Halo: Ghosts of Onyx (18 page)

The sphere dented and spun backward.

The drone spun as well from the momentum, and Kelly scrambled to regain purchase.

She drew back once more, and before the thing could recover and blast her—she again

struck a hammer blow. A crack appeared in the sphere's metal skin. Inside was a ball of blue-white heat. The

metal edges of the sphere curled away from this breach, melting, bubbling.

Kelly crouched and leapt, diverting all power to her shields.

The air ignited a dazzling white. Her heads-up display flared with static. Kelly tumbled

end over end, enveloped in fire and smoke—hit a tree, bounced, and fell to the jungle floor.

She blinked and saw nothing but the red glare of flames. The jungle canopy was on fire; a shower of burning leaves rained down. Her vision cleared and she saw a blur of three

figures approaching in active camouflage armor.

She got to her feet.

One of these figures had a curious handprint dent in their

chest armor where Kelly had struck. The camo patterns there were misaligned, part

shadow, part flames.

The three stepped back, their MA5Ks pointed at the ground
. Another camouflaged figure appeared and stepped between her and these soldiers. "Stand down, everyone," he said. "Welcome to my neck of the woods, Kelly" The voice was a perfect match from her memories. "Kurt?" she whispered. "I'm glad you remember." As if she could ever forget him. "Let me see your face," she said, keeping her hands up. The active camouflage faded and the gold mirrored faceplate unpolarized. Kelly peered inside the helmet. The slight cleft in his chin, the hazel eyes, the quick

smile—it was Kurt. Around them, Kelly detected motion: two more in the curious armor, taking up good firing

positions. That was smart. They were well trained.

Kelly dropped her hands. "What's going on here?"

"I'll explain everything," he said, "but we need to move. They hunt in threes now. A pair

on patrol and one at high altitude on overwatch. They'll have our location."

Kurt pointed to two on his team and then at the unconscious Dr. Halsey.

Two soldiers went to her and wrapped her in a thermally reflective blanket. They carried

her off between them.

Kurt told Kelly, "Go COM silent." He then motioned to her and to his team to follow.

They moved quickly and silently through the brush.

Kelly admired the caution, speed, and professionalism of these soldiers. Not a word from

them. The two carrying Dr. Halsey kept up with the rest of them. No one broke the loose
V
formation.

Still, something about these soldiers made her uneasy. It was

nothing she could quantify, but as Kurt had often said,
just a feeling.

"Who's this Team Saber?" she asked Kurt in a whisper.

"I'm disappointed you haven't guessed," he whispered back. "They're Spartans."

CHAPTER

TWENTY

1125 HOURS, NOVEMBER 3, 2552 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \ ZETA DORADUS SYSTEM, PLANET ONYX \ RESTRICTED REGION KNOWN AS ZONE 67

The pounding in Dr. Halsey's head brought her rudely to consciousness. She smelled burnt metal and blinked open her eyes. She was in a concrete room with a slit of a window high on one long wall.

As her vision adjusted to the indirect light she saw Kelly and a figure in body armor next to her. The armor was a hybrid between the MJOLNIR and something older… like legionnaire armor, but it was difficult to tell the precise geometry as the light seemed to slide off its edges.

In the far comer she spotted Chief Mendez, confirming at least part of her theories about this place. He considered an angle of light that streamed through the window. He puffed on his favorite, a Sweet William cigar, and blew smoke rings.

There were seven others, sitting in the far corner, two sleeping, and five playing cards. Their helmets and boots were off, and their MA5Ks, cut-down versions of the standard MA5B assault rifle, were close at hand.

At first, she thought they were ODSTs wearing pieces of what

she now recognized as experimental infiltration armor systems. She had reviewed the technical specs on the systems: photo-reactive panels able to mimic surrounding textures, and underneath was a cushioning layer of liquid nanocrystals that provided more ballistic protection than three centimeters of Kelvar diamond weave without the bulk.

One of the sleeping ones, a girl, dozed with one eye open. Her shorn hair had been buzz-cut to mimic animal claw marks. She couldn't be more than twelve. She blinked, sat up, and made a subtle sideways "cut" gesture to the others.

They stopped and together turned to Dr. Halsey.

Their faces were young, but they had the well-developed physiques of Olympic athletes. These had to be Ackerson's SPARTAN-IIIs.

Dr. Halsey felt a curious mix of revulsion and maternalism.

"How are you feeling?" Kelly asked.

"Fine," she answered, and continued to examine her surroundings.

There was carbon scoring and melted gobs of metal, as if the place had been bombed. Near Mendez was what looked as if it had once been a computer workstation—now a solid lump.

Chief Mendez misread her gaze, and thinking she was looking at him, gave her a short bow.

"Doctor, it's good to see you," he said, "but you and SPARTAN-087 have landed yourselves into a kettle of fish… boiling water and all. If you're well enough, I can fill you in. But take your time; there's no rush if you feel sick"

"Indeed?" Dr. Halsey said, and raised one eyebrow.

She resented being treated like an invalid moron. As if a minor acceleration-induced blackout had crippled her mental faculties.

"Indulge me. Chief," she said. "Allow me to make a few educated guesses as to your 'kettle of fish'—just to test my mental state."

Chief Mendez made a gracious gesture with his cigar. "Please, Doctor."

"Where to start… ?" Dr. Halsey tapped her lower lip, thinking. "I suppose with you. Chief. You were recruited by Colonel Ackerson and some secret subcell of Section Three to train a new generation of Spartans."

The Chief's cigar dropped from his fingers.

She nodded toward the teens playing cards. "These must be the product of those efforts. I'm eager to question them about their training and augmentation and discover what else has been accomplished."

