1534 hours, March 20, 2526 (military calendar)

UNSC Point Blank–class Stealth Cruiser Vanishing Point

Libration Point Three, Biko/Seoba, Kolaqoa System

The Covenant fleet appeared on the bulkhead monitor in a single instant—a hundred specks of blue-shifted light emerging from slipspace in the span of a heartbeat. They drifted toward Biko’s rosy crescent in a slow-swirling swarm, each blue speck sprouting dozens more as the alien ships launched their starfighter complements. But instead of streaking off to screen their fleet and harry the human defenses, the specks stayed close, swirling around their motherships in escort patterns so tight they melded into glowing, button-size smudges.

It was hardly the planetary assault doctrine John had been taught in his fleet tactics course back on Reach. Then again, the unspoken assumption had been that the Spartans were training for battles involving one human force confronting another, and that the attacker’s objective would be something more logical than the utter destruction of an entire planet. Certainly no thought had been given to situations that involved an enemy fleet whose energy-shielded vessels could bombard a populated world with plasma beams the size of skyscrapers.

“That’s an odd formation,” said Fred.

He was standing next to John in one of the Vanishing Point’s smaller maintenance hangars. Their Mjolnir armor was in the support module for maintenance and repair, so they were currently wearing black utilities with no identifying insignia or badges. Kelly and Linda were on either side of them, also attired in black utilities. There were four more Spartans in a back corner of the hangar, familiarizing themselves with some of the Covenant weapons recovered on Seoba. The other four members of the squad were still in the infirmary with injuries ranging from decompression sickness to a ruptured spleen. Meanwhile, Dr. Halsey was locked in her lab with some kind of Covenant holoprojector, recovered from the wreckage of the vessel that the Starry Night had downed when she self-destructed.

When no one responded, Fred added, “You’d think their commanders have never been to fleet warfare school.”

“Different weapons, different tactics,” John replied.

“True, but you fight to your weapon’s advantage,” Kelly said. “If I were the Covenant, I’d stand off behind a fighter screen. I’d use those badass plasma cannons to attack the orbital defenses and make the Biko fleet come to me.”

“That would be the smart thing to do,” Linda agreed. “But it would also be predictable.”

A flotilla of white slivers began to gather on Biko’s daylight side as the planet’s small space navy positioned itself to give battle. There were about fifty vessels, but John knew most of those would be patrol frigates designed to disable smuggling boats—not go nose-to-nose with energy-shielded capital ships. There was no way they could hope to stop the invasion fleet. But if they bided their time and employed wolf-pack tactics, the Bikon sailors might be able to take a few enemy ships with them.

UNSC doctrine dictated launching a fighter assault to disrupt such a formation before it could swarm a capital ship. Yet the alien fighters remained with their motherships, maintaining a tight-but-brittle defensive shell that could crack under the assault of even a couple of frigates, and the Covenant fleet seemed to be actually accelerating toward Biko’s defenders. The alien tactic didn’t make sense.

“What’s their hurry?” Fred asked, clearly coming to the same conclusion. “The Covenant will blow through that screen like a missile through a shower curtain, but they’re going to lose more than a few ships doing it.”

“Then they must believe they’ll lose even more by taking their time,” Linda said. “They lost over half of their intrusion flotilla at Seoba. Perhaps our prowlers have earned their respect?”

Kelly shook her head. “Those were just scout corvettes. Nyeto was knocking them down with just a few lucky missile salvos.” She pointed at the monitor. “But that fleet is filled with cruisers and assault carriers. Their shields could absorb a half-dozen salvos and not even flicker.”

“Right,” John said. “If they’re worried, it’s not about prowlers.”

“Could it be about us?” Kelly asked. “Or, actually, about the Black Daggers?”

The correction was due to the Spartans’ still-uncertain standing. As the senior flight commander in Task Force Yama, Hector Nyeto was now in charge of Operation: SILENT STORM, and he wanted the Spartans returned to active status. But Crowther continued to resist, and not even Dr. Halsey had been able to convince him to change his mind. John and the rest of the Spartans were frustrated and angry at being sidelined, but what could they do? Orders were orders, and after the stunt John had pulled during the Seoba insertion, it was clear that he was not going to change Crowther’s mind by disobeying them now. The upshot was that the Black Daggers would be attempting to board the alien fleet on their own, and the Spartans would be watching from the Vanishing Point.

