D+73:34:16 (SPARTAN-117 Mission Clock) /On board theTruth and Reconciliation .
He wasn’t here, wasn’t there, wasn’tanywhere insofar as the Chief couldtell from within the strange never-never land of Halo’s teleportation net.
He couldn’t see or hear anything, save a sense of dizzying velocity. TheSpartan felt his body stitched back together, one molecule at a time. He sawsnatches of what looked like the interior of a Covenant ship as bands ofgolden light strobed up and disappeared over his head.
Something was wrong and he was just starting to figure out what it was—theinside of the ship seemed to be upside down—when he flipped head over heelsand crashed to the deck.
He’d materialized with his feet planted firmly on the corridor’s ceiling.
“Oh!” Cortana exclaimed. “I see, the coordinate data needs to be—”
The Chief came to his feet, slapped the general area where his implantswere, and shook his head. The AI sounded contrite. “Right. Sorry.”
“Never mind that,” the Spartan said. “Give me a sit-rep.”
She patched back into the Covenant computing systems, a much easier task nowthat they were aboard one of the enemy’s warships.
“The Covenant network is absolute chaos,” she replied. “From what I’vebeen able to piece together, the leadership ordered all ships to abandonHalo when they found the Flood, but they were too late. The Floodoverwhelmed this cruiser and captured it.”
“I assume,” he said, “that’sbad .”
“The Covenant think so. They’re terrified that the Flood will repair theship and use it to escape from Halo. They sent a strike team to neutralizethe Flood and prepare the ship for immediate departure.”
The Chief peered down the corridor. The bulkheads were violet. Or was thatlavender? Strange patterns marbled the material, like the oily sheen of abeetle’s carapace. Whatever it was, he didn’t care for it, especially on amilitary vessel, but who knew? Maybe the Covenant thought olive drab was forwimps.
He started forward, but quickly came up short as a voice that verged on agroan came in over his implants.“Chief . . . Don’t be a fool . . . Leaveme.”
It was Keyes’ voice.
Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Service number 01928-19912-JK. He clung to the tetherof his CNI carrier wave, and “heard” familiar voices. An iron-hard,rasping male voice. A tart, warm female voice.
He knew them.
Was this another memory?
He was struggling to dredge up new pieces of his past to delay the numbingadvance of the alien presence in his mind. It was harder to maintain a graspon who he was, as the various pieces of his life—the things that made himwho he was—were stripped away, one at a time.
Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Service number 01928-19912-JK.
The voices. They were talking about him. The Master Chief, the AI Cortana.
He felt a sense of mounting panic. They shouldn’tbe here.
The other grew stronger, and pressed forward, eager to learn more aboutthese creatures that were so important to the struggling prisoner who clungso stubbornly to identity.
Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Service number 01928-19912-JK.
Chief, Cortana, you shouldn’t have come. Don’t be a fool. Leave me. Getout of here. Run.
The presence descended, and he could feel its anticipation of victory. Itwouldn’t be long now.
“Captain?” Cortana inquired desperately. “Captain!I’ve lost him.”
Neither one of them said anything further. The pain in Keyes’ voice hadbeen clear. All they could do was drive deeper into the ship and hope tofind him.
The Chief passed through a hatch, noticed that the right bulkhead wassplattered with Covenant blood, and figured a battle had been fought there.
That meant he could expect to run into the Flood at any moment. As hecontinued down the passageway his throat felt unusually dry, his heart beata little bit faster, and his stomach muscles were tight.
His suspicions were soon confirmed as he heard the sounds of battle, took aright, and saw that a firefight was underway at the far end of the corridor.
He let the combatants go at it for a bit before moving in to cut thesurvivors down.
From there he took a left, followed by a right, and came to a hatch. Itopened to reveal a black hole with jagged edges. Farther back, beyond thedrop-off,another firefight was underway.
“Analyzing data,” Cortana said. “This hole was caused by some sort ofexplosion . . . All I detect down there are pools of coolant. We shouldcontinue our search somewhere else.”
The AI’s advice made sense, so the Spartan turned to retrace his steps.
