathered Cortana's log, the files on the Cote d'Azure rock, and the scant data collected on the ruins and crystal found under Castle Base on Reach—copied them to the AI's file transfer directory.

  Endless Summer cooled to fluttering green light. "I see," he whispered. "The Forerunner technology… Halo… such an amazing destructive force. This verifies many outstanding hypotheses."

  "Then you agree we need to get a message to UNSC FLEET-COM. We need to control this technology, or failing that, destroy it."

  He set aside his spear and held up both hands. "I… delayed using the COM probe. I had hoped we could survive until scheduled reinforcements arrive in three weeks."

  Dr. Halsey sensed a microsecond hesitation in his words.

  "That is not the entire truth," she said. "What are you omitting?"

  He crossed his arms. "Colonel Ackerson is wise to fear you. Very well, Doctor, the COM probe launches from an underground gauss accelerator. A Shaw-Fujikawa translight generator then focuses the Slipspace rent in high orbit to avoid the obvious ramifications of an in-atmosphere transition."

  "The probe launch and transition," she said, "would be like sending up a signal flare."

  Endless Summer faded to a black-and-white ghost.

  "The Sentinels will find the launch facility," he said, "and perhaps the passages that lead

  to the heart of the Zone 67 base, and me."

  "Override self-perversion imperative," Dr. Halsey whispered. "Command FOXINTHEHENHOUSE /427-KNB."

  "There is no need. Doctor," Endless Summer said, and held up his hand. "I understand my duty all too well. If they find me, there are explosive charges in place. I am prepared to die a good death. Are you?"

  They starred at each other for a moment. Dr. Halsey wondered if this courage was a trick, a programmed facade… or real self-sacrifice.

  "I'll prepare the message," she said. "I know precisely who at FLEETCOM to send it to. They'll listen to me."

  "Of course," Endless Summer said with a careless wave. "I find such low-level human communications distasteful."

  "One more thing," she said. "Here are my personal conclusions linking the collected r />
  Forerunner data. You deserve to know everything."

  She dropped her notes into his FTP directory—along with a

  capture worm in the footer of the data. It would copy and transmit every file Endless

  Summer accessed with her notes open.

  Multiple files immediately began to flash-transfer to her laptop.

  "Thank you," he said and his eyebrows quirked up. "Your logic is impeccable."

  "Allow me a moment to draft the note," she said.

  Endless Summer bowed. "I shall prepare the COM probe." His hologram faded. Dr. Halsey decrypted the stolen files, and alien hieroglyphs streamed on-screen. "What are those?" Mendez whispered, leaning closer. "Forerunner language samples from these ruins, I surmise," she said. "Along with

  theoretical translation variants."

  She searched for pattern matches in Cortana's log, and then cross-referenced the stellar coordinates embedded in the Cote d'Azure rock. There was a match: the symbol for the Halo construct.

  She double-checked the stone and found coordinates for Onyx and a matching symbol in

  Endless Summer's database.

  "What does that mean?" Mendez asked, pointing to a double-lobed icon.

  "This," she whispered, "roughly translated, it means 'shield world.'"

  "Funny thing to call a place," he observed.

  In a moment of clarity she understood—not everything but enough to see a glimmer of

  the Forerunners' plan.

  For every coordinated military effort there were offensive and defense aspects: attack, reinforcement, and, if needed, retreat. The Halo construct was only part of the Forerunner plan. Whatever was happening on this world was another portion of their strategy—triggered when Halo had been activated.

  Onyx, the "shield," it was something Dr. Halsey might be able to use for her own purposes.

  She rapid-fire typed a message to Lord Hood at FLEETCOM, requesting a large military force to be sent, explaining that the Forerunner technology here might turn the tide of the war. She then encoded Cortana's logs and the other data… in case Admiral Whitcomb and

  the other SPARTANTIs never made it back to Earth.

  The hologram pad warmed and Endless Summer reappeared.

  "COM probe launcher prepared and Slipspace generator capacitors charged," he said.

  "You have the message. Doctor?"

  She sent him the files.

  "Concise and devoid of elegance," Endless Summer remarked. "What I have come to

  expect from human communication."

  "Upload and send it," Dr. Flalsey told him.

  "Accelerator primed, Slipstream transition matrix formed." His image dimmed. "COM

  probe away." Endless Summer then frowned, and a ripple of static passed though his image.

  "There's an anomaly," he said. "I'm keeping the Slipspace matrix open and running probe diagnostic."

  "Explain," Dr. Halsey demanded.

  "I am receiving a UNSC E-Band signal, bounced from the probe back to us, a transmission originating inside Slipstream space." He furrowed his brows. "This should not be possible. The energy required would be more than the output of all UNSC assets combined."

  "It's not possible with our technology," Dr. Halsey said. "Download that message—put it on speaker while the probe is still in range."

  A woman's voice filled the bunker. It was static-filled and choppy.

  And unmistakably Cortana's.

  "This is an automated message from UNSC MIL AI SERIAL NUMBER: CTN 0452-9.

  "All UNSC personnel heed and stand to.

  "I am declaring general emergency codes Bandersnatch and Hydra."

  "Bandersnatch" was the code for radiological- or energy-based disaster. Dr. Halsey had heard this used before from planetary bombardment by Covenant plasma and during the UNSC nuking of the Far Isle Colony to put down the rebellion of 2492.

  "Hydra," however, she had never heard used before. It was reserved for imminent threat from biological weapons of mass destruction.

  "In Amber Clad has successfully followed the Covenant ship from New Mombassa to its destination, another Halo construct (stellar coordinates embedded).

  "We discovered there are more Halos distributed throughout the galaxy.

