Seventh Cycle, 49 units (Covenant Battle Calendar) /Aboard Cruiser,Truth and Reconciliation, above Halo’s surface.
Zuka ’Zamamee had entered theTruth and Reconciliation via the ship’s maingravity lift, taken a secondary lift up to the command deck, sufferedthrough the usual security check, and been shown into the Council Chambersin record time. All of which seemed quite appropriate until he entered theroom to find that only a single light was on, and it was focused on the spotwhere visitors were expected to stand. There was no sign of Soha ’Rolamee,of the Prophet, or of the Elite to whom he had never been introduced.
Perhaps the Council had been delayed, there had been a scheduling error, orsome other kind of bureaucratic error. But then, why had he been admitted?
Surely the staff knew whether the Council was in session or not.
The Elite was about to turn and leave when a second spot came on and’Rolamee’s head appeared. Not attached to his body the way it should havebeen, but sitting on a gore-drenched pedestal, staring vacantly into space.
An image of the Prophet appeared and seemed to float in midair. He gesturedtoward the head. “Sad, isn’t it? But discipline must be maintained.”
The Prophet made what ’Zamamee took to be a mystical gesture. “Halo isold,extremely old, as are its secrets. Blessings, really, which theForerunners left for us to find, knowing that we would put them to good use.
“But nothing comes without risk, and there are dangers here as well, thingswhich ’Rolamee promised to keep contained, but failed to do so.
“Now, with the humans blundering about, his failures have been amplified.
Doors have been opened, powers have been released, and it is now necessaryto shift a considerable amount of our strength to the process of regainingcontrol. Do you understand?”
’Zamamee didn’t understand, not in the least, but had no intention ofadmitting that. Instead he said, “Yes, Excellency.”
“Good,” the Prophet said, “and that brings us toyou . Not only were yourmost recent efforts to trap the marauding human a total failure, he went onto neutralize part of Halo’s security system, found his way in to theSilent Cartographer, and will no doubt use it to cause us even more trouble.
“So,” the Prophet added conversationally, “I thought it might beinstructive for you to come here, take a good look at the price of failure,and decide whether you can afford the cost. Do you understand me?”
’Zamamee gulped, then nodded. “Yes, Excellency, I do.”
“Good,” the Prophet said smoothly. “I’m gratified to hear it. Now,having failed once, and having determined never to do so again, tell me howyou plan to proceed.If I like the answer,if you can convince me that it willwork, then you will leave this room alive.”
Fortunately ’Zamamee not only had a plan, but anexciting plan, and he wasable to convince the Prophet that it would work.
But later, after the Elite had rejoined Yayap, and the two of them wereleaving the ship, it wasn’t a vision of glory that he saw, but ’Rolamee’svacant stare.
The Master Chief paused just inside the hatch to ensure that he wasn’tbeing followed, checked to make certain that his weapons were loaded, andwondered where the hell he was. Based on instructions from Cortana,Foehammer had dropped her Pelican through a hole in Halo’s surface, flownthe dropship through one of the enormous capillary-like maintenance tunnelsthat crisscrossed just below the ring world’s skin, and dropped theunlikely twosome off on a cavernous landing platform. From there the Spartanfelt his way through a maze of passageways and rooms, many of which had beendefended.
Now, as he walked the length of another corridor, he wondered what laybeyond the hatch ahead.
The answer was quite unexpected. The door opened to admit cold air and asudden flurry of snowflakes. It appeared as if he was about to step out ontothe deck of a footbridge. A barrier blocked some of the view, but the noncomcould see traction beams that served in place of suspension cables, and thegray cliff face beyond.
“The weather patterns here seem natural, not artificial,” Cortana observedthoughtfully. “I wonder if the ring’s environmental systems aremalfunctioning—or if the designerswanted this particular installation tohave inclement weather.”
“Maybe this isn’t even inclement weather to them,” he said.
The Chief, who wasn’t sure it made a hell of a lot of difference, not tohimanyway, stuck his nose around the edge of the hatch to see what might bewaiting for them.
The answer was a Shade, with a Grunt seated at the controls. A quick glanceto the right confirmed the presence of asecond energy weapon, this oneunmanned.
Then, just as he was about to make his move, a Pelican appeared off to theleft, roared over the bridge, and settled into the valley below. There was asquawk of static, followed by a grim-sounding male voice.
“This is Fire Team Zulu requesting immediate assistance from any USNCforces. Does anyone copy? Over.”