Then, as he took the first left, all hell broke loose. Cortana said,“Warning! Threat level increasing!” and then, as if to prove her point, amob of Flood came straight at him.
He fired, retreated, and fired again. Carrier forms exploded in a welter ofshattered flesh, severed tentacles, and green slime. Combat forms rushedforward as if eager to die, danced under the impact of the 7.62mm rounds,and flew apart. Infection forms skittered across the decks, leaped into theair, and shattered into flaps of flying flesh.
But there were too many, far too many for one person to handle, and even asthe Chief heard Cortana say something about the black hole he accidentallybacked into it, fell about twenty meters, and plunged feetfirst into a pondof green liquid. Not in the ship, but somewhere under it, on the surfacebelow. The coolant wasso cold that he could feel it through his armor. Itwas thick, too—which made it more difficult to move.
The Master Chief felt his boots hit bottom, knew the weight of his armorwould hold him in place, and marched up onto what had become a beach ofsorts. The cavern was dark, lit mostly by the luminescent glow produced bythe coolant itself, although streaks of plasma fire slashed back and forthup ahead, punctuated by the steadythud, thud, thud of an automatic weapon.
“Let’s get out of here,” Cortana said, “and find another way back aboardthe ship.”
He moved up toward the edge of the conflict and let the combatants hammereach other for a bit before lobbing a grenade into the mix, waiting for thebody parts to fall, and strafing what was left.
Then, having moved forward, he was forced to fight his way through a seriesof narrow, body-strewn passageways as what seemed like an inexhaustiblesupply of Flood forms came at him from every possible direction.
Eventually, having made his way through grottoes of coolant, and past pilesof corpses, Cortana said, “We should headthis way—toward the ship’sgravity lift,” and the Spartan saw a nav pointer appear on his HUD. Hefollowed the red arrow around a bend to a ledge above a coolant-filledbasin. Even as he watched, a dozen carrier forms marched up out of the greenlagoon to attack a group of hard-pressed Covenant soldiers.
The Spartan knew there was no way in hell that he’d be able to force hisway throughthat mess, turned, and made his way back down the trail. A sniperrifle, just one of hundreds of weapons scattered around the area, was halfobscured by a headless combat form. The petty officer removed the rifle,checked to ensure that it was loaded, and returned to the overlook. Then,careful to make each shot count, he opened fire.
The Elites, Jackals, and Grunts went down fairly easily. But the Floodforms, especially the carriers, were practically impossible to kill withthis particular weapon. With few exceptions the heavy round seemed to passright through the lumpy-looking bastards without causing any harmwhatsoever.
When all of the 14.5mm ammo was gone, the Chief went back for the shotgun,jumped into the green liquid, and waded up onto the shoreline. He heard anobscene sucking noise, saw an infection form trying to enter an Elite’schest cavity, and blew both of them away.
After that there was more clean-up to do as some combat forms took a run atthe human and a flock of infection forms tried to roll him under. Repeateddoses of shotgun fire turned out to be just what the doctor ordered—thearea was soon littered with severed tentacles and scraps of wet flesh.
A pitch-black passageway led him back to another pool where he arrived justin time to see the Flood overrun a Shade and the Elite who was seated at thecontrols. The Spartan began firing, already backpedaling, when the Floodspotted him and hopped, waddled, and jumped forward. He fired, reloaded, andfired again. Always retreating, always on the defensive, always hoping for arespite.
This wasn’t his kind of fight. Spartans were designed as offensive weapons,but ever since they’d landed on the ring, he’d been on the run. He had tofind a way to take the offensive, and soon.
There was no break in the endless wall of Flood attackers. He fired untilhis weapons were empty, pried energy weapons out of dead fingers, and firedthose until they were dry.
Finally, more by virtue of stubbornness than anything else, and havingreacquired human weapons from dead combat forms, the Master Chief foundhimself standing all alone, rifle raised, with no one to shoot at. He felt apowerful sense of elation—he wasalive .
It was a moment he couldn’t take time to enjoy.
