Halo: First Strike

"Done, sir."

The mocking smile had vanished from Jiles’s face and the color had drained from his golden skin. "Perhaps I was too hasty," he said. "Where are my manners? Please come aboard and join me as my honored guest. Bring your staff, too." He made a quick motion to his crew off camera.

The ships surrounding the Gettysburg turned and maneu- vered back toward the rotating asteroid.

"Join me for dinner and we can discuss what you need. You have my word that no one will be harmed."

Admiral Whitcomb chuckled. "I have no doubt about that, Mister Jiles." He turned to Cortana. "If we’re not back in thirty minutes, blast them all to hell."

The Master Chief linked mission telemetry with Cortana as Jiles’s men met them in the landing bay—six men dressed in black coveralls with old MA3 rifles slung over their shoulders.

They hesitated, then took tentative steps toward the Covenant dropship. The Chief didn’t blame them—he’d have been careful, too, if he were moving toward an armed enemy vessel. One fear-induced pull of the trigger from any one of them, however, and this greeting would turn into a bloody firefight.

He closed off his external speakers and asked, "Cortana: tacti- cal analysis."

Cortana replied: "The asteroid is a typical ferric oxide composite. It’s reinforced with a layer of Titanium-A armor. The armor is well camouflaged, but I spotted it with the Gettysburg’s deep radar. They have a few sections with ablative undercoats as well. Radar’s bouncing off those sections—so would Covenant sensors. Impressive."

Governor Jiles strolled across the deck, flipped his black fur cap over one shoulder, and shook Admiral Whitcomb’s hand.

Jiles nodded to Haverson. His smile vanished, however, when he looked at the Master Chief and Fred in their MJOLNIR armor.

Jiles recovered his grin and bowed low to Dr. Halsey.

"There are half a dozen guards armed with old MA-3 rifles and concealed plasma pistols," Cortana whispered. "I’m also picking up a fireteam often in the side passages, watching."

"I saw them," the Chief muttered. "They’re overwatch and backup, just in case. No problem."

"This way, please," Jiles said, and with a flourish he led them through a narrow corridor.

The Chief took one last look at the docking bay. It seemed smaller than he remembered it. Twenty years ago he and his team had blown off the external doors, stolen a Pelican, escaped, and left a dozen men dead on the deck.

His team had accomplished that mission without MJOLNIR armor. It hadn’t been developed yet—so there was no way any- one here could have known that John and Fred were part of the team that had extracted the last "governor" of the base, the traitor Colonel Watts. Yet Jiles’s guards glared at John as if they knew everything.

As the Master Chief stepped into the corridor, Cortana in- formed him: "This passage is from a UNSC cargo vessel, ripped out and reinforced with a bulkhead every ten meters. Airtight and tough. This place can take a lot of damage before buckling."

"Good place for an ambush, too," the Master Chief said, and kept one eye on his motion tracker.

They were being followed. Three contacts behind them, and three ahead, keeping pace.

The Master Chief had an urge to step in front of the Admiral and Dr. Halsey and clear the passage with a burst of fire. But this situation required diplomacy, something John was ill suited for.

He wished the Admiral had taken John’s suggestion to bring more Spartans with him. Or at least to have two of them infiltrate while the Admiral and this Jiles spoke.

They were led to a circular room. Half the far wall retracted, revealing thick red velvet curtains, which also slowly pulled away and exposed the half-meter-thick windows that overlooked the asteroid field. Beyond was a gentle ballet of rocks tumbling, rotating, and bouncing off one another in slow motion.

Men carried in a long table, threw a white silk cloth over it, and smoothed it down. Then a succession of women carried in silver trays heavy with fruit, steaming meats, and chocolates, and a dozen decanters sloshing with amber, ruby, and clear liquors.

Padded chairs were brought in for them all. "Please." Jiles motioned toward Dr. Halsey and he pulled out a chair for her.

"Relax and sit down."

The Master Chief took up a position by the door where he had a clear view of the entire room. Fred made sure the corridor was empty and then sealed the door.

The Chief checked behind the curtains for hidden men, sur- veillance devices, or false passages.

"Cortana?" he whispered.

"Looks clear," she said. "I’m not detecting anything. Walls are half a meter of Titanium-A."

