ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks go to Steve Saffel for charting the course, to Doug Zartman forcoordinating the pieces, to Eric S. Trautmann for polishing ’til itsparkled, to Eric Nylund who led the way inThe Fall of Reach , to NancyFigatner and the Franchise Development Group for their support, and to JasonJones, who, along with the rest of the outstanding Bungie team, created onehelluva pulse-pounding game.
PROLOGUE
0103 Hours, September 19, 2552 (Military Calendar) /UNSC CruiserPillar of Autumn, location unknown.

Tech Officer (3rd Class) Sam Marcus swore as the intercom roused him fromfitful sleep. He rubbed his blurry eyes and glanced at the Mission Clockbolted to the wall above his bunk. He’d been asleep for three hours—hisfirst sleep cycle in thirty-six hours, damn it. Worse, this was the firsttime since the ship had jumped that he’d been able to fall asleepat all .

“Jesus,” he muttered, “this better be good.”

The Old Man had put the tech crews on triple shifts after thePillar ofAutumn jumped away from Reach. The ship was a mess after the battle, andwhat was left of the engineering crews worked around the clock to keep theaging cruiser in one piece. Nearly one third of the tech staff had diedduring the flight from Reach, and every department was running a skeletoncrew.

Everyone else went into the freezer, of course—nonessential personnelalways got an ice-nap during a Slipspace jump. In over two hundred combatcruises, Marcus had clocked fewer than seventy-two hours in cryostorage.

Right now, though, he was so tired that even the discomfort of cryorevivalsounded appealing if it meant that he could manage some uninterrupted sleep.

Of course, it was difficult to complain; Captain Keyes was a brillianttactician—and everyone aboard theAutumn knew just how close they’d come todestruction when Reach fell to the enemy. A major naval base destroyed,millions dead or dying as the Covenant burned the planet to a cinder—andone of Earth’s few remaining defenses transformed into corpses and moltenslag.

All in all, they’d been damned lucky to get away—but Sam couldn’t helpbut feel that everyone on theAutumn was living on borrowed time.

The intercom buzzed again, and Sam swung himself out of the bunk. He jabbedat the comm control. “Marcus here,” he growled.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Sam, but I need you down in Cryo Two.” Tech ChiefShephard sounded exhausted. “It’s important.”

“Cryo Two?” Sam repeated, puzzled. “What’s the emergency, Thom? I’m nota cryo specialist.”

“I can’t give you specifics, Sam. The Captain wants it kept off thecomm,” Shephard replied, his voice almost a whisper. “Just in case we haveeavesdroppers.”

Sam winced at the tone in his superior’s voice. He’d known Thom Shephardsince the Academy and had never heard the man sound so grim.

“Look,” Shephard said, “I need someone I can depend on. Like it or not,that’s you, pal. You’ve cross-checked on cryo systems.”

Sam sighed. “Months ago . . . but yes.”

“I’m sending a feed to your terminal, Sam,” Shephard continued. “It’llanswer some of your questions anyway. Dump it to a portable ’pad, grab yourgear and get down here.”

“Roger,” Sam said. He stood, shrugged into his uniform tunic, and steppedover to his terminal. He activated the computer and waited for the uploadfrom Shephard.

As he waited, his eyes locked on a small two-dee photograph taped to theedge of the screen. Sam brushed his fingers against the photo. The prettyyoung woman frozen in the picture smiled back at him.

The terminal chimed as the feed from Shephard appeared in Sam’s messagequeue. “Receiving the feed, Chief,” he called out to the intercom pickup.

He opened the file. A frown creased his tired features as a new messagescrolled across his screen.

>FILE ENCRYPTED/EYES ONLY/MARCUS, SAMUEL N./SN:18827318209-M.

>DECRYPTION KEY: [PERSONALIZED: “ELLEN’S ANNIVERSARY”]

He glanced back at the picture of his wife. He hadn’t seen Ellen in almostthree years—since his last shore leave on Earth, in fact. He didn’t knowanyone on active duty who’d been able to see their loved ones for years.

The war simply didn’t allow for it.

Sam’s frown deepened. UNSC personnel generally avoided talking about thepeople back home. The war had been going badly for so long that morale wasrock-bottom. Thinking about the home front only made things worse. The factthat Thom had personalized the security encoding was unusual enough;reminding Sam of his wife in the process was completely out of character forChief Shephard. Someone was being security-conscious to the point ofparanoia.

He punched in a series of numbers—the date of his wedding—and enabled thedecryption suite. In seconds, the screen filled with schematics and techreadouts. His practiced eye scanned the file—and adrenaline suddenly spikedthrough his fatigue like a bolt of lightning.

“Christ,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Thom, is this what . . .

who Ithink it is?”

“Damn right. Get down to Cryo Two on the double, Sam. We’ve got animportant package to thaw out—and we drop back into real space soon.”

“On my way,” he said. He killed the intercom connection, his exhaustionforgotten.

Sam quickly dumped the tech file to his portable compad and deleted theoriginal from his computer. He strode toward the door to his cabin, thenstopped. He snatched Ellen’s picture from the workstation—almost as anafterthought—and shoved it into his pocket.

He sprinted for the lift. If the Captain wanted the inhabitant of Cryo Tworevived, it meant that Keyes believed that the situation was about to gofrom bad to worse . . . or it already had.

Unlike vessels designed by humans—in which the command area was almostalways located toward the ship’s bow—Covenant ships were constructed in amore logical fashion, which meant that their control rooms were buried deepwithin heavily armored hulls, making them impervious to anything less than amortal blow.

The differences did not end there. Rather than surround themselves with allmanner of control interfaces, plus the lesser beings required to staff them,the Elites preferred to command from the center of an ascetically barrenplatform held in place by a latticework of opposing gravity beams.

However, none of these things were at the forefront of Ship Master Orna’Fulsamee’s mind as he stood at the center of his destroyer’s controlroom and stared at the data projections which appeared to float in front ofhim. One showed the ring world, Halo. Near that, a tiny arrow tracked theinterloper’s course. The second projection displayed a schematic titledHUMANATTACK SHIP, TYPE C -11. A third scrolled a constant flow of targeting data andsensor readouts.

He fought a moment of revulsion. That these filthy primates somehow meritedan actual name—let alone names for their inferior constructs—galled him tohis core. It was perverse. Names implied legitimacy, and the vermin deservedonly extermination.

The humans had “names” for his own kind—“Elites”—as well as the lesserraces of the Covenant: “Jackals,” “Grunts,” “Hunters.” The appallingtemerity of the filthy creatures, that they would darename his people withtheir harsh, barbaric tongue, was beyond the pale.

He paused, and regained his composure. ’Fulsamee clicked his lowermandibles—the equivalent of a shrug—and mentally recited one of the TrueSayings.Such is the Prophets’ decree, he thought. One didn’t question suchthings, even when one was a Ship Master. The Prophets had assigned names tothe enemy craft, and he would honor their decrees. Any less was adisgraceful dereliction of duty.

Like all of his kind, the Covenant officer appeared to be larger than heactually was, due to the armor that he wore. It gave him an angular,somewhat hunched appearance which, when combined with a heavy, pugnaciousjaw, caused him to look like what he was: a very dangerous warrior. Hisvoice was calm and well modulated as he assessed the situation. “They musthave followed one of our ships. The culprit will be found and put to deathat once, Exalted.”

The being who floated next to ’Fulsamee bobbed slightly as a gust of airnudged his heavily swathed body. He wore a tall, ornate headpiece made ofmetal and set with amber panels. The Prophet had a serpentine neck, atriangular skull, and two bright green eyes which glittered with malevolentintelligence. He wore a red overrobe, a gold underrobe, and somewhere,hidden beneath all the fabric, an antigrav belt which served to keep hisbody suspended one full unit off the deck. Though only a Minor Prophet, hestill outranked ’Fulsamee, as his bearing made clear.

True Sayings aside, the Ship Master couldn’t help but be reminded of thetiny, squealing rodents he had hunted in his childhood. He immediatelybanished the memory of blood on his claws and returned his attention to theProphet, and his tiresome assistant.

The assistant, a lower-rank Elite named Bako ’Ikaporamee, stepped forwardto speak on the Prophet’s behalf. He had an annoying tendency to use theroyal “we,” a habit that angered ’Fulsamee.

“That is very unlikely, Ship Master. We doubt the humans have the means tofollow one of our vessels through a jump. Even if they do, why would theysend only a single cruiser? Is it not their way to drown us in their ownblood? No, we think it’s safe to surmise that this ship arrived in thesystem by accident.”

The words dripped with condescension, a fact which made the Ship Masterangry, but couldn’t be addressed. Not directly, and certainly not with theProphet present, although ’Fulsamee wasn’t willing to cave in completely.

“So,” ’Fulsamee said, careful to direct his comment to ’Ikaporameealone, “you would have me believe that the interlopers arrived hereentirely bychance ?”

“No, of course not,” ’Ikaporamee replied loftily. “Though primitive byour standards, the creaturesare sentient, and like all sentient beings, theyare unconsciously drawn to the glory of the ancients’ truth andknowledge.”

Like all the members of his caste, ’Fulsamee knew that the Prophets hadevolved on a planet which the mysterious truth-givers had previouslyinhabited, and then, for reasons known only to the ancients themselves,subsequently abandoned. This ring world was an excellent example of theancients’ power . . . and inscrutability.

’Fulsamee found it hard to believe that mere humans would be drawn here,the ancients’ wisdom notwithstanding, but ’Ikaporamee spoke for theProphet, so it must be true. ’Fulsamee touched the light panel in front ofhim. A symbol glowed red. “Prepare to fire plasma torpedoes. Launch on mycommand.”

’Ikaporamee raised both hands in alarm. “No!We forbid it. The human vesselis much too close to the construct! What if your weapons were to damage theholy relic? Pursue the ship, board it, and seize control. Anything else isfar too dangerous.”

Angered by what he saw as ’Ikaporamee’s interference, ’Fulsamee spokethrough gritted teeth. “The course of action that the holy one recommendsis likely to result in a high number of casualties. Is this acceptable?”

“The opportunity to transcend the physical is a gift to be sought after,”

the other responded. “The humans are willing to spendtheir lives—can we doless?”

No,’Fulsamee thought,but we should aspire to more. He again clicked hislower mandibles, and touched the light panel. “Cancel the previous order.

Load four transports with troops, and launch another flight of fighters.

Neutralize the interloper’s weaponry before the boarding craft reach theirtarget.”

A hundred units aft, sealed within the destroyer’s fire control center, ahalf-commander acknowledged the order and issued instructions of his own.

Lights began to strobe, the decks transmitted a low frequency vibration, andmore than three hundred battle-ready Covenant warriors—a mix of what thehumans called Elites, Jackals, and Grunts—rushed to board their assignedtransports. There were humans to kill.

None of them wanted to miss the fun.
Section I Pillar of autumn Chapter 1
0127 Hours (Ship’s Time), September 19, 2552 (Military Calendar)/ UNSC CruiserPillar of Autumn , location unknown.

ThePillar of Autumn shuddered as her Titanium-A armor took a direct hit.

Just another item in the Covenant’s bottomless arsenal,Captain Jacob Keyesthought.Not a plasma torpedo, or we’d already be free-floating molecules.

The warship had taken a beating from Covenant forces off Reach and it was amiracle that the hull remained intact and even more remarkable that they’dbeen able to make a jump into Slipspace at all.

“Status!” Keyes barked. “What just hit us?”

“Covenant fighter, sir. Seraph-class,” the tactical officer, LieutenantHikowa, replied. Her porcelain features darkened. “Tricky bastard must havepowered down and slipped past our sentry ships.”

A humorless grin tugged at Keyes’ mouth. Hikowa was a first-rate tacticalofficer, utterly ruthless in a fight. She seemed to take the Covenantfighter pilot’s actions as a personal insult. “Teach him a lesson,Lieutenant,” he said.

She nodded and tapped a series of orders into her panel—new orders fortheAutumn ’s fighter squadron.

A moment later, there was radio chatter as one of theAutumn ’s C709Longsword fighters went after the Seraph, followed by a cheer as the tinyalien ship transformed into a momentary sun, complete with its own system ofco-orbiting debris.

Keyes wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead. He checked his display—they’d reverted back into real space twenty minutes ago.Twenty minutes ,and the Covenant picket patrols had already found them and started shooting.

He turned to the bridge’s main viewport, a large transparent bubble slungbeneath theAutumn ’s bow superstructure. A massive purple gas giant—Threshold—dominated the spectacular view. One of the Longsword fightersglided past as it continued its patrol.

When Keyes had been given command of thePillar of Autumn , he’d beenskeptical of the large, domed viewport. “The Covenant are tough enough,”

he had argued to Admiral Stanforth. “Why give them an easy shot into mybridge?”

He’d lost the argument—captains don’t win debates with admirals, and inany case there simply hadn’t been time to armor the viewport. He had toadmit, though, the view was almost worth the risk. Almost.

He absently toyed with the pipe he habitually carried, lost in thought. Itran completely counter to his nature to slink around in the shadow of a gasgiant. He respected the Covenant as a dangerous, deadly enemy, and hatedthem for their savage butchery of human colonists and fellow soldiers alike.

He had never feared them, however. Soldiers didn’t hide from the enemy—they met the enemy head-on.

He moved back to the command station and activated his navigation suite. Heplotted a course deeper in-system, and fed the data to Ensign Lovell, thenavigator.

“Captain,” Hikowa piped up. “Sensors paint a squadron of enemy fightersinbound. Looks like boarding craft are right behind them.”

“It was just a matter of time, Lieutenant.” He sighed. “We can’t hidehere forever.”

ThePillar seemed to glide out of the shadow cast by the gas giant, and intobright sunlight.

Keyes’ eyes widened with surprise as the ship cleared the gas giant. He hadexpected to see a Covenant cruiser, Seraph fighters, or some other militarythreat.

He hadn’t expected to see the massive object floating in a Lagrange pointbetween Threshold and its moon, Basis.

The construct was enormous—a ring-shaped object that shimmered and glowedwith reflected starlight, like a jewel lit from within.

The outer surface was metallic and seemed to be engraved with deep geometricpatterns. “Cortana,” Captain Keyes said. “Whatis that?”

A foot-high hologram faded into view above a small holopad near thecaptain’s station. Cortana—the ship’s powerful artificial intelligence—frowned as she activated the ship’s long-range detection gear. Long linesof digits scrolled across the sensor displays and rippled the length ofCortana’s “body” as well.

“The ring is ten thousand kilometers in diameter,” Cortana announced,“and twenty-two point three kilometers thick. Spectroscopic analysis isinconclusive, but patterns do not match any known Covenant materials, sir.”

Keyes nodded. The preliminary finding was interesting,very interesting,since Covenant ships had already been present when theAutumn dropped out ofSlipspace and right into their laps. When he first saw the ring, Keyes had asinking feeling that the construct was a large Covenant installation—onefar beyond the scope of human engineering. The thought that the constructmight also be beyondCovenant engineering held some small comfort.

It also made him nervous.

Under intense pressure from enemy warships in the Epsilon Eridani system—the location of the UNSC’s last major naval base, Reach—Cortana had beenforced to launch the ship toward a random set of coordinates, a standardprocedure to lead the Covenant forces away from Earth.

Now it appeared that the men and women aboard thePillar of Autumn hadsucceeded in leaving their original pursuers behind, only to encounter evenmore Covenant forceshere . . . wherever “here” was.

Cortana aimed a long-range camera array at the ring and a close-up snappedinto focus. Keyes let out a long, slow whistle. The construct’s innersurface was a mosaic of greens, blues, and browns—trackless desert,jungles, glaciers, and oceans. Streaks of white clouds cast deep shadows onthe terrain below. The ring rotated and brought a new feature into view: atremendous hurricane forming over a large body of water.

Equations again scrolled across the AI’s semitransparent body as shecontinued to evaluate the incoming data. “Captain,” Cortana said, “theobject is clearly artificial. There’s a gravity field that controls thering’s spin and keeps the atmosphere inside. I can’t say with one hundredpercent certainty, but it appears that the ring has an oxygen-nitrogenatmosphere, and Earth-normal gravity.”

Keyes raised an eyebrow. “If it’s artificial, who the hell built it, andwhat in God’s name is it?”

Cortana processed the question for a full three seconds. “I don’t know,sir.”

Regulations be damned,Keyes thought. He took out his pipe, used an old-fashioned match to light it, and produced a puff of fragrant smoke. The ringworld shimmered on the status monitors. “Then we’d better find out.”

Sam Marcus rubbed his aching neck with hands that trembled with fatigue. Therush of adrenaline that had flooded him when he’d received Tech ChiefShephard’s instructions had worn off. Now he just felt tired, strung out,and more than a little afraid.

He shook his head to clear it and surveyed the small observation theater.

Each cryostorage bay was equipped with such a station, a central monitoringfacility for the hundreds of cryotubes the storage bays held. By shipboardstandards, the Cryo Two Observation Theater was large, but the proliferationof life-sign monitors, diagnostic gauges, and computer terminals—tieddirectly into the individual cryotubes stored in the bay below—made theroom seem cramped and uncomfortable.

A chime sounded and Sam’s eyes swept across the status monitors. There wasonly one active cryotube in this bay, and its monitor pinged for hisattention. He double-checked the main instrument panel, then keyed theintercom. “He’s coming around, sir,” he said. He turned and looked outthe observation bay’s window.

Tech Chief Thom Shephard waved up at Sam from the floor of Cryostorage UnitTwo. “Good work, Sam,” he called back. “Almost time to pop the seal.”

The status monitors continued to feed information to the observationtheater. The subject’s body temperature was approaching normal—at least,Sam assumed it was normal; he’d never awakened a Spartan before—and mostof the chemicals had already been flushed out of his system.

“He’s in a REM cycle now, Chief,” Sam called out, “and his brainwaveactivity shows he’s dreaming—that means he’s pretty much thawed.

Shouldn’t be long now.”

“Good,” Shephard replied. “Keep an eye on those neuro readings. We packedhim in wearing his combat armor. There may be some feedback effects to watchout for.”

“Acknowledged.”

A red light winked to life on the security terminal, and a new series ofcodes flashed across the screen:

>WAKE-UP SERIES STANDBY. SECURITY LOCK [PRIORITY ALPHA] ENGAGED.

>x-CORTANA.1.0—CRYOSTOR.23.4.7“What the hell?” Sam muttered. He keyed the bay intercom again. “Thom?

There’s something weird here . . . some kind of security lockout from thebridge.”

“Acknowledged.” There was a static-spotted click as Shephard looped in thebridge channel. “Cryo Two to Bridge.”

“Go ahead, Cryo Two,” a female voice replied, laced with the telltalewarble of synthesized speech.

“We’re ready to pop the seal on our . . . guest, Cortana,” Shephardexplained. “We need—”

“—the security code,” the AI finished. “Transmitting. Bridge out.”

Almost instantly, a new line of text scrolled across the security screen:

>UNSEAL THE HUSHED CASKET.

Sam hit the execute command, the security lockout dropped away, and acountdown timer began marking time until the wake-up sequence would becompleted.

The soldier was coming around. Respiration was up, ditto his heart rate, asboth returned to normal levels.Here he is, Sam thought,a real honest-to-godSpartan. Not just any Spartan, but maybe thelast Spartan. The shipboardscuttlebutt said that the rest of them had bought the farm at Reach.

Like his fellow techs, Sam had heard of the program, though he’d never seenanactual Spartan in person. In order to deal with increasing civil turmoilthe Colonial Military Administration had secretly launched Project ORIONback in 2491. The purpose of the program was to develop supersoldiers, code-named “Spartans,” who would receive special training and physicalaugmentation.

The initial effort was successful, and in 2517 a new group of Spartans, theII-series, had been selected as the next generation of supersoldier. Theproject had been intended to remain secret, but the Covenant War had changedall that.

It was no secret that the human race was on the verge of defeat. TheCovenant’s ships and space technology were just too advanced. While humanforces could hold their own in a ground engagement, the Covenant wouldsimply fall back into space and glass the planet from orbit.

As the situation grew increasingly grim, the Admiralty was faced with theugly prospect of fighting a two-front war—one against the Covenant inspace, and another against the collapsing human society on the ground. Thegeneral public and the rank-and-file in the military needed a morale boost,so the existence of the SPARTAN-II project was revealed.

There were now successful heroes to rally behind, men and women who hadtaken the fight to the enemy and won several decisive battles. Even theCovenant seemed to fear the Spartans.

Except they were gone now, all but one, sacrificed to protect the human racefrom the Covenant and the very real possibility of extinction. Sam gazed onthe soldier in front of him with something akin to awe. Here, about to riseas if from a grave, was a true hero. It was a moment to remember, and if hewas lucky enough to survive, to tell his children about.

It didn’t make him any less afraid, however. If the stories were true, theman gradually regaining consciousness in the bay below was almost as alien,and certainly as dangerous, as the Covenant.

He was floating in the never-never land somewhere between cryo and fullconsciousness when the dream began.

It was a familiar dream, a pleasant dream, and one which had nothing to dowith war. He was on Eridanus II—the colony world he’d been born on, longsince destroyed by the Covenant. He heard laughter all around.

A female voice called him by name—John. A moment later, arms held him, andhe recognized the familiar scent of soap. The woman said something nice tohim, and he wanted to say something nice in return, but the words wouldn’tcome. He tried tosee her, tried to penetrate the haze that obscured herface, and was rewarded with the image of a woman with large eyes, a straightnose, and full lips.

The picture wavered, indistinct, like a reflection in a pond. In aneyeblink, the woman who held him transformed. Now she had dark hair,piercing blue eyes, and pale skin.

He knew her name: Dr. Halsey.

Dr. Catherine Halsey had selected him for the SPARTAN-II project. While mostbelieved that the current generation of Spartans had been culled from thebest of the UNSC military, only a handful of people knew the truth.

Halsey’s program involved the actual abduction of specially-screenedchildren. The children were flash-cloned—which made the duplicates prone toneurological disorders—and the clones covertly returned to the parents, whonever suspected that their sons and daughters were duplicates. In many ways,Dr. Halsey was the only “mother” that he had ever known.

But Dr. Halseywasn’t his mother, nor was the pale semitranslucent image ofCortana that appeared to replace her.

The dream changed. A dark, nebulous shape loomed behind theMother/Halsey/Cortana figure. He didn’t know what it was, but it was athreat—of that he was certain.

His combat instincts kicked in, and adrenaline coursed through him. Hequickly surveyed the area—some kind of playground, with high wooden poles,distantly familiar—and decided on the best route to flank the new threat.

He spied an assault rifle, a powerful MA5B, nearby. If he placed himselfbetween the woman and the threat, his armor could take the brunt of anattack, and he could return fire.

He moved quickly, and the dark shape howled at him—a fierce and terrifyingwar cry.

The beast was impossibly fast. It was on him in seconds.

He grabbed the assault rifle and turned to open fire—and discovered to hishorror that he couldn’t lift the weapon. His arms were small,underdeveloped. His armor was gone, and his body was that of a six-year-oldchild.

He was powerless in the face of the threat. He roared back at the beast inrage and fear—angry not just at the threat, but at his own suddenpowerlessness . . .

The dream started to fade, and light appeared in front of the Spartan’seyes. Vapor vented, swirled, and began to dissipate. A voice came, as iffrom a great distance. It was male and matter-of-fact.

“Sorry for the quick thaw, Master Chief—but things are a bit hectic rightnow. The disorientation should pass quickly.”

A second voice welcomed him back and it took the Spartan a moment toremember where he’d been prior to entering the cryotube. There had been abattle, a terrible battle, in which most if not all of his Spartan brothersand sisters had been killed. Men and women with whom he had been raised andtrained since the age of six, and who, unlike the dimly remembered woman ofhis dreams, constituted hisreal family.

With the memory, plus subtle changes to the gas mix that filled his lungs,came strength. He flexed his stiff limbs. The Spartan heard the tech saysomething about “freezer burn,” and pushed himself up and out of thecryotube’s chilly embrace.

“God in heaven,” Sam whispered.

The Spartan was huge, easily seven feet tall. Encased in pearlescent greenbattle armor, the man looked like a figure from mythology—otherworldly andterrifying. Master Chief SPARTAN-117 stepped from his tube and surveyed thecryo bay. The mirrored visor on his helmet made him all the more fearsome, afaceless, impassive soldier built for destruction and death.

Sam was glad that he was up here in the observation theater, rather thandown on the Cryo Two main floor with the Spartan.

He realized that Thom was waiting for diagnostic data. He checked thedisplays—neural pathways clear, no fluctuations in heartbeat or brainwaveactivity. He opened an intercom channel. “I’m bringing his health monitorson-line now.”

Sam watched as Thom led the Spartan to the various test stations in the bay,pitching in where he was required. In short order, the soldier’s gear hadbeen brought on-line—recharging shield system, real-time health monitors,targeting and optical systems all read in the green.

The suit—code-named MJOLNIR armor—was a marvel of engineering, Sam had toadmit. According to the specs he’d received, the suit’s shell consisted ofa multilayered alloy of remarkable strength, a refractive coating that coulddisperse a fair amount of directed energy, a crystalline storage matrix thatcould support the same level of artificial intelligence usually reserved fora starship, and a layer of gel which conformed to the wearer’s skin andfunctioned to regulate temperature.

Additional memory packets and signal conduits had been implanted into theSpartan’s body, and two externally accessible input slots had beeninstalled near the base of his skull. Taken together, the combined systemsserved to double his strength, enhance his already lightning-fast reflexes,and make it possible for him to navigate through the intricacies of anyhigh-tech battlefield.

There were substantial life-support systems built into the MJOLNIR gear.

Most soldiers went into cryo naked, since covered skin generally reactedbadly to the cryo process. Sam had once worn a bandage into the freezer anddiscovered the affected skin blistered and raw when he woke up.

The Spartan’s skin must have hurt like hell, he realized. Through it all,though, the soldier remained silent, simply nodding when asked questions orquietly complying with requests from Thom. It was eerie—he moved withmechanistic efficiency from one test to the next, like a robot.

Cortana’s voice rang from the shipwide com: “Sensors show inbound Covenantboarding craft. Stand by to repel boarders.”

Sam felt a pang of fear—and sorrow for the Covenant troops that would haveto face this Spartan in combat.

The neural interface which linked the Master Chief to his MJOLNIR armor wasworking perfectly, and immediately fed data to his helmet’s heads-updisplayon the inside surface of his visor.

It felt good to move around, and the Master Chief quietly flexed hisfingers. His skin itched and stung, a side effect of the cryo gases, but hequickly banished the pain from his awareness. He had long ago learned how todisassociate himself from physical discomfort.

He’d heard Cortana’s announcement. The Covenant were on their way. Good.

He scanned the room for weapons, but there was no arms locker present. Thelack of weapons wasn’t of great concern to him; he’d taken weapons awayfrom Covenant soldiers before.

The intercom crackled again: “Bridge to Cryo Two—this is Captain Keyes.

Send the Master Chief to the bridge immediately.”

One of the techs started to object, pointing out that more tests wererequired, when Keyes cut in. He said, “On the double, crewman,” and therating gave the only reply he could.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The tech chief turned and faced him. “We’ll find weapons later.”

The Master Chief nodded and was about to move for the door when an explosionechoed through the cryo bay.

The first blasts slammed into the observation theater’s door with a noisethat made Sam jump. His heart pounded as he quickly hit the door controls,engaging an emergency lockout. A heavy metal barrier slammed into place witha crash—then began to glow red as Covenant energy weapons burned their waythrough.

“They’re trying to get through the door!” he yelled.

He glanced down into the bay and saw Thom, a stricken look on his face. Samcould see his own startled reflection in the Spartan’s mirrored visor.

Sam lunged for the alarm, and had time to call in an alert. Then, thesecurity door exploded in a shower of fire and molten steel.

He heard the whine of plasma rifle fire, then felt something punch him inthe chest. His vision blurred, and he groped to feel the wound. His handscame away sticky with blood.It doesn’t hurt, he thought.It should hurt,shouldn’t it?

He felt disoriented, confused. He could see a flurry of movement, as armoredfigures swarmed into the observation theater. He ignored them and focused onhis wife’s picture—smeared with his own blood—which had somehow fallen tothe deckplates. He fell to his knees and scrambled for the photograph, hishands shaking.

His field of vision narrowed as he struggled to reach the discarded photo.

It was only inches away now, but the distance felt like miles. He’d neverbeen so tired. His wife’s name echoed in his mind.

Sam’s fingers had just brushed the edge of the photograph when an armoredboot pinned his arm to the deck. Long, clawed fingers plucked the picturefrom the floor.

Sam cursed weakly and struggled to face his attacker. The alien—an Elite—cocked his head at the image in puzzlement. He glanced down, as if noticingSam for the first time. The human continued to reach for the picture.

He dimly heard Thom’s voice call out in anguish: “Sam!”

The Elite aimed the plasma rifle at Sam’s head and fired.

The Master Chief bristled. Covenant forces were in close proximity, and afellow soldier had just died. He longed to climb to the observation bay andengage the enemy—but orders were orders. He needed to get to the bridge.

The cryo tech keyed open a hatchway. “Come on!” he yelled, “we’ve got toget the hell out of here!”

The Master Chief followed the crewman through the hatch and down thecorridor. A sudden explosion blew the next door to smithereens, hurled whatremained of the technician’s body down the passageway, and caused theChief’s shields to flare.

He mentally reviewed the schematics of the Halcyon-class line of ships anddoubled back. He vaulted over a pair of power conduits, and landed in thedimly lit maintenance hallway beyond. An emergency beacon strobed and alarmswailed. The rumble of a second explosion echoed down the corridor.

He pushed ahead, past a dead crewman, and into the next section of hallway.

The Master Chief saw a hatch, its security panel pulsing green, and hurriedforward. There was a third explosion, but his armor deflected the force ofthe blast.

The Spartan forced open the partially melted door, saw an opening to hisleft, and heard someone scream. A naval crewman fired his sidearm at atarget the Master Chief couldn’t see—and the deck shuddered as a missilestruck theAutumn ’s hull.