Eager to reboard the cruiser and find Captain Keyes, he made his way backalong the path he had been forced to surrender to the Flood, passed theShade, rounded a bend, and saw a couple dozen infection forms materializeout of the darkness ahead. A plasma grenade strobed the night, pulverizedtheir bodies, and produced a satisfyingboom! It was still echoing off thecanyon walls as the human eased his way through a narrow passage and emergedat one end of a hotly contested pool. About fifty meters away the Covenantand Flood surged back and forth, traded fire with each other, and appearedto be on the verge of hand-to-tentacle combat. Two well-thrown grenades cutthe number of hostiles in half. The MA5B took care of the rest.
“There’s the gravity lift!” Cortana said. “It’s still operational.
That’s our way back in.”
It sounded simple, but as the Master Chief looked up at the hill on whichthe lift was sited, well-aimed plasma fire lashed down to scorch the rock athis right elbow. It glowed as the human was forced to pull back, wait for alull, and dash forward again. Looking ahead, he spotted the point where agroup of hard-pressed Covenant were trying to bar a group of Flood frommaking their way up a path toward the top of the hill and the foot of thegravity lift. It was a last stand, and the Covenant knew it. They foughtharder than he’d ever seen the aliens fight. He felt a moment of kinshipwith the Covenant soldiers.
He stood and threw two grenades into the middle of the melee, waited for thetwin explosions and went in shooting. An Elite sent plasma stuttering intothe night sky as he fell over backward, a combat form swung a Jackal’s armlike a club, and a pair of infection forms rode a Grunt down into the poolof coolant. It was a madness, a scene straight from hell, and the human hadlittle choice but to kill everything that moved.
As the last bodies crumpled to the ground, the Spartan was free to followthe steadily rising path upward, turn to the right, and enter the lift’sfootprint. He felt static electricity crackle around his armor, and heardplasma shriek through the air as a distant Covenant took exception to hisplans. Then the Chief was gone, pulled upward, into the belly of the beast.
Keyes? Keyes, Jacob. Yes, that was it. Wasn’t it?
He couldn’t remember—there was nothing left now but navigation protocols,defense plans. And a duty to keep them safe.
A droning buzz filled his mind. He vaguely remembered hearing it before, butdidn’t know what it was.
It pressed in, hungry.
Metal rang under her boots as McKay jumped down off the last platform ontothe huge metal grating. It shivered in response. The trip down from the mesahad taken more than fifteen minutes. First, she had taken the still-functional lift down to the point where she and her troops had forced theirway into the butte, back when the Covenant still occupied it, thentransferred to the circular staircase, which, like the rifling on the insideof a gun barrel, wound its way down to the bottom of the shaft and thebarrier under her feet.
“Good to see you, ma’am,” a Private said, as he materialized at herelbow. “Sergeant Lister would like to speak with you.”
McKay nodded, said “Thanks,” and made her way over to the far side of thegrating where the so-called Entry Team were gathered into a tight littlegroup next to an assemblage of equipment that had been lowered from above. Aportable work light glowed at the very center of the assemblage and threwhuge shadows up onto the walls around them. Bodies parted as McKayapproached, and Lister, who was down on his hands and knees, jumped to hisfeet. “Ten-hut!”
Everyone came to attention. McKay noticed the way that the long hours andconstant stress had pared what little bit of extra flesh there was off thenoncom’s face, leaving it gaunt and haggard. “As you were. How does itlook? Any contact?”
“No, ma’am,” Lister responded, “not yet. But take a look atthis .”
A Navy tech directed a handheld spotlight down through the grating and theofficer knelt to get a better look. The stairs, which had ended on the farside of the platform, appeared to pick up again just below the grating andcircled into the darkness below.
“Look at the metal,” Lister prompted, “and look at what’s piled up onthe stairs below.”
McKay looked, saw that the thick metal crosspieces had been twisted out ofshape, and saw a large pile of weapons below. No human ordnance as far asshe could tell, just Covenant, which was to say plasma weapons. With nocutting torches to call upon, not yet anyway, it looked as though the Floodhad depleted at least a hundred energy pistols and rifles in a futileattempt to cut their way through the grating. Given some more time, sayanother day or two, they might have succeeded.
“You’ve got to give the bastards credit,” McKay said grimly. “They nevergive up. Well, neither do we. Let’s cut this sucker open, go down, and lockthe back door.”
