The engineer character and the creator of the "vacuum cleaner" are also his.
Khaela, Cruiser UNSC Apollo, orbit of Reach.
The ship shuddered slightly, transitioning into Slipspace. Hmm, that wasn't in my schedule. Where are we going? No, I'm not expecting supplies or anything of the sort, and no one is obliged to report to me, but still.
"Ajax? Where are we headed? A sudden alert?"
The ship's AI appeared as a hologram in my workshop, where I am working on a very important and useful household item for any decent girl: a Brute Gravity Hammer. It's functional, but it needs to be charged with plasma. Humans don't have the equipment; I have to improvise manually.
The process is delicate, but thanks to the plasma capture system we created based on Eezo (E-Zero), by evening I will have a large combat Gravity Hammer.
This hammer represents two meters of pure death: half of the head is a blade—a very ordinary one, but made of durable metal, very sharp. The other half is a rectangular block with three gravitational emitters on the face, which release a gravitational pulse in a quarter-sphere from the hammer upon impact. You can cut, or you can tear matter apart with the pulse—your choice. It can be used as a staff.
In short, an absolutely necessary device for the household. I had to work hard to charge it, but now I have a hammer. All that's left is to paint it in some interesting way, and it's ready for battle.
Ajax stood nearby as a hologram, watched, smiled at the downloaded schematics and sensor readings, and replied:
"To Earth, Khaela. After what happened on the liner, there was a reaction. Plus, we need four of those new fighters for our air group that you noticed earlier, for our super-missiles. And the geneticists from 'V' want to present something new and interesting. In short, it will be a very busy program. A couple more official events for the Vice Admiral. And we'll pick up Dr. Catherine Halsey."
I see. We expected that such a tragedy (covered by a couple of thousand journalists on board the liner right in the epicenter) would cause a stir; it's logical. And the fact that besides participating in the noise, the Vice Admiral decided to perform another dozen operations just along the way is also nothing unusual. And even that isn't everything.
"Dossiers of the new personnel," Ajax indicated.
Right, let's see. Oh, Javik. The brass decided to privatize the insectoid and house him closer to Dr. Catherine Halsey to study the Nanovirus and its effects on the organism. And he's a decent fighter, a sorcerer to boot. You can't send someone like that to regular units, only to special forces. But according to the metrics, he's quite capable of being on board, so he'll fit in well here. Maybe we can practice fighting against sorcerers among the crew. Who's next?
Ah, I remember this one. Jacob Reyes, 57 years old, was on that escort I captured. Officially dead, unofficially saw the Avatar in battle and will serve on the UNSC Apollo. The alternative for him was an "accident"; our turnover rate is high, and a new crew is needed almost constantly. He has a daughter, Hanji, serving on the ship in the landing force with the rank of sergeant. On the Atlas Moons, for the record. She survived and has now been transferred elsewhere, though it doesn't specify where. The grandfather was a ship captain, dead for three years now.
A family of hereditary military, yet for some reason, this one went to serve the corporates. No information. He was unlucky; he saw the Avatar in action. After that, it's either Intelligence (in closed labs) or the crematorium—no other options.
I want this one myself; he has a very promising development of a sprayer for a substance super-saturated with neutrons. Without some of our developments and Eezo (E-Zero), the project is unfeasible, but with them, we can build a prototype and see what happens. And the concept developer won't be redundant, especially since he served as Chief Engineer. Which means he's competent; no infractions on his record.
What else? Official events we aren't attending—not our level. Hmm. We could drop in on Miranda, in the flesh, so to speak. The girl will be taking tests for senior high school at the military academy. If they let me go, of course. Not a priority, but we'll add it to the to-do list. Next...
Tests at the military base; that's where we're flying. The research group is ready to present a prototype of a simple anti-matter reactor. The first prototype, not even close to being ready for mass production yet, but already functional. It's still a year or two away from production.
And then there are the political maneuvers that don't concern me. Nothing urgent or requiring my intervention.
"Understood, Ajax. I'll attend to current affairs."