After a moment, John nodded to Kelly. “I think maybe you’re right. Being worried about a boarding attempt would explain why they’re keeping their fighters in close escort.”

“It would explain a lot of things,” Linda said. “Might have been one of the reasons why the Covenant was trying so hard to capture that prowler yesterday. If they know about the boarding at Netherop, they would want to know how we got close enough without being detected.”

“Makes sense,” Fred said. “Except for the part about knowing there were prowlers at Seoba. The innies never got a message off, and it’s pretty clear they weren’t expecting us to show up.”

“It doesn’t matter,” John said. “Maybe the aliens just spotted a prowler visually and wanted to find out why they couldn’t see it on their sensors, or maybe they had a reconnaissance boat watching the rendezvous point before we arrived. What does matter is that they knew what they were seeing—and they were willing to take big risks to capture one.”

“Damn.” Kelly’s gaze went back to the smudges of light on the monitor. “They’re guarding against boarding actions, and they’re trying to capture prowlers. They know the plan.”

“Either that, or . . .” Fred hesitated, then sighed and said, “Okay, they know the plan. How?”

“Maybe they figured it out after Netherop,” Linda suggested. “If the captain managed to report that he was being boarded, they might have guessed we would try it on a larger scale.”

“Possible,” John said. “But that’s a big leap—especially on their own.”

“You think someone helped them figure it out?” Kelly asked.

“That’s a simpler explanation,” John said. “But simplest is that someone told them. General Garvin had to have some pretty decent intelligence to lure the Covenant to a rendezvous. And he must have been able to promise them even more, if he thought he could strike a deal with them.”

“Only one problem with that theory,” Fred said. “Garvin is an innie. How would he get that kind of high-level intelligence?”

“I don’t know,” John said. On the monitor, the two sides were already exchanging fire, the aliens hurling salvos of plasma bolts and the humans countering with missile barrages. And still the Covenant capital ships were holding their fighters close, cocooning themselves inside a picket web so tightly woven that a firefly couldn’t slip past. “But I’m going to find out.”

They continued to watch the monitor as the two fleets tore into each other and the first evacuation ships began to rise out of Biko’s pink clouds and head for orbital transfer stations. The Covenant made no attempt to interfere, perhaps because the number of refugees likely to escape was such a small percentage of the planet’s population. Even the largest passenger liners carried no more than thirty thousand people, and Biko’s total population ran into the tens of millions.

John heard a pair of boots thumping across the deck toward them, then turned to see Avery Johnson approaching in blue light-duty utilities. Other than a brow still lowered in post-concussion pain, he looked healthy and alert enough, and his gait was steady.

“Sergeant Johnson,” John said, “aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Johnson said. “And I was getting bored.”

“Join the club,” Fred said. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I have the worst hangover in history and can’t remember how I got it.” Johnson slipped between Fred and John, then looked around and scowled at the four of them. “So were you all just gonna spend your day lounging around this hangar bellyaching?”

“Just watching the battle from a safe distance,” John said. “And it’s starting to look like that’s all we’re going to do on this mission.”

Johnson leaned close. “And what if it wasn’t?”

John and Fred exchanged frowns; then John asked, “Are you talking outside the chain of command?”

“Not exactly,” Johnson said. “It’s authorized—just quietly.”

“I don’t like it,” Kelly said. “Crowther let us slide on going after the Starry Night without authorization—”

“He did more than let it slide.” Johnson leaned behind John to address Kelly. “He knows you saved our butts with your initiative.”

“Whatever,” Kelly said. “If he finds out we’re going behind his back to do something for Nyeto—”

“It isn’t Nyeto,” Johnson said. “Crowther wants you to volunteer.”

“For what?” John asked.

“Does it matter?”

John glanced up at the bulkhead monitor. The two fleets were close enough now that they had entered evasive maneuvers, filling the darkness with little commas of light as they swerved and bobbed and tried to make themselves unpredictable targets. The Covenant vessels still looked like blue smudges, though they had begun to grow larger and more diffuse as their shells of escort fighters struggled to stay in formation around their motherships. Clearly, even in the middle of a fleet action, the alien commanders were still concerned about being boarded.

John turned to the sergeant. “Yeah,” he said. “It might.”