"We’re clear," the Master Chief told the Admiral.

Dr. Halsey finally sat in the proffered chair, smoothed her skirt, and Jiles gently slid the chair under her. He offered her a plate of plump strawberries, which she graciously declined.

Haverson took one of the strawberries, however, and bit into it.

"Delicious," he remarked.

Jiles inclined his head. "Our hydroponics facility—"

"With respect, Governor, there’s no time for chitchat," Admiral Whitcomb said. "The clock’s ticking. In more ways than you might realize."

Jiles sighed and sat in a chair covered in gold leaf and black velvet. He threw his legs over one of the chair’s arms and laced his hands behind his head. "You have my complete and full at- tention, Admiral."

"Good," Whitcomb said, frowning at Jiles’s disregard for the seriousness of their predicament.

Admiral Whitcomb laid it out for him in short, easy-to-understand sentences: the fall of Reach, the Covenant’s search for an alien technology, the chase and battle in Slipspace, and the unclassifiable radiation that would lead the Covenant through Slipspace. . . to here.

As he spoke, Governor Jiles set his feet onto the floor, and his relaxed position solidified. He leaned forward and set his elbows on the table. His congenial smile slowly tightened into a scowl.

"Bloody Elisa!" he shouted, jumped to his feet, and swept a decanter off the table. The glass shattered and ruby-colored brandy spattered across the hardwood.

John and Fred had Jiles instantly in their gunsights, but the Admiral held up his hand.

" ‘Bloody Elisa’?" the Chief asked Cortana.

"The patron saint of vacuum," the AI replied. "She’s popular among civilian pilots."

"I’d guess," the Admiral told Jiles, "that we have less than a day before they find us."

"And what," Jiles said slowly, controlling his anger, "do you suggest / do about it?"

"That’s the simple part of all this, Governor. You can help us, or you can try to kill me and my crew, and sell our ships for whatever the black market will bear. They should yield quite a profit…

provided the Covenant let you live long enough to cash in."

The Admiral grabbed a decanter, poured a glass of wine, took a sip, and nodded appreciatively. "Now, assuming you manage to outwit our ship’s AI—which I very much doubt—and assum- ing further you somehow disable our ship’s weapons before our AI blows your base to atoms—which I also doubt—then you’ll have a Covenant fleet to contend with. And I don’t think they’re going to be sociable, sit down, drink your wine, and discuss this like gentlemen."

Jiles placed his face into his hand and rubbed his temples.

"Maybe you’re thinking," the Admiral said, "that you’ve kept this operation of yours hidden this long. From the UNSC. From the Covenant. Why should this be any different? Well, we found you easily enough. I don’t think the Covenant will blink at overturning every rock in this asteroid belt to find you."

Governor Jiles picked up a new bottle and filled a glass to the brim. He downed the drink in one gulp. "And the other option?"

he asked coldly. "I help you? And together we fight the Cove- nant? If they come in the force you claim, what difference will it make?"

"If you help us," the Admiral said, "get my ship repaired so we can make the jump to Earth, I’ll evacuate all your people. I promise you and your crew amnesty."

Jiles laughed. His cordial smile returned, and he asked, "Do you have any proof of any of this? That the mighty Reach is gone? That you have a new alien technology? Or that the Cove- nant are on their way here?"

"Chief!" Cortana cried in alarm. On his helmet’s heads-up display, a schematic of the Eridanus system appeared. A NAV marker flashed near the third planet. It expanded into the familiar curved radar silhouette of a Covenant cruiser.

"We have company," the Master Chief said. He strode to the window and pointed. "There."

The blue glow of Covenant engines flared as the ship came about and accelerated toward the asteroid belt.

"There’s your proof, Governor," Admiral Whitcomb growled.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

2000 hours, September 12,2552 (revised date, Military Calendar)\Aboard hybrid vessel Gettysburg-Ascendant Justice, station-keeping in Eridanus system.

Admiral Whitcomb, the Master Chief, Fred, and Lieutenant Haverson bounded off the elevator and onto the bridge of the Gettysburg.

Cortana’s image nickered on the holographic pad near the star map. "Covenant cruiser is only two hundred thousand kilome- ters away," she reported. "Closing fast on an intercept course."