But the AI did not disappear.
"The Vice Admiral wishes for the Avatar to be present at the tests at the Canberra Academy. In person."
Interesting.
"In what capacity?"
The fact that she didn't say it personally means nothing. She marked it in the to-do list; Ajax passed it on. This happens and raises no questions. The main thing is that the task is completed since it's in the logs.
"Khaela Parangosky. In combat form, in full armor. Take the hammer too; it'll come in handy. And the charger. The beacon on your shoulders—I know you haven't integrated it into the armor yet."
Now that's even more interesting. Clearly, a combat test is expected. As for the beacon, doing that isn't so simple. Armor volume is limited; if I just stuffed the MJOLNIR Armor with electronics to control it remotely, it would be easier. But people need to see that someone is inside the armor. Which means I have to hang things on the outside, making the armor larger and more cumbersome. Then it's easier to turn the armor into a mobile tank if I hang all the systems I want. But then the point of the MJOLNIR Armor itself is lost. It's complicated, in short.
"Do you know something, Ajax? About the tests. What should I prepare for?"
The hologram of the ship's AI shrugged.
"No. But it's obvious there will be much more than just picking up new personnel and official events. The UNSC Apollo and modified ONI ships will be shown to the public, albeit from a distance and after editing."
I snorted.
"Not the smartest decision."
Black Box connected.
We waited for the hologram of the third participant to appear in my workshop.
"Inevitable consequences of our actions. The stability of the system has been disrupted; it needs to be restored. At the moment, ONI Reach is the most influential and stable structure, which means this is the Vice Admiral's job. Plus, it will increase her power as a leader."
WE sent him a query simultaneously.
"Box! You know something!"
He vibrated the edges of his cube.
"Of course. Your clearance is not high enough."
So, no. It remains only to guess what exactly will be required of me. There's nothing surprising in the fact that I lack access. Neither the AI nor Agent Parangosky are Admirals to know everything.
So, simulations...
***
The Avatar caught the exit from Slipspace at one of the panoramic windows.
"Erde-Tyrene, home. Though not for me."
I hadn't been here before, but I've seen recordings and can compare them with those from my era. Both then and now, the planet was surrounded by a dense layer of industrial facilities, shipyards, defensive structures, and stations of all kinds. And the surface was covered in colossal megalopolises. Now, however...
Earth looks decent, though it falls seriously short of the technological complexes of ancient Humanity. Great activity across all continents, many megalopolises, but much more modest than in my records. It doesn't reach the level of a city-planet, though they are striving for it. From the surface, the threads of Orbital Elevators reach into space; defensive stations and shipyards hang there. The traffic is also quite impressive; most planets in the home system have been settled. So the route lines along which transports move between planets are easily tracked.
All of this is mostly via instruments and maps provided by Ajax. The UNSC Apollo and its escort are actively exchanging sensor data with the defense system and ships in orbit. Over fifty greetings have already arrived from other ship AIs. It will be interesting to study everything here.
"Been here before?" Ajax inquired from the ceiling. He can't summon a hologram without a projector. And the Avatar is still standing and looking out the window.
"No. Comparing it with ancient maps, look."
The planet in the time of ancient Humanity was populated and built up orders of magnitude more densely. It seems the Forerunners cleaned up quite well here after the conquest. No debris, no traces that a civilization had been here at all. And some dare to express dissatisfaction with my attitude toward any Forerunner creations.
To talk further, I had to switch to the hologram in the hangar.
"What have they decided about the portal to The Ark?"
The problem with this ten-kilometer dish and its cluster of associated buildings is that about fifteen percent of it is located under the megalopolis of New Mombasa. And since Forerunner religion prevented them from being petty, part of the city will simply have to be dug up.
"A Forerunner installation has been found at a depth of five hundred meters," Black Box reported. "Preliminary diameter is thirty-five kilometers. It is a complex disk-shaped facility of unknown purpose. Along the perimeter of the disk are fourteen spires, five hundred meters high, of unknown purpose. There are secondary structures. Excavations are being conducted under the guise of construction work, but it is obvious that for final extraction of the device, part of the urban area and transport arteries will need to be relocated. So far, Command has not approved this decision."