Lister said, “Ma’am, yes ma’am,” but there were none of the usual gung-ho responses from the others who stood around him. It was dark down there—and nightmares lay in wait.
Once inside thePillar of Autumn , ’Zamamee and Yayap found conditions to beboth better and worse than they had expected. Consistent with the Grunt’spredictions, the officer in charge—an overworked Elite named ’Ontomee—hadbeen extremely glad to see them, and wasted little time placing ’Zamamee incharge of twenty Jackals, with Yayap as senior NCO.
That, plus the fact that the security detachment had a reasonable amount ofsupplies, including methane, meant that basic physical needs had been met.
That was the good news.
The bad news was that ’Zamamee, now known as Huki ’Umamee, lived inconstant fear that an Elite who knew either him or the recently deceasedcommando he had decided to impersonate would come along and reveal histrueidentity, or that the Prophets would somehow pluck the information out ofthin air, as they were rumored to be able to do. These fears caused theofficer to lay low, stay out of sight, and delegate most of his leadershipresponsibilities to Yayap.
This would have been annoying but acceptable where a contingent of Gruntswas concerned, but was made a great deal more difficult by the fact that theJackals saw themselves as being superior to the “gas suckers,” and wereanything but pleased when they found themselves reporting to Yayap.
Then, as if to add to the Grunt’s woes, the Flood had located thePillar ofAutumn , and while they were unable to infiltrate the vessel via any of themaintenance ways that ran back and forth just below the ring world’ssurface, they had become adept at entering the vessel through rents in itsseverely damaged hull, the air locks where lifeboats had once been docked,and on one memorable occasion via one of the Covenant’s own patrols, whichhad been ambushed, turned into combat forms, and sent back into the ship.
The ruse had been detected, but only after some of the “contaminated”
soldiers were inside the vessel. A few of them were still at large,somewhere within the human vessel.
As the Grunt and his group of surly Jackals stood guard in theAutumn ’sshuttle bay, a dropship loaded with supplies circled over the downed ship,asked for and received the necessary clearances, and swooped in for alanding.
Yayap eyed his recalcitrant troops, saw that three of them had drifted awayfrom their preassigned positions, and used his radio to herd them back.
“Jak, Bok, and Yeg, we have a shuttle coming in. Focus on the dropship—notthe area outside.”
The Jackals were too smart to say anything over the radio, but the Gruntknew they were grumbling among themselves as they returned to their variousstations and the ship settled onto the blast-scarred deck.
“Watch the personnel slots,” Yayap cautioned his troops, referring to thesmall compartments that lined the outside surfaces of the shuttle’s twinhulls. “They could be packed with Flood.”
In spite of the resentment he felt, Bok touched a switch and opened all ofthe slots for inspection, a new security procedure instituted three daysbefore. The compartments were empty. The Jackals sniggered, and there wasnothing Yayap could do but suffer through the indignity of it.
With that formality out of the way, a crew of Grunts moved in to unloadsupplies from the cargo compartments that lined theinside surface of thedropship’s hulls, and towed the heavily loaded antigrav pallets out ontothe deck. Then, with the unloading process complete, the shuttle rose on itsgrav field, turned toward the hatch, and passed out into bright sunlight.
The cargo crew checked the label on each cargo container to see where it wassupposed to go, gabbled at one another, and were about to tow the palletsaway when Yayap intervened.
“Stop! I want you to open those cargo mods one at a time. Make sure theycontain what they’re supposed to.”
If the previous order had been unpopular, this one met with out-and-outrebellion, as Bok decided to take Yayap on. “You’re no Elite! We’re underorders to deliver this stuffnow . If we’re late, they’ll take our heads.”
He paused and clicked his beak meaningfully. “And our kin will takeyours ,gas-sucker.”
The Jackals, all of whom were enjoying the interchange to the maximum,looked at each other and grinned.
’Zamamee should have been there, should have been giving the orders, andYayap cursed the officer from the bottom of his heart. “No,” he repliedstubbornly. “Nothing leaves here until it has been checked. That’s the newprocess. The Elites were the ones who came up with it, not me. So open themup and we’ll get you and your crew out of here.”