The young Spartans looked amongst themselves, curiosity flickering over their faces.

Kelly shifted in her kneeling stance, moved her weight onto her left foot as if preparing to pounce. Kelly was a finely honed weapon, but she had never learned how to conceal her emotions. Her body language spoke volumes: these third-generation Spartans made her nervous.

That made her nervous, too.

Dr. Halsey knew her conclusions about these new Spartans had been correct, but there were so many more unanswered questions. Mendez and Colonel Ackerson had had decades to produce and train two or three generations. If this were true, then why had she never heard of these Spartans? Keeping a pilot program secret was one thing; keeping dozens of next-generation Spartans who were likely fighting and winning battles hidden was another matter entirely.

The implications of that silence chilled her to the bone.

For now, though, she had to at least
appear
to know everything.

Dr. Halsey stood and took a deep breath, smelling ash, vaporized aluminum, and the faint odor of carbonized meat.

"Next," she said, "this bunker has been subjected to extreme temperature that approximately matches the blackbody radiation

profile from the drones we encountered in space. I surmise that a battle has occurred here."

She glanced at the young Spartans and the dents and flash-burn scoring on their armor.

"A battle, I see, that has been rather one-sided."

"The drones," the girl with the stylized buzz cut whispered. "What are they?"

"A question, good." Dr. Halsey almost smiled. It was a fine beginning step between her and the new Spartans: teaching them. Trust would come later.

"The drones, actually called Sentinels, are similar to those I have seen on an alien construct world," she explained. "Their builders, called Forerunners, possess technology more advanced than the Covenant. And they have just as much, or more, willingness to use that technology to destructive ends."

Dr. Halsey turned and stepped toward the other unknown figure in full camouflaging armor. "But before I continue along theoretical lines of speculation, let me finish with the simple chains of logic."

The unknown person stood nearly two and a half meters tall in his armor.

"I recognize my work," she declared. "You are a SPARTAN-II." Very few soldiers in the UNSC were so tall or moved with such liquid grace.

The figure nodded.

Dr. Halsey walked around this unknown Spartan.

"Despite the UNSC policy of listing every Spartan as missing or wounded in action when killed," Dr. Halsey continued, "I have kept track of those actually 'missing.' There was Randall in 2532, Kurt in 2531, and Sheila, in 2544."

She completed her circle around the Spartan and gazed directly into his mirrored faceplate.

"Sheila is dead," Dr. Halsey said. "I personally witnessed her killed in the Battle of Miridem. Which means you are Kurt or

Randall. If I had to guess, I would say Kurt, because he made an effort to understand people and their feelings. If I were running a secret Spartan program, he would have been the one to select to lead them."

The helmet's faceplate unpolarized and Kurt smiled at her.

"Is there
anything
you don't know, Dr. Halsey?" Kurt said.

She closed her eyes, suddenly weary, and then patted his gauntleted hand. "It is good to see you alive."

She couldn't let slip exactly how happy she was to see Kurt. One of her Spartans come back from the dead, it was a small victory in a war of endless defeats. It redoubled her determination to save them all from the growing threats. But she had to maintain control. Spartans responded to authority and commands—never sentimentality.

"We need to get a message to FLEFTCOM," she said. "Get help, and perhaps discover what the Forerunners are looking for here."

Get help
would translate as ships capable of translight flight, a way for Dr. Halsey to lead the last remaining Spartans to safety.

"Our COM options are nil," Mendez said, and snuffed his cigar on the concrete wall. "All ships in orbit…" He shook his head. "The
Agincourt
was destroyed days ago by drones."

"Destroyed?" Dr. Halsey asked. "They should have been able to outrun the smaller craft."

"The drones can combine," Kurt told her, "giving them cumulative power to their weapon systems, thrust, and shield capabilities."

"The
Beatrice
was severely damaged on reentry," Kelly said. "Main engines inoperable. There is no possibility for a Slipspace transition."

Dr. Halsey lowered her voice, a whisper, but still loud enough so everyone could hear. "We must find a way off this world, or a way to contact the UNSC. Another Forerunner ruin was recently

discovered, a ring construct built for one purpose: the annihilation of all life in the galaxy. If the Onyx Sentinels are part of a similar weapon system…"

She let that thought hang in the air.

"Our COM options are not
entirely
nil," Kurt said. He crossed his arms, frowned, and hesitantly added, "I am breaking code-word secrecy, but there is apparently no alternative."

"Go on," Dr. Halsey insisted.

Kurt inhaled deeply then said, "There are two things. First, these drones may not be 'looking' for anything here. They may have always been here."

He relayed the contents of the flash communication from Endless Summer. How Onyx was home to a vast top-secret complex of alien ruins.

"We may have accidentally triggered their activation," he said.

Dr. Halsey's mind raced, connecting the clues: facts from Cortana's log, the stone on Cote d'Azure, the alien passages and crystal under Reach.

"When, precisely, did they appear?" she asked.

"The morning of September twenty-first," Kurt replied.

"That timing coincides with the activation of an alien weapon world—before John thankfully destroyed it. It is no coincidence that the Sentinels appeared then. It must be part of a larger Forerunner plan."

Dr. Halsey strained to find the conclusion to these disparate facts, but failed. She needed more data.

"I must have access to this Endless Summer AI," she said, "and all records on Zone 67."

"That's not possible," Kurt said. "We fell back to this bunker because our base was found and vaporized. These Sentinels analyze our tactics, learn, and become harder to defeat. I can only surmise that the AI and ONI ops center is deep inside Zone 67, a region heavily patrolled by drones. With only seven of my

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."