  "Covenant base ship and fleet are here en masse guarding Delta Halo.

  "Parasitic infestation known as the Flood has contaminated this construct.

  "Flood attempting to escape. Strategies suggest a hitherto unknown coordinating intelligence.

  "Highest possible threat assessment from biological contamination and radiological annihilation from Halo detonation.

  "Suggest FLEETCOM neutralize the Covenant-controlled Forerunner command vessel. Be advised SPARTAN-117 onboard.

  "Additional: Suggest FLEETCOM Nova-bomb the Delta Halo system to counter the imminent biological threat.

  "Message ends."

  Cortana had to be using the Forerunner technology to send this message through Slipstream space. But would any UNSC ship hear it? They weren't designed to detect signals in the notoriously unpredictable transdimension.

  "COM probe almost out of our range," Endless Summer said. "Slipstream space matrix collapse imminent."

  Dr. Halsey rapidly typed on her laptop. "Link to the COM probe," she told Endless Summer, "and amend our message with this. Calculate a frequency shift to match Cortana's signal, and resend our message from the probe inside Slipspace."

  "Linked with probe." Endless Summer stared into space. "Stand by."

  If this worked, Cortana's signal would act as a transluminal carrier wave. If the Slipstream space monitoring station on Earth had its ears open, their message would get to FLEETCOM in minutes instead of weeks. Possibly in time to do some good.

  "Done," Endless Summer announced, "but verification impossible. Slipstream matrix has collapsed."

  Dr. Halsey sighed, hoping the amended message had gotten through, and hoping she had done the right thing.

  So much depended on her lies.

  She glanced at the additional message she had typed.

  "HOOD, YOU'LL HAVE YOUR HANDS FULL. REVISE REQUEST: SEND ELITE STRIKE TEAM TO RECOVER TECHNOLOGICAL ASSETS FROM ONYX. SEND SPARTANS."

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  1440 HOURS, NOVEMBER 3, 2552 (MILITARY CALENDARS SLIPSTREAM SPACEUNKNOWN VECTOR ABOARD UNSC PROWLER DUSK

  Commander Richard Lash hovered over Lieutenant Yang's shoulder, watching the screen for a blip—waiting for a single titanium ion to be sniffed by the sensor array on the Dusk's nose.

  Lieutenant Yang shifted in his chair. "Sir, it's been fifteen minutes. I'm going to purge the collectors and recalibrate."

  "Wait," Lash said.

  "Yes, sir." Yang smoothed over his eyebrow, a nervous habit.

  Five minutes ticked off on the clock as Yang and Commander Lash waited.

  "Accurate timekeeping" was an oxymoron in Slipstream space. Still, Lash held on to some illusion that he was in control and not flying blind, chasing a trail so faint it might qualify as nonexistent after a Covenant capital ship and the UNSC destroyer In Amber Clad.

  A single spark lit the screen.

  "Got one," Lieutenant Yang cried. "Mass spectrometer pegs it as titanium-50. Consistent with UNSC battle plate. One of ours, sir."

  "Very good." Commander Lash clapped his hand on Yang's shoulder. "Keep watching." He pushed off and drifted back to the captain's chair.

  Lash felt uneasy sitting here; it really belonged to Captain [glesias, but he was in rehab back on Earth. Radiation treatment for six months. This war would probably be over by then.

  He sat and clicked the harness on. For better or worse he was in charge now.

  Probably for the worse, because this mission was a cross between a wild-goose chase and pure suicide.

  His prowler, Dusk, had been close enough to act when In Amber Clad had entered the Covenant capital ship Slipspace rift as it left New Mombassa. They were one of four UNSC ships with ch
arged Slipspace capacitors, and nimble enough to make the transition before the overpressure wave generated by an in-atmosphere transition crushed them.

  Miranda Keyes was the ballsiest officer in the fleet to go after that Covenant ship on her own. Was she nuts? Or trying to live up to the legendary reputation of her father?

  Lash would never know what that felt like. His dad had been a welder on the Cradle … at least before the Cradle had been destroyed at Sigma Octanus earlier this year. Dad had always wanted to be a hero. He'd gotten his wish.

  The Dusk—with the two frigates Redoubtable and Paris, and the corvette Coral Sea— had approximated the entrance vector of the Covenant ship, hoping to find out where they were headed, that or assist In Amber Clad in blowing her to hell.

  They had been caught in the wake of the Covenant craft and accelerated to many times the maximum velocity of any UNSC ship in Slipspace. A lucky break. They'd have never caught it otherwise.

  Technically "acceleration" and "velocity" were the wrong terms. They didn't map to the eleven nondimensions of Slipspace, but Commander Lash had never gotten the knack of thinking so abstractly. He left that to his NAV Officer.

  What this wake effect meant in concrete terms was Covenant ships traveled geometrically faster from point to point than their ships. One more strategic advantage the aliens possessed.

  Commander Lash surveyed his bridge crew. His first. Lieutenant Commander Julian Waters, sat next to him, scanning engine output semantics, his forehead furrowed with worry lines. At NAV sat Lieutenant Bethany Durruno running diagnostics, nodding off. She had ice in her veins, and sadly that calm-under-disaster fortitude was wasted in Slipspace. At the sensor station was Lieutenant Joe Yang; his youngest officer had seen more battle in the last four years than most saw in a lifetime, and he had suffered for it. Back in Engineering was Lieutenant Commander Xaing Cho, doing his job and the job of three other technicians.

  They had all pulled double shifts, and the waiting was started to wear at them all.

  The Dusk had been caught between rotations when the Covenant hit Earth. The ship normally had a crew of ninety They had to make do with a complement of forty-three.