The other alien grumbled, but knew the rule-happy Elites would back Yayap,and turned to his crew. “All right, you heard Field Master Gas-sucker.
Let’s get this over with.”
Yayap sighed, ordered his Jackals to form a giant U with the open end towardthe cargo containers, and took his own place in the line.
What ensued was boring to say the least, as each cargo module was opened,closed, and towed out of the way. Finally, with only three containers leftto go, Bok undogged a hatch, pulled the door open, and disappeared under anavalanche of infection forms. One of the attacking pods grabbed onto theJackal’s head, wrapped its tentacles around the creature’s skull, drove apenetrator down through his throat, and had already tapped into thesoldier’s spine by the time Yayap yelled, “Fire!” and the rest of theJackals opened up.
Nothing could live where the twenty plasma beams converged—and most of theinfection forms were dead within two or three heartbeats. But Yayap thoughthe detected motionbehind the mist created by the exploding pus pods andlobbed a plasma grenade into the cargo module. There was a flash of green-yellow light as the device went off, followed by a resonantboom! as itdetonated.
The cargo container shook like a thing possessed, and chunks of raw meatflew out to spray the deck with gore. It was clear that three, or maybe evenfour combat forms had been hiding in the cargo compartment, hoping to enterthe ship.
Now, as the last of the infection forms popped, a momentary silence settledover the shuttle bay. Bok’s corpse smoldered on the deck.
“That was close,” the Jackal named Jak said. “Those stupid gassers damnednear got us killed. Good thing our file leader kept ’em in line.” Thesoldiers to either side of the former critic nodded solemnly.
Yayap, who was close enough to hear the comment, wasn’t sure whether to beangry or pleased. Somehow, for better or for worse, he’d been elevated tothe position of honorary Jackal.
A full company of heavily armed Marines waited as torches cut through themetal grating, sparks fell into the stygian blackness below, and each man orwoman considered what awaited them. Would they survive? Or leave their bonesin the bottom of the hole? There was no way to know.
Meanwhile, thirty meters away, two officers stood by themselves. McKay hadborne far more than her fair share of the burden ever since the drop. Silvawas aware of that and regretted it. Part of the problem stemmed from thefact that she was his XO, an extremely demanding position that could burneven the most capable officer out. But the truth was McKay was a betterleader than her peers, as evidenced by the fact that the Helljumpers wouldfollow her anywhere, even into a pit that might be filled with life-devouring monstrosities.
But everyone had their limits, even an officer like McKay, and the Majorknew she was close to reaching them. He could see it in the grim contours ofher once rounded face, the empty staring eyes, and the set of her mouth. Theproblem wasn’t one of strength—she was the toughest, most hard-core Marinehe knew—but one of hope.
Now, as he prepared to send her below, Silva knew she needed somethingrealto fight for, something more than patriotism, something that would allow herto get at least some of the Marines to safety.
That, plus the possibility that something could happen to him, lay behindthe briefing that ensued.
“So,” Silva began, “go down, get the lay of the land, and see if you canslam the door on those bastards. Forty-eight hours of Flood-free operationwould be ideal, but twenty-four would be sufficient, because we’ll be outof here by then.”
McKay had been looking over Silva’s shoulder, but the last sentence broughther eyes back to his. Silva saw the movement and knew he had connected. “‘Out of here,’ sir? Where would we go?”
“Home,”Silva said confidently, “to brass bands, medals, and promotionsall around. Then, with the credibility earned here, we’ll have theopportunity to create anarmy of Helljumpers, and push the Covenant back intowhatever hole they evolved from.”
“And the Flood?” McKay asked, her eyes searching his face. “What aboutthem?”
“They’re going to die,” Silva replied. “The AIs managed to link up a fewhours ago. It turns out that the Chief is alive, Cortana is with him, andthey’re trying to rescue Keyes. Once they have him they’re going to rigtheAutumn to blow. The explosion will destroy Halo and everything on it.
I’m not a fan of the Spartan program, you know that, but I’ve got to givethe bastard credit. He’s one helluva soldier.”