The Master Chief ducked under a half-raised door just in time to see thecrewman take an energy bolt through the chest as the rest of the humancounterboarders returned fire. Covenant forces backed through a hatch andwere forced to retreat into an adjoining compartment.

Chaos reigned as the ship’s crew did the best they could to push theboarders back toward the air locks or to trap them in compartments wherethey could be contained and dispatched later.

Unarmed, and well aware of the fact that Captain Keyes needed him on thebridge, the Master Chief had little choice but to follow the signs, andavoid the firefights that raged all around. He made his way down a darkenedaccess corridor—the Covenant boarders must have shorted out theillumination circuits in this compartment—and nearly ran headlong into aCovenant Elite.

The alien’s personal shields sparked and he roared in surprise and anger.

The Spartan crouched and prepared to meet the alien soldier’s charge—thenducked, as a Marine fire-team unleashed a barrage of assault-rifle fire atthe Elite. Purple gore splashed the bulkhead, and the alien dropped in acrumpled heap.

The Marines moved forward to secure the area, and the Chief nodded in thanksto the squad leader. He turned, sprinted down the passageway, and made it tothe bridge without further incident.

He looked out through the main viewport, saw the strange-looking constructthat floated out beyond the cruiser’s hull, and was momentarily curiousabout what it was. No doubt the Captain would fill him in. He strode towardthe captain’s station, near the center of the bridge.

A variety of naval personnel sat hunched at their consoles as they struggledto control their beleaguered vessel. Some battled the latest wave of Seraphfighters, others worked on damage control, and one grim-faced Lieutenantmade use of the ship’s environmental systems to suck the atmosphere out ofthose compartments which had been occupied by Covenant forces. Some of theenemy carried their own atmosphere, but some of them didn’t, and that madethem vulnerable. There were crew in some of those spaces, perhaps some sheknew personally, but there was no way to save them. If she didn’t killthem, then the enemy would.

The Chief understood the situation well. Better a quick death in vacuum thanat the hands of the Covenant.

He spotted Keyes near the main tactical display. Keyes studied the screensintently, particularly a large display of the strange ring.

The Spartan came to attention. “Captain Keyes.”

Captain Keyes turned to face him. “Good to see you, Master Chief. Thingsaren’t going well. Cortana did her best—but we never really had achance.”

The AI arched a holographic eyebrow. “A dozen Covenant battleships againsta single Halcyon-class cruiser . . . With those odds we still had three—”

She paused, as if distracted, then amended: “—make thatfour kills.”

Cortana looked at the Chief. “Sleep well?”

“Yes,” he replied. “No thanks to your driving.”

Cortana smiled. “So, youdid miss me.”

Before he could reply, another blast rocked the entire ship. He grabbed anearby support pillar and braced himself, as several crewers crashed to thedeck nearby.

Keyes grabbed onto a console for support. “Report!”

Cortana shimmered blue. “It must have been one of their boarding parties.

My guess is an antimatter charge.”

The fire control officer turned in his seat. “Ma’am! Fire control for themain cannon is off-line!”

Cortana looked at Keyes. The loss of the ship’s primary weapon, theMagnetic Accelerator Cannon, was a crippling blow to their holding action.

“Captain, the cannon was my last defensive option.”

“All right,” Keyes said gruffly, “I’m initiating Cole Protocol, ArticleTwo. We’re abandoning theAutumn . That means you too, Cortana.”

“While you do what? Go down with the ship?” she shot back.

“In a manner of speaking,” Keyes replied. “The object we found—I’mgoing to try and land theAutumn on it.”

Cortana shook her head. “With all due respect . . . this war has enoughdead heroes.”

The Captain’s eyes locked with hers. “I appreciate your concern, Cortana—but it’s not up to me. The Protocol is clear. The destruction or capture ofshipboard AI is absolutely unacceptable. That means youare abandoning ship.

Lock in a selection of emergency landing zones and upload them to my neurallace.”

The AI paused, then nodded. “Aye, aye, sir.”

“Which is whereyou come in,” Keyes continued as he turned to face theSpartan. “Get Cortana off this ship. Keep her safe from the enemy. If theycapture her, they’ll learn everything. Force deployment, weaponsresearch.” He paused, then added: “Earth.”

The Spartan nodded. “I understand.”

Keyes glanced at Cortana. “Are you ready?”

There was a pause as the AI took one last look around. In many ways the shipwas her physical body and she was reluctant to leave it. “Yank me.”

Keyes turned to a console, touched a series of controls, and turned backagain.

The holo shivered and Cortana’s image swirled into the pedestal below anddisappeared from view. Keyes waited until the holo had disappeared, removeda data chip from the pedestal, and offered it to the Spartan, along with hissidearm. “Good luck, Master Chief.”

SPARTAN-117 accepted the chip and reached back to slot the device into theneural interface, located at the base of his skull. There was a positiveclick, followed by a flood of sensation as the AI joined him within theconfines of the armor’s neural network. At first it felt as if someone hadpoured a cup of ice water into his mind, followed by a momentary jab ofpain, and a familiar presence. He’d worked with Cortana before—just priorto the disaster at Reach.

The AI-human interface was intrusive in a way, yet comforting too, since heknew what Cortana could do. He would depend on her during the hours and daysahead—just as she would depend on him. It was like being part of a teamagain.

The Master Chief saluted and left the bridge. The sounds of fighting wereeven louder now, indicating that, in spite of the crew’s best efforts,Covenant forces had still managed to fight their way out of the areasadjacent to the air locks and made it all the way up to the area around thecommand deck.

Bodies lay strewn around the corridor, roughly fifty meters from the bridge.

The human defenders had pushed them back, but the Chief could tell that thelast assault had been close. Too close.

The Master Chief paused to kneel next to a dead ensign, took a moment toclose her eyelids, and appropriated the fallen trooper’s ammo. The pistolthe Captain had given him was standard Navy issue; it fired 12.7mm semi-armor piercing high-explosive ammo from twelve-round clips. Not what hewould choose to tackle an Elite with—but good enough for Grunt work.

There was a metallicclick as the first clip slid into the pistol’s handle,followed by the sudden appearance of a blue circle in his HUD—a targetingreticle—as his armor made electronic contact with the weapon in his hand.

Then, conscious of the need to get Cortana off the ship, he made his waydown the corridor. He heard the strange high-pitched squeaks and barksbefore he actually saw the Covenant Grunts themselves. Consistent with hisstatus as a veteran, the first alien to come around the corner wore red-trimmed armor, a methane rig, and a Marine’s web pistol belt. The alienwore the captured gear Pancho Villa-style and dragged it across the deck.

Two of his comrades brought up the rear.

Confident that there were more of the vaguely simian aliens on the way, theMaster Chief paused long enough to let more of them appear, then openedfire. The recoil compensators in his armor dampened the effect, but he couldstill feel the handgun kick against his palm. All three of the Grunts wentdown from head shots. Phosphorescent blue ichor spattered the deck.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

The Master Chief stepped over their bodies and moved on.

A lifeboat. That was hisreal goal—and he would do whatever it took to findone.

Ashamed by the ignominy of it, but consistent with his orders, the Elitenamed Isna ’Nosolee waited until the Grunts, Jackals, and two members ofhis own race had charged out through the human air lock before leaving theassault boat himself. Though armed with a plasma pistol, plus a half-dozengrenades, he was there to observe rather than fight, which meant that theElite would rely on both his energy shielding and active camouflage to keephim alive.

His role, and an unaccustomed one at that, was to function as an“Ossoona,” or Eye of the Prophet. The concept, as outlined to ’Nosolee byhis superior, was to insert experienced officers into situations whereintelligence could be gleaned, and to do so early enough to obtain high-quality information.

Though both intelligent and brave, the Prophets felt that the Elites had anunfortunate tendency to destroy everything in their path, leaving verylittle for their analysts to analyze.

Now, by adding Ossoonas to the combat mix, the Prophets hoped to learn moreabout the humans, ranging from data on their weapons and force deploymentsto the greatest prize of all: the coordinates for their home planet,“Earth.”

’Nosolee had three major objectives: to retrieve the enemy ship’s AI, tocapture senior personnel, and to record everything he saw via the camerasattached to his helmet. The first two goals were bound to be difficult, buta quick check confirmed that the video gear was working, and the thirdobjective was assured.

So, even though the assignment was empty of honor, ’Nosolee understood itspurpose, and was determined to succeed, if only as a means to return to theregular infantry where he belonged.

The Elite heard the rhythmic clatter of a human weapon as a group of theirMarines backed around a corner, closely pursued by a pack comprised ofGrunts and Jackals. The Ossoona considered killing the humans, thoughtbetter of it, and flattened himself against a bulkhead. None of thecombatants noticed the point where the metal appeared to be slightlydistorted, and a moment later the spy slipped away.

It seemed as if theAutumn was infested with chrome-armored demons spoutingplasma fire. The Master Chief had acquired an MA5B assault rifle along withclose to four hundred rounds of 7.62mm armor piercing ammunition. In thissituation, with plenty of ordnance lying around, he preferred to reload whenthe ammo indicator on his weapon dropped to around 10. Failure to do socould result in disaster if he ran into serious opposition. With that inmind, the Chief hit the release, allowed a nearly empty magazine to fall,and shoved a new clip into its place. The weapon’s digital ammo counterreset, as did its cousin in his HUD.

“We’re closer,” Cortana said from someplace just outside his head. “Duckthrough the hatch ahead and go up one level.”

The Master Chief ran into a shimmery, black-clad Elite, and opened fire.

There were Grunts in the area as well, but he knew that the Elite posedthereal danger. He expertly sprayed a trio of bursts at the alien.

The Elite roared defiance and fired in return, but the sheer volume of thespecially hardened 7.62mm projectiles caused the Elite’s shielding toflare, overload, and fail. The bulky alien fell to his knees, bent forward,and collapsed. Frightened by what had happened to their leader, the Gruntsmade barking noises, turned, and began to scurry away.

Individually, the Grunts were cowards, but the Spartan had seen what a packof the creatures could do. He opened fire again. Alien bodies tumbled andfell.

He continued on through a hatch, heard more firing, and turned in thatdirection. Cortana called out: “Covenant! On the landing above us!”

He ran toward a flight of metal stairs, and charged straight for thelanding.

Boots rang on metal as he slammed a fresh magazine into the weapon’sreceiver and passed a wounded Marine. The Spartan remembered the soldierfrom his last action on one of Reach’s orbiting defense stations. TheMarine held a dressing to a plasma burn and managed to smile. “Glad youcould make it, Chief . . . we saved some party favors just for you.”

The Spartan nodded, paused on the landing, and took aim at a Jackal. Thevaguely birdlike aliens carried energy shields—handheld units, rather thanthe full-body protection the Elites favored. The Jackal shifted to take aimat the wounded Marine, and the Chief saw his opening. He fired a burst atthe Jackal’s unprotected flank and the alien hit the deckplates, dead.

He continued the climb up the flight of stairs, and came nearly visor-tovisorwith another Elite. The alien roared, charged forward, and attemptedto use his plasma rifle like a club. The Master Chief evaded the blow—he’dfought Elites hand-to-hand before, and knew they were dangerously strong—and backed away. He leveled the assault weapon at the Elite’s belly, andsqueezed the trigger.

The Covenant soldier seemed to absorb the bullets like a sponge, continuedto advance, and was just about to swing when a final round cut through hisspinal cord. The alien soldier slammed into the deck, twitched once, anddied.

SPARTAN-117 reached for another magazine. Another Elite roared, asdidanother . There was no time to reload, so the Master Chief turned to takethem on. He discarded the assault rifle and drew his sidearm. There were apair of dead Marines at the aliens’ feet, roughly twenty-five metersaway.Well within range, he thought, and opened fire.

The lead Elite snarled as the powerful handgun rounds tore into theshielding around his head. Sensing the Spartan’s threat, the aliens shiftedall of their fire in his direction only to watch as it dissipated againsthis shields and armor.

Now, free to direct their fire wherever they chose, the Marines launched ahastily organized counterattack. A fragmentation grenade blew one Elite intobloody ribbons, shredded the Jackals who had the poor judgment to stand nextto him, and sent pieces of shrapnel flying across the stairwell to slam intothe bulkhead.

The other Elite was consumed by a hail of bullets. He seemed to wilt, fold,and fly apart. “That’s what I’m talking about!” a Marine crowed. Hefired acoup de grace into the alien’s head.

Satisfied that the area was reasonably secure, the Master Chief moved on. Hepassed through a hatch, helped a pair of Marines take out a group of Grunts,and marched down a corridor drenched with blood—both human and alien. Thedeck shook as theAutumn took a new hit from a ship-to-ship missile. Therewas a muffled clang, and a light flared beyond a viewport.

“The lifeboats are launching,” Cortana announced. “We should hurry!”

“Iam hurrying,” the Master Chief replied. “I’ll get there as soon as Ican.”

Cortana started to reply, reconsidered, and processed the equivalent of anapologetic shrug. Sometimes, fallible though they were, humans were right.

Flight Officer Captain Carol Rawley, better known to the ship’s Marinecontingent by her call sign, “Foehammer,” waited for the Grunt to roundthe corner. She shot him in the head, and the little methane-breathingbastard dropped like a rock. The pilot took a quick peek, verified that thenext corridor was clear, and motioned to those behind her. “Come on! Let’sget while the getting’s good!”

Three pilots, along with an equal number of ground crew, followed as Rawleythundered down the hall. She was a tall, broad-shouldered woman, and she ranwith a flat-footed determination. The plan, if the wild-assed scheme she’dconcocted could be dignified as such, was to make it down to the ship’slaunch bay, jump into their D77-TC “Pelican” dropships, and get offtheAutumn before the cruiser smacked into the construct below. At best, itwould be a tricky takeoff, and a messy landing, but she’d rather die behindthe stick of her bird than trust her fate to some lifeboat jockey. Besides,maybe some transports would come in handy, if anybody actually made it offthe ship alive.

That was looking like an increasingly big maybe.

“They’re behind us!” somebody yelled. “Run faster!”

Rawley wasn’t a sprinter—she was a pilot, damn it. She turned to take aimon her pursuers, when a globe of glowing-green plasma sizzled past her ear.

“Screw this,” she yelled, then ran with renewed energy.

As the battle with the interlopers continued to rage, a Grunt named Yayapled a small detachment of his own kind through a half-melted hatch and cameupon the scene of a massacre. The nearest bulkhead was drenched inshimmering blue blood. Spent shell casings were scattered everywhere and atangled pile of Grunt bodies testified to an engagement lost. Yayap keenedin brief mourning for his fallen brethren.

That most of the dead were Grunts like Yayap didn’t surprise him. TheProphets had long made use of his race as cannon fodder. He hoped that theyhad gone to a methane-rich paradise, and was about to pass by the gruesomeheap, when one of the bodies groaned.

The Grunt paused and, accompanied by one of his fellows—a Grunt named Gagaw—he waded into the gory mess, only to discover that the noise wasassociated with a black-armored member of the Elite, one of the “Prophetblessed”

types who were in charge of this ill-considered raid. By law andcustom, Yayap’s race was required to revere the Elites as near-divineenvoys of the Prophets. Of course, the implementation of law and custom wassomewhat flexible on the battlefield.

“Leave him,” Gagaw advised. “That’s whathe would do if it were one of uslying wounded.”

“True,” Yayap said thoughtfully, “but it would take all five of us tocarry him back to the assault boat.”

It took Gagaw ten full heartbeats to assimilate the idea and finallyappreciate the genius of it. “We wouldn’t have to fight!”

“Precisely,” Yayap said, as the sounds of battle grew louder once more,“so let’s slap some dressings on his wounds, grab his arms and legs, anddrag his ass out of here.”

A quick check revealed that the Elite’s wounds weren’t mortal. A humanprojectile had punched its way through the warrior’s visor, sliced alongthe side of his head, and flattened itself on the inside surface of theElite’s helmet. The force of the blow had knocked him unconscious. Asidefrom that, and some cuts and bruises sustained when he fell, the Elite wouldsurvive.A pity, Yayap thought.

Satisfied that their ticket off the ship would live long enough to get themwhere they wanted to go, the Grunts grabbed the warrior’s limbs and waddleddown the corridor. Their battle was over.

TheAutumn ’s contingent of Orbital drop Shock Troopers, also known as ODST,or “Helljumpers,” had been assigned to protect the cruiser’s experimentalpower plant, which consisted of a unique network of fusion engines.

The engine room was served by two main access points, each protected by aTitanium-A hatch. Both were connected by a catwalk and were still underhuman control. The fact that Major Antonio Silva’s Marines had been forcedto stack the Covenant bodies like firewood in order to maintain clear fieldsof fire testified to how effective the men and women under his command hadbeen.

There had been human casualties as well,plenty of them, including LieutenantMelissa McKay, who waited impatiently while “Doc” Valdez, the platoon’smedic, bandaged her arm. There was a lot to do—and clearly McKay wanted toget up and do it.

“Got some bad news for you, Lieutenant,” the medic said. “The tattoo onyour bicep, the one with the skull and the letters ‘ODST,’ took a serioushit. You can get a new one, of course . . . but scar tissue won’t take theink in quite the same way.”

McKay knew the patter had a purpose, knew it was Doc’s way of taking hermind off Dawkins, Al-Thani, and Suzuki. The medic secured the bandage inplace and the officer rolled her sleeve down over the dressing. “You knowwhat, Valdez? You are truly full of it. And I mean that as a compliment.”

Doc wiped his forehead with the back of a sleeve. It came away with AlThani’s blood on it. “Thanks, El-Tee. Compliment accepted.”

“All right,” Major Silva boomed as he strode out onto the center of thecatwalk. “Listen up! Play time is over. Captain Keyes is tired of ourcompany and wants us to leave this tub. There’s a construct down there,complete with an atmosphere, gravity, and the one thing Marines love likebeer—and that’s dirt beneath our feet.”

The ODST officer paused at that point, allowing his bright, beady eyes tosweep the faces around him, his mouth straight as a crease. “Most of thecrew—not to mention your fellow jarheads—will be leaving the ship inlifeboats. They’ll ride to the surface in air-conditioned comfort, sippingwine, and nibbling on appetizers.

“Notyou , however. Oh no, you’re going to leave thePillar of Autumn by adifferent method. Tell me, boys and girls . . . How willyou leave?”

It was a time-honored ritual, and the ODST Marines roared the answer inunison. “WE GO FEET FIRST, SIR!”

“Damned right you do,” Silva barked. “Now let’s get to those drop pods.

The Covenant is holding a picnic down on the surface and every single one ofyou is invited. You have five minutes to strap in, hook up, and shove a corkin your ass.”

It was an old joke, one of their favorites, and the Marines laughed as ifthey had just heard it for the first time. Then they formed into squads, andfollowed their noncoms out into a corridor that ran down the port side ofthe ship.

McKay led her platoon down the hall, past the troopers assigned to guard theintersection, and through what had been a battlefield. Bodies lay sprawledwhere they had fallen, plasma burns marked the bulkheads, and a long line of7.62mm dimples marked the last burst that one of the dead soldiers wouldever fire.

They pounded around a corner, and into what the Marines referred to as“Hell’s waiting room.” The troopers streamed down the center of a longnarrow compartment that housed two rows of oval-shaped individual drop pods.

Each pod bore the name of an individual trooper, and was poised over a tubethat extended down through the ship’s belly.

Most combat landings were made via armed assault boats, but the boats wereslow, and subject to antiaircraft fire. That was why the UNSC had investedthe time and money necessary to create asecond way to deliver troops throughan atmosphere: the HEV, or Human Entry Vehicle.

Computer-controlled antiaircraft fire would nail some of the pods, but theymade small targets, and each hit would result in one death rather than adozen.

There was just one problem. As the ceramic skins that covered the HEVsburned away, the air inside the pods became unbelievably hot, sometimesfatally so, which was why ODST personnel were referred to as“Helljumpers.” It was an all-volunteer outfit, and it took a special kindof crazy to join up.

McKay remained on the central walkway until each of her men had entered hisparticular pod. She knew that meant she would have sixty seconds less tomake her own preparations, and was quick to enter her HEV once the lasthatch had closed.

Once inside, McKay’s hands were a blur as she secured her harness, ran theobligatory systems check, removed a series of safeties, armed her ejectiontube, and eyed the tiny screen mounted in front of her. TheAutumn ’s firecontrol computer had already calculated the force required to blow the podfree and drop the HEV into the correct entry path. All she had to do washang on, pray that the pod’s ceramic skin would hold long enough for thechute to open, and try to ignore how fragile the vehicle actually was.

No sooner had the officer braced her boots against the bulkhead, and lookedup at the countdown, than the last digit clicked from one to zero.

The pod dropped, accelerated out of the ejection tube, and fell toward thering-shaped world below. Her stomach lurched and her heart rate spiked.

Somebody popped a tiny disk into a data player, touched a button, and pushedthe hyped-up strains of the Helljumpers’ anthem out over the team freq. Theregs made it clear that unauthorized use of UNSC communications facilitieswas wrong,very wrong, but McKay knew that at that particular moment itwasright , and Silva must have agreed, because nothing came in over thecommand freq. The music pounded in her ears, the HEV shuddered as it hit theouter layer of the ring-construct’s atmosphere, and the Marines fell feetfirst through the ring.

The deck jumped as thePillar of Autumn absorbed yet another blow and thebattle continued to rage within. The Master Chief was close now, andprepared to sprint for a lifeboat. That was when Cortana said, “Behindyou!” and the Master Chief felt a plasma bolt hit him squarely between theshoulder blades.

He rolled with the blow and sprang to his feet. He whirled to face hisattacker and saw that a Grunt had dropped out of an overhead maintenanceway. The diminutive alien stood with his feet planted on the deck, a plasmapistol over-charging in his claws. The Master Chief took three stepsforward, used the assault rifle to knock the creature off its feet, andfollowed it with a three-round burst. The Grunt’s pistol discharged itsstored energy into the ceiling. Drips of molten metal sizzled on the MasterChief’s shields.

The armor-piercing rounds punctured the alien’s breathing apparatus,released a stream of methane, and caused the body to spin like a top.

A trio of additional Grunts landed on the Master Chief’s shoulders andgrabbed hold. It was almost laughable, until the Spartan realized that oneof them was trying to remove his helmet. A second alien carried an ignitedplasma grenade—the little bastards meant to drop the explosive into hisarmor.

He flexed his shoulders, and shook himself like a dog.

Grunts flew in every direction as the Master Chief used short controlledbursts to put them down. He turned toward the lifeboats. “Now!” Cortanaurged. “Run!”

The Spartan ran, just as the door started to close. A nearby Marine fellwhile running for the escape craft, and the Chief paused long enough toscoop the soldier up and hurl him into the boat.

Once inside, they joined a small group of crew members already on board theescape craft. “Now would be a very good time to leave,” Cortana commentedcoolly, as something else exploded and the cruiser shuddered in response.

The Master Chief stood facing the hatch. He waited for it to close all theway, saw the red light appear, and knew it was sealed. “Punch it.”

The pilot triggered the launch sequence and the lifeboat blasted free of theship, balanced on a column of fire. The boat skimmed along the surface oftheAutumn at dizzying speed. Plasma blasts from a Covenant warship slammedinto theAutumn ’s hull. In seconds, the lifeboat dropped away from thecruiser and dove toward the ring.

The Master Chief killed his external com system, and spoke directly toCortana. “So, any idea what this thing is?”

“No,” Cortana admitted. “I managed to slice some data out of the Covenantbattle network. They call it ‘Halo,’ and it has some kind of religioussignificance to them, but . . . your guess is as good as mine.” She paused,and the Spartan sensed the AI’s amusement. “Well,almost as good.”

“Halo,” he repeated. “Looks like we’re going to be calling it ‘home’

for a while.”

The lifeboat was too small to mount a Shaw-Fujikawa faster-than-light driveso there was nowhere to go but the ring. There were no shouts of jubilation,no high-fives, only silence as the boat fell through the blackness of space.

They were alive, but that was subject to change, and that left nothing tocelebrate.

One Marine said, “This duty station really sucks.” No one saw any reasonto contradict him.

Rawley and her companions skidded to a halt, turned back the way they hadcome, and let loose with everything they had. Their weaponry included twopistols, one assault rifle, and a plasma rifle that a pilot had scooped upalong the way. Not much of an arsenal but sufficient to knock three Jackalsoff their feet and put the aliens down for good. Rawley caved the lastJackal’s skull in with her boot.

Eager to get aboard their ships, the group ducked through the docking bayhatch, closed it behind them, and ran for the Pelicans. Foehammer spottedher bird, gave thanks for the fact that it was undamaged, and ran up theramp. As always, it was fueled, armed, and ready to fly. Frye, her copilot,dropped into position behind her, with Crew Chief Cullen bringing up therear.

Once in the cockpit, Rawley strapped in, ran an abbreviated preflightchecklist, and started the transport’s engines. They joined with the restto create a satisfying roar. The outer hatch cycled open. Loose gear tumbledinto space as the bay explosively decompressed.

Moments later, the cruiser entered the ring world’s atmosphere, which meantthat the transports could depart . . . but they had to do it soon. Reentryfriction was already creating a wall of fire around the ship.

“Damn!” Frye exclaimed, “Look at that!” and pointed forward.

Rawley looked, saw a Covenant landing craft coming straight toward the bay,braving the heat generated by theAutumn ’s reentry velocity. There was alimited window of opportunity to get off this sinking ship, and the Covenantbastard was right in the way.

She swore and released the safety on the Pelican’s 70mm chin gun. Theweapon shook the entire ship, punched holes through alien armor, and hitsomething vital. The enemy vessel shuddered, lost control, and spun intotheAutumn ’s hull.

“All right,” the wing leader said over the ship-to-ship frequency,“Let’s go down and meet our hosts. See you on the ground. Foehammer out.”

She clicked off the transmitter and whispered, “Good luck.”

One by one the dropships left the bay, did a series of wingovers, anddropped through the overarching ring. Rawley struggled to maintain controlas the atmosphere tore at her ship. The status panel flashed a heat warningas friction created a massive thermal buildup along the Pelican’s fuselage.

The leading edges of the ship’s short, stubby wings started to glow.

“Jeez, boss,” Frye said, his teeth rattling from the constant jouncing ofthe Pelican, “maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

Foehammer made some adjustments, managed to improve the ship’s glide angle,and glanced to her right. “If you’ve got a better idea,” she yelled,“bring it up at the next staff meeting.”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Until then,” she added, “shut the hell up and let mefly this thing.”

The Pelican hit an air pocket, dropped like a rock, and caught itself. Thetransport shook like a thing possessed. Rawley screamed with anger andbattled her controls as her ship plummeted toward the surface of the ring.

Covenant forces had launched a concerted attack on the command deck aboutfifteen minutes earlier but the defenders had beaten them back. Since thattime the fighting had lessened and there were reports that at least some ofthe aliens were using their assault boats to leave the ship.

It wasn’t clear whether that was due to the considerable number ofcasualties Covenant forces had suffered, or the realization that the shipwas in danger of falling apart, but it hardly mattered. The important thingwas that the area around the bridge was clear, which meant that Keyes, plusthe command team who remained to help him, could carry out their dutieswithout fear of being shot in the back. At least for the moment.

Their next task was to take theAutumn down into the atmosphere. No smallorder considering the fact that, like all vessels of her tonnage, thecruiser had been constructed in zero-gee conditions and wasn’t equipped tooperate in a planetary atmosphere.

Keyes believed it was possible. With that in mind he planned to close withthe ring world, hand control to the subroutine that Cortana had left forthat purpose, and use the last lifeboat to make his escape. Maybe the shipwould pancake in the way he had planned—and maybe it wouldn’t. Whateverthe case, it was almost sure to be a landing that would best be experiencedfrom a safe distance.

Keyes turned to look at the data scrolling across the nav screen anddetected motion out of the corner of his eye. He looked, saw the primaryweapons control station shimmer like a mirage in the desert, and rubbed hiseyes. By the time the Naval officer looked for asecond time, the phenomenahad vanished.

Keyes frowned, turned back to the nav screen, and began the sequence oforders that would put theAutumn in the place she wasleast equipped to go: onsolid ground.

Isna ’Nosolee held his breath. The human had looked straight into his eyes,given no alarm, and turned away. Surely his activities had been blessed bythose who went before and from whom all knowledge flowed.

The camouflage, combined with his own talent for stealth, had proven to beextremely effective. Since he had come aboard, ’Nosolee had toured both theship’s engine room and fire control center prior to arriving on the bridge.

Now, standing in front of a vent, the Elite contemplated what to do next.

The ship’s AI had either been removed or destroyed, he was sure of that. Atleast some senior personnel remained, however—which meant there was still achance.

In fact, based on the manner in which the other humans interacted with him,’Nosolee felt certain that the man named “Keezz” held the position ofShip Master. A very valuable prize indeed.

But how to capture the human? He wouldn’t come willingly, that was obvious,and his companions were armed. The moment ’Nosolee deactivated hiscamouflage they would shoot him. Individually, the humans were weaklings,but they were dangerous in packs. And animals grew all the more dangerousthe nearer they came to extinction.

No, patience was the key, which meant that the Elite would have to wait.

Vapor continued to roll out of the cold air vent, and the air seemed toshimmer, but no one noticed.

“All right,” Keyes said, “let’s put her down. . . . Stand by to fire thebow thrusters . . . Fire!”

The bow thrusters ignited and slowed the ship’s rate of descent. ThePillarof Autumn wobbled for a moment as it battled the ring’s gravity field, thencorrected its angle of entry.

Cortana took over after that, or rather, the part of herself that she hadleft behind did. TheAutumn ’s thrusters fired in increments so small thatthey were like single notes in an ongoing melody. The highly adaptivesubroutine tracked variables, monitored feedback, and made thousands ofdecisions per second.

The much-abused hull shuddered as it entered the atmosphere, started toshake, and sent a host of loose items tumbling to the deck. “That’s as faras we can take her,” Keyes announced. “Delegate all command and controlfunctions to Cortana’s cousin, and let’s haul ass off this boat.”

There was a ragged chorus of “Aye, ayes,” as the bridge crew disengagedfrom the ship they had worked so hard to save, took one last look around,and drew their sidearms. The fighting had died down, but that didn’tmeanall of the Covenant forces had left.