The Admiral barked orders: "Fred, take the Engineering sta- tion, Haverson on NAV, and Chief, you’re on Weapons Station One; get it up and running and see if there are any systems we overlooked. Lieutenant, move us away from the enemy on course one-eight-zero by two-seven-zero."

"One-eight-zero by two-seven-zero, aye," Haverson replied.

He strapped himself into the NAV station, and his fingers danced over the controls. "Coming about, Admiral."

Gettysburg-Ascendant Justice turned and moved deeper into the asteroid field.

The Master Chief stepped up to Weapons Station One. He was cross-trained on the weapons ops system of every class of UNSC warship, but he’d never actually fired any shipborne weapon be- fore. The MAC gun on this frigate was one of the largest weapons in the human arsenal. He wished they had rounds for it—he would’ve given anything to launch one of the six-hundred-ton de- pleted uranium projectiles at that Covenant cruiser. He carefully tapped commands on the keyboard, and the darkened screen came to life. The Chief scrutinized the Gettysburg’s weapons inventory.

Governor Jiles appeared on the number three forward display, his face placid except his lips, which pressed together so tightly that they were only a thin white line of concentration.

"Governor," the Admiral said. His voice was smooth and resonated with the absolute authority of command. "I’ll maneuver the Gettysburg and take a shot at extreme range with our plasma turret. That will blow down that cruiser’s shields. I want you to coordinate with our AI and fire one of your nukes while their shields are down—blast them to bits."

"A brilliant tactic," Jiles said, and his lips parted in a mocking smile. "Except for one problem. We have no nuclear weapons.

The ones you detected in the asteroid field were only neutron ra- diation emitters." He shrugged. "We bluffed."

Admiral Whitcomb cursed quietly. "Very smart, Jiles."

"You’ll just have to use the seven plasma turrets on your ship, Admiral," Governor Jiles remarked. "That should be more than enough to—"

The Admiral chuckled, and he smiled in the same mocking fashion as Jiles. "We bluffed, too. We only have one turret…

and it’s not working so well."

"It appears we have both overestimated the other," Jiles said.

"Under different circumstances this might be amusing."

"Indeed." Whitcomb addressed Cortana. "Try and hail that Covenant cruiser. Maybe we can bluff them, too."

"They’re responding," Cortana replied. "Religious rhetoric aside, they’re demanding that we stand down and hand over the artifact or they will open fire."

"Give them our answer," Admiral Whitcomb said. "Fire when ready, Cortana."

The turret on Ascendant Justice warmed, and plasma col- lected and focused into a thin ruby line that lanced forward— —and unraveled into a wide spiral that coursed over the bow of the Gettysburg. The superheated gases boiled away patches of remaining Titanium-A armor and revealed the ship’s skeletal superstructure.

"What the hell happened?" the Admiral shouted.

"Analyzing now," Cortana replied. "Plasma turret offline. Stand by, sir."

"I can move my fleet to engage the enemy," Jiles said uncertainly.

Admiral Whitcomb surveyed the forward screens: Jiles, the approaching Covenant cruiser, and the asteroid field full of rocks floating on invisible currents. He narrowed his eyes, then said: "They’d blast you out of space before you could sneeze, Governor. And you don’t have a weapon that’ll get through their shields. No—I’ll draw them off. Evac your people."

"Understood, Admiral." One of Jiles’s eyebrows gracefully arched, and he bowed. "Thank you."

"Fred, move us at best speed. Haverson, come to course zero-nine-zero. Get us closer to that moon-sized chuck of stone, twenty thousand kilometers to port."

"Flank speed," Fred said. "Aye, sir."

"Course change, aye," Haverson replied.

The Gettysburg-Ascendant Justice glided toward the large rock, and the Covenant cruiser rapidly closed on them. The enemy ship vanished on the displays as they rounded to the dark side of the asteroid.

"New course. Come about to one-eight-zero," the Admiral ordered. "Full emergency power to the engines and answer all stop."

Thrasters spun the ship around, and vibrations rumbled through the weakened hull as it slowed and came to a stop, hidden behind the rock.

"Answering all stop," Fred announced.

"Sir, we are dead in space," Lieutenant Haverson said and nervously ran his fingers through his slicked-back red hair. "Traditional tactics advocate speed and maneuverability in ship-to-ship combat."