“It sounds good,” McKay said cautiously. “But how do we get off beforethe ring blows?”
“Ah,” Silva replied. “That’s wheremy idea comes in. While you’re downcleaning out the sewers, I’ll be up top, making the preparations necessaryto take theTruth and Reconciliation away from the Covenant. She’sspaceworthy now, and Cortana can fly her, or, if all else fails, we’ll letWellsley take a crack at it. It would be a stretch—but he might be able topull it off.
“Imagine! Arriving back on Earth in a Covenant cruiser, packed with Covietechnology, and loaded with data on Halo! The response will be incredible!
The human race needs a victory right now, and we’ll give them a big one.”
It was then, as McKay looked into the other officer’s half-lit face, thatshe realized the extent to which raw ambition motivated her superior’sactions, and knew that even if his wildest dreams were to come true, shewouldn’t want any part of the glory that Silva sought. Just getting someMarines home alive—thatwould be reward enough for her.
An old soldier’s adage flashed across her mind: “Never share a foxholewith a hero.” Glory and promotion were fine, but right now, she’d settleforsurvival , plain and simple.
First there was a loud clang, followed by the birth of six blue-white suns,which illuminated the inside surface of the shaft as they fell to the filth-encrusted floor below.
Then the invaders dropped, not one at a time down the stairs as theinfection forms might have assumed, but half a dozen all at once, danglingon ropes. They landed within seconds of each other, knelt with weapons atthe ready, and faced outward. Each Helljumper wore a helmet equipped withtwo lights and a camera. With simple back and forth movements of theirheads, the soldiers created overlapping scans of the walls which weretransmitted up to the grating above, and from there to the mesa.
McKay stood on the grating, eyed the raw footage on a portable monitor, andsaw that four large arches penetrated the perimeter of the shaft and wouldneed to be sealed in order to prevent access to the circular stairway. Therewas no sign of the Flood.
“Okay,” the officer said, “we have four holes to seal. I want those plugsat the bottom of the shaft thirty from now. I’m going down.”
Even as McKay spoke, and dropped into the hole which had been cut into thecenter of the grate, Wellsley was calculating the exact dimensions of eacharch so that Navy techs could fabricate metal “plugs” that could belowered to the bottom of the shaft, manhandled into position, and weldedinto place. Within a matter of minutes computer-generated outlines werelasered onto metal plates, torches were lit, and the cutting began.
McKay felt her boots touch solid ground, and took her first look around.
Now, finally able to see the surroundings with her own eyes, the CompanyCommander realized that a bas relief mural circled the lower part of theshaft. She wanted to go look at it, to run her fingers across the grime-caked images recorded there, but knew she couldn’t, not withoutcompromising the defensive ring and placing herself in jeopardy.
“Contact!” one of the Marines said urgently. “I saw something move.”
“Hold your fire,” McKay said cautiously, her voice echoing off the walls.
“Conserve ammo until we have clear targets.”
As soon as she’d given the “hold fire” order, the Flood gushed out intothe shaft. McKay screamed: “Now! Pull!” and seven well-anchored winchesjerked the entire team into the air and out of reach. The Marines fired asthey ascended. One Helljumper screamed curses at the combat form who wasleading the charge.
The loudmouthed Marine dropped his clip, loaded a fresh one into his rifle,and shouldered the weapon to resume fire. The combat form he’d beenshooting leaped fifteen meters into the air, wrapped his legs around theMarine’s waist, and caved in the side of the soldier’s head with a rock.
Then, with the fallen Marine’s assault weapon slung over his shoulder, thecreature climbed the rope like an oversized monkey, and raced for theplatform above.
Lister, who still stood on the grating above, aimed his pistol straightdown, put three rounds through the top of the combat form’s skull, saw theform fall backward into the milling mass below, and watched it disappearunder the tide of alien flesh.
“Let’smove , people!” the noncom said. “Raise the bait, and drop thebombs.”
Energy bolts stuttered upward as the winches whirred, the Helljumpers rose,and twenty grenades fell through the grating and into the mob below.Notfragmentation grenades, which would have thrown shrapnel up at theHelljumpers, but plasma grenades, which burned as the Flood congregatedaround them, then went off in quick succession. They vaporized most of thegibbering monsters and left the rest vulnerable to a round of gunfire and asecond dose of grenades.