The AI recognized the call sign as belonging to one of the units operatingout of Alpha Base and made her reply.“Cortana to Fire Team Zulu. I readyou. Hold position. We’re on the way.”
“Roger that,”the voice replied.“Make it quick.”
So much for the element of surprise,he thought. The Spartan stepped out ofthe hatch, shot the Grunt in the head, and hurried to take the alien’splace on the Shade. He could hear the commotion the sudden attack had causedand knew he had only seconds to bring the barrel around.
He swiveled the weapon into position, saw the sight glow red, and pulled thetrigger. A Grunt and a Jackal were snatched off their feet as the raveningenergy bolts consumed not only them, but a chunk of the bridge as well. Allthe rest of the enemy forces seemed to melt back into the woodwork.
Then, with no clear targets left in sight, he took a moment to inspect thebridge. It appeared to have been built for use by pedestrians rather thanvehicles, had two levels, and was held aloft by the traction beams he hadobserved earlier. Snow swirled down from above, hissed when it hit theglowing cables, then ceased to exist.
There was movement farther down the bridge deck, which he rewarded with asteady stream of glowing energy. He used the plasma like water from a hose,squirting the deadly fire into every nook and cranny he could find, therebyclearing the way.
Then, satisfied that he had nailed all the obvious targets, the Spartanjumped to the deck. The bridge was large enough that it featured a varietyof islands, turn-outs, and pass-throughs, all of which could be used forcover. That cut two ways, of course—meaning that the Covenant had plenty ofplaces to hide.
Moving from one bit of protection to the next, he fought his way across thespan, dropping down to the lower level to deal with Covenant forces there,then resurfacing at the far end, where he spotted an Elite armed with anenergy blade. The Elite ducked behind a wall.
The Chief saw no reason to close with such a dangerous opponent if it couldbe avoided, and tossed a plasma grenade over the wall. He heard the startledreaction as the explosive device latched onto the Elite’s armor and refusedto let go. The alien emerged from hiding, and vanished in a flash of light.
Thankful to put the bridge behind him, the Chief activated the hatch, madehis way through the mazelike room beyond, and entered a lift. It dropped fora long time before coming to a relatively smooth stop and allowing him toexit. A short passageway took him to a hatch and the battle that ragedbeyond.
As the door opened the Master Chief looked up, saw the bridge directlyabove, and had a good idea where he was. Then, looking down, he saw a snow-covered valley, punctuated by groups of boulders, and the occasional standof trees.
Judging from the fact that most of the Covenant fire was directed toward thecorner of the valley off to his left, the Spartan assumed that at least partof Fire Team Zulu was trapped there. They were under fire from at least twoShades and a Ghost, but putting up a good fight nonetheless.
He knew that the heavy weapons offered the greatest danger to the Marines.
He sprinted from the protection of the tunnel, paused to shoot the nearestgunner with his pistol, then headed toward the dead Grunt’s Shade. He couldfeel the heat radiating off the weapon’s barrel as he jerked the corpse outof the seat and took his place behind the controls. There were plenty oftargets, a rather busy Ghost primary among them, so the Chief decided totackle that first. A couple of bursts were sufficient to get the pilot’sattention and bring him into range.
Both the human and the Elite opened fire at the same moment, theirreciprocal fire drawing straight lines back and forth, but the Shade wonout. The attack vehicle shuddered, skittered sideways, and blew up.
But there was no opportunity to celebrate as a Wraith mortar tank turned itsattention to that corner of the valley, lobbed cometlike energy bombs highinto the air, and started to walk them toward the Marines.
The Spartan sent a stream of energy bolts toward the tank, but the range wastoo great, and the fire couldn’t penetrate the monster’s armor.
Convinced that he would have to find some other way to deal with the tank,the Chief decided to bail out, and was twenty meters away when one of thebombs scored a direct hit on the Shade he had just occupied.
The Marines saw him coming and took heart from his sudden appearance on thescene. A Corporal tossed him a weak grin, and whooped, “The cavalry hasarrived!”
“We can sure use your help—that Shade has us pinned,” another Marinechimed in.
The soldier pointed and the Spartan saw that the Covenant had dropped aShade onto the top of a huge rock overlooking the valley. The elevationallowed the weapon to command half the depression and even as the Chieflooked, the gunner continued to pound the area where Fire Team Zulu hadtaken refuge.
The Marines’ Warthog had flipped, spilling supplies out onto the ground.
The Master Chief paused to grab a rocket launcher, but knew the range wasextreme, and that it would pay to get closer.