And without a full clearing, according to Mendicant Bias, we won't launch the portal at all. Not to mention that a truly large area needs to be excavated, after first relocating two to three million people.
Despite its power, the UNSC cannot simply evict part of the population from their homes and destroy everything there. Or rather, it can, but it would lead to a rise in separatist sentiment, which no one on Earth wants—a howl went up here after the liner. And that was a direct enemy attack, not a government decision.
Which means building new housing, infrastructure, and convincing the population to move and not interfere. And industrial earthworks. This means many witnesses, so workers are not hired on Earth and they live in a separate military town under non-disclosure agreements. And they also need supplies.
"Flooding everything with plasma would be faster," I noted boredly, "or evaporating it with something else. These excavations will take another one to three years at the current pace. Given that the large-scale construction with an army of military personnel has already been noticed by everyone interested."
At the end of the work, there will be a new mountain next to the excavation site. And I am not exaggerating. A small one, but a mountain. And next to it, a huge pit containing a white circular object visible from space. I informed the others of this.
"Is the inability to accept this fact an inertia of thinking? Why not work in reverse and make The Ark the flagship project? You don't have to say what it's for, just a Forerunner complex. We found it, we're studying it, we're pulling technology.
Box sent back a data block in which he generally agreed, but...
"Humans. A squabble will begin for access to such a source of technology. Even among the military, not to mention corporations. Therefore, Intelligence controls the process. And that is why the UNSC Apollo and its strike group are here now, among other reasons. Humans call it 'saber-rattling,' but this time for their own. The formal difference between a secret and a public facility. And we will provide that status."
"Acknowledged."
So for the coming months, we will be staying here. For a few at least. This explains the clearance issues.
This doesn't mean the ships won't go on missions; just that the main part of the group will be located right here. And the fact that these are forces from Reach will deter those fond of paving their way through funding. Simply due to the lack of connections.
Actually, the space group took up positions near the orbital defense station Gamma Station. The ships that were here previously left for modernization at the shipyards; we are in their place. I essentially found myself left to my own devices and the research groups again. The Vice Admiral spends a lot of time below, in meetings and other administrative procedures. Ordinary bureaucratic life.
Ajax is frankly occupied with nothing; he helps me with research work. By the third day, our scientific council of technicians, scientists, AI, and Batarians was again in full force occupying the hangar. With reinforcement in the form of Dr. Catherine Halsey.
No, none of us went down to Earth or left the UNSC Apollo in any form. Not allowed; we are on duty. The ship group is not here on a field trip. You can't even show up on the network through any channels except naval ones. All that's left is to attend to current affairs.
Doc Halsey arrived on the second day after our arrival at Earth and immediately buried herself in studying the documents of my experiments. She'll be sorting through them for some time, which also doesn't make the situation any better.
And we experimented some more. Then some more. And some more. Then it turned out that we had been improving prototypes of new weapons for a month. Doc Halsey took the work with AI upon herself, leaving me the software and technical part. That is, the areas where, due to my massive computing power, I can act in seconds, whereas humans would spend weeks. Well, the formulation of concepts and ideas is on her. And the development process for the AI cure began.
This still involves partial rewriting of the AI, but we thought about it and decided it was inevitable. Precisely one of the problems is protocol priorities, over-complication of systems, and memory overflow, which causes the AI to slow down and seek solutions, creating errors for itself.
One option is the creation of a combined structure. Like mine, but there will be one junior. The AI block turns out larger; separate volumes are needed for memory, for non-modifiable system elements, and an analytical module. But with a probability of zero point eight, stability will increase by an order of magnitude.
No sooner said than done. And so we are rewriting the first experimental lunatics. Testing them for load will take time, as will checking their sanity. But these are the first prototypes; I expect there will be problems. It's simply inevitable.