’Nosolee watched anxiously as the humans started to leave the bridge. Hewaited for the last person to exit, and fell into step behind. Thebeginnings of a plan had started to form in his mind. It was audacious—no,make that outrageous—but the Elite figured that made the scheme all themore likely to succeed.

The lifeboat reserved for the bridge crew was close by. Six Marines had beendetailed to guard it and three of them were dead. Their bodies had beendragged off to one side and laid in a row. A corporal shouted, “Attentionon deck!”

Keyes said, “As you were,” and gestured toward the hatch. “Thanks forwaiting, son. I’m sorry about your buddies.”

The corporal nodded stiffly. He must have been off duty when the attackbegan—one half of his face needed a shave. “Thank you, sir. They took adozen of the bastards with them.”

Keyes nodded. Three lives for twelve. It sounded like a good trade-off buthow good was it really? How many Covenant troops were there, anyway? And howmany would each human have to kill? He shook the thought off and jerked histhumb toward the opening. “Everybody into the boat, on the double!”

The survivors streamed onto the boat, and ’Nosolee followed, though it wasdifficult to avoid touching the human vermin in such tight quarters. Therewas a little bit of space toward the front and a handhold which would beuseful once the gravity generated by the larger ship disappeared. Later,after the lifeboat landed, the Elite would find an opportunity to separateKeezz from the rest of the humans and seize him. In the meantime all he hadto do was hang on, avoid detection, and make it to the surface.

The human passengers strapped in. The lifeboat exploded out of the bay, andit fell toward the ring world below. Jets fired, the small craft stabilized,and followed a precalculated glide path toward the surface.

Keyes was seated three slots aft of the pilot. He frowned, as if looking forsomething, then waited for the boat to clear. He leaned toward the Marine infront of him. “Excuse me, Corporal.”

“Sir?” The Marine looked exhausted, but somehow managed to snap to a formof attention, despite being belted into an acceleration chair.

“Hand me your sidearm, son.”

The expression on his face made it plain that the last thing the soldierwanted to do was part company with one of his weapons, particularly in closequarters. But the Captain was the Captain, so he had very little choice. Thewords, “Yes, sir,” were still making their way from the noncom’s brain tohis mouth when he felt the M6D pistol being jerked out of his holster.

Would one of the 12.7mm rounds punch its way through the lifeboat’srelatively thin hull? Keyes wondered. Cause a blowout and kill everyoneaboard?

He didn’t know, but one thing was certain: The Covenant son of a bitchstanding in this lifeboat was about to die. Keyes raised the weapon, aimedat the very center of the strange, ghostly shimmer, and pulled the trigger.

The Elite saw the movement, had nowhere to run, and was busy reaching forhis own pistol when the first bullet struck.

The M6D bucked, the barrel started to rise, and the third slug from the topof the clip passed through the slit in ’Nosolee’s helmet, blew his brainsout through the back of his skull, and freed him from the tyranny ofphysical reality.

No sooner had the noise of the last shot died away than the camo generatorfailed, and an Elite appeared as if from thin air. The alien’s body floatedback toward the rear of the cabin. Thousands of globules of alien bloodescorted bits of brain tissue on their journey to the lifeboat’s stern.

Lieutenant Hikowa ducked as one of the Elite’s boots threatened to hit herhead. She pushed the corpse away, her face impassive. The rest of thepassengers were too shocked to do or say anything at all.

The Captain calmly dropped the clip from the gun, ejected the round in thechamber, and handed the weapon back to the stunned corporal.

“Thanks,” Keyes said. “That thing works pretty well. Don’t forget toreload it.”
Section II Halo Chapter 2
Deployment+00 hours:03 minutes:24 seconds (Major Silva MissionClock) / Command HEV, in combat drop to surface of Halo.

Consistent with standard UNSC insertion protocols, Major Antonio Silva’sHEV accelerated once it was launched so that it was among the first to enterHalo’s atmosphere. There were a number of reasons for this, including thestrongly held belief that officers should lead rather than follow, bewilling to do anything their troops were asked to do, and expose themselvesto the same level of danger.

There were still other reasons, however, beginning with the need to collect,sort, and organize the troops the moment their boots touched ground.

Experience demonstrated that whatever the Helljumpers managed to accomplishduring the first so-called golden hour would have a disproportionate effecton the success or failure of the entire mission. Especially now, as theMarines dropped onto a hostile world without any of the Intel briefings,virtual reality sims, or environment-specific equipment mods they wouldnormally receive prior to such an insertion. To offset this, the command podwas equipped with a lot of gear that the regular “eggs” weren’t,including some high-powered imaging gear, and the Class C military AIrequired to operate it.

This particular intelligence had been programmed with a male persona, thename Wellsley—after the famous Duke of Wellington—and a personality tomatch. Though he was a good deal less capable than a top-level AI likeCortana,all of Wellsley’s capabilities were focused on things military,which made him extremely useful if somewhat narrow-minded.

The HEV shook violently and flipped end for end as the interior temperaturerose to 98 degrees. Sweat poured down Silva’s face.

“So,” Wellsley continued, his voice coming in via the officer’s earplugs, “based on the telemetry available from space, plus my analysis, itappears that the structure tagged as HS2604 will meet your needs.” TheAI’s tone changed slightly as a conversational subroutine kicked in.

“Perhaps you would like to call it ‘Gawilghur,’ after the fortress Iconquered in India?”

“Thanks,” Silva croaked as the pod inverted a second time, “but nothanks. First:you didn’t take the fortress, Wellington did. Second: Thereweren’t any computers in 1803. Third: none of my troops would be able topronounce ‘Gawilghur.’ The designator ‘Alpha Base’ will do just fine.”

The AI issued a passable rendition of a human sigh. “Very well, then. As Iwas saying,‘Alpha Base’ is located at the top ofthis butte.” Thecurvilinear screen located just six inches from the end of the Marine’snose seemed to shiver and the video morphed into a picture of a thick,pillarlike formation topped by a mesa with some variegated flat-roofedstructures located at one end.

That was all Silva got to see before the HEV’s skin started to slough awayrevealing the alloy crash cage that contained the officer and his equipment.

The air turned cold and ripped at his clothes. A moment later, the chuteunfurled and assumed the shape of an airfoil. Silva winced as the poddecelerated with a bone-rattling jerk. His harness bit into his shouldersand chest.

Wellsley sent an electronic signal to the rest of the Helljumpers. Theremains of their HEVs turned in whatever direction was necessary in order toorient themselves on the command pod and follow it down through theatmosphere.

All except for Private Marie Postly, who heard asnap as her main chute toreaway. There was a sickening moment of freefall, then a jolt as the back-upchute deployed. A red light flashed on the instrument panel in front of her.

She started to scream on freq two, until Silva cut her off. He closed hiseyes. It was the death that every Helljumper feared, but none of them talkedabout. Somewhere, down toward Halo’s surface, Postly was about to dig herown grave.

Silva felt his HEV stabilize and took another look at the butte. It was tallenough to provide anyone who owned it with a good view of the surroundingcountryside, plus the sheer cliffs would force attackers to either come byair or fight their way up along narrow paths. As a bonus, the structureslocated on top would provide his Marines with defensible shelter. “It looksgood. I like it.”

“I thought you would,” Wellsley replied smugly. “There is one littleproblem, however.”

“What’s that?” Silva shouted as the last section of the HEV’s skinpeeled away and the slipstream tore at his mask.

“The Covenant owns this particular piece of real estate,” the AI replied,calmly, “and if we want it, we’ll have to take it.”

Deployment+00 hours:02 minutes:51 seconds(SPARTAN-117 Mission Clock) / Lifeboat Lima FoxtrotAlpha 43, in emergency descent to surface of Halo.

The Master Chief watched the ring open up in front of him as the pilotguided the lifeboat in past a thick silvery edge, and down “under” theconstruct’s inner surface, before putting the tiny ship into a shallow divecalculated to place it on the strange landscape below. As he looked forward,he saw mountains, hills, and a plain that curved up and eventually out offocus as the ring swooped upward to complete itself somewhere over his head.

The sight was beautiful, strange, and disorienting all at the same time.

Then the sightseeing was over as the ground came up to meet them. The MasterChief couldn’t tell whether the lifeboat took enemy fire, suffered anengine failure, or nicked an obstacle on final approach. It really didn’tmatter; the result was the same.

The pilot had time to yell, “We’re coming in too fast!” A moment later,the hull bounced off something solid, and the Spartan was knocked off hisfeet.

Pain stabbed through his temples as his helmet slammed into the bulkhead onhis way to the deckplates—followed by clinging blackness . . .

“Chief . . . Chief . . . Can you hear me?” Cortana’s voice echoed in hishead.

The Spartan opened his eyes and found himself facing the overhead lightpanels. They flickered and sparked. “Yes, I can hear you,” he replied.

“There’s no need to shout.”

“Oh,really ?” the AI replied in an arch tone. “Maybe you’d like to filea complaint with the Covenant. The crash triggered a lot of radio trafficand it’s my guess that the welcome wagon is on the way.”

The Master Chief struggled to his feet and was just about to answer in kindwhen he saw the bodies. The impact of the crash had ripped the boat open andmangled the unprotected people within. No one else had survived.

There was no time to dwell on that, not if he wanted to stay alive, and keepCortana from falling into enemy hands.

He hurried to gather as much ammo, grenades, and supplies as he could carry.

He had just finished checking the pins on a quartet of frag grenades whenCortana piped up in alarm: “Warning—I’ve detected multiple Covenantdropships on approach. I recommend moving into those hills. If we’re lucky,the Covenant will believe that everyone aboard the lifeboat died in thecrash.”

“Acknowledged.”

Cortana’s plan made sense. The Spartan surveyed the area for threats, thenhurried toward a canyon and the bridge that crossed it. The span was devoidof safety railings, and was constructed from a strange, burnished metal.

Beneath the bridge, a towering waterfall thundered down a massive drop-off.

The rest of the world arched high overhead. Large outcroppings of weather-smoothed gray rock rose ahead, and a scattering of what looked like conifersreminded him of the forests he’d trained in on Reach.

There were differences, however, like the way the ring tapered up from thehorizon, the manner in which its shadow fell upon the land, and the crisp,clean air that came in through his filters. It was beautiful, breathtakinglyso, but potentially dangerous as well.

“Alert—Covenant dropship inbound.” Cortana’s voice was calm butinsistent.

The prophecy soon proved correct as a large shadow floated over the far endof the bridge and the ship’s engines screamed a warning. There was verylittle doubt that the Spartan had been spotted, so he made plans to dealwith it.

He reached the end of the bridge, saw a likely-looking boulder off to hisleft, and hurried to take advantage of it. He skirted the cliff edge,ignoring the long drop. Careful to watch his footing, the Master Chiefcircled the rock and found a crevice where the boulder touched the cliff.

Now, with his back to the wall, he had a chance to defend himself.

He checked his motion tracker, and realized that a pair of Covenant Bansheeswere practically on top of him. The alien aircraft boasted plasma cannon andfuel rod guns. Though not especially fast, they were still dangerous,especially against ground troops.

Combined with air support, the Grunts and Elites that dropped from the forkshaped alien troop carrier were a serious threat.

He steadied his aim and sighted on the nearest Banshee. Careful not to fireearly, the Spartan waited for the Banshee to come within range, thensqueezed the trigger. The first assault ship came straight at him, whichmade it relatively easy to stay on target. Bullet impacts sparked on theBanshee’s hull as his ammo counter dwindled.

The ship shuddered as at least some of the armor-piercing rounds penetratedthe fuselage, pulled up out of its dive, and started to trail smoke.

The Master Chief was in no position to appreciate the results of hisefforts, however, as the second Banshee swooped out of the sun, pounded thearea around him with plasma fire. His shield display dropped, then pulsedred. An alarm whined in his helmet speakers.

The Master Chief returned fire. Without pause, he thumbed the magazinerelease and slammed a fresh clip into the receiver.

He crouched, searched the sky for targets, and spotted Banshee number one inthe nick of time. He braced himself for another assault. The Spartan allowedthe enemy aircraft to approach, took a slight lead, and squeezed the triggeragain. The Covenant ship ran into the stream of bullets, exploded intoflames, and slammed into the cliff wall.

The second ship was still up there, flying in lazy circles, but the Spartanknew better than to stand around and watch it. A half dozen red dots hadappeared on his motion sensors. Each blip represented a potential assailantand most were located to his rear.

The Master Chief waited for his shields to return to their full charge, thenturned, jumped up onto the boulder, and took a quick look around. TheCovenant dropship had deposited a clutch of Grunts on the far side of thecanyon where they were busy examining the wreckage of his lifeboat.

But that wasn’t all. To his left, on his side of the bridge,another groupof Grunts was working its way through the trees, moving in his direction.

They were still a ways off, however—which gave him a few seconds toprepare.

Though not armed with the standard S2 AM Sniper’s Rifle, his weapon ofchoice for this sort of situation, the Spartan was packing the M6D pistolthat Keyes had given him. It was equipped with a 2X scope and, in the handsof an expert, it could reach out and touch someone.

The Master Chief drew the sidearm, turned to the group gathered around thewreckage, and placed the targeting circle over the nearest Grunt. In spiteof the fact that they were of no immediate threat, the aliens on the otherside of the canyon were in an ideal position to flank him, which meant hewould deal with them first. Twelve shots rang out, and seven Grunts fell.

Satisfied that his right flank was reasonably secure, he slammed a freshclip into the pistol and shifted his attention to the enemy troops that wereemerging from the trees. This group of Grunts was closer now,much closer,and they opened fire. The Master Chief chose to target the most distantalien first, thereby ensuring that he would still get a crack at the others,even if they turned and tried to escape.

The pistol shots came in quick succession. The Grunts barked, hooted, andgurgled as the well-aimed bullets hurled their lifeless carcasses down thereverse slope.

When there were no more targets to fire at, the Master Chief took a momentto reload the handgun, clicked on the safety, and returned the weapon to itsholster. He jumped off the boulder and crouched under an outcropping ofrock.

He eyed the Banshee above. It was still there, circling well out of range,waiting to pounce should he emerge from cover. That meant he could sit thereand wait for more ground forces to arrive, or he could abandon his hidingplace and attempt to slip away.

The Spartan had never been one for standing around, so he readied hisassault rifle and slid forward over the rock. Once on open ground it was ashort dash past the scattering of dead Grunts. He crouched beneath the coveroffered by a copse of trees.

He counted to three, then dashed from boulder to boulder. He leapfroggeduphill, still very much aware of the Banshee at his back, but reasonablycertain he’d given the aircraft the slip.

There were no blips on his threat detector, until he topped the rise andpaused to examine the terrain ahead. A telltale red dot popped onto his HUD.

The Master Chief eased his way forward, waiting for the moment of contact.

Then he saw movement as hunched bodies dashed from one scrap of cover to thenext. There were four of them, including a blue-armored Elite. The Elitecharged recklessly forward, firing as he came.

He’d engaged such Elites before—there was some significance to thealiens’ armor colors—and they always fought like aggressive rookies. Athin smile touched the Master Chief’s lips. He ignored the alien’s badly-placed shots, stood, and returned fire. The Elite’s advance stalled, andthe Grunts began to fall back toward a stand of trees. His threat indicatorsounded a warning and a red arrow pointed to the right. The Master Chiefdrew and primed an M9 HE-DP grenade.

He turned just in time to see another Elite—this one in the scarlet armorof a veteran—charge him. The grenade was already in hand, and the distanceto the target was sufficient, so the soldier let the M9 fly. The grenadedetonated with a loudwhump! and tossed the enemy soldier into the air, whilestripping a nearby tree of half its branches.

The rookie was close now, and roared a battle cry. The alien hosed theMaster Chief with plasma fire. His shields dropped precipitously.

The Spartan backed away, fired his assault rifle in short controlled bursts,and finally managed to knock the remaining Elite off his feet.

With their leader down, the Grunts broke ranks and began to scamper away.

The Master Chief cut their retreat short in a hail of bullets.

He eased up on the trigger, felt the silence settle in around him, and knewhe had made a mistake. The veteran had damned near blindsided him. How?

He realized with a start that he was still fighting like part of a unit.

Though he was trained to act independently, he had spent most of hismilitary career as part of a team. The Elite had managed to flank himbecause his was simply accustomed to one of his fellow Spartans watching outfor him.

He was cut off from the chain of command, alone, and most likely surroundedby the enemy. He nodded, his face grim behind the mirrored visor. Thismission would require a major revision in his tactics.

He pushed his way up through a meadow thick with knee-high, spiky grass. Hecould hear the distant chatter of automatic weapons fire and knew someMarines were somewhere up ahead.

He sprinted toward the sound of battle. Perhaps he wouldn’t be on his ownfor long.

Deployment+00 hours:05 minutes:08 seconds (Captain Keyes’

Mission Clock) / Lifeboat Kilo Tango Victor 17, in emergencydescent to surface of Halo.

Maybe it was because theAutumn ’s navigator, Ensign Lovell, was at thecontrols, or maybe it was simply a matter of good luck, but whatever thereason, the rest of the trip down through Halo’s atmosphere was completelyuneventful. So peaceful that it made Keyes nervous.

“Where would you like me to put her down, sir?” Lovell inquired, as thelifeboat skimmed a grassy plain.

“Anywhere,” Keyes answered, “so long as there aren’t any Covenant forcesaround. Some cover would be nice—since this boat will act like a magnet ifwe leave it out in the open.”

Like most of its kind, the lifeboat had never been intended for extendedatmospheric use; it flew like a rock, in fact. But the suggestion madesense, so the pilot turned toward what he had arbitrarily designated as the“west,” and the point where the grasslands met a tumble of low rollinghills.

The lifeboat was low, so low that the Covenant patrol barely had time to seewhat it was before the tiny vessel flashed over their heads and disappeared.

The veteran Elites, both of whom were mounted on small single-seathoversleds, Ghosts, stood to watch the lifeboat skim the plain.

The senior of the pair called the sighting in. They turned toward the hillsand opened their throttles. What had promised to be a long, boring daysuddenly seemed a great deal more interesting. The Elites glanced at eachother, bent over their controls, and raced to see which of them could reachthe lifeboat first—and which of them would score the first kill of theafternoon.

Deep in the hills ahead, Lovell fired the lifeboat’s bow thrusters, droppedwhat flaps the stubby little wings had, and jazzed the boat’s belly jets.

Keyes watched in admiration as the young pilot dropped the boat into a gullywhere it would be almost impossible to spot, except from directly overhead.

Lovell had been a troubled officer, well on his way to a dishonorabledischarge, when Keyes had recruited him. He’d come a long way since then.

“Nice job,” the Captain said as the lifeboat settled onto its skids.

“Okay, boys and girls, let’s strip this ship of everything that might beuseful, and put as much distance between it and ourselves as we can.

Corporal, post your Marines as sentries. Wang, Dowski, Abiad, open thosestorage compartments. Let’s see what brand of champagne the UNSC keeps inits lifeboats. Hikowa, give me a hand with this body.”

There was a certain amount of commotion as ’Nosolee’s corpse was carriedoutside and unceremoniously dumped into a crevice, the boat was stripped,and the controls were disabled. With emergency packs on their backs, thebridge crew started up into the hills. They hadn’t gone far when a sonicboom rolled over the land, thePillar of Autumn roared across the sky, anddropped over the horizon to the arbitrary “south.”

Keyes held his breath as he waited to see what would happen. He, like allCOs, had neural implants that linked him to the ship, the ship’s AI, andkey personnel. There was a pause, followed by what felt like a mild earthtremor. A moment later, a terse message from Cortana’s subroutine scrolledacross his vision, courtesy of his neural lace:

>CSR-1 :: BURST BROADCAST ::

>PILLAR OF AUTUMNIS DOWN. THOSE SYSTEMS WHICH REMAIN FUNCTIONAL ARE ON STANDBY.

OPERATIONAL READINESS STANDS AT 8.7%.

>CSR-1 OUT.

It wasn’t the sort of message that any commanding officer would want toreceive. In spite of the fact that theAutumn would never swim through spaceagain, Keyes took some small comfort from the fact that his ship still hadthe equivalent of a pulse, and might still come in handy.

He forced a smile. “Okay, people, what are we waiting for? Our cave awaits.

The last one to the top digs the latrine.”

The bridge personnel continued their climb.

In spite of efforts to keep the HEVs together, the Helljumpers came down ina landing zone that stretched approximately three kilometers in diameter.

Some of the landings were classic two-point affairs in which the morefortunate Marines were able to jettison their crash cages about fifty metersoff the ground, and land like sim soldiers in a training vid.

Others were a good deal less graceful, as the skeletal remains of their droppods smashed against cliffs, dropped into lakes, and in one unfortunate caserolled into a deep ravine. As the surviving Helljumpers extricatedthemselves from their HEVs, a homing beacon snapped to life, and they wereable to orient themselves to the red square which appeared on theirtransparent eye-screens. That was where Major Silva had landed, a temporaryHQ had been established, and the battalion would regroup.

Each pod was stripped of extra weapons, ammo, and other supplies, whichmeant that the force which converged on the hot dry plateau was wellequipped. Helljumpers were supposed to be able to operate without externalresupply for two-week periods, and Silva was pleased that his troops hadretained most of their gear, despite the difficult drop conditions.

In fact,Silva thought as he watched his troops stream in from everydirection,the only thing we lack is a fleet of Warthogs and a squad ofScorpions. But those assets would come, oh, yes they would, shortly afterthe butte was wrenched from enemy hands. In the meantime, the Helljumperswould use what ground-pounders always use: their feet.

First Lieutenant Melissa McKay had landed safely, as had most of her 130personcompany. Three of her people had been killed in action on theAutumn ,and two were missing and presumed dead. Not too bad, all things considered.

As luck would have it, McKay hit the dirt only half a klick away from thehoming beacon, which meant that by the time a perimeter had been establishedshe had already humped her gear across the hardpan, located Major Silva, andreported in. McKay was one of his favorites. The ODST officer nodded by wayof a greeting. “Nice of you to drop in, Lieutenant . . . I was beginning towonder if you’d taken the afternoon off.”

“No, sir,” McKay responded. “I dozed off on the way down and sleptthrough my wake-up alarm. It won’t happen again.”

Silva managed to keep a straight face. “Glad to hear it.”

He paused, then pointed. “You see that butte? The one with the structureson top? I want it.”

McKay looked, brought her binoculars up, and looked again. The butte’srange appeared along the bottom of the image and was soon chased out of theframe by coordinates that Wellsley inserted to replace the concepts oflongitude and latitude which worked on most planetary surfaces, but nothere.

The sun was “setting” but there was still enough light to see by. As shesurveyed the target area, a Covenant Banshee took off from the top of thebutte, circled out toward the “west,” and came straight at her. The onlything that was surprising about that was the fact that it had taken theenemy so long to respond to their landing.

“It looks like a tough nut to crack, sir. Especially from the ground.”

“It is,” Silva agreed, “which is why we’re going to tackle it from boththe airand the ground. Lord only knows how they did it, but a group ofPelican pilots were able to launch their transports before the Old Manbrought theAutumn down, and they’re hidden about ten klicks north of here.

We can use them to support an airborne operation.”

McKay lowered her binoculars. “And theAutumn ?”

“She’s KIA back thataway,” Silva replied, hooking his thumb back over ashoulder. “I’d like to go pay my final respects, but that will have towait. What we need is a base, something we can fortify, and use to hold theCovenant at bay. Otherwise they’re going to hunt our people down one, two,or three at a time.”

“Which is where the butte comes in,” McKay said.

“Exactly,” Silva answered. “So, start walking. I want your company at thefoot of that butte ASAP. If there’s a path to the top I want you to find itand follow it. Once you get their attention, we’ll hit them from above.”

There was a loudbang as one of the first company’s rocket jockeys fired herM19 SSM man-portable launcher, blew the incoming Banshee out of the sky, anda put a period to Silva’s sentence. The battalion cheered as the Bansheebits dribbled smoke and wobbled out of the sky.

“Sir, yes sir,” McKay answered. “When we get up there, you can buy me abeer.”

“Fair enough,” Silva agreed, “but we’ll have to brew it first.”

Even Grunts had to be granted some rest once in a while, which was why long,cylindrical tanks equipped with air locks had been shipped to Halo’ssurface, where they were pumped full of methane and used in lieu ofbarracks.

Having survived the nearly suicidal attack on theAutumn by rescuing awounded Elite, and insisting that the warrior be evacuated rather than leftto die, Yayap had extended the duration of his own life, not to mentionthose of the Grunts directly under his command.

Now, by way of celebrating that victory, the alien soldier was curled in atiny ball, fast asleep. One leg twitched slightly as the Grunt dreamed ofmaking his way through the swamps of his home world, past naturallyoccurring pillars of fire, to the marshy estuary where he had grown up.

Then, before he could cross a row of ancient stepping-stones to the reedyhut on the far side of the family’s ancestral fish pond, Gagaw shook hisarm. “Yayap! Get up quick! Remember the Elite we brought down from theship? He’s outside, and he wants to see you!”

Yayap sprang to his feet. “Me?Did he say why?”

“No,” the other Grunt replied, “but it can’t be good.”

That much was certainly true, Yayap reflected as he waded through the chaosof equipment that hung in untidy clusters along the length of the cylinder.

He entered the communal lavatory, and hurried to don his armor, breathingapparatus, and weapons harness.

Which was more dangerous, he wondered, to show up disheveled, and have theElite find fault with his appearance, or to show up later because he hadtaken the time required to ensure that his appearance would be acceptable?

Dealing with Elites always seemed to involve such conundrums, which was oneof the many reasons that Yayap had a hearty dislike for their kind.

Finally, having decided to favor speed over appearance, Yayap entered theair lock, waited for it to cycle him through, and emerged into the brightsunlight. The first thing he noticed was that the sentries, who couldnormally be found leaning against the tank discussing how awful the rationswere, stood at rigid attention.

“Are you the one called Yayap?” The deep voice came from behind him andcaused the Grunt to jump. He turned, came to attention, and tried to looksoldierly. “Yes, Excellency.”

The Elite named Zuka ’Zamamee wore no helmet. He couldn’t, not with thedressing that was wrapped around his head, but the rest of his armor wasstill in place. It was spotlessly clean, as were the weapons he wore.

“Good. The medics told me that you and your file not only pulled me off theship—but forced the assault boat to bring me down to the surface.”

Yayap felt a lump form in his throat and struggled to swallow it. The pilothad been somewhat reluctant, citing orders to wait for a full load of troopsbefore breaking contact with the human ship, but Gagaw had been quiteinsistent—even going so far as to pull his plasma pistol and wave it about.

“Yes, Excellency,” Yayap replied, “but I can explain—”

“There’s no need,” ’Zamamee replied. Yayap almost jumped; the Elite’svoice lacked the customary bark of command. It sounded almost . . .

reassuring.

Yayap was anything but reassured.

“You saw that a superior had been wounded,” the Elite continued, “and didwhat you could to ensure that he received timely medical treatment. Thatsort of initiative is rare, especially among the lower classes.”

Yayap stared at the Elite, unable to reply. He felt disoriented. In hisuniverse, Elites didn’t offer accolades.

“To show my appreciation I’ve had you transferred.”

Yayapliked the normally sleepy unit to which he was attached, and had nodesire to leave it. “Transferred, Excellency? To what unit?”

“Why, tomy unit,” the Elite replied, as if nothing could be more natural.

“My assistant was killed as we boarded the human ship.You will take hisplace.”

Yayap felt his spirits plummet. The Elites who acted as special operativesof the Prophets were fanatics, chosen for their limitless willingness torisk their lives—and the lives of those under their command. “Th-thankyou, Excellency,” Yayap stuttered, “but I don’t deserve such an honor.”

“Nonsense!” the Elite replied. “Your name has already been added to therolls. Gather your belongings, say good-bye to your cohort, and meet me herefifteen units from now. I’m scheduled to appear in front of the Council ofMasters later this evening. You will accompany me.”

“Yes, Excellency,” Yayap said obediently. “May I inquire as to thepurpose of the meeting?”

“You may,” ’Zamamee replied, allowing a hand to touch the bandage thatcircled his head. “The human who inflicted this wound was a warrior socapable that he represents a danger to the entire battle group. Anindividual who, if our records can be believed, is personally responsiblefor the deaths of more than a thousand of our soldiers.”

Yayap felt his knees start to give. “By himself, Excellency?”

“Yes. But never fear, those days are over. Once I receive authorization,you and I will find this human.”

“Findhim?” Yayap exclaimed, protocol forgotten. “Thenwhat?”

“Then,” ’Zamamee growled, “we will kill him.”

The dawn air was cold, and McKay could see her breath as she stared upwardand wondered what awaited her. Half the night had been spent marching acrossthe stretch of intervening hardpan to get into position below the butte, andthe other half had been spent between trying to find a way up to the top,and grabbing a little bit of sleep.

The second task had been easy, perhaps a littletoo easy, because other thana sloppily constructed barricade, the foot of the four-foot-wide ramp wasentirely unguarded. Still, the last thing the Covenant expected was for ahuman ship to appear out of Slipspace, and land infantry on the surface ofthe construct. Viewed in that light, a certain lack of preparation wasunderstandable.

In any case, the path started at ground level, spiraled steadily upward, andhadn’t been used in some time judging from what she could see. That’s theway itappeared , anyway, although it was hard to be sure from below, andSilva was understandably reluctant to send in one of the Pelicans lest itgive the plan away.

No, McKay and her troops would have to wind their way up along the narrowpath, engage whatever defenses the Covenant might have in place, and hopethat the Pelicans arrived quickly enough to take the pressure off.

The Lieutenant eyed the readout on the transparent boom-mounted eye-screenattached to her helmet, waited for the countdown to complete itself, andstarted up the steep incline. Company Sergeant Tink Carter turned to facethe men and women lined up behind him. “What the hell are you waiting for?

An engraved invitation? Let’s get it in gear.”

While B Company marched toward the butte, and C Company marched off torendezvous with the Pelicans, the rest of the battalion used the remaininghours of darkness to prepare for the following day under Major Silva’swatchful eye. Wireless sensors were placed two hundred meters out andmonitored by Wellsley; three-person fire teams took up positions a hundredfifty meters out; and a rapid response team was established to support them.