So he slung the launcher across his back, checked the load on his assaultweapon, and moved into the trees. A party of Grunts made a run at theMarines, and were pushed back even as the Spartan spotted a likely lookingtree trunk. He moved up, killed the Jackal that lurked behind the treecover, then brought the launcher up to his shoulder. The Shade winked bluelight as he peered through the sight, increased the magnification, and sawthe gun leap toward him. Then, careful to hold the tube steady, he fired.
There was an explosion on top of the rock, and the Shade toppled off theside of a cliff.
The Marines cheered, but the Master Chief had already shifted priorities. Heran for the ’Hog.
A mortar bomb exploded behind him and blew the tree cover he’d just vacatedinto splinters. A Marine screamed as a meter-long shard of wood penetratedhis abdomen and nailed him to the ground.
The Spartan grabbed hold of the Warthog’s bumper, then used his armor’sstrength enhancements to flip it back onto its tires. One Marine jumpedaboard and manned the LAAG, and another jumped into the passenger seat.
Snow sprayed out from behind both of the rear tires as the Spartan put hisfoot down, felt the ’Hog break loose, and steered into the skid.
The sudden movement gave their position away to the Wraith. It belched, anda comet arced their way and slid sideways across the center of the valley asif to block the humans from reaching the other end.
The Spartan saw the fireball, raced to pass under it, and heard the LAAGopen up as the range to the Wraith began to close.
But there was an infantry screen to penetrate before they could dance withthe tank, and both the LAAG gunner and the Marine in the passenger seat wereforced to deal with a screen comprised of Elites, Jackals, and Grunts as theChief slammed on the brakes, backed out of a crossfire, and turned toprovide them with a better angle.
The M41 roared as it sent hundreds of rounds downrange, plucked Grunts likeflowers, and hurled them back into the bloodied snow.
The Marine in the passenger seat yelled, “Youwant me? Youwant some of this?
Come and get it!” as he emptied a clip into an Elite. The eight-foot-tallwarrior staggered under the impact and fell over backward. He wasn’t dead,however, not yet, not until the front of the Warthog sucked him under andspit chunks out the back.
Then they were through the screen, and more important, inside the dead areawhere the Wraith couldn’t fire mortar bombs without risking dropping themon itself. That was the key, the factor that made the attack possible. TheChief braked on a patch of ice, and felt the ’Hog start to slide. “Hithim!” he ordered.
The gunner, who couldn’t possibly miss at that range, opened fire. Therewas an earsplitting roar as large-caliber rounds pounded the side of thetank. Some glanced off, others shattered, but none of them managed topenetrate the Wraith’s thick armor.
“Watch out!” the Marine in the passenger seat exclaimed. “The bastard istrying to ram!”
The Spartan, who had just managed to bring the Warthog to a stop, saw thatthe private was correct. The tank surged forward, and was just about tocrush the LRV, when the Master Chief slammed the lighter vehicle intoreverse. All four wheels spun as the ’Hog backed away, guns blazing,suddenly on the defensive.
Then, having opened what he hoped was a sufficient gap, the Spartan braked.
He slammed the shifter forward and swung the wheel to the right. Thevehicles were so close as they passed each other that the Wraith scraped the’Hog’s flank, hard enough to tip the left-side wheels off the snowyground. They hit with a thump, the LAAG came off-target, and the gunnerbrought it to bear again. “Hammer it from behind!” the Chief yelled. “Itmight be weaker there!”
The gunner obeyed and was rewarded with a sharp explosion. A thousand piecesof metal flew up into the air, turned lazy circles, and drifted downward.
Black smoke boiled up out of the wreckage. What remained of the tank slammedinto a boulder, and the battle was over.
The valley belonged to Fire Team Zulu.
Cortana’s intelligence revealed there were other valleys, all connected byone means or another, and he would have to negotiate every one of them inorder to reach his objective. A drop-off prevented the Spartan from takingthe Warthog any farther.
He bailed out and made his way through the snow. A cold wind whistled pasthis visor and snowflakes dusted the surface of his armor. “Damn,” one ofthe Marines remarked, “I forgot my mittens.”
“Stow the BS,” a sergeant growled. “Watch those trees . . . this ain’tno picnic.”
Strangely, the Chief felt very calm. Right then, right there, he was home.
It was sunny, only a few clouds dotted the sky, and the strangely uniformhills piled one on top of the other as if eager to reach the low-lyingmountain ridge beyond. It had been dry in this region, which meant that thevehicles sent wisps of dust into the air as they climbed up off the plain,and made for the heights above.