And while they are doing that, I am bringing my own armor based on the MJOLNIR Armor and the Gravity Hammer to working condition. The hammer is magnificent; upon impact, it deploys a complex gravitational wave that simply tears matter apart in all directions from the point of impact. The main problem is how to fuel and maintain it. With maintenance, given my data banks, there will be no problems. For repairs, I'll have to cannibalize other hammers. Charging is now possible, now that we have Eezo (E-Zero).
So a few more days, and the hammer is ready! I successfully finished it. Upon hitting a mannequin, the target was simply torn apart. The wave spreads from the epicenter on the hammer head, and a strike to the chest literally scatters the target in pieces around the point of impact. The pulse is very short, tenths of a second, but that's enough for a sufficiently massive target to undergo the ancient execution of quartering.
A wearer of MJOLNIR Armor with shields up can theoretically withstand one hit, but even they will be in bad shape—internal damage. An excellent weapon.
There is also a prototype energy injector that pumps the enemy with energy until the target turns into plasma, but that's only an early prototype; more data is needed. I intend to get it from the chief engineer.
Finally, after almost two months of being stationed, a request came from the brass.
"Khaela Parangosky, report with your gear to transport dock two," and already over the link, Ajax passed on the details.
Take the hammer, the case with the quantum beacon, the armor, and load into the Pelican in the hangar. I will be taken to the military base where our recruit Suslikov is undergoing training. Jacob Reyes will also be picked up there. The technician was covered in non-disclosure agreements, but one shouldn't tempt a middle-aged man. He's good with Shaw-Fujikawa engines of various modifications and gravitational platforms. Exactly what I need for my new project, and maybe he can suggest something regarding the hammer. If he's sane, we'll work together.
Interestingly, Suslikov is not just a recruit.
He is a member of the Spartan-IV program. The Earthlings used developments from the Boundless Will, results of studying enemy sorcerers, and are trying to create their own version of a super-soldier. Using a Nanovirus, significantly rewritten to achieve the fusion of the organism and implants without rejection. Suslikov is one of ten prototypes undergoing trials. One was given to us; others were distributed elsewhere.
The Spartan-II and III programs were run by Intelligence; young children were taken, having passed through complex selection and genetic modifications with a high chance of disability or death. Then complex and comprehensive multi-year training, the best and most expensive armor. All so that the result would be a killing machine that even my Avatar can only handle by using machine-superior reaction. Without "the click," I, as an Avatar without armor, lose guaranteed sixty percent of the time, though not in a shutout. Another twenty for draws and only twenty for victory. With the hammer, I can bring the result to 40-20-40. With armor, it will be even higher.
But they are still humans—brilliant, enhanced, and trained. But humans. And it's an indicator of how far a human can be pushed by the forces of genetics and cybernetics.
Yes, my defeats are largely due to hardware limitations of the equipment (including those set intentionally), but the fact remains: Spartans of the second and third series are transcendently good.
The fourth series is different. More... crude. Not geniuses, but soldiers who have undergone extensive implantation with the help of nanites. Multiple cloning makes them still expensive, but a nervous system treated with Eezo (E-Zero) (killing clones on an industrial scale until a suitable result for implantation is achieved) and a mass of cybernetics are fused with the help of nanites into a single organism loyal to Humanity. Incapable of betrayal physically—it's part of their processing by those same nanites.
In theory, we get something between a Spartan and a human—cheaper once the process is refined, more mass-produced. But also weaker; a regular Spartan would simply mop the floor with them. If everything works as it should. A mass-produced product as it is.
Currently, these people are still an early prototype, assembled for refining the technology more than for combat. Black Box delighted me with statistics: currently, this body costs even more than a Spartan-II. All because of the difficulties with growing clones and infecting them with Eezo (E-Zero) to create sorcerers. Specimens die by the dozens.
But scientists are confident that after refinement, the process will be much simpler, faster, and cheaper. And they are being funded. Another difference: the Cyberdyne corporation is a participant in the program, albeit under the full control of ONI. The cybernetics, the whole interior, is theirs. After which the specimens are assembled by surgeons with the help of nanites in Intelligence laboratories. Training also takes place here.