There wasn’t any natural cover here, so the Helljumpers moved their gear uponto a low rise, and did what they could to place fortifications around it.

Dirt excavated from the firing pits was used to build a low barrier aroundthe battalion’s perimeter, connecting trenches were dug, and a landing padwas established so that Pelicans could put down within the battalion’sfootprint.

Now, standing at the very highest point of the pad, and gazing off to thewest, Silva listened as Wellsley spoke into his ear. “I have good news andbad news. Thegood news is that Lieutenant McKay has started her climb.

Thebad news is that the Covenant is about to attack from the west.”

Silva lowered his glasses, turned, and looked to the west. An enormous dustcloud had appeared during the five minutes that had passed since he lookedthat way. “Whatkind of attack?” the ODST officer demanded curtly.

“That’s rather difficult to say,” Wellsley replied deliberately,“especially without the ships, satellites, and recon drones that I normallyrely on for information. However, judging from the amount of dust, plus myknowledge of the Covenant weapons inventory, it looks like an old-fashionedcavalry charge similar to the one that Napoleon threw my way at Waterloo.”

“You weren’t at Waterloo,” Silva reminded the AI as he brought thebinoculars up to his eyes. “But, assuming you’re correct, what are theyriding?”

“Rapid attack and reconnaissance vehicles which our forces refer to asGhosts,” Wellsley replied pedantically. “Perhaps a hundred of them . . .

judging from the dust.”

Silva swore. The timing couldn’t have been worse. The Covenant had torespond to his presence, he knew that, but he had hoped for a little moretime. Now, with fully half his strength committed elsewhere, he was leftwith roughly two hundred troops. Still, they were ODST troops, the best inthe UNSC.

“All right,” Silva said grimly, “if they want to charge, let’s give themthe traditional counter. Order the pickets to pull back, tell Companies Aand D to form an infantry square, and let’s get all the backup ammo belowground level. I want assault weapons in the pits, launchers halfway up theslope, and snipers up on the pad. No one fires until I give the command.”

Like Silva, Wellsley knew that the Roman legions had used the infantrysquare to good effect, as had Lord Wellington, and many since. Theformation, which consisted of a box with ranks of troops all facing outward,was extremely hard to break.

The AI relayed the instructions to the troops, who, though surprised to bedeployed in such an archaic way, knew exactly what to do. By the time theGhosts arrived and washed around the rise like an incoming tide, the squarewas set.

Silva studied the rangefinder in his tac display and waited until the enemywas in range. He keyed the all-hands freq and gave the order: “Fire!Fire!

”

Sheets of armor-piercing bullets sleeted through the air. The lead machinesstaggered as if they had run into a wall, Elites tumbled out of their seats,and a runaway machine skittered to the east.

But there were a lot of the attack vehicles and as the oncoming hordesprayed the Marines with plasma fire, ODST troopers began to fall.

Fortunately, the weapons that fired the energy bolts were fixed, which meantthat the rise would continue to offer the humans a good deal of protection,so long as the Ghosts weren’t allowed to climb the slopes.

Also operating in the Helljumpers’ favor were the skittish nature of themachines themselves, some poor driving, and a lack of overall coordination.

Many of the Elites seemed eager to score a kill: They broke formation andraced ahead of their comrades. Silva saw one attack craft take fire fromanother Ghost, which crashed into a third machine, which subsequently burstinto flame.

The majority of the Elites were quite competent, however, and after someinitial confusion, they went to work devising tactics intended to break thesquare. A gold-armored Elite led the effort. First, rather than allowing theriders to circle the humans in whatever direction they chose, he forced theminto a counterclockwise rotation. Then, having reduced collisions by atleast a third, the enemy officer chose the lowest pit, the one against whichthe fixed plasma cannons would be most effective, and drove at it time andtime again. Marines were killed, the outgoing fire slackened, and one cornerof the square became vulnerable.

Silva countered by sending a squad to reinforce the weak point, ordering hissnipers to concentrate their fire on the gold Elite, and calling on therocket jockeys to provide rotating fire. If the humans’ launchers had aweakness, it was the fact that they could only fire two rockets before beingreloaded, which left at least five seconds between volleys. By alternatingfire, and concentrating on the Ghosts closest to the hill, the Marinedefenders were able to leverage the weapons’ effectiveness.

This strategy proved effective. Wrecked, burned, and mangled Ghosts formed ametal barricade, further protecting the humans from plasma fire, andinterfering with new attacks.

Silva lifted his binoculars and surveyed the smoke-laced battle area. Heoffered a silent thanks to whatever deity watched over the infantry. Hadheled the assault, Silva would have sent in air support first to pin theHelljumpers down—followed by Ghosts from the west. His opposite number hadbeen trained differently, had too much confidence in his mechanized troops,or was just plain inexperienced.

Whatever the reason, the Banshees were thrown into the mix late, apparentlyas an afterthought. Silva’s rocket jockeys knocked two of the aircraft outof the air on the first pass, nailed another one on the second pass, andsent the fourth running south with smoke trailing from its failing engines.

Finally, with the gold Elite dead, and more than half of their numberslaughtered, the remaining Elites withdrew. Some of the Ghosts remaineduntouched, but at least a dozen of the surviving ships carried extra riders,and most were riddled with bullet holes. Two, their engines destroyed, weretowed off the field of battle.

This is why we need the butte,Silva thought as he surveyed the carnage,toavoid another victory like this one. Twenty-three Helljumpers were dead, sixwere critically injured, and ten had lesser wounds.

Static burped in his ear, and McKay’s voice crackled across the commandfreq.“Blue One to Red One, over.”

Silva swung toward the butte, raised his glasses, and saw smoke drift awayfrom a point about halfway up the pillarlike formation. “This is Red One—go. Over.”

“I think we have their attention, sir.”

The Major grinned. It looked more like a grimace. “Roger that, Blue One. Weput on a show for them, as well. Hang tight . . . help is on the way.”

McKay ducked back beneath a rocky overhang as the latest batch of plasmagrenades rained down from above. Some kept on falling, others found targets,bonded to them, and exploded seconds later.

A trooper screamed as one of the alien bombs landed on top of his rucksack.

A sergeant yelled, “Dump the pack!” but the Marine panicked, andbackpedaled off the path. The grenade exploded and sprayed the cliff facewith what looked like red paint. The infantry officer winced.

“Roger, Red One. Sooner would be a whole helluva lot better than later.

Over and out.”

Wellsley ordered the Pelicans into the air as Silva stared out over theplain. He wondered if his plan would work, and if he could stomach theprice.
Chapter 3
D+03:14:26 (SPARTAN-117 Mission Clock) / Surface.

Up ahead the Master Chief saw a light so bright that it seemed to competewith the sun. It originated somewhere beyond the rocks and trees ahead,surged up between the horns of a large U-shaped construct, and raced intothe sky where the planet Threshold served as a pastel backdrop. Was thepulse some sort of beacon? Part of what held the ring world together? Therewas no way for him to know.

Cortana had already warned the Spartan that a group of Marines had crash-landed in the area, so he wasn’t surprised to hear the rattle of automaticweapons fire or the characteristic whine as Covenant energy weapons answeredin kind.

He eased his way through the scrub and onto the hillside above the U-shapededifice and the blocky structures that surrounded it. He could see a groupof Grunts, Jackals, and Elites dashing back and forth as they tried tooverwhelm a group of Marines.

Rather than charge in, assault weapon blazing, the Master Chief chose to usehis M6D pistol instead. He raised the weapon, activated the 2Xmagnification, and took careful aim. A series of well-placed shots knocked atrio of Grunts off their feet.

Before the Covenant forces could locate where the incoming fire hadoriginated, the Master Chief opened fire on a blue-armored Elite. It took afull magazine to put the warrior down, but it beat the hell out of goingtoe-to-toe with the alien when there wasn’t any need to.

The quick, unexpected sniping attack gave the Marines the opportunity theyneeded. There was a quick flurry of fire as the Spartan made his way downthe slope, paused to strip some plasma grenades off a dead Grunt, and waswelcomed by a friendly private. “Good to see you, Chief. Welcome to theparty.”

The Spartan’s reply was a curt nod. “Where’s your CO, Private?”

“Back there,” the Marine said. He turned and called over his shoulder.

“Hey, Sarge!”

The Master Chief recognized the tough-looking Sergeant who trotted to jointhem. He’d last seen Sergeant Johnson during a search-and-destroy runaboard one of Reach’s orbital docking facilities.

“What’s your status here, Sergeant?”

“It’s a mess,” Johnson growled. “We’re scattered all over thisvalley.” He paused, and added in a quiet voice, “We called for evac, butuntil you showed up, I thought we were done for.”

“Don’t worry,”Cortana said over the Spartan’s external speakers,“we’llstay here till evac arrives. I’ve been in touch with AI Wellsley. TheHelljumpers are in the process of taking over some Covenant real estate—andone of the Pelicans has been dispatched to pick you up.”

“Glad to hear it,” Johnson replied. “Some of my people need medicalattention.”

“Here comes another Covenant dropship,” the Private put in. “It’s timeto roll out the welcome mat!”

“Okay, Bisenti,” Johnson barked. “Re-form the squad. Let’s get towork.”

The Master Chief looked up and saw that the Marine was correct—anotherCovenant landing craft hovered for a moment, then dropped close to theground. The oddly shaped vehicle dipped slightly, and the mandiblestructures that formed the bulk of the dropship’s fuselage hinged open. Aclutch of Grunts and an Elite dropped to the ground.

The Master Chief moved fifty meters to the right, and raised his pistol onceagain. In seconds, a team of Marines poured fire into the Covenant LZ andflushed them out. As the aliens scattered and dove for cover, the Spartanput them down one by one.

There was a brief respite, and the Master Chief paused to survey thesituation. Cortana pulled up the Marine positions, tagged them asFIRE TEAM C ,and highlighted their locations on his HUD. Several of them had climbed thelarge structure that dominated the area, and the rest patrolled theperimeter.

He had just readied his assault rifle when a Marine voice called out:

“Contact! Enemy dropship sighted! They’re trying to flank us!”

Seconds later, the Spartan’s motion sensor painted a contact—a large one—nearby. He stayed close to a large boulder and used it for cover, thencautiously checked for targets.

The dropship disgorged another contingent of troops—including a trio ofJackals. Their distinctive, glowing shields flared as Sergeant Johnson’smen opened fire. Bullets ricocheted as the birdlike aliens crouched behindtheir protective devices, like medieval footmen forming a shield wall.

Behind them, more Grunts and a blue Elite spread out in an envelopingformation. It was a good tactic, particularly if there were more dropshipsinbound. Eventually, the Covenant would wear down the Marine defenses andoverrun the position.

There was just one problem with their plan: He was in a perfect flankingposition. He crouched, then sprinted forward into the Jackal’s line. Hisassault rifle barked and bullets tore into the exposed aliens. They hadbarely hit the ground as the Spartan spun, primed a captured plasma grenade,and threw it at the Elite, almost thirty meters away.

The alien only had time to roar in surprise before the glowing plasma orbstruck him in the center of his helmet. The weapon fused to the alien’shelmet and began to pulse a sickly blue-white. A moment later, as the alienattempted to tear off his helmet, the grenade detonated.

After that it was a relatively simple matter for the Master Chief to movethrough the ruins and hunt down the remainder of the Covenant reactionforce.

A welcome voice sounded from his radio receiver.“This is Echo 419. Doesanyone read me? Repeat: any UNSC personnel, respond.”

Cortana was quick to reply on the same frequency.“Roger, Echo 419, we readyou. This is Fire Team Charlie. Is that you, Foehammer?”

“Roger, Fire Team Charlie,”Foehammer drawled,“it’s good to hear fromyou!”

There was a distant rumbling, and the Master Chief turned to identify thesource of the noise. In the distance, he saw movement—lifeboats, trailingsmoke and fire as their friction-heated hulls tore through the atmosphere.

“They’re coming in fast,” Cortana warned. “If they make it down, theCovenant will be right on top of them.”

The Chief nodded. “Then we should find them first.”

“Foehammer, we need you to disengage your Warthog. The Master Chief and Iare going to see if we can save some soldiers.”

“Roger.”

The Pelican rounded the spire of the alien structure, circled the area once,then hovered above the crest of a nearby hill. Slung beneath the Pelican wasa four-wheeled vehicle—an M12 LRV Warthog. The light reconnaissance vehiclehung beneath the dropship for a moment, then dropped to the ground asFoehammer released it from her craft. The Warthog bounced once on its heavysuspension, slid five meters down the hill, then was still.

“Okay, Fire Team Charlie—one Warthog deployed,”Foehammer said.“Saddle upand give ’em hell!”

“Roger, Foehammer, stand by to load survivors and evac them to safety.”

“That’s affirmative . . . Foehammer out.”

As the Marines sprinted for the Pelican, the Master Chief made his way tothe Warthog. The all-terrain vehicle was mounted with a standard M41 lightantiaircraft gun, or LAAG. The weapon fired five hundred rounds of 12.7X99mmarmor-piercing rounds per minute and was effective on both ground andairborne targets. The vehicle was capable of carrying up to three soldiers,and one Marine had already taken his place behind the gun. His rank and IDscrolled across the Spartan’s display:PFC .FITZGERALD ,M .

“Hey, Chief!” Fitzgerald said. “Sergeant Johnson said you could use agunner.”

The Spartan nodded. “That’s right, Private. There’s two boatloads ofMarines on the far side of that ridge, and we’re going after them.”

Fitzgerald pulled the gun’s charging lever back toward his chest, andreleased it with a metallic snap. A shell slipped into the first of theweapon’s three barrels. “I’m your man, Chief! Let’s roll.”

The Master Chief pulled himself up behind the wheel, started the engine, andstrapped himself into the seat. The engine roared and the wheels kicked upgeysers of dirt. The Warthog accelerated to the top of a rise, caught someair, and landed with a spine-jarring thump.

“I put a nav indicator on your HUD,” Cortana said, “just follow thearrow.”

“Figures,” the Spartan said, a hint of amusement in his level voice. “Youalways were a backseat driver.”

True to the aircraft’s nickname, Keyes heard the Banshee long before heactually caught a glimpse of the attack aircraft. The alien pilot had themon his sensors—Keyes was sure of that—and it wouldn’t be long beforeanother team dropped out of the sky in an attempt to root them out.

The hills, which had seemed so welcoming when the command party firstlanded, had been transformed into a hellish landscape where the humansscuttled from one rocky crevice to the next, always on the run, and neverallowed to rest.

They had faced capture on three different occasions, but each time CorporalWilkins and his Marines had managed to blow a hole in the Covenant’stightening net and lead the naval personnel to safety.

But for how much longer?Keyes wondered. The continuous scrambling throughthe rocks, the lack of sleep, and the constant danger not only left themexhausted but levied a toll on morale as well.

Abiad, Lovell, and Hikowa were still in fairly good shape, as were Wang andSingh, but Ensign Dowski had started to crack. It had started with a littleself-concerned whining, grown into a stream of nonstop complaints, and nowthreatened to escalate into something worse.

The humans were gathered in a dry grotto. Jagged rocks projected over theirheads to provide some protection from the Banshee above. Wang knelt next tothe thin, dirt-choked stream that gushed through the rocky passageway. Hesplashed water on his face. Singh was busy filling the command party’scanteens while Dowski sat on a rock and glowered. “They know where weare,” the junior officer said accusingly, as if her commanding officer weresomehow at fault.

Keyes sighed. “ ‘They know where we are,sir .’ ”

“Okay,” the Ensign replied, “They know where we are,sir . So why continueto run? They’ll catch us in the end.”

“Maybe,” Keyes agreed as he dabbed ointment onto a burst blister, “andmaybe not. I’ve been in contact with both Cortanaand Wellsley. They’reboth busy at the moment, but they’ll send help as soon as they can. In themeantime, we tie up as many of their resources as possible, avoid capture,and kill some of the bastards if we can.”

“For what?” Dowski demanded. “Soyou can make Admiral? I submit thatwe’ve done all we could reasonably be expected to do, that the longer wedelay the harsher the Covenant will be. It makes sense to surrendernow .”

“And you are anidiot ,” Lieutenant Hikowa put in, her eyes blazing withuncharacteristic anger. “First of all, the Captain rates the honorific‘sir.’ You will render that honorific or I will plant my foot in your ass.

“Secondly, use your brain, assuming that you have one. The Covenantdoesn’t take prisoners, everyone knows that, so surrender equals death.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dowski said defiantly. “Well, why haven’t they alreadykilled us then? They could strafe us with cannons, fire rockets into therocks, or drop bombs on our position, but they haven’t. Explainthat .”

“Explainthis ,” Singh said, inserting the barrel of his M6D into theEnsign’s left ear. “I’m starting to think that you look a lot like aGrunt. Lovell . . . check her face. I’ll bet it peels right off.”

Keyes closed the fastener on the light-duty deck shoes, wished he had a pairof combat boots like the Marines wore, and knew Dowski was partiallycorrect, insubordination aside. Itdid seem as though the aliens were intenton capturing his party rather than killing them, but why? It didn’t squarewith their behavior in the past.

Of course, the Covenant had changed tactics on him before—when he’d beatenthe tar out of them at Sigma Octanus, and again when they’d returned thefavor at Reach.

The officer watched the tableau as it unfolded in front of him. Hikowa stoodwith her fists on her hips, face contorted with anger, while Singh screwedhis weapon into Dowski’s ear. The rest of the bridge crew were frozen,uncertain. The Marines weren’t present, thank God, but it would be na.ve tothink they weren’t aware of the Ensign’s opinions, or of the discord amongtheir superiors. The enlisted ranksalways knew, one way or another. So, whatto do? Dowski wasn’t about to change her mind, that was obvious, and shewas becoming a liability.

The Banshee whined loudly as it passed over the grotto for the second time.

They needed to move and do it soon.

“Okay,” Keyes said, “you win. I should charge you with cowardice,insubordination, and dereliction of duty, but I’m a little pressed fortime. So I hereby give you permission to surrender. Hikowa, relieve her ofher weapon, ammo, and pack. Singh, truss her up. Nothing too tight . . .

just enough so she can’t follow us.”

A look of horror came over Dowski’s face. “You’re going to leave me? Allby myself? With no supplies?”

“No,” Keyes answered calmly, “youwanted to surrender, remember? TheCovenant will keep you company, and as for supplies, well, I have no ideawhat sort of rations they eat, but it should be interesting if they allowyou a last meal. Bon appétit.”

Dowski started to babble incoherently but Singh grew tired of it, shoved abattle dressing into the Ensign’s mouth, and used some all-purpose repairtape to hold it in place. He used some of the same tape to hog-tie theofficer. “That should keep her out of trouble for a while.”

Rocks clattered as Corporal Wilkins and two of his fellow Marines made theirway down the streambed. The noncom saw Dowski, nodded as if everything wereperfectly normal, and looked to Keyes. “A Covenant dropship landed a squadof Elites about one klick to the south, sir. It’s time to move.”

The Naval officer nodded. “Thank you, Corporal. The command team is ready.

Please lead the way.”

Meanwhile, a few hundred meters above, and half a klick to the north, theElite named Ado ’Mortumee put his Banshee into a wide turn, and watched thedropship touch down. There weren’t many places to land, which meant thatonce on the ground his fellow Elites would still have a ways to go.

Rather than drop hundreds of troops onto the rocky hillsides, and leave themto scramble over the exhausting up-and-down terrain, the Covenant commandstructure decided to use its air superiority to locate the humans andcapture them.

And there,’Mortumee mused,is the problem. Locating the aliens is one thing—capturing them is another. During the time since they had landed, thehumans had proven themselves to be quite resourceful. Not only had theyevaded capture, they had killed six of their pursuers, who, acting understrict orders to take the aliens alive, were at a considerable disadvantage.

It made more sense simply to kill the humans. Of course, he was a mere pilotand soldier, not privy to the machinations of the Prophets or the ShipMasters.

After the human lifeboat had been located, it wasn’t long before Covenantscouts found Isna ’Nosolee’s body, and ran a check on his identity.

Intelligence was notified, official wheels began to turn, and the Covenantcommanders were confronted with a problem: Why would an Ossoona risk hislife to board a human lifeboat and ride it to the surface? The answer seemedobvious: Because someone important was on that boat.

All of which served to explain why none of the humans had been killed. Therewas no way to knowwhich alien ’Nosolee had been after—so all of them hadto be preserved. ’Mortumee glanced down at the instruments arrayed in frontof him. A change! A string of seven heat blobs was winding its way toarbitrary “north,” while one remained behind. What did that signify?

It wasn’t long before ’Mortumee’s Banshee circled above the grotto.

Dowski wrestled to free herself from the tape, and the Covenant closed inaround her.

Smoke swirled around the top of the butte as a Pelican pilot made use of his70mm chin gun to silence a Covenant gun emplacement. Satisfied that theCovenant plasma turret—a powerful weapon that could be easily deployed andrecovered—was silent, he dropped down to within four feet of the top of thebutte.

Fifteen ODST Helljumpers—three more than the Pelican’s operational maximum—leaped from the Pelican’s troop bay and fanned out.

Cramming extra troops into a Pelican was a risky move, but Silva wanted toput as many soldiers as possible on the mesa, and Lieutenant “Cookie”

Peterson knew his ship. The Pelican was still in reasonably good shape, hehad the best maintenance crew in the Navy—what more could a pilot ask for?

Peterson felt the dropship drift upward as the Marines bailed out, and hefought to keep the ship steady and level. He spotted movement in the landingzone. The chin gun—linked to his helmet sensors—followed the movement ofPeterson’s head. He spotted a column of Covenant troopers and fired. Theheavy rotary cannon uttered a throaty roar and pounded the enemy formationinto a puddle of blue-green paste.

As the last of the Helljumpers jumped off, the Crew Chief yelled “Clear!”

over the intercom. Peterson fired the ship’s belly jets, demandedadditional power from the twin turbine engines, and left the butte behind.

“This is Echo 136,” the pilot said into his mike. “We are green, clean,and extremely mean. Over.”

“Roger that,” Wellsley replied emotionlessly. “Please return to way pointtwo-five for another load of troopers. And, if you’re going to insist onpoetry, try some Kipling. You might find some of it rather instructive. Overand out.”

Peterson grinned, directed a one-fingered salute in the general direction ofbattalion HQ, and banked the dropship into a wide turn.

Resistance had slackened within minutes of the first landing, which allowedLieutenant Melissa McKay and the surviving members of her company to advanceupward. A significant number of the path’s defenders were pulled away in alast-ditch attempt to hold their position.

McKay discovered that the path was blocked by an ancient rockfall aboutthirty meters up, but saw the side door that was located just downhill ofit, and knew what the aliens had been trying to defend. Here was the backdoor, the way she could enter the butte’s interior, and push upward fromthere.

Plasma fire stuttered out of the entryway, struck the cliff above her head,and blew rocky divots out of the smooth surface.

McKay motioned for her troops to retreat back around the pillar’s broadcurvature, and waved a hand in the air. “Hey, Top! I need a launcher!”

The company sergeant was six troopers back so that a single well-placedgrenade couldn’t kill both leaders at once. He signaled assent, bawled anorder, and passed one of the M19s forward.

McKay accepted the weapon from the private behind her, checked to ensurethat it packed a full load of rockets, and inched around the curve. Plasmafire sizzled out of the door, but the officer forced herself to remainperfectly still. She triggered the weapon’s 2X scope, sighted carefully,and squeezed the trigger. The tube jumped as the 102mm rocket raced away,sailed through the hole, and detonated with a loud roar.

There must have been some ammo stored inside, because there was a blue-whitesecondary explosion which shook the rock beneath the ODST officer’s boots.

A gout of fire flared from the side of the cliff.

It was difficult to imagine anyone or anything having survived such a blast,so McKay passed the launcher to the rear, and waved her troops forward.

There was a cheer as the Marines ran up the path, shouldered their waythrough the smoke, and entered the butte’s ancient interior. There werebodies, or whathad been bodies. Fortunately, the tunnel was intact.

A couple of troopers collected plasma weapons, tried them out on the nearestwall, and added them to their personal armament.

Others, McKay included, stared up through a thirty-meter-wide well towardthe circle of daylight above. She saw a shadow pass overhead as one of thePelicans dropped even more Helljumpers onto the mesa. The distantthump! of afrag grenade detonation made dust and loose soil tumble down on them.

“Hey, Loot,” Private Satha said, “what’s the deal withthis ?”

Satha stomped on the floor and it rang in response. That was when McKayrealized that she and her troops were standing on a large metal grating.

“What’s it for?” the private wondered aloud. “To keep us out?”

McKay shook her head. “No, it looksold , too old to have been put in placeby the Covenant.”

“I found a lift!” one of the Marines yelled. “That’s what it looks like,anyway—come check it out!”

McKay went to investigate. Was this a way to reach the mesa? Her bootdislodged a shell casing which fell through one of the grating’srectangular holes and dropped into the darkness below. It was a long timebefore it could be heard clanging off ancient stone.

Silva, Wellsley, and the rest of the Major’s headquarters organization wereon top of the butte waiting for her by the time McKay rode the antigrav liftto the surface and stepped out into the harsh sunlight. She blinked as shelooked around.

Bodies lay everywhere. Some wore Marine green but the vast majority weredressed in the rainbow colors that the Covenant used to identify its variousranks and specialties. A squad of Helljumpers moved through the carnage,searching for wounded humans, and kicking corpses to make sure that theenemy soldiers were actually dead. One of them attempted to rise andreceived a burst from an assault weapon for his trouble.

“Welcome to Alpha Base,” Major Silva said as he arrived at McKay’s side.

“You and your company did a damn good job, Lieutenant. Wellsley will havethe rest of the battalion up here within the hour. It looks like I owe youthat beer.”

“Yes, sir,” McKay replied happily. “You sure as hell do.”

The tunnel washuge , plenty large enough to handle a Scorpion tank, whichmeant that the Master Chief had little difficulty steering the Warthogthrough the initial opening.

He’d almost missed the entry, at the bottom of a large dry wash. Cortana’ssensors had identified the entrance to the tunnel system. “It’s not anatural formation,” she’d warned him.

That meant someone built it. Logically, it meant that the tunnelledsomewhere—and it might shave precious time off his search for the crashedlifeboats.

Once inside, things became a little more difficult as the Spartan was forcedto maneuver the LRV up ramps, through a series of tight turns, and right tothe very edge of a pit.

A quick recon confirmed that the gap was narrow enough to jump, assuming the’Hog had a running start. The Master Chief backed away, warned the gunnerto hang on, and put his foot to the floor. The LRV raced up the ramp, sailedthrough air, and jounced to a hard landing on the other side.

“I’m picking up lots of Covenant traffic,” Cortana said. “It sounds likeMajor Silva and the Helljumpers have captured an enemy position. If we canround up the rest of the survivors, and find Captain Keyes, we’ll have achance to coordinate some serious resistance.”

“Good,” the Master Chief answered. “It’s about time something broke ourway.”

The Warthog’s headlights swung across ancient walls as the Spartan turnedthe wheel, and the LRV emerged into a large open area, dotted withmysterious installations. It was dark; the road ended in front of a deepchasm. It wasn’t long before Covenant troops emerged like maggots spillingout of a rotting corpse.

Plasma fire splashed across the Warthog’s windscreen. The Spartan dove fromthe vehicle, crouched near the driver’s-side front tire, and drew hispistol. Fitzgerald opened up with the LAAG and swept the area with fire.

Spent shell casings rained all around them.

The Chief peered over the edge of the Warthog. They were dangerouslyexposed. The roadway they’d been using was devoid of cover, elevatedroughly three meters above the rest of the massive vaulted chamber. Worse,it bisected the chamber, which left them exposed on virtually all sides.

The giant enclosure was dimly lit; visibility was poor and the muzzle flashfrom the Warthog’s gun played hell with his night vision. He blinked hiseyes to clear them, then activated his pistol’s scope.

The metal floor dropped away to either side, and every surface was engravedwith the strange geometric patterns that festooned Halo’s mysteriousarchitecture. Set well back from their position were a number of smallstructures, pillars, and support pylons. The Covenant were dug in amongthem.

A Grunt popped out from cover, his plasma pistol glowing green—he’dovercharged the weapon. The little SOBs liked to dump energy into theweapon, and discharge it all at once. It drained the weapon damn quick, butit also inflicted hellish damage on a target. A pulsing green-white orb ofplasma sizzled past the Warthog.

The Master Chief returned fire, then dropped back behind the ’Hog.

“Fitzgerald,” he barked. “Keep fire on them. I’ll move up on the leftand take them out.”

“Got it.” The tribarreled gun thundered, and fire hosed the Covenantposition.

The Spartan was prepared to charge ahead and into the fight when his motionsensor painted movement from the rear. The LAAG ceased fire as Fitzgeraldyelled in pain and fell from the back of the Warthog. The Marine’s helmetcracked into the metal floor.

A shard of glassy, translucent material, tapered to a wicked point,protruded from the Marine’s bicep. The shard glowed a ghostly purple.

“Goddamn it!” Fitzgerald grunted, as he tried to regain his footing. Twoseconds later, the purple shard exploded, and blood sprayed from the wound.

Fitzgerald howled in agony.

There was no time to tend to Fitzgerald’s injuries. A pair of Gruntscharged up the slight incline and opened fire. A barrage of the glassyprojectiles arced toward them and ricocheted madly from the Warthog.

They were too close. The Chief fired at the nearest Grunt, three shots insuccession. A trio of bullet pocks formed a neat cluster in the alien’schest. The Grunt’s partner squealed in anger and brought his gun to bear—an odd, hunchbacked device with a ridge of the glassy projectiles protrudingfrom it like dorsal fins. The weapon spat purple-white needles at him.

He sidestepped and slammed the butt of the pistol into the Grunt’s head.

The alien’s skull caved in. He kicked the corpse back down the incline.