The patrol consisted of two captured Ghosts, or “Gees” as some of theMarines called them, plus two of the Warthogs that had survived the long,arduous journey back from thePillar of Autumn .
Various combinations had been tried, but McKay liked the two-plus-twoconfiguration best, combining as it did the best features ofboth designs.
The alien attack craft were faster than the LRVs, which meant they couldcover a lot of ground in a short period of time, thereby reducing the wearand tear on both the four-wheelers and the troops who rode them. But theGhosts couldn’t handle broken ground the way the Warthogs could and, nothaving anything like the M41 LAAG, they were vulnerable to Banshees.
Therefore, if an enemy aircraft appeared, it was standard procedure for theGees to scuttle in under the protection offered by the three-barreledweapons mounted on the ’Hogs. Each Warthog carried a passenger armed with arocket launcher as well, which provided the Marines with even moreantiaircraft capability.
Of course thereal stick, the one the Covenant had learned to respect, was aPelican full of Helljumpers sitting on a pad back at Alpha Base ready tolaunch on two minutes’ notice. It could put as many as fifteen ODST Marineson any point inside the designated patrol area within ten minutes. No smallthreat.
The purpose of the patrols was to monitor a circle ten kilometers indiameter with Alpha Base at its center. Now that the Marines had taken thebutte and fortified it, they had to hold onto the high keep. And while therehad been some air raids, and a couple of ground-based probes, the Covenanthad yet to launch an all-out attack, something that bothered both Silva andMcKay. It was almost as if the aliens were content to let the humans sitthere while they tended to something else—although neither one of theofficers could imagine what the something else could be.
That didn’t mean a complete cessation of activity; far from it, since theenemy had taken to watching the humans, making note of which routes theytook, and setting ambushes along the way.
McKay tried to ensure that she never followed the same path twice in a row,but often the terrain dictated where the vehicles could go, and that meantthat there were certain river crossings, rocky defiles, and mountain passeswhere the enemy could safely lie in wait—assuming they had the patience forit.
As the patrol approached one such spot, a pass between two of the largerhills, the Marine on the lead Ghost called in.“Red Three to Red One,over.”
McKay, who had decided to ride shotgun in the first ’Hog, keyed her mike.
“This is One. Go . . . Over.”
“I see a Ghost, Lieutenant. It’s on its side—like it crashed orsomething. Over.”
“Stay clear of it,” the officer advised. “It could be some sort of trap.
Hold on, we’ll be there shortly. Over.”
“Affirmative. Red Three, out.”
The Warthog bounced over some rocks, growled as the driver downshifted, andentered an open area that led up to the pass. “Red One to team: We’llleave the vehicles here and proceed on foot. Gunners, stay on those weapons,and split the sky. The last thing we need is to get bounced by a Banshee.
Ghost Two, keep an eye on the back door. Over.”
There was a series of double-clicks by way of acknowledgment as McKay tookthe Warthog’s rocket launcher, jumped to the ground, and followed herdriver up the path. A scorched rock, and what might have been a patch ofdried blood, served as reminder of the patrol that had been ambushed therenot long ago.
The sun beat down on the officer’s back, the air was hot and still, andgravel crunched under her boots. The hill could have been on Earth, up inthe Cascade Mountains. McKay wished that it were.
Yayap lay next to a pile of wreckage and waited to die. Like most of’Zamamee’s ideas, this one was totally insane.
After failing to find and kill the armored human, ’Zamamee had concludedthat the elusive alien must be on top of the recently captured butte. Or, ifnoton the butte, then coming and going from the butte, which was the onlybase the humans had established. The butte was a strong point that theCouncil of Masters would very much like to take back.
The only problem was that ’Zamamee had no way to know when the human wasthere, and when he wasn’t, because while taking the butte would besomething of a coup, doing so without killing the human might or might notbe sufficient to keep his head on his shoulders.
So, having given the problem extensive thought, and aware of the fact thathumansdid take prisoners, the Elite came up with the idea of putting a spyon top of the butte, someone who could send a signal when the target was inresidence, thereby triggering a raid.
But who to send? Nothim , since it would be his role to lead the attack, andnot some other Elite, because they were deemed too valuable for such adangerous scheme—nor could they be trusted not to steal the glory of thekill—especially given the increased demands associated with countering themysterious “powers” to which the Prophet had referred.