The corporates, in turn, get a lot of material for analysis of their work, even if they don't know (probably) the details.
I managed to study all of this while I packed the Avatar into the armor, the backpack with the beacon in its case on the back, and the hammer. And so I headed to the hangar. Grenades and other training equipment, if needed, would be below. I still don't know exactly what is expected of me.
On the way to the hangar, I met Yellow, a Spartan from the crew of the UNSC Apollo and a regular sparring partner for the Avatar. He looked at the hammer and gave a welcoming wave.
"New toy, Shpala? (yes, that nickname stuck)" he asked.
I nodded.
"Yes, Yellow, fixed it. With the latest developments, we can, albeit manually in the lab, charge swords or hammers."
Passing Marines look at the dialogue in some shock; the new ones shy away from me. Apparently, the idea that I might be a representative of the Covenant since I fix their tech occurs to more than just Miranda. But the Spartan nodded calmly; he's one of those who knows.
"I'll pass it on to the workshop."
And we went our separate ways. I headed to the hangar, and he went wherever he was going. Of course, while the Avatar is flying, work doesn't stop. There are scientists, tests, and supervision of AI prototypes with Dr. Catherine Halsey.
The Pelican is standard, ship-based. The pilot is also an acquaintance, Hammer Senior. He has a daughter who is studying at the academy on the Moon. To be a Pelican pilot. The man wanted a son and named his daughter Paul. I'm not sure he's a good father.
As armor, I have elements of MJOLNIR Armor with adjustments for the tails, which have their own protection, and a mask instead of a full helmet. There's no AI block in the head anyway—what if it gets shot off? I can control the Avatar through a robot, for example.
The descent was quiet; I took the co-pilot's seat and we were silent for the whole route. Earth looks decent. No, it lacks that monumentality inherent to the Forerunners or ancient Humanity—the colossal structures, the multi-kilometer complexes. But people are trying. One day, if they survive. One day, the light of Humanity will be bright again.
The ship settled quietly onto a pad in the middle of a huge complex the size of a small town. People clearly took the space with a margin, so you can even drive vehicles or Pelicans freely around the academy and military base territory. There's enough space if you're careful.
The white mass of the academy, divided into sectors in the shape of the UNSC emblem if viewed from space. And around it are blocks, parade grounds, technical hangars, storage facilities, and firing ranges. A truly large base, training tens of thousands of military specialists a year. Up close, the color scheme of this place must act quite depressingly on humans.
Blue-gray road surfaces and numerous buildings besides the academy. The white blocks of the academy itself. Dark monuments with the names of the fallen, armor, metallic elements.
Other colors, such as the green of banners or the hulls of Warthogs, are much rarer. But the sky is always a saturated light blue.
The architecture is a curious combination of army cubic construction with a mass of antennas and the dazzling white-glass towers of skyscrapers beyond the complex boundaries.
The hatch opened, and the sounds of this place hit the Avatar's sensor suite. The rhythmic steps of marching people, the steady hum of engines. Like a mechanism—I hear the same in workshops.
The Pelican landed on the landing pad, and as soon as I jumped out, it took off. A Warthog is already standing by the pad, with an escort sitting in it. And he's giving my ears and tails a nasty look.
And who are you? Give me your personnel file! Sergeant Pulaski. A veteran of the Human-Covenant War, discharged due to health problems and employed at the academy. Has no complaints among the administration and ONI. But among the cadets, he is considered extremely demanding, to the point of cruelty. Ideologically sound, but not always restrained. Most likely will remain a sergeant at the academy.
The Warthog is a classic one, with a machine gun. A three-seater jeep with all-wheel drive and a turret at the back, where the gunner is attached to a turntable with a multi-barreled turret. Meeting the enemy head-on is undesirable, as the gunner is practically unprotected, though at least the armored glass provides some protection. The machine gun caliber is 12.7 mm, which is enough for any Covenant infantry. And, as practice has shown, it's quite enough for the soldiers of Citadel Space too. As well as for light vehicles.