Fitzgerald had crawled to cover behind the Warthog. He was pale, but didn’tlook shocky yet. The Spartan grabbed a first aid kit and expertly treatedthe wound. Self-sealing bio-foam filled the wound, packed it off, and numbedit. The young Marine would need some stitches and some time to rebuild thetorn, savaged muscle of his arm, but he’d live—if either of them made itout of here alive.

“You okay?” he asked the wounded soldier. Fitzgerald nodded, wiped sweatfrom his forehead with a bloody hand, then struggled back to his feet.

Without another word, he manned the LAAG.

It took the better part of fifteen minutes for the Master Chief and thegunner to sweep the area clear of Covenant forces. The Spartan patrolled theperimeter. To the left of the Warthog, the chamber stretched roughly eightymeters, then ended—as did the road ahead—in a massive chasm.

“Any ideas?” he asked Cortana.

There was a brief pause as the AI examined the data. “The roadway aheadends in a gap, but it’s logical to assume that there’s some kind of bridgemechanism. Find the controls that extend the bridge and we should be able toget across.”

He nodded. He turned back and crossed the roadway and headed off to theright of the parked Warthog. As he passed the vehicle, he called over hisshoulder to Fitzgerald. “Wait here. I’m going to find us a way across.”

The Master Chief marched across the chamber, and checked the odd structuresthat dotted the landscape. Some were illuminated by the dim glow from somekind of light panels, but there was no indication what powered them, or whatthe structures contained.

He frowned. There didn’t seem to be any sign of mechanisms or controls. Hewas about to head back to the Warthog and backtrack their course, thenstopped. He stared at one of the massive pillars that stretched to theceiling far overhead.

There was nothing down here, but perhaps the mechanism he sought was abovethem.

He moved as far to the end of the area as he could. Unlike the opposite sideof the chamber, this half was bordered by a high, grooved metal wall. Hefollowed the edge of the barrier and was gratified to locate a gap in thewall—a doorway.

Inside, a ramp led up twenty meters, then turned ninety degrees to the left.

The Spartan drew his pistol, activated his helmet lamp, and crept up theramp.

His caution was justified. As he reached the top, his motion sensor showed acontact—right on top of him. He ducked around the corner just in time tomeet the charge of a crimson-armored Elite. The Elite growled a challengeand swung a vicious blow at the Chief’s head.

He ducked, and his shields took the brunt of the blow. He fired at point-blank range, not even bothering to aim. The Elite reared and returned fireand plasma blasts slashed through the narrow corridor.

In one fluid motion, the Chief drew, primed, and dropped a frag grenade,practically at the Elite’s feet. The alien warbled in surprise as theSpartan spun and ducked back around the corner.

He was rewarded by a flash of smoke and fire. A spray of purple-black bloodsplashed the metal wall. He rounded the corner, pistol at the ready, andstepped over the Elite’s smoking corpse.

The Chief continued along the corridor, which opened onto a narrow ledge.

Directly to his right, the thick metal walls stretched up and out of sight.

To his left, the metal sloped away at a steep angle that led back to themain floor, that gradually gave way to the yawning abyss as he continuedforward. Ahead of him, there was a pulsing glow, like the strobe of aPelican’s running lights.

He stopped at the source of the light: A pair of small, glowing orbs hungsuspended above a roughly rectangular frame of blue matte metal. Floatingwithin the frame were a series of pulsing, shifting displays—semitransparent, like Cortana’s holographic appearance, though there was novisible projection device. The display’s shimmering geometric patternsnagged at him, as if he should recognize them somehow. Even with hisenhanced memory, he couldn’t place where he’d seen them before. They justseemed . . . familiar.

He reached a finger out to one of the symbols, a blue-green circle. TheSpartan expected his finger to pass through nothing more than air. He wassurprised when his finger met resistance—and the panel lights began topulse more quickly.

“What did you do?” Cortana asked, her voice alarmed. “I’m detecting anenergy spike.”

“I . . . don’t know,” the Spartan admitted. He wasn’t sure why hetouched the “button” on the display. He just knew it felt right.

There was a high-pitched whine and, from his vantage point, he could see thegap in the roadway in the distance. At its edges, harsh white light spranginto view, forming a path across the break in the road, like a flashlightbeam in smoke.

The light brightened, and there was a tremendous ripping sound. “I’mshowing a lot of photonic activity,” Cortana said. “The excited photonshave displaced the air around the light path.”

“Which means?”

“Which means,” she continued, “that the light has become coherent.

Solid.”

She paused, then added, “How did you know what control to push?”

“I didn’t. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The ride across the light bridge was harrowing. He had tested the phenomenonwith his foot, and discovered that it was as solid and unyielding as rock.

Then he’d shrugged, told Fitzgerald to hang on, and sped the Warthogdirectly at the beam of illumination. He could hear Fitzgerald alternatebetween cursing and praying as they drove over the seemingly bottomlesschasm on nothing more than a beam of light.

Once on the other side, they followed the tunnel out into the valley beyond,where the Master Chief guided the ’Hog up through a scattering of rocks andtrees, to the top of a grassy rise. A sheer cliff threatened to blockprogress to the right, forcing them to stay to the left, as they headedtoward a gap to the south.

The vehicle splashed through a shallow river. They saw the mouth of apassageway off to the right, decided that it would be best to investigate,and guided the all-terrain vehicle up through a rocky pass.

It was only a matter of minutes before the Warthog arrived on a ledge thatlooked out over a valley below. The Master Chief could see a UNSC lifeboatand a scattering of Covenant troops, but no Marines. Not a good sign.

A vaguely pyramidal structure rose to dominate the very center of thevalley. The Master Chief saw a pulse of light race toward the sky, and knewthat the structure had to be similar to whatever caused the flash he’d seenearlier.

There was only a moment to take in the situation before the aliens openedfire and the gunner replied in kind. It was time to put the ’Hog intomotion. The Master Chief drove as the M41 LAAG whirred and rattled behindhim. Marine Fitzgerald shouted, “You like that? Here, have some more!” andfired another sustained burst. A pair of Grunts rolled in oppositedirections, as a squat, long-armed Jackal was cut in half, and the heavy-caliber slugs blew divots out of the ground beyond.

As the LRV swung past the pyramid, Cortana said, “There are some Marineshiding up on the hill. Let’s give them a hand.”

The Spartan aimed for a gap between two trees and saw a tall, angular Elitestep out from cover. The Elite raised a weapon but was quickly transformedinto a speed bump as the Warthog knocked him down and the huge tires crushedhis body.

The Marines appeared soon after that, holding their assault weapons in theair, and calling greetings. A sergeant nodded. “It’s good to see you,Chief. It was starting to get a little bit warm around here.”

Covenant forces made a run at the hill after that, but the 12.7X99 mm roundsmade short work of them, and the slope was soon littered with their bodies.

The Master Chief heard a burst of static, followed by Foehammer’svoice.“Echo 419 to Cortana . . . come in.”

“We read you, 419. We have survivors and need immediate dust-off.”

“Roger, Cortana. On my way. I spotted additional lifeboats in your area.”

“Acknowledged,”Cortana answered.“We’re on our way.”

It took the better part of the afternoon to check the interlocking valleys,locate the rest of the survivors, and deal with the Covenant forces whoattempted to interfere. But finally, having rounded up a total of sixty-three Marines and naval personnel, the Spartan watched Echo 419 land for thelast time, and jumped aboard. Foehammer looked back over her shoulder. “Youput in a long day, Chief. Nice job. Our ETA at Alpha Base is thirtyminutes.”

“Acknowledged,” the Spartan said. He exhaled, then softened his clippedtone. He allowed himself to lean back against the bulkhead and added,“Thanks for the ride.”

Thirty seconds later he was asleep.

Captain Jacob Keyes stood, hands on knees, panting in front of a verticalcliff face. He and the rest of the command party had been running off and onfor three hours. Even the Marines were exhausted, as the shadow cast by theCovenant dropship drifted over them and blocked the sun.

Keyes considered making use of Dowski’s pistol to fire at the aircraft butcouldn’t summon the energy. The voice that boomed through the externallymounted speakers was all too familiar.“Captain Keyes? This is Ellen Dowski.

This is a box canyon. There’s no place for you to run. You might as wellpack it in.”

The darkness cast by the ship shifted as the aircraft lowered itself ontothe bottom of the canyon. The engines howled and blew dust in all directionsbefore eventually spooling down. A hatch opened and Dowski jumped to theground. She appeared to be unharmed and wore what could only be described asa self-satisfied smirk. “You see? It’s just like I told you it would be.”

A half dozen veteran Elites dropped to the ground, followed by a brace ofGrunts. All were heavily armed. Gravel crunched as they approached the cliffface. One of the aliens spoke, his booming voice warbling the human speechwith detectable discomfort. “You will drop your weapons.Now. ”

The command crew looked at Keyes. He shrugged, bent over, and laid the M6Don the ground. The others did likewise.

The Grunts scurried about and collected the weapons. One of them chortled inhis own language, as he collected all three of the Marines’ assaultweapons, and carried them away.

“Which?” the Elite with the translator demanded, and looked at Dowski.

“That one!” the renegade officer proclaimed, and pointed at Keyes.

Hikowa started forward. “You little bitch! I’ll—”

No one ever learned what Hikowa would do, because the Elite shot her dead.

Keyes lunged forward and attempted to tackle the Elite, to no avail. Alightning-fast blow clipped the side of his head, hard enough that hisvision grayed out. He fell to the dirt.

The Elite was methodical. Starting with the Marines, he shot each capturedhuman in the head. Wang attempted to run but a plasma bolt hit him betweenthe shoulder blades. Lovell made a grab for the pistol, and took a blast tothe face.

Keyes struggled to his feet again, dizzy and disoriented, and attempted torush the Elite. He was clubbed to the ground a second time. Hikowa’s deadeyes stared vacantly back at him.

Finally, after the last plasma bolt had been fired and while the odor ofburned flesh still hung in the air, only two members of the command crewwere still alive: Keyes and Dowski. The Ensign was pale. She shook her headand wrung her hands. “I didn’t know, sir, honest I didn’t. They told me—”

The Elite snapped up a fallen M6D pistol and shot Dowski. The bullet hit herin the center of her forehead. The pistol’s report echoed down the canyon.

The Ensign’s eyes rolled back in her head, her knees gave way, and shecollapsed in a heap.

The Elite turned the M6D over in his hand. The weapon was small comparedtohis pistol—and his finger didn’t fit easily inside the trigger guard.

“Projectiles. Very primitive. Take him away.”

Keyes felt the other Elites grab him by the arms and drag him up a ramp intothe dropship’s murky interior. It seemed that the Covenant’s rules hadchanged again. Now theydid take prisoners—just not very many. The shiplifted, and the only human to survive sincerely wished that he hadn’t.

Alpha Base didn’t offer a whole lot of amenities, but the Spartan took fulladvantage of what few there were. First came a full ten hours of completelyuninterrupted sleep, followed by components selected from two MREs, or MealsReady to Eat, and a two-minute hot shower.

The water was provided by the ring itself, the heat was courtesy of aCovenant power plant, and the showerhead had been fabricated by one of thetechs from thePillar of Autumn . Though brief, the shower felt good,verygood, and the Spartan enjoyed every second of it.

The Master Chief had dried off, scrounged a fresh set of utilities, and wasjust about to run a routine maintenance check on his armor when a privatestuck his head into the Spartan’s quarters, a prefab memory-plastic cubiclethat had replaced the archaic concept of tents.

“Sorry to bother you, Chief, but Major Silva would like to see you in theCommand Post . . . on the double.”

The Spartan wiped his hands with a rag. “I’ll be right there.”

The Master Chief was just about to take the armor off standby when theMarine reappeared. “One more thing . . . The Major said to leave your armorhere.”

The Spartan frowned. He didn’t like to be separated from his armor,especially in a combat zone. But an order was an order, and until hedetermined what had happened to Keyes, Silva was in command.

He nodded. “Thank you, Private.” He checked to ensure that his gear wassquared away, activated the armor’s security system, and buckled an M6Daround his waist.

The Major’s office was located in Alpha Base’s CP, the centermost of thealien structures at the top of the butte. He made his way through the halls,and down a bloodstained corridor. A pair of manacled Grunt POWs were hard atwork scrubbing the floor under the watchful gaze of a Navy guard.

Two Helljumpers stood guard outside of Silva’s door. Both looked extremelysharp for troopers who had been in combat the day before. They favored theSpartan with the casually hostile look that members of the ODST reserved foranyone or anything that wasn’t part of their elite organization. The largerof the pair eyed the noncom’s collar insignia. “Yeah, Chief, what can wedo for you?”

“Master Chief SPARTAN-117, reporting to Major Silva.”

“SPARTAN-117” was the only official designation he had in the eyes of themilitary. It occurred to him that, after Reach fell, there was no one leftwho knew his name was John.

“SPARTAN-117?” the smaller of the two Marines inquired. “What the hellkind of name is that?”

“Look who’s talking,” McKay interrupted, as she approached the MasterChief from behind. “That’s a pretty strange question coming from a guynamed Yutrzenika.”

Both of the Helljumpers laughed, and McKay waved the Spartan through thedoor. “Never mind those two, Chief. They’re jump happy. My name is McKay.

Go on in.”

The Spartan said “Thank you, ma’am,” took three steps forward, and foundhimself standing in front of a makeshift desk. Major Silva looked up fromwhat he was doing and met the Master Chief’s eyes. The Chief snapped toattention. “Sir! Master Chief SPARTAN-117, reporting as ordered, sir!”

The chair had been salvaged from a UNSC lifeboat. It made a gentle hissingnoise as Silva leaned backward. He held a stylus which he used to tap hislips. That was the moment when most officers would have said, “At ease,”

and the fact that he didn’t was a clear indication that something waswrong. But what?

McKay circled around to Silva’s left, where she leaned on the wall andwatched the scene through hooded eyes. She wore her hair Helljumper style,short on the sides so that the tattoos on her scalp could be seen, and flaton top. She had green eyes, a slightly flattened nose, and full lips. Itmanaged to be both a soldier’s faceand a woman’s face at the same time.

When Silva spoke, it was as if he could read the Spartan’s mind. “So,you’re wondering who I am, and what this is all about. That’sunderstandable, especially given your elite status, your close relationshipwith Captain Keyes, and the fact that we now know he has been captured.

Loyalty is a fine thing, one of the many virtues for which the military isknown, and a quality I admire.”

Silva stood and started to pace back and forth behind his chair. “However,there is a chain of command, which means that you report tome .Not toKeyes,not to Cortana, andnot to yourself.”

The Marine stopped, turned, and looked the Master Chief square in the eye.

“I thought it would be a good idea for you and I to pull a com check. So,here’s the deal. I’m short a Captain, so Lieutenant McKay is serving as myExecutive Officer. If either one of us says ‘crap,’ then I expect you toask ‘what color, how much, and where do you want it?’ Do you read me?”

The Chief stared for a moment and clenched his jaw. “Perfectly, sir.”

“Good. Now one more thing. I’m familiar with your record and I admire it.

You are one helluva soldier. That said, you are also afreak , the lastremaining subject in a terribly flawed experiment, and one which shouldnever be repeated.”

McKay watched the Master Chief’s face. His hair was worn short, not asshort as hers, but short. He had serious eyes, a firm mouth, and a strongjaw. His skin hadn’t been exposed to the sun for a long time and it waswhite,too white, like something that lived in the deep recesses of a cave.

From what she had heard he had been a professional soldier since the age ofsix, which meant he was an expert at controlling what showed on his face,but she could see the words hit like bullets striking a target. Nothingovert, just a slight narrowing of the eyes, and a tightness around hismouth. She looked at Silva, but if the Major was aware of the changes, hedidn’t seem to care.

“The whole notion of selecting people at birth, screwing with their minds,and modifying their bodies is wrong. First, because the candidates have nochoice, second, because the subjects of the program are transformed intohuman aliens, and third, because the Spartan program failed.

“Are you familiar with a man named Charles Darwin? No, probably not,because he never went to war. Darwin was a naturalist who proposed a theorycalled ‘natural selection.’ Simply put, he believed that those speciesbest equipped to survive would do so—while other, less effective organismswould eventually die out.

“That’s what happened to the Spartans, Chief:They died out. Or will, onceyou’re gone. And that’s where the ODST comes in. It was the Helljumperswho took this butte, son—not a bunch of augmented freaks dressed in fancyarmor.

“When we push the Covenant back, which I sincerely believe we will, thatvictory will be the result of work by men and women like Lieutenant McKay.

Human beings who are razor-sharp, metal tough, and green to the core. Do youread me?”

The Master Chief remembered Linda, James, and all the rest of the seventy-three boys and girls with whom he learned to fight. All dead, all labeled as“freaks,” all dismissed as having been part of a failed experiment. Hetook a deep breath.

“Sir, no sir!”

There was a long moment of silence as the two men stared into each other’seyes. Finally, after a good five seconds had elapsed, the Major nodded. “Iunderstand. ODSTs are loyal to our dead, as well. But that doesn’t changethe facts. The Spartan program isover . Human beings will win this war . . .

so you might as well get used to it. In the meantime, we need every warriorwe have—especially those who have more medals than the entire general staffput together.”

Then, as if some sort of switch had been thrown, the ODST officer’s entiredemeanor changed. He said, “At ease,” invited both of his guests to sitdown, and proceeded to brief the Master Chief on his upcoming mission. TheCovenant had Captain Keyes, recon had confirmed it, and Silva was determinedto get him back.

Though their ship had been damaged by thePillar of Autumn during her brieframpage through the system, the Covenant’s Engineers were hard at workmaking repairs to theTruth and Reconciliation . Now, hovering only a fewhundred units off Halo’s surface, the ship had become a sort of de factoheadquarters for those assigned to “harvest” the ring world’s technology.

The warship was at the very center of the command structure’s activities.

The corridors were thick with officer Elites, major Jackals, and veteranGrunts. There was also a scattering of Engineers, amorphous-lookingcreatures held aloft by gas bladders, who had a savantlike ability todismantle, repair, and reassemble any complex technology.

But all of them, regardless of how senior they might be, hurried to get outof the way as Zuka ’Zamamee marched through the halls, closely followed bya reluctant Yayap. Not because of his rank, but because of his appearanceand the message it sent. The arrogant tilt of his head, the space-blackarmor, and the steadyclick-clack of his heels all seemed to radiateconfidence and authority.

Still, formidable as ’Zamamee was, no one was allowed onto the command deckwithout being screened, and no less than six black-clad Elites were waitingwhen he and his aide stepped off the gravity lift. If these Elites wereintimidated by their fellow’s demeanor they gave no sign of it.

“Identification,” one of them said brusquely, and extended his hand.

’Zamamee dropped his disk into the other warrior’s hand with the air ofsomeone who was conferring a favor on a lesser being.

The security officer accepted ’Zamamee’s identity disk and dropped it intoa handheld reader. Data appeared and scrolled from right to left. “Placeyour hand in the slot.”

The second machine took the form of a rectangular black box which stoodabout five units high. Green light sprayed out of a slot located in thestructure’s side.

’Zamamee did as instructed, felt a sudden stab of pain as the machinesampled his tissue, and knew that a computer was busy comparing his DNA withthat on file. Not because he might be human, but because politics were rifewithin the Covenant, and there had been a few assassinations of late.

“Confirmed,” the Elite said. “It appears as though you are the same Zuka’Zamamee that’s scheduled to meet with the Council of Masters fifteenunits from now. The Council is running behind schedule, however, so you’llhave to wait. Please hand all personal weapons to me. There’s a waitingroom over there—but the Grunt will have to remain outside. You will becalled when the Council is ready.”

Though not burdened by his energy rifle, which he had given to Yayap tocarry, the Elite did have a plasma pistol, which he surrendered butt first.

’Zamamee made his way into the makeshift holding area and discovered that anumber of other beings had been forced to wait as well. Most sat hunchedover, kept to themselves, and stared at the deck.

Making matters even worse was the fact that, rather than first come, firstserved, it seemed as though rank definitely had its privileges, and the mostsenior penitents were seen first.

Not that the Elite could complain. Had it not been forhis rank the Councilwould never have agreed to see him atall . But finally, after what seemedlike an eternity, ’Zamamee was ushered into the chamber where the CommandCouncil had convened.

A minor Prophet sat, legs folded, at the center of a table which curvedaround a podium at which the Elite was clearly expected to stand. Whenever agust of air hit the exalted one he seemed to bob slightly, suggesting thatrather than sit on a chair, he preferred to let his antigrav belt supporthim, either as a matter of habit, or as a stratagem designed to remindothers of who and what he was. Something ’Zamamee not only understood, butadmired.

The Prophet wore a complex headpiece. It was set with gemstones and wiredfor communications. A silver mantle rested on his shoulders and supported afancifully woven cluster of gold wires which extended forward to place amicrophone in front of his bony lips. Richly embroidered red robes cascadeddown over his lap and fell to the deck. Obsidian black eyes tracked theElite all the way to the podium while an assistant whispered in his ear.

The other Elite, an aristocrat named Soha ’Rolamee, raised a hand palmoutward. “I greet you ’Zamamee. How is your wound? Healing nicely, Ihope.”

’Rolamee outranked ’Zamamee by two full levels. The junior officer gloriedin the respectful manner with which the other Elite had greeted him. “Thankyou, Excellency. I will heal.”

“Enough,” the Prophet said officiously, “we’re running late, so let’sget on with it. Zuka ’Zamamee comes before the Council seeking specialdispensation to take leave of the unit he commands, in order to locate andkill one particular human. A rather strange notion, since all of them lookalike and are equally annoying. However, according to our records, thisparticular human is responsible for hundreds of Covenant casualties.

“The Council notes that Officer ’Zamamee was wounded during an encounterwith this human, and reminds Officer ’Zamamee that the Covenant has notolerance for personal vendettas. Please keep that in mind as you make yourcase, and be mindful of the time. A measure of brevity will serve youwell.”

’Zamamee lowered his eyes as a signal of respect. “Thank you, Excellency.

Our spies suspect that the individual in question was raised to be a warriorfrom a very young age, surgically altered to enhance his abilities, andfurnished with armor which may be superior to our own.”

“Better than our own?” the Prophet inquired, his tone making it clear thathe considered such a possibility extremely unlikely. “Mind your words,Officer ’Zamamee. The technology underlying the armor you wear camestraight from the Forerunners. To say that it is in any way inferior vergeson sacrilege.”

“Still, what ’Zamamee says is true,” ’Rolamee put in. “The files arefull of reports which, though contradictory in some cases, all make mentionof one or more humans clad in reactive special armor. Assuming that theeyewitness accounts are accurate, it appears that this individual or groupof individuals can absorb a great deal of punishment without sufferingpersonal injury, have exceptional combat skills, and demonstrate superiorleadership capabilities. Wherever he or they appear, other humans rally andfight with renewed vigor.”

“Exactly,” ’Zamamee said gratefully. “Which is why I recommend that aspecial Hunter-Killer team be commissioned to find the human and retrievehis armor for analysis.”

“Noted,” the Prophet said gravely. “Withdraw while the Council confers.”

’Zamamee had little choice but to lower his eyes, back away from thepodium, and turn to the door. Once out in the hallway, the Elite wasrequired to wait for only a few units before his name again was called, andhe was ushered back into the room. ’Zamamee saw that both the Prophet andthe second Elite had disappeared, leaving ’Rolamee to deliver the news.

The other officer stood as if to reduce the width of the social gap thatseparated them. “I regret, ’Zamamee, that the Prophet places little weighton the reports, labeling them ‘combat-induced hysteria.’ More than that,we all agreed that you are far too valuable an asset to expend on a singletarget. Your request has been denied.”

’Zamamee knew that ’Rolamee had invented the “far too valuable” aspectof his report in order to cushion the blow, but appreciated the intentbehind the words. Though severely disappointed, he was a soldier, and thatmeant following orders. He lowered his eyes. “Yes, Excellency. Thank you,Excellency.”

Yayap saw the Elite emerge, read the slight droop of his shoulders, and knewhis prayers had been answered. The Council had denied the Elite’s insanerequest, he would be allowed to return to his unit, and life would return tonormal.

If ’Zamamee had been intimidating on his way to see the Council, he was agood deal less so on his way out. He walked even faster, however, forcingYayap to break into a run. The Grunt weaved his way through the foot trafficarrayed in front of him and struggled to keep pace with ’Zamamee.

Yayap squealed in surprise when he slammed into the back of ’Zamamee’sarmored legs; the Elite had come to a sudden halt. The Grunt noticed withunease that his new master’s hands were clenched. He followed ’Zamamee’sgaze and spotted a group of four Jackals.

They dragged a uniformed human between them.

Keyes had just been interrogated for the third time. Some sort of neuralshock treatment had been administered to make him talk, and his nerveendings continued to buzz as the aliens prodded his back, yelledincomprehensible gibberish into his ears, and laughed at his discomfort. Hetasted his own blood.

The procession came to a sudden stop as an Elite in black combat armorblocked the way, pointed a long slender finger at the human, and said “You!

Tell me where the I can find the human who wears the special armor.”

Keyes looked up, struggled to focus his eyes, and faced the alien. He sawthe dressing and guessed the rest. “I don’t have the foggiest idea,” hesaid. He managed a weak smile. “But the next time you run into him, youmight consider ducking.”

’Zamamee took a full step forward and backhanded the human across the face.

Keyes staggered, recovered his balance, and wiped a trace of blood away fromthe corner of his mouth. He locked eyes with the alien for the second time.

“Go ahead—shoot me.”

Yayap saw the Elite consider doing just that, as his right hand went to thepistol, touched the butt, and fell away. Then, without another word,’Zamamee walked away. The Grunt followed. Somehow, by means Yayap wasn’tquite sure of, the human had won.
Chapter 4
D+17:11:04 (SPARTAN-117 Mission Clock) /Pelican Echo 419, in flight.

Recon flights conducted the day before had revealed that the sensors aboardCovenant vesselTruth and Reconciliation might have a blind spot down-spin ofthe alien vessel’s current position, where a small mountain rose to blockthe electronic view.

Even more important, Wellsley had concocted an array of signals designed totrick the Covenant technicians into believing that any UNSC dropship wasactually one of their own. Fifty meters above the deck, and cloaked inelectronic camouflage, the Master Chief and a Pelican-load of Helljumperswaited to find out if their ruse would work.

Only time would tell if the fake signals were effective. One thing was forcertain: Though conceived for the express purpose of rescuing Captain Keyes,the mission put together by Silva, Wellsley, and Cortana bore still another,even more important purpose.

If the rescue teamdid manage to penetrate a Covenant vessel, andsuccessfully remove a prisoner, the human presence on Halo would betransformed from an attempt merely to survive into a full-fledged resistancemovement.

The ship shuddered as it hit a series of air pockets, then swayed from sideto side as the pilot who referred to herself as Foehammer wove back andforth through an obstacle course of low-lying hills. The Master Chief tookthe opportunity to assess the Marines seated around him. They wereHelljumpers, the same people Silva said would ultimately win the war,relegating “freaks” like himself to the dustbin of history.

Maybe Silva was right, maybe the Spartan programwould end with him, but thatdidn’t matter. Not here—not now. The Marines would help him take out thesentries, cope with weapons emplacements, and reach the gravity lift locateddirectly below theTruth and Reconciliation ’s belly, and he was glad tohave their help. Even with the element of surprise, plus support from theODST troops, things were likely to be pretty hot by the time they made it tothe lift. That’s when asecond dropship would land and discharge a group ofregular Marines that would join the assault on the ship itself.

There was some concern that theTruth and Reconciliation might simply lift atthat point, but Cortana had been monitoring Covenant communications, and wasconvinced that critical repairs were still being made to the alien cruiser.

Assuming that they were able to reach the gravity lift, meet up with theirreinforcements, and fight their way aboard the ship, all they had to do wasfind Keyes, eliminate an unknown number of hostiles, and show up for thedust-off. A walk in the park.

Foehammer’s voice came over the intercom. “We are five to dirt . . .

repeat five to dirt.”

That was Sergeant Parker’s cue to stand and eye his troops. His voice cameover the team freq and grated on the Spartan’s ears. “All right, boys andgirls . . . lock and load. The Covenant is throwing a party and you areinvited. Remember, the Master Chief goes in first, so take your cues fromhim. I don’t know about you, but Ilike having a swabbie on point.”

There was general laughter. Parker gave the Spartan a thumbs-up, and heoffered the same gesture in return. It felt good to have some backup for achange.

He mentally reviewed the plan, which called for him to insert ahead of theHelljumpers, and clear a path with his S2 AM sniper’s rifle. Once the outerdefenses were cleared, the Marines would move up. Then, once the element ofsurprise had been lost, the Master Chief planned to switch to his MA5Bassault rifle for the close-in work. Like the rest of the troops, theSpartan was carrying a full combat load of ammo, grenades, and other gear,plus two magazines for the M19 launchers.

“Thirty seconds to dirt!” Foehammer announced. “Shoot some of thebastards for me!”

As the Pelican hovered a foot above the surface, Parker yelled, “Go, go,go!” and the Master Chief sprang down the ramp. He sidestepped and sweptthe area. The Helljumpers thundered down the ramp and onto the ground, rightbehind him.

It was dark, which meant they had nothing beyond the light reflected off themoon that hung in the sky and the glow of Covenant work lights to guide themto their objective. Seconds later, Echo 419 was airborne again. The pilotturned down-spin, fed fuel to her engines, and disappeared into the night.

The Master Chief heard the aircraft pass over his head, gathered hisbearings, and spotted a footpath off to the right. The ODST troops spreadout to either side as Parker and a three-Marine fire team turned to coverthe group’s six.

He crept along the rocky footpath, which rose to a two-meter-highembankment. As he neared a cluster of rocks, Cortana warned the Spartan ofenemy activity ahead. A host of red dots appeared on his motion sensor.

Several meters ahead and to the left was a deep pit—some kind ofexcavation, judging from the Covenant work lights that dotted the area withpools of illumination. He briefly wondered what the aliens were looking for.

He clicked the rifle’s safety off. What they were looking for didn’tmatter. In the end, he’d make sure they never lived to find it.

