CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
0600 Hours, August 29, 2552 (Military Calendar)
Epsilon Eridani System, UNSC Military Reservation
01478-B, planet Reach
The firing range was uncharacteristically quiet. Normally, the air would be filled with noise—the sharp, staccato crackle of automatic-weapons fire; the urgent yells of soldiers practicing combat operations; and the barked, curse-laden orders of drill instructors. John frowned as he guided the Warthog to the security checkpoint.
The silence on the combat range was somehow unsettling.
Even more unsettling were the extra security personnel; today, there were three times the normal number of MPs patrolling the gate.
John parked the Warthog and was approached by a trio of MPs. “State your business here, sir,” the lead MP demanded.
Without a word, John handed over his papers—orders direct from the top brass. The MP visibly stiffened. “Sir, my apologies. Dr. Halsey and the others are waiting for you at the P and R area.”
The guard saluted, and waved the gate open.
On survey maps, the combat training range was listed as “UNSC Military Reservation 01478-B.” The soldiers who trained there had a different name for it—“Painland.” John knew the facility well; a great deal of the Spartans’ early training had taken place there.
The range was divided into three areas: a live-fire obstacle course; a target practice range; and the P&R
—“Prep and Recovery” area—which more often than not doubled as an emergency first-aid station.
John had spent plenty of time in the aid station during his training.
The Master Chief walked briskly to the prefabricated structure. Another pair of MPs, MA5B assault rifles at the ready, double-checked his credentials before they admitted him to the building.
“Ah, here at last,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Let’s go, son, on the double, if you please.”
John paused; the speaker was an older man, at least in his sixties, in the coveralls and lab coat of a ship’s doctor. No rank insignia, though, John thought with a twinge of concern. For a moment, the image of his fellow Spartans—very young, and clubbing, kicking, and beating un-uniformed instructors into unconsciousness flashed into his memory with crystal clarity.
“Who are you, sir?” he asked, his voice cautious.
“I’m a Captain in the UNSC Navy, son,” the man said with a thin-lipped smile, “and I’ve no time for spit and polish today. Let’s go.”
A Captain—and new orders. Good. “Yes, sir.”
The Captain in the lab coat escorted him into the P&R’s medical bay. “Undress, please,” the man said.
John quickly disrobed, then stacked his neatly folded uniform on a nearby gurney. The Captain stepped behind him and began to swab John’s neck and the back of his head with a foul-smelling liquid. The liquid felt ice-cold on his skin.
A moment later, Dr. Halsey entered. “This will just take a moment, Master Chief. We’re going to upgrade a few components in your standard-issue neural interface. Lie back and remain still, please.”
The Master Chief did as she said. A technician sprayed a topical anesthetic on his neck. The skin tingled, then went cold and numb. The Master Chief felt layers of skin incised, and then a series of distinct clicking sounds that echoed through his skull. There was a brief laser pulse and another spray. He saw sparks, felt the room spin, then a sense of vertigo. His vision blurred; he blinked rapidly and it quickly returned to normal.
“Good . . . the procedure is complete,” Dr. Halsey said. “Please follow me.”
The Captain handed the Master Chief a paper gown. He slipped it on and followed the doctor outside.
A field command dome had been assembled on the range. Its white fabric walls rippled in the breeze.
Ten MPs stood around the structure, assault rifles in hand. The Master Chief noted these weren’t regular Marines. They wore the gold comet insignia of Special Forces Orbital Drop Shock Troopers
—“Helljumpers.” Tough and iron-disciplined. A flash of memory: the blood of troops—just like these—
soaking into the mat of a boxing ring.
John felt his adrenaline spike as soon as he saw the soldiers.
Dr. Halsey approached the MP at the entrance and presented her credentials. They accepted them and scanned her retina and voiceprint, then did the same to the Master Chief.
Once they confirmed his identify, they immediately saluted—which was technically unnecessary, as the Master Chief was out of uniform.