Ten minutes later word came down that the plugs were ready, and a largercombat team was sent down, followed by four teams of techs. The arches wereblocked without incident, the shaft was sealed, and the grating wasrepaired. Not forever, but for the next day or so, and that was all thatmattered.
The Master Chief arrived at the top of the gravity lift and fought his waythrough a maze of passageways and compartments, occupied by Flood andCovenant alike. He rounded a corner and saw an open hatch ahead. “It lookslike a shuttle bay,” Cortana commented. “We should be able to reach theControl Room from the third level.”
The CNI link that Cortana followed served to deliver a new message from theCaptain. The voice was weak, and sounded slurred.“I gave you an order,soldier, now pull out!”
“He’s delirious,” Cortana said, “in pain. We have to find him!”
. . . pull out! I gave you an order, soldier!
The thought echoed in what was left of Keyes’ ravaged mind. The invadingpresence descended. It could tell this one was nearly expended—no moreenergy left to fight.
It pushed in on the memories that the creature so jealously guarded, andrecoiled at the sudden resistance, a defiance of terrible strength.
Keyes clutched at the last of his vital memories, and—inside his mind,where there was no one but he and the creature that attempted to absorb him—screamedNO!
Death, held in abeyance for so long, refused to rush in. Slowly, like thefinal drops of water from a recently closed faucet, his life force wasabsorbed.
With the memory of the voice to spur him on, the Master Chief made his wayout onto a gallery over the shuttle bay, found that a pitched battle was inprogress, and lobbed two grenades into the center of the conflict. They hadthe desired effect, but also signaled the human’s presence, and the Floodcame like iron filings drawn to a magnet.
The Flood onslaught was intense, and the Spartan was forced to retreat intothe passageway whence he had come in order to concentrate the targets, buysome time, and reload his weapons.
The pitched firefight ended, and he sprinted for the far side of the galleryand passed through an open hatch. He fought his way up to the next level ofthe gallery, where the Flood appeared to be holding a convention at the farend of the walkway.
The Chief was fresh out of grenades by then, which meant he had to clear thepath the hard way. A carrier form exploded, and sent a cluster of combatforms crashing to the ground.
The burst carrier spewed voracious infection forms in every direction, andcollapsed as one of the fallen combat forms hopped forward, dragging abroken leg behind him, hands clutching a grenade as if it were a bouquet offlowers.
The Spartan backed away, fired a series of ten-round bursts, and gave thankswhen the grenade exploded.
The carrier had given him an idea—when they blew, they went up in a bigway. A second of the creatures scuttled into view, and made its ungainly wayforward, accompanied by a wave of infection forms and two more combat forms.
He used his pistol scope to survey the combat forms and was gratified thatthey fit the bill: Each carried plasma grenades.
He stepped into view, and the combat forms instantly vaulted high in theair. As soon as their feet left the deck, the Chief dropped and fired—directly at the carrier.
The Spartan’s aim was perfect—as soon as they passed over the carrier, itburst, and ignited the plasma grenades the combat forms carried. They allwent up in a blue-white flash of destructive energy.
“The Control Room should bethis way,” Cortana said as he charged ahead,eager to keep them moving in the right direction.
He moved fast, advancing across the blood-slicked floor, and followedCortana’s new nav coordinates toward the still-distant hatch. He passedthrough the opening, followed the corridor to an intersection, took a right,a left, and was passing through a door when a horrible groan was heard overthe link.
“The Captain!” Cortana said. “His vitals are fading! Please Chief,hurry.”
The Spartan charged into a passageway packed with both Covenant and Flood,and sprayed the tangle of bodies with bullets.
He kept running at top speed, sprinting past enemies and ignoring theirhasty snap-shots. Time was of the essence; Keyes was fading fast.
He made it to the CNI’s carrier wave source: the cruiser’s Control Room.
The lighting was subdued, with hints of blue, and reflections off the metalsurfaces. Thick, sturdy columns framed the ramp which led up to an elevatedplatform, where something strange stood.