The Master Chief found a patch of cover next to a tree, raised the rifle,and used the scope’s 2X and night optics setting to find the Covenant gunemplacements located on the far side of the depression. There were lots ofGrunts, Jackals, and Elites in the area, but it was imperative to neutralizethe plasma cannons—known as Shades—before the Marines moved out into theopen. His MJOLNIR armor and shields could handle a limited amount of theShades’ plasma fire. The Helljumpers’ ballistic armor, on the other hand,just couldn’t handle that kind of firepower.

Once both Shades had been located, the Spartan switched to the 10X setting,practiced the move from one target to the next, and tried it yet again.

Once he was sure that he could switch targets quickly enough, he exhaledquietly, then held his breath. His hand squeezed the trigger and the riflekicked against his shoulder. The first shot took the nearest gunner in thechest. As the Grunt tumbled from the Shade’s seat, the Master Chief pannedthe rifle to the right, and put a 14.5mm round through the second Grunt’spointy head.

The rifle’s booming report alerted the Covenant and they returned fire. Hemoved forward along the low ridge and took a new firing position behind thescaly bark of a tree. The rifle barked twice more, and a pair of Jackalsfell. He reloaded with practiced ease, and continued sniping. Without theShades to support them, the enemy fell in ones, twos, and threes.

The Master Chief reloaded again, fired until there were no more targets ofopportunity, and made the switch to his assault rifle. He jumped down intothe open pit and crouched behind a large boulder, one of several that werestrewn around the depression.

“Helljumpers: move up!” he barked into the radio. In seconds, the ODSTscharged into the pit. As the lead soldiers entered, a trio of Grunts burstfrom hiding, shot one of the Marines in the face, and tried to run. TheHelljumper’s body hadn’t even hit the ground before the Spartan andanother ODST hosed the aliens with bullets.

The gunshots echoed through the twisting canyons, then faded. The Spartanfrowned; there was no way the fracas would go unnoticed. The element ofsurprise was gone.

There was no time to waste. The Master Chief led the Helljumpers through thedepression, up a hill on the far side of the pit, and along the side of asheer cliff face. He stayed close to this rock wall on his right, mindful ofthe sheer drop that awaited any who strayed too far to the left. He couldjust make out the glint of moonlight on a massive ocean, far below him.

His motion sensor pinged two contacts and he waved the ODSTs to a halt. Hecrouched behind a clump of brush at the top of the cliff path, conscious ofthe massive drop on the other side. A pair of Jackals rounded the bendahead, their overcharged plasma pistols pulsing green, and paid dearly fortheir enthusiasm.

The Spartan sprang from his cover and slammed the butt of his rifle into thenearest Jackal’s shield. The energy field flared and died, and the force ofthe blow sent the alien tumbling off the path. The alien screamed andplummeted off the cliff.

The Chief pivoted and fired his rifle from the hip. The burst struck thesecond alien in the side. The Jackal slammed to the ground as his fingertightened on his weapon’s trigger as he died. A massive hole blossomed inthe rock above the Master Chief’s head.

He slammed a fresh magazine into his weapon, and continued to advance.

“Here’s a little something to remember me by,” one of the Marinesgrowled, and shot each Jackal in the head.

As the team continued up the path, they encountered another Shade, moreGrunts, and a pair of Jackals, all of whom seemed to melt away under thecombined assault by the Master Chief’s sniper rifle, the Marine’s assaultweapons, and a few well-placed grenades.

The rescue force pressed on, toward the lights beyond. Covenant resistancewas determined but spotty, and before long the Master Chief could hear thethrumming sound of the alien ship as it hovered more than a hundred metersabove them. His skin crackled with static electricity. In the center of asteep dip in the rock lay a large metal disk, the gravity lift that theCovenant used to move troops, supplies, and vehicles to and from the ringworld’s surface. Purple light shimmered around the platform where the beamwas anchored.

“Come on!” the Master Chief shouted, pointing at the lift. “That’s ourway in. Let’s move!”

There was a mad dash through a narrow canyon followed by a pitched battle asthe Master Chief and the Helljumpers entered the area directly below theship.

The depression was ringed with Shades, and all of them opened fire at once.

The Chief made use of the sniper rifle to kill the nearest gunner, chargedup the intervening slope, and jumped into the now vacant seat. The firstorder of business was to silence the other guns.

He yanked the control yoke to the left and the gun swiveled to face a secondShade, across the defile. A glowing image of a hollow triangle floated infront of his face. When it lined up with the other gun, it flashed red. Hethumbed the firing studs, and lances of purple-white energy lashed the enemyemplacement. The Grunt gunner struggled to leap free of his Shade, fell intothe path of the Spartan’s fire, and was speared by a powerful blast. Heslumped against the base of his abandoned Shade, a smoking hole burnedthrough his chest.

The Master Chief swiveled the captured gun and took aim on the remainingShades. He hosed the targets with a hellish wave of destructive energy,then, satisfied that the emplacements were silenced, went to work on theenemy ground troops.

He had just burned a pair of Jackals to the ground when Cortana announcedthat a Covenant dropship was inbound, and the Master Chief was forced toshift his fire to the alien aircraft and the troops that spilled out ontothe ground.

The human walked the blue Shade fire across the aliens, cutting them down,and pounding what remained into mush. He was still at it when a Marineyelled, “Look at that! There’s more of them!” and a dozen figures floateddown through the gravity lift. A pair of the newcomers were huge and woresteel-blue armor as well as handheld plate-armor shields.

The Chief had faced such creatures before, not long before Reach fell.

Covenant Hunters were tough, dangerous foes—practically walking tanks. Theywere slow and appeared clumsy, but the cannons mounted on their arms wereequivalent to the heavy weapons a Banshee carried, and they could leap intomotion with startling suddenness. Their metal shields could withstand atremendous amount of punishment. Worse, they would never stop until theenemy lay dead at their feet . . . or they were dead themselves.

The Helljumpers opened fire, grenades exploded, and the pair of Huntersroared defiance. One of them lifted his right arm and fired his weapon, afuel rod gun. One of the ODSTs screamed and fell, his flesh melting. TheMarine’s rocket fired into the air, slid into the grav lift beam, anddetonated harmlessly.

The Hunters lumbered from the grav lift and strode up the edge of the pit.

Behind them, a swarm of Jackals and Elites formed a rough phalanx andpeppered the human positions with plasma fire.

Sergeant Parker yelled, “Hit ’em, Helljumpers!” and the ODSTs poured fireonto the massive alien juggernauts. Bullets pinged from their armor andwhined through the rocks.

The Spartan swiveled around, and heard a warning tone as a Hunter’s weapondischarged. Burning energy smashed into him. The Shade shook under the forceof the incoming fire as the Master Chief clenched his jaw and forced himselfto bring the targeting reticle down onto the target. His shield bled energyand began to shriek a shrill alarm.

The instant the targeting display pulsed red, he mashed down the firingstuds and unleashed a flood of incandescent blue light. The Hunter didn’thave time to bring its shield fully into play, and plasma blasts burnedthrough multiple layers of armor, and exited through his spine.

The Spartan heard a cry of what sounded like anguish as the second alien sawhis bond brother fall. The Hunter spun and fired his fuel rod gun at theMaster Chief’s captured emplacement. The Shade took a direct hit, flippedover onto its side, and threw him to the ground.

The ground vibrated as the enraged alien charged up the slope, right for thedowned Spartan. The Chief rolled to his right and came up in a low crouch.

The alien was close now, within five meters. A row of razor-sharp spinessprang up along the Hunter’s back. With his shields depleted, the Chiefknew that those spines could cut him in two.

He dropped to one knee and unslung his assault rifle. Bullets bouncedharmlessly from the alien’s armor. At the last second, he dodged left andslid down the slope. The Hunter didn’t anticipate the move, and the razor-spines passed over the Spartan’s head, missing him by mere inches.

The Chief rolled onto his belly—and saw his opportunity. A patch of orange,leathery skin was visible along the Hunter’s curved spine. He emptied theMA5B’s magazine into the unprotected target, and thick orange blood goutedfrom a cluster of bullet wounds. The Hunter gave a low, keening wail, thencollapsed in a puddle of his own gore.

He rose to one knee, fed a fresh magazine into the assault rifle, andscanned the area for enemies. “All clear,” he called out.

The remaining ODSTs called in all clears as well. That opened the way to thelift and Cortana was quick to seize on the opportunity. She activated thearmor’s communication system.“Cortana to Echo 419. We made it to thegravity lift—and are ready for reinforcements.”

“Copy that, Cortana . . . Echo 419 inbound. Clear the drop zone.”

“What’s the matter?” Sergeant Parker demanded of his troops, several ofwhom were looking longingly at the fast-approaching Pelican’s runningstrobes. “Never seen a UNSC dropship before? Keep your eyes on the rocks,damn it—that’s where the bastards will come from.”

The Spartan waited for Echo 419 to unload the fresh Marines, waved themforward, and joined the surviving Helljumpers on the lift pad. “Looks likewe made it,” a private said, just before an invisible hand reached down topluck him off the surface.

Sergeant Parker looked up toward the belly of the ship, and said, “Aren’twe the lucky ones?” then rose as if suspended from a rope.

“Once we’re in the ship I can home in on the Captain’s Command NeuralInterface,” Cortana said. “The CNI will lead us to him. He’ll probably bein or near the ship’s brig.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” the Chief answered dryly, and felt the beam pullhim upward. Someone else yelled, “Yeehaw!” and vanished into the belly ofthe ship. The Covenant didn’t realize it yet—but the Marines had landed.

None of the humans understood, much less had the ability to predict, thering world’s weather. So, when big drops of blood-warm rain fell on themesa, it came as a complete surprise. The Helljumpers grumbled as the waterstreamed off their faces, soaked their uniforms, and started to pool on thesurface of the landing pad.

McKay saw things differently, however. She liked the wet stuff, not justbecause it felt good on her skin, but because bad weather would offer theinsertion team that much more cover.

“Listen up, people!” Sergeant Lister bellowed. “You know the drill.

Let’s shake, rattle, and roll.”

There weren’t many lights, just enough so that people could move aroundwithout running into one another, but the fact that Silva had been on suchmissions himself meant that he could visualize what his eyes couldn’t see.

The troopers carried a full combat load, which meant that their packs werefestooned with weapons, ammo, grenades, flares, radios, and med packs—allof which would make noise unless properly secured. Noise would bring a worldof trouble down on their heads during an op. That’s why Lister passedthrough the ranks and forced each Marine to jump up and down. Anything thatclicked, squeaked, or rattled was identified and restowed, taped, orotherwise fastened into place.

Once all the troops had passed inspection, the Helljumpers would board thewaiting dropships for a short flight to the point where thePillar of Autumnhad crashed. The Covenant had placed guards in and around the fallencruiser, so McKay and her Marines would have to retake the ship long enoughto fill the extensive shopping list that Silva had given her.

According to Wellsley, Napoleon I once said, “What makes the general’stask so difficult is the necessity of feeding so many men and animals.”

Silva didn’t have any animals to feed, but he did have a flock of Pelicans,and the essence of the problem was the same. With the exception of the ODSTtroopers, who carried extra supplies in their HEVs, the rest of the Navy andMarine personnel had bailed out of theAutumn with very little in the way ofsupplies. Obtaining more of everything, and doing it before the Covenantlaunched an all-out attack on Alpha Base, would be the key to survival.

Later, assuming there was a later, the infantry officer would have to find away to get his people the hell off the ring world.

Silva’s thoughts were interrupted as Echo 419 raced in over the mesa,flared nose up, and settled onto what had been designated as Pad 3.

The assault on theTruth and Reconciliation had gone well so far, which meantthat Second Lieutenant Dalu, who had been assigned to follow along behindthe rescue team and scoop up everything he could, was having a good evening.

Each time Echo 419 dropped a load of troops she brought enemy arms andequipment back in. Plasma rifles, plasma pistols, needlers, power packs,hand tools, com equipment, and even food packs. Dalu loved them all.

Silva grinned as the Lieutenant waved a team of Naval techs in under thePelican’s belly to take delivery of the Shade he and his team had liftedright out from under the Covenant’s collective noses. That was the thirdgun acquired since the beginning of the operation, and would soon take itsplace within the butte’s steadily growing air defense system.

Sergeant Lister shouted, “Ten-shun!”, did a smart about-face, and salutedLieutenant McKay. She returned the salute, and said, “At ease.”

Silva walked out into the rain and felt it pelt his face. He turned to lookat the ranks of black, brown, and white faces. All he saw were Marines.

“Most, if not all of you, are familiar with my office aboard thePillar ofAutumn . In the rush to leave it seems that I left a full bottle of Scotchin the lower left-hand drawer of my desk. If one or more of you would be sokind as to retrieve that bottle, not only would I be extremely grateful, Iwould show my gratitude by sharing it with the person or persons who manageto bring it in.”

There was a roar of approval. Lister shouted them down. “Silence! Corporal,take that man’s name.” The Corporal to whom the order was directed had noidea which name he was supposed to take down, but knew it didn’t matter.

Silva knew the Helljumpers had been briefed, and understood thetrue purposeof the mission, so he brought his remarks to a close.

“Good luck out there . . . I’ll see you in a couple of days.” Except thathewouldn’t see them, not all of them. Good commanding officers had to lovetheir men—and still be willing to order their deaths if needed. It was theaspect of command he hated the most.

The formation was dismissed. The Marines jogged up into the back of thewaiting Pelicans, and the dropships soon disappeared into the blackness ofthe night.

Silva remained on the pad until the sound of the engines could no longer beheard. Then, conscious of the fact that every war must be won on theequivalent of paper before it can be won on the ground, he turned backtoward the low-lying structure that housed his command post. The night wasstill young—and there was plenty of work left to do.

The gravity lift deposited the rescue team three feet above the deck. Theyhung suspended for a moment, then fell. Parker gave a series of handsignals, and the ODSTs crept forward into the lift bay.

The Covenant equivalent of gear crates—tapered rectangular boxes made fromthe shimmering, striated purple metal the aliens favored—were stackedaround the high compartment. A pair of Covenant tanks, “Wraiths,” werelined along the right side of the bay.

The Master Chief moved forward toward one of the high metal doors that werespaced along the perimeter of the compartment.

Parker gave the all clear signal and the Marines relaxed a bit. “There’sno Covenant here,” one of them whispered, “so where the hellare they?”

The door was proximity activated, and as he neared the portal, it slid openand revealed a surprised Elite. Without pause, the Spartan tackled the alienand slammed its armored head into the burnished deckplates. With luck, he’dfinished the Elite quietly enough—Another set of doors flashed open on the other side of the bay, and Covenanttroops boiled into the compartment.

A second Marine turned to the Corporal who’d just spoken. “ ‘NoCovenant,’ ” he snarled, mocking his fellow trooper. “You justhad to openyour mouth, didn’t you?”

Inside the Covenant ship, chaos reigned. The Master Chief charged ahead, andthe rescue team fought their way through a maze of interlocking corridors,which eventually emerged into a large shuttle bay. A Covenant dropshippassed through a bright blue force field as all hell broke loose. Firestuttered down from a platform above. A Marine took a flurry of needles inthe chest and was torn in half by the ensuing explosion.

A Grunt dropped from above and landed on a Corporal’s shoulders. The Marinereached up, got a grip on the alien’s methane rig, and jerked the deviceoff. The Grunt started to wheeze, fell to the deck, and flopped around likea fish. Someone shot him.

Numerous hatches opened into the bay and additional Covenant troops pouredin from every direction. Parker stood up and motioned his men forward.

“It’s party time!” he bellowed.

He spun and opened fire, and was soon joined by all the rest. Within amatter of seconds what seemed like a dozen different firefights had brokenout. Wounded and dead—humans and Covenant alike—littered the deck.

The Master Chief was careful to keep his back to a Marine, a pillar, or thenearest bulkhead. His MJOLNIR armor, and the recharging shield it carried,provided the Spartan with an advantage that none of the Marines possessed,so he focused most of his attention on the Elites, leaving the Jackals andGrunts for others to handle.

Cortana, meanwhile, was hard at work tapping into the ship’s electronicnervous system in an attempt to find the best way out of the trap. “We needa way out of this baynow ,” the Master Chief told her, “or there won’t beanyone left to complete the mission.”

He ducked behind a crate, emptied his magazine into a charging Grunt whowielded a plasma grenade, then paused to reload.

A Hunter gave a bloodcurdling roar as it charged into the fray. The Spartanturned and saw Sergeant Parker fire at the massive alien. A trio of bulletsspat from his assault rifle—the last three rounds in the weapon. Hediscarded the empty gun and backpedaled in an attempt to buy himself sometime. His hand dipped for his sidearm.

The Hunter sprang forward and the tips of the beast’s razor-spines shreddedthrough the Marine’s ballistic armor. He crashed to the deck.

The Master Chief cursed under his breath, slapped a fresh clip into place,racked a round into the chamber and took aim on the Hunter. The alien wascoming on fast,too fast, and the Spartan knew he wasn’t going to get akill-shot in time.

The Hunter stepped past Sergeant Parker’s prone form. The alien’s razorspines sprang into view, and it roared again as the Spartan sprayed it withgunfire, knowing the gesture was futile, but unwilling to let the enemy athis teammate’s exposed flank.

Without warning, the Hunter reared up, howled, and crashed to the ground.

The Master Chief was puzzled, and briefly checked his weapon. Could he havegotten in a lucky shot?

He heard a cough, and saw Sergeant Parker struggling to his feet, a smokingM6D pistol in his hand. Blood flowed from the gashes in his side, and he wasunsteady on his feet, but he found the strength to spit on the Hunter’sfallen corpse.

The Chief took a covering position near the wounded sergeant. He gave him abrisk nod. “Not bad for a Marine. Thanks.”

The sergeant grabbed a fallen assault rifle, slammed a fresh magazine intoplace, and grinned. “Any time, swabbie.”

His motion sensor showed more contacts inbound, but they were keeping theirdistance. Their failed assault on the bay must have left themdisorganized.Good, he thought.We need all the time we can get. “Cortana,”

he said, “how much longer before you get a door open?”

“Got it!” Cortana proclaimed exultantly. One of the heavy doors hissedopen. “Everyone should move through the door now. I can’t guarantee thatit won’t lock when it closes.”

“Follow me!” he barked, then led the surviving Marines out of the shuttlebay and into the comparative safety of a corridor beyond.

The next fifteen minutes were like a slow-motion nightmare as the rescuersfought their way through a maze of corridors, up a series of narrow ramps,and onto the launch bay’s upper level. With Cortana’s guidance, theyplunged back into the ship’s oppressive passageways.

As they proceeded through the bowels of the large warship, Cortana finallygave them good news: “The Captain’s signal is strong. He must be close.”

The Chief frowned. This was taking too long. Every passing second made itthat much less likely that any of the rescue party would be able to get offtheTruth and Reconciliation alive, let alone with Captain Keyes. The ODSTswere good fighters, but they were slowing him down.

He turned to Sergeant Parker and said, “Hold your men here. I’ll be backsoon—with the Captain.”

She started to protest, then nodded. “Just don’t tell Silva,” she said.

“I won’t.”

The Master Chief ran from door to door until one of them opened to reveal arectangular room lined with cells. It appeared that the translucent forcefields served in place of bars. He dashed inside and called the Captain’sname, but received no answer. A quick check confirmed that, with theexception of one dead Marine, the detention center was empty.

Frustrated, yet reassured by Cortana’s insistence that the CNI signalremained strong, the Spartan exited the room, entered the hall, andliterally went door to door, searching for the correct hatch. Once helocated it, the Master Chief almost wished he hadn’t.

The portal slid open, a Grunt yelled something the Master Chief couldn’tunderstand, and a plasma beam lashed past the human’s helmet.

The Master Chief opened fire, heard a Marine yell from within one of thecells, “Good to see you, Chief!” and knew he was in the right place.

A plasma beam appeared out of nowhere, hit the Spartan in the chest, andtriggered the armor’s audible alarm. He ducked behind a support column,just in time to see an energy beam slice through the spot he had justvacated. He scanned the room, looking for his assailant.

Nothing.

His motion sensor showed faint trace movements, but he couldn’t spot theirsource.

His eyes narrowed, and he noticed a slight shimmer in the air, directly infront of him. He fired a sustained burst through the middle of it, and wasrewarded with a loud howl. The Elite seemed to materialize out of thin air,made a grab for his own entrails, and managed to catch them before he died.

He strode to the access controls and, with Cortana’s help, killed the forcefields. Captain Keyes stepped out of his cell, paused to scoop a Needler offthe floor, and met the Chief’s eyes. “Coming here was reckless,” he said,his voice harsh. The Chief was about to explain his orders when Keyes’

expression warmed, and theAutumn ’s CO smiled. “Thanks.”

The Spartan nodded. “Any time, sir.”

“Can you find your way out?” Keyes inquired doubtfully. “The corridors ofthis ship are like a maze.”

“It shouldn’t be too difficult,” the Master Chief replied. “All we haveto do is follow the bodies.”

Lieutenant “Cookie” Peterson put Echo 136 down a full klick from thePillarof Autumn , looked out through the rain-spattered windscreen, and saw Echo206 settle in approximately fifty meters away. It had been an uneventfulflight, thanks in part to the weather, and the fact that the assault ontheTruth and Reconciliation had probably served to distract the Covenantfrom what was going on elsewhere.

Peterson felt the ship shudder as the ramp hit the ground, waited for theCrew Chief to call “Clear!”, and fired the Pelican’s thrusters. The shipwas extremely vulnerable while on the ground—and he was eager to return tothe relative safety of Alpha Base. Then, assuming the Helljumpers got thejob done, he and his crew would be back to transport some of the survivorsand their loot.

Back at Alpha Base, McKay watched Echo 136 wobble as a gust of wind hit thePelican from the side, saw the ship gather speed, and start to climb out.

Echo 206 took off a few moments later and both ships were gone within amatter of seconds.

Her people knew what they were doing, so rather than make a pest of herself,McKay decided to wait and watch as the platoon leaders sorted things out.

The officer felt the usual moments of fear, of self-doubt regarding herability to accomplish the mission, but took comfort from something aninstructor once told her.

“Take a look around,” the instructor had advised. “Ask yourself ifthere’s anyone else who is better qualified to do the job. Not in theentire galaxy, but right there, at that point in time. If the answer is‘yes,’ ask them to accept command, and do everything you can to supportthem. If the answer is ‘no,’ which it will be ninety-nine percent of thetime, then take your best shot. That’s all any of us can do.”

It was good advice, the kind that made a difference, and while it didn’terase McKay’s fears, it certainly served to ease them.

Master Sergeant Lister and Second Lieutenant Oros seemed to materialize outof the darkness. Oros had a small, pixielike face which belied her innatetoughness. If anything happened to McKay, Oros would take over, and if shebought the farm Lister would step in. The battalion had been short ofofficersbefore the shit hit the fan, and what with Lieutenant Dalu offplaying Supply Officer, McKay was one Platoon Leader short of a full load.

That’s why Lister had been called upon to fill the hole.

“Platoons one and two are ready to go,” Oros reported cheerfully. “Let usat ’em!”

“You just want to raid the ship’s commissary,” McKay said, referring tothe Platoon Leader’s well-known addiction to chocolate.

“No, ma’am,” Oros replied innocently, “the Lieutenant lives only toserve the needs of humanity, the Marine Corps, and the Company Commander.”

Even the normally stone-faced Lister had to laugh at that, and McKay felther own spirits lift as well. “Okay, Lieutenant Oros, the human race wouldbe grateful if you would put a couple of your best people on point and leadthis outfit to the ship. I’ll ride your six with Sergeant Lister and thesecond platoon walking drag. Are you okay with that?”

Both Platoon Leaders nodded and melted into the night. McKay looked for thetail end of the first platoon, slid into line, and let her mind roam ahead.

Somewhere, about one kilometer ahead, thePillar of Autumn lay sprawled onthe ground. The Covenant owned the ship for the moment—but McKay wasdetermined to take her back.

It was time to get off theTruth and Reconciliation . As Covenant troops ranhither and yon, the recently freed Marines armed themselves with alienweapons, then linked up with the rest of the rescue team. Keyes and Cortanaconvened a quick council of war. “While the Covenant had us locked up inhere, I heard them talking about the ring world,” Keyes said, “and itsdestructive capabilities.”

“One moment, sir,” Cortana interrupted, “I’m accessing the Covenantbattle net.” She paused, as her vastly powerful intrusion protocols siftedthrough the Covenant systems. Information systems seemed to be the one fieldwhere human technologies held their own against those of the Covenant.

Seconds later, she finished her sift of the alien data stream. “If I’minterpreting the data correctly, they believe Halo is some kind of weapon,one that possesses vast, unimaginable power.”

Keyes nodded thoughtfully. “The aliens who interrogated me kept saying that‘whoever controls Halo controls the fate of the universe.’ ”

“Now I see,” Cortana put in thoughtfully. “I intercepted a number ofmessages about a Covenant search team scouting for a control room. I thoughtthey were looking for the bridge of the ship I damaged during the battleabove the ring—but they must be looking for Halo’s control room.”

“That’s bad news,” Keyes responded gravely. “IfHalo is a weapon, and theCovenant gains control of it, they’ll use it against us. Who knows whatpower that would give them?

“Chief, Cortana, I have anew mission for you. We need to beat the Covenantto Halo’s control room.”

“No offense, sir,” the Master Chief replied, “but it might be best tofinishthis mission before we tackle another one.”

Keyes offered a tired grin. “Good point, Chief. Marines! Let’s move!”

“We should head back to the shuttle bay and call for evac,” Cortana said,“unless you’d like to walk home.”

“No thanks,” Keyes said. “I’m Navy—we prefer to ride.”

The journey out of the detention area and back to the launch bay was hairybut not quite as bad as the trip in. It wasn’t long before they allrealized that they reallycould follow the trail of dead bodies back to thelaunch bay. Sadly, some of the dead wore Marine green, which served toremind the Chief of how many humans the Covenant had murdered since the warhad begun more than twenty-five years before. Somehow, in some way, theCovenant would be made to pay.

The tactical situation was made even more risky by the Captain’s condition.

He didn’t complain, but the Spartan could tell that Keyes was sore and weakfrom the Covenant interrogation. It was a struggle for him to keep up withthe others.

The Master Chief signaled for the team to halt. Keyes—out of breath—favored him with a sour look, but seemed grateful for the breather.

Two minutes later, the Chief was about to signal the group to move forwardwhen a trio of Grunts scuttled into view. Needler rounds bounced from thebulkhead and angled right for him.

His shields took the brunt of it, and he returned fire, as did the rest ofthe group. Keyes blew one Grunt apart with a barrage of the explosive glassyneedles. The rest were finished off by a combination of plasma rifle fireand the Chief’s assault rifle.

“Let’s get moving,” the Spartan advised. He took point and moved down thecorridor, bent low and ready for trouble. He’d barely gotten twenty metersdown the passageway when more Covenant moved in—two Jackals and an Elite.

The enemy was getting closer, and more determined, the longer they remained.

He finished off the Jackals with his last frag grenade, then pinned theElite down with assault rifle fire. Keyes directed the Marines to fire onthe alien’s flank, and he went down.

“We need togo , sir,” the Chief warned Keyes. “With respect, we’removing too slowly.”

Keyes nodded, and as a group they sprinted down the twisting passages,stealth abandoned. Finally, after numerous twists and turns, they reachedthe shuttle bay. The Spartan thought it was empty at first, until he noticedwhat appeared to be two light wands, floating in midair.

Fresh from his encounter with the stealth Elite who had been stationed inthe brig, the Master Chief knew better than to take chances. He drew hispistol, linked in the scope, and took careful aim. He squeezed the triggerseveral times and put half a clip into the area just to the right of theenergy blade. A Covenant warrior faded into view and toppled off theplatform.

A Marine yelled, “Watch it!” and “Cover the Captain!” as the secondblade sliced the air into geometric shapes, and started to advance as if onits own. The Spartan put three quick bursts into the second alien, hit hisstealth generator, and the Elite was revealed. Fire poured in from all sidesand the warrior went down.

There was a blast of static as Cortana activated the MJOLNIR’scommunication relays.“Cortana to Echo 419 . . . We have the Captain andneed extraction on the double.”

The reply was nearly instantaneous.“Negative, Cortana! I have a flock ofBanshees on my tail . . . and I can’t seem to shake them. You’ll be betteroff finding your own ride.”

“Acknowledged, Foehammer. Cortana out.”The radio clicked as Cortanaswitched from the suit’s radio to its external speakers.

“Air support is cut off, Captain. We’ll need to hold here until Foehammercan move in.”

A Marine heard the interchange and, already traumatized by the time spent asa Covenant prisoner, began to lose it. “We’re trapped! We’re all gonnadie!”

“Stow the bellyaching, soldier,” Keyes growled. “Cortana, if you and theChief can get us into one of those Covenant dropships, I can fly us out ofhere.”

“Yes, Captain,” the AI replied. “There’s a Covenant ship docked below.”

The Master Chief saw the nav indicator appear on his HUD, followed the arrowthrough a hatch, down a series of corridors, and out into the troopship bay.

Unfortunately, the bay was well defended, and another firefight broke out.

The situation was getting worse. The Chief slammed his last full clip intothe MA5B and fired short, controlled bursts. Grunts and Jackals scatteredand returned fire.

The ammo counter dropped rapidly. A pair of Grunts fell under the Spartan’shail of fire. Within seconds, the ammo counter readOO —empty.

He tossed the rifle away and drew his pistol, and continued firing at thealien forces that had begun to regroup at the far side of the bay. “Ifwe’re going,” he called out, “we need to go now.”

The dropship was shaped like a giant U. It rode a grav field and bobbedslightly as some of the outside air swirled around it. As they approachedit, Keyes said, “Everybody mount up! Let’s get on board!” and led theMarines through an open hatch.

The Spartan waited until everyone else had boarded and backed into theaircraft—just in time. He was down to a single round in his sidearm.

Cortana said, “Give me a minute to interface with the ship’s controls.”

Keyes shook his head. “No need. I’ll take this bird up myself.”

“Captain!” one of the Marines called. “Hunters!”

The Master Chief peered out through the nearest viewport and saw that theprivate was correct. Another pair of the massive aliens had arrived on theloading platform and were making for the ship. Their spines stood straightup, their fuel rod guns were swinging into position, and they were about tofire.