Johnson looked confused. “I thought Spartans always volunteered.”

“Nasty rumor,” Fred said. “Who knows how those things get started?”

Johnson ignored him and looked at the monitor. “Okay, what am I missing?”

Before answering, John turned his palm up, a signal that the Spartans used to ask each other for permission. Aside from Dr. Halsey, Avery Johnson was probably the one person aboard whom the Spartans could trust. But John’s next decision would affect the entire squad, and the one training weakness that this mission had exposed in him was his lack of political savvy. John knew someone was playing games with the Spartans—he just didn’t know who or why.

When he received nods from the other three members of Blue Team, John caught Johnson’s eye and looked back to the monitor.

“Look at the Covenant fleet,” he said. “You see how hazy their ships are?”

“Sure,” Johnson said. “Their fighters are hanging too close for us to attempt any boarding actions. That’s why Crowther sent me down here.”

“What’s he want?” Kelly asked.

“To send us to Etalan,” Johnson said. “To hit their logistics convoy.”

For a moment, everyone was silent. Finally Fred said, “Sarge, maybe you should listen to your doctor.”

Johnson scowled. “What is it with you people?”

“You’re talking crazy,” Linda said. “The only place the colonel wants to send us is back to Reach.”

Johnson’s eyes lit with understanding. “You’re worried about the argument at the service?”

“Among other things,” John said.

“That was just a cover,” Johnson said. “Crowther wanted to hold you back for this mission.”

“So he threatened to relieve Nyeto of command?” Kelly asked. “Wouldn’t it have been simpler to explain what he was thinking?”

“Not really.” Johnson’s gaze dropped. “There are other issues.”

“We have a few of our own,” John said. “The Spartans aren’t volunteering for anything until you level with us.”

Johnson thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess you deserve to know,” he said. “Colonel Crowther didn’t like how long it took Nyeto to respond to your support call on Seoba.”

“Neither did we,” John said. “But he took out two corvettes.”

“The colonel thinks he could have downed the rest by moving quicker.” Johnson paused, then added, “And there’s something else that he just learned. The prisoner transport never made it to Biko.”

“Not surprising at all,” Kelly said. “The Covenant was firing on everything that left Seoba, and Bantas aren’t exactly stealth craft.”

“It wasn’t hit—not even a little bit,” Johnson said. “The Black Widow has her on a combat camera moving to break orbit.”

John began to have a queasy feeling in his stomach. “And the pilots were from Nyeto’s Ghost Flight.”

“You see the problem here,” Johnson said. “It doesn’t mean they were innie spies, or that Nyeto knew about it if they were. But we need to be careful.”

“You think?” Fred shook his head in frustration and turned to John. “Now it all makes sense. Maybe Colonel Crowther is right. Nyeto really took his time supporting us on Seoba.”

“He was using us as bait.” As exasperated as John had been with the slow response during the search for the Starry Night, Nyeto had been nothing but supportive of the Spartans before and since, and it was hard to believe the commander might really be an insurrectionist spy. “And it worked. He destroyed almost half of the alien flotilla and sent the other two vessels running.”

“John, he’s been trying to get us killed since the capture attempt at Netherop,” Kelly said. “That sensor operator’s open comm was no accident.”

John dropped his chin and said nothing.

He was no JAG investigator, but the evidence against Nyeto seemed pretty flimsy. There were a lot of coincidences that could be explained in a dozen different ways, and it certainly seemed possible that everything being attributed to the commander had actually been done by the missing flight crew on their own. Even the way Nyeto had been forced to reveal the Spartans’ true age could be attributed to simple curiosity and poor social skills.

So there was the possibility that Nyeto was not the traitor that circumstances suggested.

But were the lives of John’s entire squad worth that bet?

After a moment, Johnson asked, “You want it to be Crowther, don’t you?”

“That would be a lot easier, yes,” John said. “And who’s to say sending us to Etalan isn’t a setup as well?”

“Hadn’t thought of that,” Johnson admitted. “Get the Spartans out there alone and eliminate the 21st’s competition. That’s possible, I guess.”

Kelly snorted, Fred shook his head, and Linda rolled her eyes.

A small smile came to Johnson’s face at Blue Team’s collective reaction; then he continued: “But there’s only one way to find out. You have to take the mission.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” John said. “That’s what Spartans are for, right?”