He did them the courtesy of returning their salute.
The soldiers kept looking around, scanning the field, as if they were expecting something to happen.
John’s discomfort grew—not much spooked an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper.
Dr. Halsey led the Master Chief inside. In the center of the dome stood an empty suit of MJOLNIR
armor, suspended between two pillars on a raised platform. The Master Chief knew it was not his suit.
His, after years of use, had dents and scratches in the alloy plates and the once iridescent green finish had dulled to a worn olive brown.
This suit was spotless and its surface possessed a subtle metallic sheen. He noted the armor plates were slightly thicker, and the black underlayers had a more convoluted weave of components. The fusion pack was half again as large, and tiny luminous slits glowed near the articulation points.
“This is the real MJOLNIR,” Dr. Halsey whispered to him. “What you have been using was only a fraction of what the armor should be. This—” She turned to the Master Chief. “—is everything I had always dreamed it could be. Please put the suit on.”
The Master Chief stripped the paper gown off and—with the help of a pair of technicians—donned the armor components.
Dr. Halsey averted her eyes.
Although the armor’s components were bulkier and heavier than his old suit, once assembled and activated, they felt light as air. The armor was a perfect fit. The biolayer warmed and adhered to his skin, then cooled as the temperature difference between the suit and his skin equalized.
“We’ve made hundreds of minor technical improvements,” she said. “I’ll have the specifications sent to you later. Two of those changes, however, are rather serious modifications to the system. It may take . . .
some getting used to.”
Dr. Halsey’s brow furrowed. John had never seen her worried before.
“First,” she told him, “we have replicated, and I might add, improved upon the energy shield the Covenant Jackals have been using against us to great effect.”
This armor had shields? The Master Chief had known that ONI research had been working on adapting Covenant technology; Spartans had standing orders to capture Covenant machines wherever they could.
The researchers and engineers had announced some breakthroughs in artificial gravity—some UNSC
ships were already undergoing trials with the grav systems.
The fact that the MJOLNIR armor possessed shields was a stunning breakthrough. For years, there had been no luck back-engineering Covenant shield tech. Most in the scientific community had given up hope of ever cracking it. Maybe that’s why Dr. Halsey was worried. Maybe they hadn’t worked out all the bugs.
Dr. Halsey nodded to the technicians. “Let’s begin.”
The techs turned to a series of instrument panels. One, a slightly younger man, donned a COM headset.
“Okay, Master Chief.” The tech’s voice crackled through John’s helmet speakers. “There’s an activation icon in your heads-up display. There is also a manual control switch located at position twelve in your helmet.”
He chinned the control. Nothing happened.
“Wait a moment, please, sir. We have to give the suit an activation charge. After that, it can accept regenerative power from the fusion pack. Stand on the platform and be absolutely still.”
He stepped onto the platform that had held the MJOLNIR armor. The pillars flickered on and glowed a brilliant yellow. The pillars started to spin slowly around the base of the platform.
The Master Chief felt a static charge tingling in his extremities. The glow intensified and his helmet’s blast shield automatically dimmed. The charge in the air intensified; his skin crawled with ionization. He smelled ozone.
Then the spinning slowed and the light dimmed.
“Reset the activation button now, Master Chief.”
The air around the Master Chief popped—as if it jumped away from the MJOLNIR armor. There was none of the shimmer that normal Covenant shields had. Was it working?
He ran his hand over his arm and encountered resistance a centimeter from the surface of the armor. It was working.
How many times had he and his teammates had to find ways to slip past a Jackal’s shield? He’d have to rethink his tactics. Rethink everything.
“It provides full coverage—” Dr. Halsey’s voice piped through the speakers. “—and dissipates energy far more efficiently than the Covenant shields the Spartans have recovered, though the shield is concentrated on your arms, head, legs, chest, and back. The energy field tapers down to a hair under a millimeter so you don’t lose the ability to hold or manipulate items with your hands.”