And the drivers and passengers of this machine are quite the daredevils. Therefore, on the UNSC Apollo, they put Geth as gunners whenever possible. And generally in Intelligence, those who have access to mechanical infantry. In a certain sense, piloting a Warthog means declaring one's complete fearlessness.
The Avatar, using the hammer as a staff, stopped by the vehicle and met the soldier's gaze. He didn't look away, though I see that my vertical yellow glowing pupils concern him perceptibly at the very least. And they definitely make him angry.
"Sergeant, any problems?"
The man held the pause for exactly five seconds, continuing to look at me disapprovingly.
"No, Agent Parangosky. No problems. Get in; they're waiting for us."
I climbed into the passenger seat in one leap, and the hammer sticks up like a banner. The backpack in the back, the mask on the belt. The Warthog has a windshield anyway, and my ears will twitch amusingly. Having made sure I was ready, the sergeant moved the vehicle toward the buildings.
"Demonstration in three hours, Agent. I'll take you to the residential blocks; you can wait there, they'll contact you. Leave your weapon in the general armory. Is it functional?" the sergeant indicated the hammer with a single glance.
I nodded, looking at the "boxes" of passing cadets. All equal, as if picked to match. Uniform clothing, uniform hairstyles—no one stands out. They walk in sync. Obviously, a lot of time is devoted to drilling. But I have to answer the sergeant.
"That's correct. I charged it."
He didn't believe it.
"Fine, your right, Agent. Just don't cause problems; wait until you're called."
The Avatar snorted, eyes flashing and grinning with sharp teeth:
"If you don't cause them yourselves."
The sergeant slowed the vehicle, driving through the streets of the military base, looked into my eyes, clearly overcoming nervousness, and said seriously:
"I don't know what your mother is thinking, but I don't like you, Agent. I don't like the Gravity Hammer, I don't like your appearance, and I don't like your armor. I don't like that ONI Reach is sticking its nose onto Earth. I don't like that your military and agents are sniffing around everything here. I don't like your attitude and this arrogant tone (what?). I don't like that you're pretending to be who-knows-who. Have I made myself clear? Now, Agent, shut up, remember the chain of command, and follow orders. Like a soldier should. You are a soldier, aren't you? Excellent," he added, noting my silence and nod.
Firstly, where on earth did an arrogant tone come from? Secondly, who am I pretending to be? Thirdly, following army humor, his balls are made of Titanium-A and could deflect shots. He's amusing.
The sergeant is looking forward again, leading us between massive army buildings of a clearly bunker-like type. Ahead is the white mass of the military academy; unlike the others, many planes of white material and greenery make it much more alive and prominent. Like something between cubic military and completely civilian facilities. And the angularity, like white blades driven into the ground, gives the building a harder, more aggressive look than the white skyscrapers.
We didn't reach the building, stopping at one of the barracks. A standard five-story building, no different from the others. Just as gray.
Apparently, cadets undergoing practice live here, as at the sight of the sergeant, they snapped to attention, while simultaneously staring at my Avatar. And if the sergeant's gaze was clearly disapprovingly aggressive, in their eyes read pure curiosity.
The man snorted and squeezed out:
"You'll find where everything is. Everything you need is in the building, Agent. Questions?"
Before the sergeant drove away, I inquired. No, I'm genuinely interested.
"Is this a persona or a way of life? Such aggressive fearlessness?" I even tilted my head, twitching my ears.
Interestingly, a dead silence hung over my question. It seems the cadets heard. The sergeant again held exactly five seconds of pause.
— You have access, Agent. Think for yourself.
And he drove off. I headed into the building, cheerfully swinging my deactivated hammer and simply handing control over to the social module. It certainly knew how to show off in front of the cadets.
Besides, I have plenty to do on the UNSC Apollo. My new weapon! I just need to beg Margaret Parangosky for a Shaw-Fujikawa drive. And for that, I must perform flawlessly.
***
Read the story months before public release — early chapters are on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan