“With navigation data on every star within a hundred light-years,” the Chief whispered. “Including Sol. Lieutenant, you get someone down there and destroy that data. I don’t care if they have to hit it with a goddamn sledgehammer—make sure that data is wiped.”
“Aye, sir!” Streeter turned to the COM and began issuing frantic orders.
“Safety interlocks red on the board,” Lieutenant Brightling reported. His lips pressed into a single white line, concentrating. “Beta probe returning, sir, in four... three... two... one. There. Off target one hundred twenty thousand kilometers. Signal is weak. The probe appears to be malfunctioning. Trying to scrub the signal now.”
“It’s too much of a coincidence that it’s malfunctioning, Streeter,” the Chief said. “Get FLEETCOM on Alpha channel on the double! Compress and send the duty log.”
“Aye, sir.” Lieutenant Streeter’s fingers fumbled with the keypad as he typed—then had to retype the command. “Logs sent.”
“Beta probe signal on the board,” Lieutenant Brightling reported. “Calculating the object’s trajectory...”
The planetoid was closer. Its edges, however, had abnormalities—bumps and spikes and protrusions.
Chief McRobb shifted and clenched his hands into fists.
“It will pass though Reach System,” Lieutenant Brightling said. “Intersecting the solar plane in seventeen seconds at the system’s outer edge at zero four one.” He inhaled sharply. “Sir, that’s only a light-second away from us.”
Lieutenant Streeter stood and knocked over his chair, almost backing into the Chief.
McRobb righted the chair. “Sit down, Lieutenant. We’ve got a job to do. Target the telescope array to monitor that region of space.”
Lieutenant Streeter turned and gazed into the rock-solid features of the Chief. He took a deep breath. “Yes, sir.” He sat back down. “Aye, sir, moving the array.”
“Gamma probe returning in three... two... one.” Lieutenant Brightling paused. “There’s no signal, sir. Scanning. Time plus four seconds and counting. Probe may have translated on a temporal axis.”
“I don’t think so,” the Chief murmured.
Lieutenant Streeter said, “Telescope array now on target, sir. On the main view screen.”
Pinpoints of green light appeared at the edge of the Reach solar system. They collected and swarmed as if they were caught in a boiling liquid. Space stretched, smeared, and distorted. Half the stars in that region were blotted out.
“Radar contact,” Lieutenant Brightling said. “Contact with... more than three hundred large objects.” His hands started to shake. “Sir, silhouettes match known Covenant profiles.”
“They’re accelerating,” Lieutenant Streeter whispered. “On an intercept course for the station.”
“FLEETCOM network connections are being infiltrated,” Lieutenant Brightling said. His trembling hands could barely type in commands. “Cutting our connection.”
Chief McRobb stood as straight as he could. “What about the astrophysics data?”
“Sir, they’re still trying to end the diagnostic cycle, but that takes a few minutes.”
“Then we don’t have a lot of options,” McRobb muttered.
He set his hand on Lieutenant Brightling’s shoulder to steady the young officer. “It’s all right, Lieutenant. We’ve done the best we could. We’ve done our duty. There’s nothing more to worry about.”
He set his palmprint on the control station. The Chief locked out the reactor safeties and saturated the fusion chamber with their deuterium reserve tanks. Chief McRobb said, “Just one last order to carry out.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
0519 Hours, August 30, 2552 (Military Calendar)
UNSC Pillar of Autumn, Epsilon Eridani System’s edge
Something was wrong.
John felt it in his stomach first: a slight lateral acceleration—that became a spin strong enough that he had to brace his legs. The Pillar of Autumn was turning.
Every other Spartan in the storage bay felt it as well; they paused as they unloaded equipment from crates and readied the cryo tubes for their journey.
The lateral motion slowed and stopped. The Pillar of Autumn’s engines rumbled like thunder through the hull of the ship.
Kelly approached him. “Sir? I thought we were accelerating to enter Slipspace?”
“So did I. Have Fred and Joshua continue to prep the tubes. Have Linda get a team and secure our gear. I’ll find out what’s going on.”
“Aye, sir.”
The Master Chief marched toward the intercom panel. He hated being on spaceships. The lack of control was disturbing. He and the other Spartans were just extra cargo in a space battle.
He hesitated as he reached for the intercom. If Captain Keyes was involved in some tricky maneuver or engaging an enemy, the last thing he needed was an interruption.
He pressed the button. “Cortana? We’ve changed course. Is there a problem?”
Instead of her voice, however, Captain Keyes spoke over the channel: “Captain Keyes to Spartan 117.”
He replied, “Here, sir.”
“There’s been a change in plans,” Keyes said. There was a long pause. “This will be easier to explain face-to-face. I’m on my way down to brief you. Keyes out.”
John turned and the other Spartans snapped to their tasks. Those without specific orders checked and rechecked their weapons and assembled their combat gear.
They had all heard the Captain, however. The sound receivers in their armor could pick up a whisper at a hundred meters.
And the Spartans didn’t have to be told this was trouble.
John clicked on the monitor near the intercom. The fore camera showed the Pillar of Autumn had indeed turned about. Reach’s sun blazed in the center of the screen. They were heading back.
Was something wrong with the ship? No. Captain Keyes wouldn’t be coming to brief him if that was the case. There was definitely a snag.
The elevator doors opened and Captain Keyes stepped off the lift.
“Captain on the deck!” the Master Chief shouted.
The Spartans stood at attention.
“At ease,” Captain Keyes said. The expression on the Captain’s face suggested that “ease” was the last thing on his mind. He smoothed his thumb over the antique pipe the Master Chief had seen him carry.
“There is something very wrong,” Keyes said. He glanced at the other Spartans. “Let’s talk in private,” he told the Master Chief in a low voice. He walked to the monitor over the intercom.
“Sir,” the Master Chief said. “Unless you wish to leave the deck, the Spartans will hear everything we say.”
Keyes looked at the Spartans and frowned. “I see. Very well, your squad might as well hear this now, too. I don’t know how they found Reach—they bypassed a dozen Inner Colony worlds to get here. It doesn’t matter. They are here. And we have to do something.”
“Sir? ‘They’?”
“The Covenant.” He turned to the intercom. “Cortana, display the last priority Alpha transmission.”
A communiqué flickered on screen, and the Master Chief read:
United Nations Space Command ALPHA PRIORITY TRANSMISSION 04592Z-83
Encryption Code: Red
Public Key: file /bravo-tango-beta-five/
From: Admiral Roland Freemont, Commanding Fleet Officer, FLEETCOM Sector One Commander/ (UNSC Service Number: 00745-16778-HS)
To: ALL UNSC warships in REACH, JERICO, and TANTALUS systems
Subject: IMMEDIATE RECALL
Classification: Classified (BGX Directive)
/start file/
Covenant presence detected on REACH system’s edge coordinates 030 relative.
All UNSC warships are hereby ordered to cease all activities and regroup at rally point ZULU at best speed.
ALL SHIPS are to enact the Cole Protocol immediately.
/end file/