That suggested a lower ranking member of the Covenant forces, but someone’Zamamee could trust. Which was why Yayap had been equipped with anappropriate cover story, enthusiastically beaten up, and laid out next to awrecked Ghost which one of the transports had dropped in during the hours ofdarkness.
The final scene had been established just prior to dawn, which meant thatthe Grunt had been there for nearly five full units. Unable to do more thanflex his muscles lest he unknowingly give himself away, with nothing todrink, and subject to his own considerable fears, Yayap silently cursed theday he “rescued” ’Zamamee. Better to have died in the crash of the humanvessel.
Yes, ’Zamamee swore that the humans took prisoners, but what didhe know?
Thus far, Yayap had been unimpressed with ’Zamamee’s plans. Yayap had seenMarines shoot more than one downed warrior during the battle on thePillar ofAutumn , and saw no reason why they would spare him. And what if theydiscovered the signaling device that had been incorporated into hisbreathing apparatus?
No, the odds were against him, and the more he thought about it, the morethe Grunt realized that he should have run. Taken what he could, headed outonto the surface of Halo, sought shelter with the other deserters who lurkedthere. The dignity of his eventual suffocation when his methane bladderfinally emptied had considerable appeal.
It was too late for that now. Yayap heard the crunch of gravel, smelled themusky, unpleasant meat odor he had come to associate with humans, and felt ashadow fall over his face. It seemed best to appear unconscious, so that’sexactly what he did. He fainted.
“It sounds like he’s alive,” McKay observed, as the Grunt took a breath,and the methane rig wheezed in response. “Check for booby traps, free thatleg, and search him. I don’t see much blood, but if he’s leaking, plug theholes.”
Yayap didn’t understand a word the human said, but the tone was even, andno one put a gun to his head. Maybe, just maybe, he was going to survive.
Five minutes later the Grunt had been hog-tied, thrown into the back of anLRV, and left to bounce around back there.
McKay recovered two saddlebag-style containers from the wrecked Ghost, oneof which contained some clothes wrapped around what she took to be rations.
She sniffed the tube of bubbling paste and winced. It smelled like old sockswrapped in rotting cheese.
She stuffed the alien food back into its pack, and investigated the second.
It held a pair of Covenant memory blocks, brick-shaped chunks of somesuperdense material that could store who knew how many gazillion bytes ofinformation. Probably a kilo’s worth of BS? Yes, probably, but it wasn’tfor her to judge. Wellsley loved that kind of crap, and would have funtrying to sort it out.
If they were lucky, it would distract him from quoting the Duke ofWellington for a few precious minutes. That alone was almost worthrecovering the devices.
As the humans got back on their vehicles and went up over the pass,’Zamamee watched them from a carefully camouflaged hiding spot on aneighboring hill. He felt a thrill of vindication. The first part of hisplan was a success. The second phase—and his inevitable victory—wouldfollow.
Finally, after battling his way through wintry valleys twisting passageways,and mazelike rooms, the Master Chief opened still another hatch and peeredoutside. He saw snow, the base of a large construct, and a Ghost whichpatrolled the area beyond.
“The entrance to the Control Center is located at the top of the pyramid,”
Cortana said. “Let’s get up there. We should commandeer one of thoseGhosts, we’re going to need the firepower.”
The Spartan believed her, but as he stepped through the hatch, and moreGhosts appeared and began shooting at him, none of the pilots seemed readyto surrender their machines. He destroyed one of them with a long,controlled burst from his assault rifle, then scurried up through a jumbleof boulders, and perched on one of the pyramid’s long, sloping skirts.
From his new position he saw a Hunter patrolling the area above, and wishedhe had a rocket launcher. He might as well have wished for a Scorpion tank.
The pyramid’s support structures offered some cover, which allowed theMaster Chief to climb unobserved, and toss a fragmentation grenade at themonster above. It went off with a loudcraack! , peppered the alien’s armorwith shrapnel, and generally pissed him off.
Alerted now, the Hunter fired his fuel rod cannon, just as the Chief hurleda plasma grenade and hoped his aim was better this time. The energy pulsemissed, the grenade didn’t, and there was a flash of light as the Covenantwarrior went down.
It was tempting to run for the top, but if there was one lesson the Spartanhad learned over the last few days it was that Hunters traveled in pairs.
Rather than leave such a potent enemy guarding his six, the Master Chiefclimbed up to the first level, ducked around the wall that separated oneside of the pyramid from the next, and took a peek. Sure enough, there wasHunter number two, gazing down-slope, unaware of the fact that his bondbrother was dead. The human put a burst into the alien’s unprotected back.