The lead technician activated another control, and new data scrawled across John’s display. “There’s a segmented bar in the upper corner of your HUD,” the technician said, “right next to your biomonitor and ammunition indicators. It indicates the charge level of your shield. Don’t let it completely dissipate; when it’s gone, the armor starts taking the hits.”
The Master Chief slipped off the platform. He skidded—then came to a halt. His movements felt oiled.
His contact with the floor felt tentative.
“You can adjust the bottom of your boot emitters as well as the emitters inside your gloves to increase traction. In normal use, you will want to set these to the minimal level—just be aware your defenses will be diminished in those locations.”
“Understood.” He adjusted the field strengths. “In zero-gee environment I should increase those sections to full strength, correct?”
“That is correct,” Dr. Halsey said.
“How much damage can they take before the system is breached?”
“That is what you will learn here today, Master Chief. I think you’ll find that we have several challenges in store for you to see how much punishment the suit can take.”
He nodded. He was ready for the challenge. After weeks spent traveling in Slipspace, he was long overdue for a workout.
John slid back his helmet visor and turned to face Dr. Halsey. “You said there were two major system improvements, Doctor?”
She nodded and smiled. “Yes, of course. ” She reached into her lab coat and withdrew a clear cube. “I doubt you’ve ever seen one of these before. It is the memory-processor core of an AI.”
“Like Déjà?”
“Yes, like your former teacher. But this AI is slightly different. I’d like to introduce you to Cortana.”
The Master Chief looked around the tent. He saw no computer interface or holographic projectors. He cocked an eyebrow at Dr. Halsey.
“There is a new layer sandwiched between the reactive circuits and the inner biolayers of your armor,”
Dr. Halsey explained. “It is a weave of additional memory-processor super-conductor.”
“The same material as an AI’s core.”
“Yes,” Dr. Halsey replied. “An accurate analysis. Your armor will carry Cortana. The MJOLNIR system has the nearly the same capacity as a ship-borne AI system. Cortana will interface between you and the suit and provide tactical and strategic information for you in the field.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Cortana has been programmed with every ONI computer insurgency routine,” Dr. Halsey told him.
“And she has a talent for modifying them on the fly. She has our best Covenant-language-translation software as well. Her primary purpose is to infiltrate their computer and communications systems. She will intercept and decode point-to-point Covenant transmissions and give you updated intelligence in the field.”
Intel support in an operation where there had been no reconnaissance. The Master Chief liked that. It would level the playing field significantly.
“This AI is the computer specialist we’ll be taking onto the Covenant ship,” the Master Chief said.
“Yes . . . and more. Her presence will allow you to utilize the suit more effectively.”
John had a sudden flash—AIs handled a great deal of point defense during Naval operations. “Can she control the MJOLNIR armor?” He wasn’t sure he liked that.
“No. Cortana resides in the interface between your mind and the suit, Master Chief. You will find your reaction time greatly improved. She will be translating the impulses in your motor cortex directly into motion—she can’t make you send those impulses.”
“This AI,” he said, “will be inside my mind?” That must have been what that “upgrade” to his standard-issue UNSC computer interface had been for.
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Halsey replied. “I can’t answer that, Master Chief. Not scientifically.”
“I’m not sure I understand, Doctor.”
“What is the mind, really? Intuition, reason, emotion—we acknowledge they exist, but we still don’t know what makes the human mind work .” She paused, searching for the right words. “We model AIs on human neural networks—on electrical signals in the brain—because we just know that the human brain works . . . but not how, or why. Cortana resides ‘between’ your mind and the suit, interpreting the electrochemical messages in your brain and transferring them to the suit via your neural implant.
“So, for lack of a better term, yes, Cortana will be ‘inside’ your mind.”
“Ma’am, my priority will be to complete this mission. This AI—Cortana—may have conflicting directives.”
“There is no need to worry, Master Chief. Cortana has the same mission parameters as you do. She will do anything necessary to make sure that your mission is accomplished. Even if that means sacrificing herself—or you—to accomplish it.”