He thought it was a carrier at first glance, but soon realized that thecreature was far too large for that. It boasted spines that connected it tothe ceiling overhead, like thick, gray-green spiderwebs.
There were no signs of opposition, not yet anyway, which left him free tomake his way up the ramp with his rifle at the ready. As he moved closer theChief realized that the new Flood form washuge . If it was aware of thehuman presence, the creature gave no sign of it, and continued to study alarge holo panel as if committing the information displayed there to memory.
“No human life signs detected,” Cortana observed cautiously. She paused,and added: “The Captain’s life signs just stopped.”
Damn. “What about the CNI?” he asked.
“Still transmitting.”
Then the Chief noticed a bulge in the monster’s side, and realized that hewas looking at an impression of the Naval officer’s grotesquely distortedface. The AI said, “The Captain! He’s one ofthem !”
The Spartan realized then that he already knew that,had known it ever sincehe had seen Jenkins’ video, but was unwilling to accept it.
“We can’t let the Flood get off this ring!” Cortana said desperately.
“You know what he’d expect . . . What he’d want us to do.”
Yes,the Chief thought.I know my duty.
They needed to blow theAutumn ’s engines to destroy Halo and the Flood. Todo that, they needed the Captain’s neural implants.
The Master Chief drew his arm back, formed his hand into a stiff-fingeredarmored shovel, and made use of his enormous strength to plunge the crudeinstrument into the Flood form’s bloated body.
There was momentary resistance as he punched his way through the creature’sskin and penetrated the Captain’s skull to enter the half-dissolved brainthat lay within. Then, with his hand buried in the form’s seeminglynerveless body, he felt for and found Keyes’ implants.
The Chief’s hand made a popping sound as it pulled out of the wound. Heshook the spongy gore onto the deck and slipped the chips into empty slotsin his armor.
“It’s done,” Cortana said somberly. “I have the code. We should go. Weneed to get back to thePillar of Autumn . Let’s go back to the shuttle bayand find a ride.”
As if summoned by the lethargic beast that stood in front of the ship’scontrols, a host of Flood poured into the room, all of whom were clearlydetermined to kill the heavily armored invader. A flying wedge comprised ofcarrier and combat forms stormed the platform, pushed the human back, andsoaked up his bullets as if eager to receive them.
Finally, more by chance than design, the Spartan backed off the command deckand plummeted to the deck below. That bought a moment of respite. Therewasn’t much time, though, just enough to hustle up out of the channel thatran parallel to the platform above, reload both of his weapons, and put hisback into a corner.
The hordereally came for him then, honking, gibbering, and gurgling,climbing up over the bodies that were mounded in front of them, careless ofcasualties, willing to pay whatever price he required.
The storm of gunfire put out by the MJOLNIR-clad soldier wastoo powerful,toowell aimed, and the Flood started to wilt, stumble, and fall, many giving uptheir lives only inches from the Spartan’s blood-drenched boots, clawing athis ankles. He gave thanks as the last combat form collapsed, relished thesilence that settled over the room, and took a moment to reload both of hisweapons.
“Are you okay?” Cortana asked hesitantly, both grateful and amazed by thefact that the Chief was still on his feet.
He thought of Captain Keyes.
“No,” the Spartan replied. “Let’s get the hell out of here and finishthese bastards off.”
He was numb from creeping exhaustion, hunger, and combat. The planned escaperoute back to the shuttle bay was littered with Flood and Covenant alike.
The Spartan moved almost as if he was on autopilot—he simply killed andkilled and killed.
The bay was filled with Covenant forces. A dropship had deployed freshtroops into the bay and bugged out. A pair of amped-up Elites patrolled nearthe Banshee at the base of the bay.
All the possibilities raced through his weary mind. What if that particularmachine was in for repairs? What if an Elite took over the Shade and gunnedhim down? What if some bright light decided to close the outer doors?
But none of those fears were realized as the aircraft came to life, turnedtoward the planet that hung outside the bay doors, and raced into the night.
Energy beams followed, and tried to bring the Banshee down, but ultimatelyfell short. They were free once more.