The spined warrior fell and slid, face first, to the bottom of thestructure.
The Chief worked his way farther up, zigzagging back and forth across thefront of the massive pyramid while an extremely determined Banshee pilottried to bag him from above, and all manner of Grunts, Jackals, and Elitesemerged to try and block his progress.
He took a deep breath, and continued his climb.
At the top of the pyramid, the Spartan paused and allowed his long-sufferingshield system to recharge. He stepped over the fallen body of a Grunt, andloaded his last clip into the assault rifle.
A huge door fronted the top level. There was no way to tell what waited onthe other side, but it wasn’t likely to be friendly—a series of motionsensor traces ghosted at the edge of the device’s range.
“What’s the plan?” Cortana inquired.
“Simple.” The Spartan took a deep breath, hit the switch, spun on hisheel, and ran.
It was about twenty meters back to the Shade, and the Chief covered thedistance in seconds. Once at the controls he swiveled the barrel around justin time to see the doors part and a horde of Covenant soldiers pour out.
The Shade was up to the job. Just as quickly as they appeared, the aliensdied.
Dismounting once again, the Spartan entered a large, hangarlike space, tookthe time required to deal with stragglers, and activated the next set ofdoors.
“Scanning,” Cortana said. “Covenant forces in the area have beeneliminated. Nicely done. Let’s move on to Halo’s Control Center.”
He made his way through the doors and out onto an immense platform. Agleaming reflective bridge, apparently without supports, extended over avast emptiness and ended in a circular walkway. In the center of thiswalkway was a moving holographic model of the Threshold system: a gianttransparent image of the gas giant overhead, the small gray moon Basis inorbit around it, and suspended between the two, the tiny shining ring ofHalo itself.
Outside of the walkway, stretching almost to the edges of the enormousspace, was another model of Halo, this one thousands of feet across,displaying as it rotated a detailed map of the terrain on its inner surface.
The span lacked any kind of railing, as if to remind those who passed overit of the dangers attendant to the power they were about to encounter. Or soit seemed to the Master Chief.
“This is it . . . Halo’s Control Center,” Cortana said as the MasterChief approached a large panel. It was covered with glyphs, all of whichglowed as if lit from within, and went together to form what looked like apiece of abstract art.
“That terminal,” the AI said. “Try there.”
The Spartan reached out to touch one of the symbols, then stopped.
He felt Cortana’s presence dwindle in his mind as she transmitted herselfinto the alien computer station. A moment later, she appeared—giant-sized—over the control panel. Data scrolled across her body, energy seemed toradiate out of her holographic skin, and her features were alight withpleasure.
Her “skin” shifted from blue to purple, to red, then cycled back as shegazed around the room and sighed.
“Are you all right?” the Master Chief inquired. He hadn’t expected this.
“Never been better!” Cortana affirmed. “You can’t imagine the wealth ofinformation—somuch , so fast. It’sglorious !”
“So,” the Master Chief asked, “what sort of weapon is it?”
The AI looked surprised. “What are you talking about?”
“Let’s stay focused,” the Spartan responded. “Halo. How do we use itagainst the Covenant?”
The image of Cortana frowned. Suddenly her voice was filled with disdain.
“This ring isn’t a cudgel, you barbarian, it’s something else. Somethingmuch more important. The Covenant were right, this ring—”
She paused, and her eyes moved back and forth as she scanned the tidal waveof data she now accessed. A puzzled look flashed across her face.
“Forerunner,” she muttered. “Give me a moment to access . . .”
A moment later, she began to speak, and her words rushed out in a flood, asif the constant stream of new information was sweeping her along.
“Yes, the Forerunners built this place, what they called a fortress world,in order to—”
The Chief had never heard the AI talk like that before, didn’t like beingreferred to as a “barbarian,” and was about to cut her down to size whenshe spoke again. Plainly alarmed, her voice had a hesitant quality. “No,that can’t be . . . Oh, those Covenant fools, they must have known, theremust have been signs.”
The Chief frowned. “Slow down. You’re losing me.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “The Covenantfound something , buried in thisring, somethinghorrible . Now they’re afraid.”
“Something buried?”
Cortana looked off into the distance as if she could actually see Keyes.
“Captain—we’ve got to stop the Captain. The weapons cache he’s lookingfor, it’s not really—we can’t let him get inside.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There’s no time!” Cortana said urgently. Her eyes were neon pink andthey focused on the Spartan like twin lasers. “I have to remain here. Getout, find Keyes, stop him. Before it’s too late!”