The Master Chief exhaled, relieved.
“Now, please kneel down. It’s time to insert her memory-processor matrix into the socket at the base of your neck.”
The Master Chief knelt. There was a hissing noise, a pop, and then cold liquid poured into the Master Chief’s mind; a spike of pain jammed into his forehead, then faded.
“Not a lot of room in here,” a smooth female voice said. “Hello, Master Chief.”
Did this AI have a rank? Certainly, she was not a civilian—or a fellow soldier. Should he treat her like any other piece of UNSC-issued equipment? Then again, he treated his equipment with the respect it deserved. He made sure every gun and knife was cleaned and inspected after every mission.
It was unsettling . . . he could hear Cortana’s voice through his helmet speakers, but it also felt like she was speaking inside his head. “Hello, Cortana.”
“Hmm . . . I’m detecting a high degree of cerebral cortex activity. You’re not the muscle-bound automatons the press makes you out to be.”
“Automaton?” the Master Chief whispered. “Interesting choice of words for an artificial intelligence.”
Dr. Halsey watched the Master Chief with great interest. “You must forgive Cortana, Master Chief. She is somewhat high-spirited. You may have to allow for behavioral quirks.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I think we should begin the test straightaway. There’s no better way for the two of you to get acquainted than in simulated combat.”
“No one said anything about combat,” Cortana said.
“The ONI brass have arranged a test for you and the new MJOLNIR system,” Dr. Halsey said. “There are some that believe you two are not up to our proposed mission.”
“Ma’am!” The Master Chief snapped to attention. “I’m up for it, ma’am!”
“I know you are, Master Chief. Others . . . require proof.” She looked around at the shadows cast by the Marines outside the fabric walls of the command dome. “You hardly need a reminder to be prepared for anything . . . but stay on your guard, just the same.”
Dr. Halsey’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I think some of the ONI brass would prefer to see you fail this test, Master Chief. And they may have arranged to make sure you do—regardless of your performance.”
“I won’t fail, Doctor.”
Her forehead wrinkled with worry lines, but then they quickly disappeared. “I know you won’t.”
She stepped back, and dropped her conspiratorial whisper. “Master Chief, you are ordered to count to ten after I leave. After that, make your way to the obstacle course. At the far end is a bell. Your goal will be to ring it.” She paused, then added, “You are authorized to neutralize any threats in order to achieve this objective.”
“Affirmative,” the Master Chief said. Enough uncertainty—now he had an objective, and rules of engagement.
“Be careful, Master Chief,” Dr. Halsey said quietly. She gestured at the pair of technicians to follow her, then turned and walked out of the tent.
The Master Chief didn’t understand why Dr. Halsey thought he was in real danger—he didn’t have to understand the reason. All he needed to know was that danger was present.
He knew how to handle danger.
“Uploading combat protocols now,” Cortana said. “Initiating electronic detection algorithms. Boosting neural interface performance to eighty-five percent. I’m ready when you are, Master Chief.”
The Master Chief heard metallic clacks around the tent.
“Analyzing sound pattern,” Cortana said. “Database match . Identified as—”
“As someone cycling the bolt of an MA5B assault rifle. I know. Standard-issue weapons for Orbital Drop Shock Troopers.”
“Since you’re ‘in the know,’ Master Chief,” Cortana quipped. “I assume you have a plan.”
John snapped his helmet visor back down and sealed the armor’s environment system. “Yes.”
“Presumably your plan doesn’t involve getting shot . . . ?”
“No.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Cortana sounded worried.
“I’m going to finish counting to ten.”
John heard Cortana sigh in frustration. John shook his head in puzzlement. He’d never encountered a so-called smart AI before. Cortana sounded . . . like a human.
Worse, she sounded like a civilian . This was going to take a lot of getting used to.
Shadows moved along the wall of the tent—motion from outside.