“Hang on!” Keyes said as he disengaged the ship’s gravity locks, broughtthe ship up over the edge of the platform, and pushed one of two joysticksforward. The twin hulls straddled a column, struck both Hunters with whatappeared to be glancing blows, and withdrew.

Even a glancing blow from a ship that weighs thousands of kilos proved to bea serious thing indeed. The dropship’s hull crushed the Hunters’ chestarmor and forced it through their body cavities, killing both of theminstantly. One corpse somehow managed to attach itself to one of the twinbows. It fell as the dropship cleared theTruth and Reconciliation ’s hull.

The Master Chief leaned back against the metal wall. The Covenant craft’stroop bay was cramped, uncomfortable, and dimly lit—but it beat hell out ofwandering through one of their cruisers.

He braced himself as Keyes put the alien aircraft into a tight turn, andaccelerated out into the surrounding darkness. He forced his shoulders torelax, and closed his eyes. The Captain had been rescued, and the Covenanthad been put on notice: The humans were determined to be more than anannoyance—they were going to be a major pain in the ass.

Dawn had just started to break when Zuka ’Zamamee and Yayap passed throughthe newly reinforced perimeter that surrounded the gravity lift, and wereforced to wait while a crew of hardworking Grunts pulled a load of Covenantdead off the blood-splattered pad, before they could step onto the stickysurface and be pulled up into the ship.

Although theTruth and Reconciliation ’s commanding officer believed thatall of the surviving humans had left the ship, there was no way to becertain of that without a compartment-by-compartment check. The shipboardsensors read clear, but this raid had demonstrated beyond a doubt that thehumans had learned how to trick Covenant detection gear.

The visitors could feel the tension as teams of grim-faced Elites, Jackals,and Grunts performed a deck-by-deck search of the ship.

As the pair made their way through the corridors to the lift that wouldcarry them up to the command deck, ’Zamamee was shocked by the extent ofthe damage that he saw. Yes, there were long stretches of passageway thatwere completely untouched, but every now and then they would pass through agore-streaked section of corridor, where bullet-pocked bulkheads, plasma-scorched decks, and half-slagged hatches told of a hard-fought running gunbattle.

’Zamamee stared in wonder as a grav cart loaded with mangled Jackals wastowed past, blood dripping onto the deck behind it.

Finally, they made their way to the appropriate lift, and stepped out ontothe command deck. The Elite expected the same level of security scrutiny asthe last time he addressed the Prophet and the Council of Masters; no doubthe’d be dumped into the holding room for another interminable wait.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. No sooner did ’Zamameeclear security than he and Yayap were whisked into the compartment where theCouncil of Masters had been convened during his last visit.

There was no sign of the Prophet, or any of ’Zamamee’s immediate superiors—but the hardworking Soha ’Rolamee was there, along with a staff of lesserElites. There was no mistaking the crisis atmosphere as reports flowed in,were evaluated, and used to create a variety of action plans. ’Rolamee saw’Zamamee and raised his hand by way of a greeting.

“Welcome. Please sit.”

’Zamamee complied. It didn’t occur to either one of the Elites to offerthe same courtesy to Yayap, who continued to stand. The diminutive Gruntrocked back and forth, ill at ease.

“So,” ’Rolamee inquired, “how much have you heard about the latest . . .

‘incursion’?”

“Not much,” ’Zamamee was forced to admit. “The humans managed to boardthe ship via the gravity lift. That’s the extent of my knowledge.”

“That’s correct in so far as it goes,” ’Rolamee agreed. “There is more.

The ship’s security system recorded quite a bit of the action. Take a lookatthis .”

The Elite touched a button and moving images popped into view and hovered inthe air nearby. ’Zamamee found himself looking at two Grunts and a Jackalstanding in a corridor. Suddenly, without warning, the same human he hadencountered on thePillar of Autumn —the large one with the unusual armor—stepped around the corner, spotted the Covenant troops, and opened fire onthem.

The Grunts went down quickly, but the Jackal scored a hit, and ’Zamamee sawplasma splash the front of the human’s armor.

However, rather than fall as he should have, the apparition shot the Jackalin the head, stepped over one of the dead Grunts, and marched toward thecamera. The image froze as ’Rolamee touched another control. ’Zamamee feltan almost unbelievable tightness in his chest. Would he have the courage toface the human again? He wasn’t sure—and that frightened him as well.

“So,” ’Rolamee said, “there he is, the very human you warned us about. Adangerous individual who is largely responsible for the six-score casualtiesinflicted during this raid alone, not to mention the loss of a valuableprisoner, and six Shades which the enemy managed to steal.”

“And the humans?” ’Zamamee inquired. “How many of them were our warriorsable to kill?”

“The body count is incomplete,” the other Elite replied, “but thepreliminary total is thirty-six.”

’Zamamee was shocked. The numbers should have been reversed.Would have beenreversed had it not been for the alien in the special armor.

“You will be pleased to learn that your original request has now beenapproved,” ’Rolamee continued. “We have preliminary reports from otherstrike groups that most of these unusual humans were killed in the lastlarge engagement. This one is believed to be the last of his kind. Takewhatever resources you need, find the human, and kill him. Do you have anyquestions?”

“No, Excellency,” ’Zamamee said as he stood to leave. “None at all.”
Section III The Silent Cartographer Chapter 5
D+128:15:25 (Lieutenant McKay Mission Clock) /On the plain surrounding thePillar of Autumn .

The rain stopped just before dawn—not gradually but all at once, as ifsomeone had flipped a switch. The clouds melted away, the first rays of thesun appeared, and darkness surrendered to light.

Slowly, as if to reveal something precious, the golden glow slid across theplain to illuminate thePillar of Autumn , which lay like an abandonedscepter, her bow hanging out over the edge of a steep precipice.

She washuge , so huge that the Covenant had assigned two Banshees to flycover over her, and a squad of six Ghosts patrolled the area immediatelyaround the fallen cruiser’s hull. However, from the listless manner withwhich the enemy soldiers went about their duties, McKay could tell they wereunaware of the threat that had crept up on them during the hours of rain-filled darkness.

Back on Earth, before the invention of the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine,and the subsequent efforts to colonize other star systems, human soldiershad frequently staged attacks at dawn, when there was more light to see by,and the enemy sentries were likely to be tired and sleepy. In order tocounter, the more sophisticated armies soon developed the tradition of anearly morning “stand-to,” when every soldier went to barricades in casethe enemy chose that particular morning to attack.

Did the Covenant have a similar tradition, McKay wondered? Or were theydozing a bit, relieved that the long period of darkness was finally over,their fears eased by the first rays of the sun? The officer would soon findout.

Like all sixty-two members of her Company, the Helljumper was concealed justbeyond the border of the roughly U-shaped area that the Covenant activelypatrolled. And now, with daylight only minutes away, the time had arrivedeither to commit herself or to withdraw.

McKay took one last look around. Her arm ached, and her bladder was full,but everything else was A-okay. She keyed the radio and gave the order thatboth platoons had been waiting for. “Red One to Blue One and GreenOne . . . Proceed to objective. Over.”

The response came so quickly that McKay missed whatever acknowledgments thetwo Platoon leaders might have sent. The key was to neutralize the Bansheesand the Ghosts so quickly, so decisively, that the ODST troopers would beable to cross the long stretch of open ground and reach theAutumn virtuallyunopposed. That’s why no fewer than three of the powerful M19 rocketlaunchers were aimed at each Banshee—and three Marines had been assigned toeach of the half dozen target Ghosts.

Two of the four rockets fired at the Covenant aircraft missed their marks,but both Banshees took hits, and immediately exploded. Wreckage rained onthe Covenant position.

The Ghost drivers on both sides of the ship were still looking upward,trying to figure out what had occurred, when more than two dozen assaultweapons opened up on them.

Four of the rapid attack vehicles were destroyed within the first fewseconds of the battle. The fifth, piloted by a mortally wounded Elite,described a number of large overlapping circles before crashing into thecruiser’s hull and finally putting the driver out of his misery. The Elitebehind the controls of the sixth and last Ghost panicked, backed away fromthe wholesale destruction, and toppled over the edge of the precipice.

If the alien screamed on the way down McKay wasn’t able to hear it,especially with the steadycrack ,crack,crackof multiple S2 Sniper Riflesgoing off all around her. She keyed her radio to the command freq andordered her platoon leaders to move up.

The assault force crossed the open area in a run, and headed toward theship’s sternmost air locks.

Covenant troops stationed within the ship heard the ruckus and hurriedoutside, and were met by the sight of the still-smoking wrecks of theirmechanized support, and an enthusiastic—if somewhat thin—infantry assault.

Most were simply standing there, waiting for someone to tell them what todo, when the snipers’ 14.5mm armor-piercing, fin-stabilized, discarding-sabot rounds began to cut them down. The impact was devastating. McKay sawElites, Jackals, and Grunts alike throw up their arms and collapse as therolling fusillade took its toll.

Then, as the aliens started to pull back into the relative safety of theship’s interior, McKay jumped to her feet, knowing that one of her noncomswould do likewise on the far side of the hull, and waved the snipersforward. “Switch to your assault weapons! The last one to the lock has tostay and guard it!”

All the ODST troopers knew there were plenty of things to scrounge insidethe hull, and they were eager to do so. The possibility that they might endup guarding a lock rather than pillaging theAutumn ’s interior was morethan sufficient motivation to make each Marine run as fast as possible.

The purpose of the exercise was to get the last members of the Companyacross what could have been a Covenant killing ground and to do so asquickly as possible. McKay thought she’d been successful, thought she’dmade a clean break, when a momentary shadow passed over her and someoneyelled, “Contact! Enemy contact!”

The officer glanced back over her shoulder and spied a Covenant dropship.

The ungainly looking craft swept in from the east, and was about to deployadditional forces. Its plasma cannon opened fire and stitched a line ofblack dots in the dirt, out toward the edge of the drop-off.

A sniper disappeared from the waist down, and still had enough air to screamas his forward motion slowed, and his torso landed on a pile of his ownintestines.

McKay skidded to a halt, yelled, “Snipers! About face,fire !” and hopedthat the brief parade ground-style orders would be sufficient tocommunicate what she wanted.

Each Covenant dropship had side slots, small cubicle-like spaces where theirtroops rode during transit, and from which they were released when theaircraft arrived over the landing zone. Had the pilot been more experiencedhe would have positioned the aircraft so that it was nose-on to the enemyand fired his cannon while the troops bailed out—but he wasn’t, or he’dsimply made a mistake, as he presented the ship’s starboard side to thehumans and opened the doors.

More than half the ODST snipers had switched back to their S2s and hadshouldered their weapons up as the drop doors opened. They opened firebefore the Covenant troops could leap to the ground. One of their rounds hita plasma grenade and caused it to explode. A control line must have beensevered, because the dropship lurched to port, pitched forward, and nosedinto the ground. Twin waves of soil were gouged out of the plateau as theaircraft slid forward, hit a boulder, and exploded into flame.

Secondary explosions cooked off and the twin hulls disintegrated. The soundof the blast bounced off theAutumn ’s hull and rolled across thesurrounding plain.

The Marines waited a moment to see if any of the aliens would try to crawl,walk, or run away, but none of them did.

McKay heard the muffledthump ,thump,thumpof automatic weapons fire comingfrom within the ship behind her, knew the job was only half done, and wavedto the half dozen Marines. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

The Helljumpers looked at one another, grinned, and followed McKay into theship. The El-tee mightlook like a wild-eyed maniac, but she knew her stuff,and that was good enough for them.

The soil was still damp from the rain, so when the sun hit the top of themesa a heavy mist started to form, as if a battalion of spirits had beenreleased from bondage.

Keyes, exhausted by his captivity, not to mention the harrowing escape fromtheTruth and Reconciliation , had literally collapsed in the bed theHelljumpers had prepared for him and slept hard for the next three hours.

Now, awakened by both a nightmare and the internal clock that was stillattuned to the arbitrarily set ship time, the Naval officer was up andprowling about.

The view from the rampart was nothing less than spectacular, looking outover a flat plain to the gently rolling hills beyond. A bank of ivory-whiteclouds scudded above the hills. The vista wasso beautiful,so pristine, thatit was difficult to believe that Halo was a weapon.

He heard the scrape of footsteps, and turned to watch Silva emerge from thestaircase that led up to the observation platform. “Good morning, sir,”

the Marine said. “I heard you were up and around. May I join you?”

“Of course,” Keyes said, gesturing to a place at the waist-high wall.

“Please do. I took a self-guided tour of the landing pads, the Shadeemplacements, and the beginnings of the maintenance shop. Good work, Major.

You and your Helljumpers are to be congratulated. Thanks to you, we have aplace to rest, regroup, and plan.”

“The Covenant did some of the work for us,” Silva replied modestly, “butI agree, sir, my people did a hell of a job. Speaking of which, I thought Ishould let you know that Lieutenant McKay and two platoons of ODST troopsare fighting their way into theAutumn even as we speak. If they retrieve thesupplies we need, Alpha Base will be able to hold for quite a while.”

“And if the Covenant attacks before then?”

“Then we are well and truly screwed. We’re running short on ammo, food,and fuel for the Pelicans.”

Keyes nodded. “Well, let’s hope McKay pulls it off. In the meantime thereare some other things we need to consider.”

Silva found the easy, almost offhanded manner in which Keyes had reassumedcommand to be a bit irritating, even though he knew it was the otherofficer’s obligation to do so. There was a clear-cut chain of command, andnow that Keyes was free, the Naval officer was in charge. There was nothingthe Marine could do except look interested—and hope his superior came upwith at least some of the right ideas.

“Yes, sir. What’s up?”

So Keyes talked, and Silva listened, as the Captain reviewed what he hadlearned while in captivity. “The essence of the matter is that while theraces which comprise the Covenantseem to possess a high level of technology,most if not all of it may have been looted from the beings they refer to asthe ‘Forerunners,’ an ancient race which left ruins on dozens of planets,and presumably was responsible for constructing Halo.

“In the long run, the fact that they are adaptive, rather than innovative,may prove to be their undoing. For the moment, however, before we can takeadvantage of that weakness, we must first find the means to survive.If Halois a weapon, andif it has the capacity to destroy all of humanity as theyseem to believe, then we must find the means to neutralize it—and perhapsturn it against the Covenant.

“That’s why I ordered Cortana and the Master Chief to find the so-calledControl Room to which the aliens have alluded, and see if there’s a way toblock the Covenant’s plan.”

Silva placed his forearms on the top of the wall that fronted the rampartand looked out over the plain. If one knew where to look, and had a goodeye, he could see the blast-scarred ground where the Ghosts had attacked,the Helljumpers had held, and some of his Marines lay buried.

“I see what you mean, sir. Permission to speak freely?”

Keyes looked at Silva, then back to the view. “Of course. You’re second incommand here, and obviously you know your way around ground engagements farbetter than I do. If you have ideas, suggestions, or concerns, I want tohear them.”

Silva nodded respectfully. “Thank you, sir. My question has to do with theSpartan. Like everyone else, I have nothing but respect for the Chief’srecord. However, is he the right person for the mission you have in mind?

Come to think of it, is anyone person right for that kind of operation?

“I know that the Master Chief has an augmented body,” Silva continued,“not to mention the advantage that the armor gives him, but take a lookaround. This base, these defenses, were the work of normal human beings.

“The Spartan program is a failure, Captain—the fact that the Chief is theonly one left proves that, so let’s put your mission into the hands of somereal honest-to-god Marines and let them earn their pay.

“Thanks for hearing me out.”

Keyes had been in the Navy for a long time. He knew Silva was ambitious, notonly for himself, but for the ODST branch of the Marine Corps. He also knewthat Silva was brave, well-intentioned, and in this case, flat-outwrong .

But how to tell him that? He needed Silva’s enthusiastic support if any ofthem were going to make it out of this mess alive.

The Captain considered Silva’s words, then nodded. “You make some validpoints. What you and your ‘honest-to-god’ Marines have accomplished onthis butte is nothing short of miraculous.

“However, I can’t agree with your conclusions regarding the Chief or theSpartan program. First, it’s important to understand that what makes theChief so effective isn’twhat he is, butwho he is. His record is not theresult of technology—not because of what they’ve done to him butin spiteof what they’ve done to him, and the pain he has suffered.

“The truth is that the Chief would have grown up to be a remarkableindividual regardless of what the government did or didn’t do to him. Do Ithink children should be snatched away from their families? Raised by themilitary? Surgically altered? No, I don’t, not during normal times.”

He sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “Major, one of my firstassignments was to escort the Spartan’s project leader during the selectionprocess for the II-series candidates. At the time, I didn’t know the fullscope of the operation—and I probably would have resigned had I known.

“Thesearen’t normal times. We’re talking about the very real possibilityoftotal extinction , Major. How many people did we lose in the OuterColonies? How many did the Covenant kill on Jerico VII? On Reach? How manywill be glassed if they locate Earth?”

It was a rhetorical question. The Marine shook his head. “I don’t know,sir, but I do knowthis . More than twenty-five years ago, when I was asecond lieutenant, the people who invented the Chief thought it would be funto test their new pet weapon on somereal meat. They engineered a situationin which four of my Marines would run into your friend, take offense atsomething he did, and try to teach him a lesson.

“Well, guess what? The plan worked perfectly. The plan sucked my people in,and the freak not only kicked the hell out of them, he left two of them dead—beaten to death in a goddamned ship’s gymnasium. I don’t know what youcall that, sir, but I call it murder. Were there repercussions? Hell, no.

The windup toy got a pat on the head and a ticket to the showers. It was allin a day’s bloody work.”

Keyes looked bleak. “For whatever it’s worth I’m truly sorry about whathappened to your men, Major, but here’s the truth: Maybe it isn’t nice—hell, maybe it isn’t evenright —but if I could get my hands on a millionChiefs I’d take every single one of them. As for this particular mission,yes, I believe it’s possible that your people could get the job done, andif that’s all we had, I wouldn’t hesitate to send them in. But the Chiefhas a number of distinct advantages, not the least of which is Cortana, andby taking this task on he will free your Helljumpers to handle other things.

Lord knows there’s plenty to do. My decision stands.”

Silva nodded stiffly. “Sir, yes sir. My people will do everything they canto support both the Chief and Cortana.”

“Yes,” Keyes said, as he gazed up into the gently curving ring, “I’msure they will.”

The normally dark room was bright with artificial light. Zuka ’Zamamee hadstudied the raid on theTruth and Reconciliation , taken note of the mannerin which the human AI had accessed the Covenant battle net, and analyzed thenature of the electronic intrusions to see what the entity seemed mostinterested in.

Then, based on that analysis, he had constructed projections of what thehumans would do next. Notall of the humans, since that lay outside theparameters of his mission, but the one person in whom he was trulyinterested. An individual who appeared to be part of a specialized, elitegroup similar to his own, and would almost certainly be sent to follow up onwhat the humans had learned.

Now, in the room that led directly into the Security Control Center,’Zamamee laid a trap. The armored human would come, he felt sure of that,and once inside the snare, the human would meet his end. The thought cheered’Zamamee immensely and he hummed a battle hymn as he worked.

There was a flash, followed by a loudbang! as the fragmentation grenade wentoff. A Jackal screamed, an assault weapon stuttered, and a Marine yelled,“Let me know if you want some more!”

“Good work!” McKay exclaimed. “That’s the last of them. Close the hatch,lock it, and post a fire team here to make sure they don’t cut their wayout. The Covenant is welcome to the upper decks. What we need is downhere.”

The battle had been raging for hours by then as McKay and her Marines foughtto push the remaining enemy forces out of key portions of theAutumn and intothe sections of the ship that weren’t mission-critical.

As the Helljumpers sealed the last interdeck ladder not already secured,they had what they’d been striving for: free and unfettered access to theship’s main magazine, cargo holds, and vehicle bays.

In fact, even as the second platoon pushed the last of the aliens out of thelower decks, the first platoon, under the leadership of Lieutenant Oros, hadbegun the important task of hitching trailers to the fleet of Warthogsstowed in theAutumn ’s belly and loading them with food, ammo, and the longlist McKay had brought with her of other supplies. Then, once each ’Hogtrailer combo was ready, the Marines drove them down makeshift ramps ontothe hardpan below.

Once outside, and positioned laager style, the combined power of the LRV-mounted M41 light antiaircraft guns formed a potent defense against possibleattack by Covenant dropships, Banshees, and Ghosts. It wouldn’t hold outforever, but it would do the most important job: It would buy themtime .

Adding to the supply column’s already formidable firepower were four M808BScorpion Main Battle Tanks, or MBTs, which rumbled down off the ramps, andthrew dirt rooster tails up off their powerful treads as they growled intoposition within the screen established by the Warthogs.

The MBTs’ ceramic-titanium armor provided them with excellent protectionagainst small arms fire—although the vehicles were vulnerable should thealiens manage to get in close. That’s why provision had been made for up tofour Marines to ride on top of each Scorpion’s track pods.

Now, free to withdraw from the grounded cruiser and supervise final loading,McKay left Lister in charge of keeping the aliens penned up.

As she exited the ship, McKay caught sight of two heavily-loaded Pelicansflying off in the general direction of the butte, each with a ’Hog clutchedbeneath its belly. And there, arrayed on the hardpan in front of her,twenty-six Warthog-trailer combinations sat ready to roll, with still morecoming off the ship.

Their only problem was personnel. As a result of the work only fifty-twoeffectives remained, which meant that the stripped-down infantry companywould be hard-pressed to crew thirty-four vehicles and fight, should thatbecome necessary. Both McKay and her noncoms would all play a role asdrivers or gunners during the return trip.

Oros saw the Company Commander emerge from theAutumn ’s hull. The PlatoonLeader was caged inside one of the loader-type exoskeletons taken from theship. Servos whined in sympathy with her movements as she crossed theintervening stretch of wheel-churned dirt to the point where McKay waitedwith hands on hips. Grime covered her face and her body armor was charredwhere a plasma pulse had hit. “You look good in orange.”

Oros grinned. “Thanks, boss. Did you see the Pelicans?”

“As a matter of fact I did. They looked a bit overloaded.”

“Yeah, the pilots were starting to whine about weight, but I bribed themwith a couple of candy bars. They’ll be back in about forty-five minutes.

When they do we’ll wrestle fuel bladders into the cargo compartments, fillthem from the ship, and top their tanks all at the same time. Then, just tomake sure we get our money’s worth, we’ll hook a 50mm MLA autocannon undereach fuselage and take those out as well.”

McKay raised both eyebrows. “Autocannons? Where did you get those?”

“They were part of theAutumn ’s armament,” the other officer answeredcheerfully. “I thought it would be fun to spot the occasional Covenantdropship from the top of the mesa.”

He paused then added, “That’s the good news.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“A lot of gear didn’t survive the crash. No missile or rocket pods for thePelicans, and we’re almost bone dry on 70mm for their chin guns. We can’tcount on air support for much more than bus rides.”

“Damn.” She scowled. Without well-armed air support, Alpha Base was goingto be a lot tougher to defend.

“Affirmative,” Oros agreed. “Oh, and I ordered the pilots to bringfifteen additional bodies on the return trip. Clerks, medics, anybody whocan drive or fire an M41. That would allow me to squeeze some additional’Hogs into the column and put at least two people on each tank.”

McKay raised an eyebrow. “You ‘ordered’ them to bring more bodies?”

“Well, I kind of let them believe thatyou whistled them up.”

McKay shook her head. “You are amazing.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Oros replied shamelessly.“Semper Fi.”

The Pelicans swept over the glittering sea, passed over a line of gentlybreaking surf, and flew parallel with the beach. Foehammer saw a constructup ahead, a headland beyond, and a whole lot of Covenant troops runningaround in response to the sudden and unexpected arrival of two UNSCdropships. Rawley fought the urge to trigger the Pelican’s 70mm chin gun.

She’d expended the last of her ammo on the last pass—had watched geysersof sand chase an Elite up the beach, and was rewarded by the sight of thealien disappearing in a cloud of his own blood—and it didn’t look likemore were coming anytime soon.

She keyed open a master channel. “The LZ is hot, repeat,hot ,” Foehammeremphasized. “Five to dirt.”

The Master Chief stood next to the open hatch, and waited for Foehammer’ssignal: “Touchdown! Hit it, Marines!”

He was among the first to step off the ramp, his boots leaving deepimpressions in the soft sand.

He paused for a quick look around, then started down-spin to the point wherethe aliens waited. No sooner had the last member of the landing partydisembarked than the Pelicans were airborne once more—and flying up-spin.

Plasma fire stuttered down from the top of a rise as the Marines advanced upthe sandy slope, careful to fire staggered bursts, so the entire groupdidn’t wind up reloading at the same time. The Spartan ran forward, addedhis fire to the rest, and sent an Elite sprawling to the ground. TheCovenant forces were outnumbered for once and the human attackers wastedlittle time cutting them down. The whole fight lasted only ten minutes.

Time to get moving. He reviewed the mission objectives as he surveyed theLZ: find and secure a Covenant-held facility, some kind of map room—whichthe enemy had already captured.

The Covenant called the site “the Silent Cartographer”—which couldpresumably pinpoint the location of Halo’s control room. Keyes had beenvery adamant about the urgency of the mission. “If the Covenant figure outhow to turn Halo into a weapon, we’re cooked.”

Maybe, with Cortana’s help, they had a good chance of figuring out wherethe hell the ring’s control systems were housed. All they had to do is takeit away from an entrenched enemy.

The Spartan heard a burst of static followed by Foehammer’s cheerful voiceas her Pelican swooped back into the LZ area.“Echo 419 inbound. Did someoneorder a Warthog?”

A Marine said, “I didn’t know that you made house calls, Foehammer.”

The pilot chuckled.“You know our motto: ‘we deliver.’ ”

The Master Chief waited for the dropship to deposit the LRV on the beach,saw two Marines jump on board, and climbed up behind the wheel. The soldierriding shotgun nodded. “Ready when you are, Chief.”

The Spartan put his foot on the accelerator, sand shot out from under thevehicle’s tires, and the ’Hog left parallel tracks as it raced along theedge of the beach.

They rounded the headland in minutes, and entered the open area beyond.

There was a scattering of trees, some weathered boulders, and a swath ofgreen ground cover. “Firing!” the gunner called, and pulled his trigger.

The petty officer saw Covenant troops scurry for cover, steered right togive the three-barreled weapon a better angle, and was soon rewarded with abatch of dead Grunts and a badly mangled Jackal.

The Spartan drove the Warthog uphill, turning to avoid obstacles, careful tomaintain the vehicle’s traction. It wasn’t long before the humans nearedthe top of the slope and spotted the massive structure beyond. The topcurved downward, cut dramatically in, and gave way to a flat area where aCovenant dropship had been docked.

It appeared that the aircraft had just finished loading: It backed out of aU-shaped slot, swung out toward the ocean, and quickly disappeared. Thenoise generated by its engines covered the sound made by the Warthog andprovided the defenders with something to look at.

The gunner tracked the aircraft but knew better than to open fire andattract unwanted attention. The area beyond was crawling with Covenanttroops. “Anyone else see whatI see?” the second leatherneck inquired.

“How are we supposed to get aroundthat ?”

The Master Chief killed the ’Hog’s engine, motioned for the Marines toremain where they were, and eased his way up to a point where a fallen logoffered him some cover. He drew his pistol, took aim, and opened fire. FourGrunts and an Elite fell beneath the quick barrage of gunfire.

The response was nearly instantaneous as the surviving troops ran for coverand a series of plasma bolts blew chunks of wood out of the protective logand set it ablaze.

Confident that he had whittled the opposition down to a more manageablesize, the Chief eased his way back to the LRV and pulled himself up into thedriver’s seat. The Marines waited to see what he would do next. “Checkyour weapons,” he advised, as he hit the ignition switch and the big engineroared to life. “We have some clean-up to do.”

“Roger that,” the gunner said grimly. “It looks like we have KP dutyagain.”

There was no telling what the Covenant troops expected the humans to do, butjudging from the way they ran around screaming, the possibility of an old-fashioned frontal assault just hadn’t occurred to them.

The Spartan aimed the vehicle for the front of the complex, spotted thehallway that extended back toward the face of the cliff, and drove straightinside. It was a tight fit, and the Warthog wallowed a bit as the big off-road tires rolled over a couple of dead Grunts, but the strategy worked.

Both Marines opened up on the Covenant troops and the Chief ran one of themdown.

Then, once the outer part of the structure had been cleared, the MasterChief parked the LRV where the Marines could provide him with fire support,and ventured inside. A series of ramps led down through darkened hallways tothe antechamber below. It was full of aliens. The Master Chief tossed agrenade in among them, backed up out of the way, and sprayed the ramp withbullets. The grenade went off with a satisfyingwham! and body parts flewhigh into the air before thumping to the floor.

Cortana said, “Don’t let them lock the doors!”

Too late. The doors noiselessly flashed shut.

The Spartan polished off the last of the resistance, checked to confirm thatthe doors were locked, and was already on his way back to the surface whenthe AI accessed the suit’s radio.“Cortana to Keyes . . .”

“Go ahead, Cortana. Have you found the Control Center?”

“Negative, Captain. The Covenant have impeded our progress. We can’tproceed unless we can disable the installation’s security system.”

“Understood,”Keyes replied.“Use any means necessary to force your wayinto the facility and find Halo’s Control Center. Failure is not anoption.”

The Master Chief was back in the ’Hog and halfway to the LZ by the time theCaptain signed off.“Good luck, people. Keyes out.”

If the front door is locked—then go around back.That’s what the Spartanfigured as the LRV rolled back the way it had come, through the LZ. TheMarine seated next to him exchanged insults with a buddy stationed on thebeach.

They had just rounded a bluff when Cortana said, “Look up to the right.

There’s a path that leads toward the interior of the island.”

The AI had no more than finished her sentence when the gunner said, “Freaksat two o’clock!” and opened fire.

The Spartan ran the Warthog up a slope, allowed the M41 LAAG to handle theheavy lifting, and positioned the vehicle so the gunner could put fire onthe ravine ahead. “Tell me something, Cortana,” the Master Chief said, ashe lowered himself to the ground. “How come you’re always advising me togo up gravity lifts, run down corridors, and sneak through forests whilemaking no mention of all the enemy troops that seem to inhabit suchplaces?”

“Because I don’t want you to feel unnecessary,” the AI replied easily.

“For example, given the fact that your sensors are telling both of us thatthere are at least five Covenant soldiers lying in wait farther up theravine, it’s logical to suppose that there are even more beyond them.

Doesthat make you feel better?”

“No,” the Spartan admitted as he checked to ensure that both of hisweapons were fully loaded.

He charged up the ravine and took cover behind a large outcropping of rock.

Plasma bolts melted the stone near his head, and he snapped a quick shot inreturn. The Grunt snarled and dove for cover, as a pair of his partnersopened up on the Spartan’s position. Behind them, a cobalt-armored Eliteurged them forward.

The Master Chief took a deep breath.Time to go to work, he thought. Hesprinted from his cover and his pistol’s reports echoed through the narrowravine.

The skirmish took mere minutes. His shield indicator pulsed a warning yetagain, and he paused at the top of the ravine to allow it time to recharge.

His gun swept the area, and noted the circular structure that dominated asmall depression at the top of the ravine.

His shield had just begun a recharge cycle, feeding off the armor’scapacious power plant, when the pair of Hunter aliens burst from cover andlobbed fire at his position.

The first blast struck him square in the chest and sent him tumblingbackward. The second shot was stopped by a thick-trunked tree. A trickle ofblood pooled in the corner of his left eye. He shook his head to clear hisblurred vision and rolled to his left. A third shot kicked up a plume ofsoil where he had lain just seconds before.

The Chief tossed a frag grenade, counted to three, then sprang to his feetand sidestepped to his right, firing all the way.

He’d timed it perfectly. The grenade detonated, and the flash and smokebriefly confused the aliens. His rounds bounced from their thick armorplates. In unison, they spun to face him, their weapons glowing green asthey charged for another salvo.

Another grenade detonated in their path and slowed the Hunters’ advance.

They fired through the smoke and the crash of their weapons thunderedthrough the low ravine.

The Hunters moved forward, eager for the kill—and realized too late thathe’d doubled back and closed in on them. His assault rifle barked and toreinto the gaps in their armor at close range. They screamed and died.

The Master Chief followed the terrain as it gradually sloped back down tothe west. He dealt with a brace of sentries, then located his objective: away into the massive structure that loomed above. The human saw a dark,shadowy door, slipped through the opening. He felt the gloom settle aroundhim.

His biochemically altered eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, and hemoved deeper into the structure, pausing only to feed a fresh magazine intohis assault rifle.

One level below, Zuka ’Zamamee listened. Someone was on the way, thedesperate radio traffic testified to that, and it seemed safe to assume thatit was the very human he had set out to kill. The fact that thetransmissions ceased amid the clatter of human weaponry attested to the factthat the armored human was here.

But would he enter the trap? He had carefully seeded references to the maproom into the stream of battle updates. If the humans had tapped into thenetwork using the downed ship’s AI, then they would have no choice but tosend this fearsome soldier to find it.

Yes,the Elite thought, as his highly sensitive ears heard the scrape of abooted foot, a mutedclick as a new magazine slid home, and the subtle raspof armor.It won’t be long now.

’Zamamee looked left and right, assured himself that the Hunters were inposition, and withdrew to his hiding place. Others were present inside thecargo module as well, including Yayap and a team of Grunts.

The Master Chief hit the bottom of the ramp, saw the alien cargo modulesthat populated the center of the dimly lit room, and knew that damned nearanything could be lurking among them. Something—instinct, or perhaps onlyluck—caused his heart to beat a little faster as he put his back to a walland slid sideways. Something wasn’t right.

Light filtered in through an ornate window which enabled the Spartan to seethat there was an alcove to his left. He eased in that direction, felt acold weight hit the bottom of his stomach as he heard movement, and turnedtoward the sound.

The Hunter rushed out of the darkness, intent on smashing the Chief with hisshield, and finishing him with razor-sharp spines. A steady stream of 7.62mmbullets hammered the Hunter’s chest plate and slowed his rate of advance.

’Zamamee, backed by Yayap and his team of Grunts, chose that moment toemerge from the relative safety of the cargo module. The Elite wasfrightened, but determined to conceal it, and he raised his weapon. But theHunter was in his line of fire.

Then, as if the melee weren’t confusing enough, thesecond Hunter chargedin, bumped into the Elite, and sent him spinning to the cold metal floor.

Yayap, who found himself standing out in the middle of the floor, was aboutto order a retreat when one of his subordinates, a Grunt named Linglin,fired a weapon.

It was a stupid thing to do since there was no clear target to shoot at, butthat’s what Grunts were encouraged to do when in doubt: shoot. Linglinfired, and the plasma bolt flew straight and true. It hit the second Hunterin the back, and threw the spined warrior forward, and caused him to collidewith his bond brother.

“Uh-oh,” Yayap muttered.

The Master Chief saw his opponent start to go down, shot him in the back,and brought the assault weapon back up. The fact that the second Hunter wasalready down came as something of a surprise, albeit a pleasant one, and helooked for something else to shoot.

No doubt stunned by the enormity of his error, and terrified regarding thepotential consequences, Linglin was still backing away when the bulky,armored human raised his weapon and fired. Yayap felt Linglin’s blood spraythe side of his face as he tripped over his own feet, fell over backward,and used his hands to push himself back into the shadows. A hand grabbedhold of his combat harness, jerked the Grunt into the still yawning cargomodule, and held him in place. “Silence!” ’Zamamee instructed. “Thisbattle is over. We must live to fight another.”

That soundedvery good, maybe the most sensible thing he’d heard in ahundred units, so Yayap held his breath as the human walked past the opencargo module. He briefly wondered if there was some way he could get atransfer back to a normal frontline unit. To the diminutive alien trooper,such an assignment seemed considerably less dangerous.

His nerves on edge, fully expecting yetanother attack, the Spartan circledthe room. But there was nothing for him to deal with except his owntwitchiness and the heavy silence which settled over the room.

“Nice job, Chief,” Cortana said. “Head through the cargo modules. Thesecurity center lies beyond.”

The Master Chief followed Cortana’s directions, entered a hall, andfollowed it into a room that featured a small constellation of lightsfloating at its very center. “Use the holo panel to shut down the securitysystem,” Cortana suggested, and, eager to complete the job before anyoneelse could attack him, the Spartan hurried to comply. He was again struck byan odd near-familiarity with the glowing controls.

Cortana used the suit sensors to examine the results. “Good!” sheexclaimed. “That should open the door that leads into the main shaft. Nowall we have to do is find the Silent Cartographer and the map to the ControlRoom.”

“Right,” the Master Chief replied. “That, and avoid capture in unknownterritory, possibly held by the enemy, with no air support or backup.”

“Do you have a plan?” she asked.

“Yes. When we get there, I’m going to kill every single Covenant soldier Ifind.”
Chapter 6
D+144:38:19 (Lieutenant McKay Mission Clock) /The hills between Alpha Base and thePillar of Autumn .

Three parallel columns of vehicles are pretty hard to hide, and McKaydidn’t even try. The combination of some thirty Warthogs and four Scorpionsraised a cloud of dust that was visible from more than two kilometers away.

No doubt the heat produced by the machines registered on sensors clear outin space. Banshee recon flights could have tracked them from the minute theyhit the trail, and there was only one logical place the vehicles could beheaded: the butte called Alpha Base.

It wasn’t too surprising that the Covenant not only organized a response,but a massive one. Here, after days of humiliation, was the opportunity torevenge themselves on the beings who had taken the butte away from them,paid a surprise visit to theTruth and Reconciliation , and raided more thana dozen other locations besides.

Knowing she was in for a fight, McKay organized the vehicles into threetemporary platoons. The first platoon was comprised of Warthogs under thecommand of Lieutenant Oros. She had orders to ignore ground targets andconcentrate on defending the column from airborne attacks.

Sergeant Lister was in charge of the second platoon’s Scorpion Main BattleTanks, which, because of their vulnerability to infantry, were kept at thecenter of the formation.

The third platoon, under McKay herself, was charged with ground defense,which meant keeping Ghosts and infantry off the other two platoons. A thirdof her vehicles, five Warthogs in all, were unencumbered by trailers andleft free to serve as a quick reaction force.

By giving each platoon its own individual assignment, the officer hoped toleverage the Company’s overall effectiveness, ensure fire discipline, andreduce the possibility of casualties caused by friendly fire, a real dangerin the kind of melee that she expected.

As the Marines headed east toward Alpha Base, the first challenge lay at thepoint where the flat terrain ended. Hills rolled up off the plain to form amaze of canyons, ravines, and gullies which, if the humans were foolishenough to enter them, would force the vehicles to proceed single file, whichrendered the convoy vulnerable to air and ground attacks. There was adifferent route, however, a pass approximately half a klick wide. All threecolumns could pass through it without breaking formation.

The problem, and a rather obvious one, was the fact that a pair of rathersizable hills stood guard to either side of the pass, providing the Covenantwith the perfect platform from which to fire down on them.

As if that weren’t bad enough, athird hill lay just beyond, creating asecond gate through which the humans would have to pass before gaining thefreedom of the plain beyond. It was a daunting prospect—and McKay felt arising sense of despair as the company drew within rifle shot of theopposing hills. She wasn’t especially religious—but the ancient psalmseemed to form itself in her mind. “Yea, though I walk through the valleyof the shadow of death . . .”

Screw it,she thought. She ordered the convoy to lock and load and preparefor a fight. Psalms weren’t going to win the coming fight. Firepower would.

From his vantage point high on what Covenant forces had designated as“Second Hill,” the Elite Ado ’Mortumee used a powerful monocular to eyethe human convoy. With the exception of five vehicles, the rest of the alienLRVs were hooked to heavily laden trailers, which prevented them from makingmuch speed. Also serving to slow the convoy down was the presence of four ofthe humans’ cumbersome tanks.

Rather than risk passage through the hills, their commanding officer hadopted to use the pass. Understandable, but a mistake for which the humanwould pay.

’Mortumee lowered the monocular and turned to look at the Wraith. Thoughnot normally a fan of the slow-firing, lumpy-looking tanks, he had to admitthat the design was perfect for the work at hand, and in combination with anidentical unit stationed on First Hill, the monster at his elbow was certainto make short work of the oncoming convoy.

The counterthreat, if that’s what it was, would come from the armoredbehemoths which rolled along at the very center of the human formation.

Theylooked powerful, but never having seen one in action, and having foundprecious little data on them within the Intel files, ’Mortumee wasn’t surewhat to expect.

“So,” a voice said from behind him, “the Council of Masters has sent me aspy. Tell me,spy, who are you here to watch: the humans or me?”

’Mortumee turned to find that Field Master Noga ’Putumee had approachedhim from behind, something he did rather quietly for such a large being.

Though known for his bravery, and his leadership in the field, ’Putumee wasalso famous for his blunt, confrontational, and paranoid ways. There was agood deal of truth in the officer’s half-serious suggestion, however, since’Mortumee had been sent to watch both the Field Masterand the enemy.

’Mortumee ignored the field commander’s blunt tone, and clicked hismandibles. “Someone has to count all the human bodies, write the reportcelebrating your latest victory, and lay the groundwork for your nextpromotion.”

If there was a chink in ’Putumee’s psychological armor it was in thevicinity of his ego, and ’Mortumee would have sworn that he saw the otherofficer’s already massive chest expand slightly in response to the praise.

“If words were troops you would lead a mighty army indeed. So, spy, are theBanshees ready?”

“Ready and waiting.”

“Excellent,” ’Putumee replied. The gold-armored Elite turned his ownmonocular on the approaching convoy. “Order the attack.”

“As you order, Excellency.”

’Putumee nodded.

McKay heard the incoming Banshees and the prospect of action banished herbutterflies to a less noticeable sector of her stomach. The sound started asa low drone, quickly transformed itself into a buzz, then morphed into abloodcurdling wail as the officer keyed her mike.

“This is Red One: We have hostile aircraft inbound. First Platoon is clearto engage. Everyone else will remain on standby. This is the warm-up,people, so stay sharp. There’s more on the way. Over and out.”

There were five flights of ten Banshees each, and the first group camethrough the pass so low that ’Mortumee found himself lookingdown on thewave of aircraft. Sun glinted off the burnished, reflective metal of theBanshees’ wings.

It was tempting to jump into his own aircraft and join them, thrilling tothe feel of the low altitude flight, as well as the steadyboom ing ofoutgoing plasma fire. Such pleasures were denied the spy if he was tomaintain the objectivity required to carry out his important work.

Eager to have the first crack at the humans, and determined to leave nothingfor subsequent flights to shoot at, the pilots of the first wave fired themoment they came within range.

First Platoon’s Marines saw the aircraft appear low on the horizon, watchedthe blobs of lethal energy blip their way, and knew better than to engageindividual targets. Not yet, anyway. Instead, consistent with the ordersthat Lieutenant Oros had given, the Helljumpers aimed their M41 LAAGs at apoint just west of the pass, and opened fire all at once. The Bansheesdidn’t have brakes, and the pilots had just started to turn, when they ranright into the meat grinder.

’Mortumee understood the problem right away, as did ’Putumee, who orderedthe following waves to break up and attack the convoy independently.

The orders came too late for eight of the first ten aircraft, which wereripped into thousands of pieces, and fell like smoking snow.

A pair of the flyers got through the storm of gunfire. One of the Bansheesmanaged to hit a Warthog with a burst of superheated plasma, killing thegunner, and slagging his weapon. The LRV continued to roll, however—whichmeant that the trailer and its load of supplies did as well.

Once through the hail of bullets, the surviving Banshees turned and lined upfor a second pass.

As the second flight of Covenant aircraft arrived from the east, split up,and launched individual attacks, Field Master ’Putumee barked an order intohis radio. The mortar tanks on First and Second Hills fired in unison. Blue-white orbs of fire, trailing tendrils of energy, shot high into the sky,hung suspended for a moment, then began to fall.

The plasma mortars fell with a deliberate, almost casual slowness. Theyarced gracefully into the ground and a deafening thunderclap shook theground. Neither round found a target, but these were ranging shots, and thatwas to be expected.

McKay heard a Marine say, “What the hell wasthat?” over the command freq,then heard Lister tear a strip off him.

She couldn’t help but wonder the same thing herself. The truth was thatwhile the officer knew the vehicles existed, she’d never seen a Wraith tankin action, and wasn’t sure if that was what she faced. It didn’t mattermuch, though, because the weapon in question was quite clearly lethal, andwould cause havoc in the close quarters of the pass. She keyed her radio.

“Red One to Green One: Those ‘energy bombs’ originated from thosehilltops. Let’s give the bastards a haircut. Over.”

“This is Green One,”Lister acknowledged.“Roger that, over.”

There was a burst of static as Lister switched to his platoon’s freq,though McKay could hear every word on the command channel.

“Green One to Foxtrot One and Two: lay some high explosive on the hill tothe left. Over.”

“Green One to Foxtrot Three and Four: ditto the hill to the right. Over.”

Banshees wheeled, turned, and poured fire down on the hapless humans as oneof the pilots fired his fuel rod cannon and scored a direct hit. A trailerfull of precious ammo exploded, wrapped the Warthog in a fiery embrace, andtook the LRV with it. Covenant forces watching from the hilltops felt asense of exultation, and more than that, the pleasure of revenge.

’Mortumee was there to document the battle, not celebrate it, though hewatched in fascination as two of the tank turrets swiveled to his left inorder to fire on First Hill, while two turned in the opposite direction andseemed to point directly athim .

The Elite wondered if he should seek cover, but before the message to movecould reach his feet, he heard a reverberating roar as the 105mm shellpassed through the intervening air space, followed by a loudcraack! as theshell landed about fifty units away. A column of bloody dirt flew high intothe air. Body parts, weapons, and pieces of equipment continued to rain downas the half-deafened ’Mortumee recovered his composure and ran for cover.

Field Master ’Putumee laughed out loud and pointed to show a member of hisstaff where ’Mortumee had taken shelter behind some rocks. That was whenthe second round detonated just below the summit of the hill and started asmall landslide. “This,” the Elite said happily, “is areal battle. Keepan eye on the spy.”

Stung by the loss of a Warthog, a trailer-load of ammo, and three Marines,McKay was starting to question the division of labor she had imposed, andwas just about to free her platoon’s gunners to fire on the Banshees, whenher driver said, “Uh-oh, look at that!”

A series of plasma bolts stitched a line along the ’Hog’s side, scorchedthe vehicle’s paint, and kicked up geysers of dirt as the officer followedthe pointing finger. A force of Ghosts skittered into the pass.

“Red One to all Romeo units . . . follow me!” McKay yelled into her mike,and tapped the driver’s arm. “Go get ’em, Murphy—let’s clear thatgap.”

No sooner had the officer spoken than the Marine put his foot into it, thegunner whooped, and the LRV leapt forward.

The rest of the five-vehicle reaction force followed just as the Wraith onHill One hurled a third then a fourth plasma ball high into the sky.

McKay looked up, saw the fireball slow to a near stop at the point ofapogee, and knew it would be a race. Would the bomb land on top of thereaction force? Or, would the fast-moving ’Hogs slip out from under it,leaving the plasma charge to explode harmlessly on the ground?

The gunner saw the threat as well, and yelled, “Go! Go! Go!” as the driverswerved to avoid a clutch of rocks, did his best to push the acceleratorthrough the floor. He mumbled, “Damn, damn, damn,” as he felt somethingwet and warm puddle on his seat.

The energy bomb fell with increasing velocity. The first LRV slippedunderneath it, quickly followed by the second and third.

Heart in her throat, McKay looked back over her shoulder as the plasmaweapon landed, detonated, and blew a large crater out of the ground.

Then, like a miracle on wheels, Romeo Five flew through the smoke, bouncedas it hit the edge of the newly created crater, and lurched up over the rim.

There was no time to celebrate as the Ghosts pulled into range and the leadvehicle opened fire. McKay raised her assault rifle, took aim at the nearestblur, and squeezed the trigger.

Master Sergeant Lister faced a harsh reality. Never mind Banshees thatswooped overhead, or the Ghosts up ahead, it was his job to do somethingabout the mortar fire, and as the hills loomed ahead, Second Platoon’sScorpions were coming up on the point when their main guns would no longerbe able to elevate high enough to engage the primary target. One more salvo,that’s what the tanks could deliver, before their weapons could no longerbe brought to bear.

“Wake up, people,” Lister said over the platoon frequency, “the lastgroup on the left was at least fifteen meters too low, and the last group onthe right overshot the hill. Make adjustments, take the tops off thosehills, and do itnow . We don’t have time to screw around.”

Each tank commander adjusted aim, sent their shells on the way, and prayedfor a hit. They all knew that facing the Covenant would be easier thansuffering Lister’s wrath should the shells miss their marks.

Field Master ’Putumee watched impassively as the Wraith on First Hillexploded, taking a file of Jackals with it. He was sorry to lose the mortartank, but the truth was that with two dozen Ghosts milling around in thepass below, he was going to have to cease fire anyway. Either that or riskkilling his own troops. The Elite snapped an order, saw one last fireballsail into the air, and watched the humans enter the gap.

Lance Corporal “Snaky” Jones was screwed, he knew that, had known it eversince the front end of his ’Hog took a hit and flipped end-for-end. He wasstanding behind the LAAG, firing forward over the driver’s head, when hewas suddenly catapulted into the air. Jones saw a blur, hit hard, andtumbled head over heels. Once his body came to a stop the Marine discoveredthat it was almost impossible to breathe, which was why he just lay there atfirst, staring up into the amazing blue sky as he gasped for air.

It was pretty,very pretty, until a Banshee screamed through the picture anda Warthog roared past on the left.

That was when Jones managed to scramble to his feet, and yelled into hisboom mike, only to discover that it was missing. Not just the mike, but hisentire helmet, which had come loose during the fall. No helmet meantnomike,no radio, andno possibility of a pickup.

The Lance Corporal swore, ran toward the wrecked Warthog, and gave thanksfor the fact that it hadn’t caught fire. The vehicle was resting on itsside and the S2 was right where he had left it—clamped butt down behind thedriver’s seat.

It was hard to see Sergeant Corly strewn over the rear fender with half herface blown away, so Jones averted his eyes. His rucksack, the one thatcontained extra ammo, a med pack, and the stuff he had looted from thePillarof Autumn , was right where he had left it, secured to the bottom of the gunpedestal.

Jones grabbed the pack, slung it across his back, and grabbed the sniperrifle. He made sure the rifle was ready to fire, then clicked on the safetyand ran for the nearest hill. Maybe he could find a cave, wait for thebattle to end, and haul ass back to Alpha Base. Dust puffed away from theMarine’s boots and death hung all around.

Lieutenant Oros estimated that First Platoon had reduced the number ofattacking aircraft by two thirds—and she had a plan to deal with the rest.

McKay wouldn’t approve—but what was the CO going to do? Send her to Halo?

The Lieutenant grinned, gave the necessary order, and jumped down to theground.

She waved to the volunteers from four of the thirteen Warthogs she hadremaining, then scampered toward a group of likely-looking rocks. All fiveof the Marines carried M19 SSM Rocket Launchers slung across their backs,plus assault weapons, and as many spare rockets as they could carry in thetwin satchels that hung from their hands. They pounded across the hardpan,scurried into the protection offered by the surrounding boulders, and set upshop.

When everyone was ready, Oros pulled the pins on one flare after another,tossed them out beyond the circle of rocks, and watched the orange smokebillow up into the sky.

It wasn’t long before the Banshee pilots spotted the smoke and, likevultures attracted to fresh carrion, hurried to the scene.

The Marines held their fire, waited until no less than thirteen of theCovenant aircraft were circling above them, and fired five rockets, all atonce. A second volley followed the first—and a third followed that. Therewas a steady drumbeat of explosions as ten Banshees took direct hits, somefrom multiple rockets, and ceased to exist.

Of the aircraft that survived the barrage of rockets, two bugged outimmediately. The last staggered in response to a near miss, belched smokefrom its port engine, and looked like it would go down. Oros thought it wasover at that point, that she and her volunteers would be free to fade intothe hills, and beat feet for home.

But it wasn’t to be. Unlike most of his peers, the pilot in the damagedBanshee must have had a strong desire to transcend the physical, because heturned toward the enemy, put the aircraft into a steep dive, and plungedinto the pile of boulders. Oros tried to make the shot but missed—andbarely had time to swear before the mortally wounded Banshee augered intothe rocks and swallowed the ambush team in a ball of fire.

The fact that Lance Corporal Jones made it all the way to the base of thehill without getting killed was just plain luck. The subsequent scramble upthrough the loose tumble of rocks was instinctual. The desire to gainelevation is natural to any soldier, but especially to a sniper, which waswhat Jones had been trained to be when he wasn’t busy humping supplies,operating LAAGs, or taking crap from sergeants.

The fact that Jones was about to go on the offensive, about to take it tothe Covenant,that was a decision. Maybe not the smartest decision he’d evermade, but one he knew to be right, and to hell with the consequences.

Jones was only halfway up the side of the hill, but that was high enough tosee the top of theopposite hill, and the tiny figures who stood there. Notthe Grunts who were running this way and that, not the Jackals who lined theedge of the summit, but the shiny armor of the Elites. Those were thetargets he wanted, and they seemed to leap forward as the Marine increasedthe magnification on his scope, and let the barrel drift slightly. Whichlife should he take? The one on the left with the blue armor? Or the one onthe right, the shiny gold bastard? At that moment in time, in thatparticular place, Lance Corporal Jones was God.

He clicked the sniper rifle’s safety catch, and lightly rested his fingeron the trigger.

’Mortumee had emerged from hiding by that time and was standing next toField Master ’Putumee as the human convoy cleared the pass and turned up-ring. There was a third hill off to his left—and it, too, was topped with aWraith.

The mortar tank opened fire. For one brief moment ’Mortumee harbored thehope that the remaining tank would accomplish what the first two had not anddecimate the convoy. But the humans were still out of range, and, knowingthat the Wraith couldn’t do them any harm, they took the time to put theirown tanks into a line abreast.

A single salvo was all it took. All four of the shells landed on target, themortar tank was destroyed, and the way was clear.

’Putumee lowered his monocular. His face was expressionless. “So, spy, howwill your report read?”

’Mortumee looked at the other Elite with a pitying expression. “I’msorry, Excellency, but the facts are clear, and the report will practicallywrite itself. Had you deployed your forces differently, down on the plainperhaps, victory would have been ours.”

“An excellent point,” the Field Master replied, his tone mild. “Hindsightis always perfect.”

’Mortumee was about to reply, about to say something about the value offoresight, when his head exploded.

Lance Corporal Jones steadied his aim for a second shot. The first shot hadbeen perfect. The 14.5mm slug had flown true, entered the base of BlueBoy’s neck, and exited through the top of his head. That blew his helmetoff, allowing a mixture of blood and brains to fountain into the air.

’Putumee snarled and threw himself backward—and thereby escaped the secondbullet.

Moments later, the twin reports echoed back and forth between the twohillsides. The Field Master crabbed back to cover and fed positioninformation to the Banshee commander, and snarled into his communicationsgear: “Sniper! Kill him!”

Satisfied that the sniper would be dealt with, ’Putumee stood and lookeddown at ’Mortumee’s headless body. He bared his fangs. “It looks likeI’ll have to write that report myself.”

Jones spat into the dirt, angry that the gold Elite had evaded the secondshot.Next time, he promised himself.You’re minenext time, pal . Bansheesbanked overhead, searching for his position. Jones backed into a deepcrevice among the rocks. Fortunately, thanks to the loot gathered aboardtheAutumn , he had twenty candy bars to sustain him.

The security system neutralized, the Master Chief made his way back throughthe alien construct, and headed toward the surface. Time to find this“Silent Cartographer” and complete this phase of the mission.

“Mayday! Mayday! Bravo 22 taking enemy fire! Repeat, we are taking fire andlosing altitude.”The dropship pilot’s strained voice was harsh and grating—the sound of a man about to lose it.

“Understood,” Cortana replied. “We’re on our way.”

Then, in an aside to the Spartan, the AI said, “I don’t like the sound ofthat—I’m not certain they’re going to make it.”

The Master Chief agreed, and in his eagerness to get topside, made apotentially fatal error. Having just cleared the room adjacent to whatappeared to be the ring world’s Security Center, he assumed that itwasstill clear.

Fortunately, the Elite—equipped with another of the Covenant’s camouflagedevices—announced his presence with a throaty roar just prior to firing hisweapon. Plasma fire still splashed the Chief’s chest, followed by a briefmoment of disorientation as he tried to figure out where the attack wascoming from. His motion sensor detected movement, and he aimed his weapon asbest he could. He fired a sustained burst and was rewarded with an alienscream of pain.

As the Covenant warrior fell, the Master Chief made a mad dash for the rampthat led up toward the surface, reloading as he went. Walking into the once-cleared room too quickly had been stupid—and he was determined not to makethe same mistake again. The fact that Cortana was there, seeing the worldvia his sensors, made such errors that much more embarrassing. Somehow, forreasons he hadn’t had time to sort out, the human wanted the AI’sapproval. Silly? Maybe so, if one thought of Cortana as little more than afancy computer program, but she was more than that. In the Chief’s mind atleast.

He smiled at the irony of the thought. The human-AI interface meant that, inmany ways, Cortana wasliterally in the Chief’s mind, using some of hiswetware for processing power and storage.

The Spartan made his way up the ramp, through a hall, and out into brightsunlight. He paused on a platform, and dropped to the slope below, asCortana cautioned him to keep an eye peeled for Bravo 22.

Covenant troops were patrolling the beach below—a mix of Jackals andGrunts. The Master Chief drew his sidearm, switched to the 2X magnification,and decided to work from right to left. He nailed the first Jackal, missedthe next, and killed a pair of Grunts who were waddling around on top of themesa opposite his position.

As he moved farther down the slope, he could see Bravo 22’s wreckage, halfburied in the side of the mesa. There were no signs of life. Either the crewand passengers had been killed on impact, or some had survived and beenexecuted by the enemy.

The possibility made him particularly angry. He turned to the right, caughtthe surviving Jackal on the move, and put him down. He switched to his MA5Band made his way down the grassy slope to the sand beyond. It was a shortwalk to the smoking wreckage and the scattering of bodies. Plasma burns onsome of the bodies served to confirm the Spartan’s suspicions.

Though not the most pleasant of tasks, the Chief knew he had to obtain ammoand other supplies wherever he could, and took advantage of the situation inorder to stock up.

“Don’t forget to grab a launcher,” Cortana put in. “There’s no tellingwhat might be waiting for us when we go back to looking for the ControlRoom.”

The Master Chief took the AI’s advice and decided to ride rather than walk.

The Warthog that had been tucked under the dropship’s belly had come looseduring the final moments of flight, hit the ground, and flipped over on itsside. He approached the vehicle, reached upward, got a good purchase, andpulled. Metal creaked as the ’Hog swayed, tilted in the Spartan’sdirection, and started to fall. He stepped back, waited for the inevitablebounce, and climbed up behind the wheel. After a quick check to ensure thatthe LRV was still operable, he was off.

He skidded the Warthog into a slewing turn, then headed back to the missionLZ—the beachhead the Marines had been left to hold.

The Helljumpers had fought off two assaults during his absence, but theystill owned the real estate they had originally taken, and remainedundeterred.

“Welcome back,” a Corporal said as she took her place behind the three-barreled gun. “It was getting boring without you.” She had a grimy face,the wordsCUT HERE tattooed around the circumference of her neck, and a short,stocky body.

The Chief eyed the hastily dug weapons pits and foxholes, the large pile ofCovenant corpses, and the plasma-scorched sand. “Yeah, I can see that.”

A freckle-faced PFC jumped into the passenger seat, a captured plasma riflecradled in his arms. The Spartan turned back in the direction he had comefrom, and raced along the edge of the water. Spray flew up along the leftside of the LRV and he wished he could feel the moisture on his face.

A kilometer ahead, a Hunter named Igido Nosa Hurru fumed as he paced backand forth across a docking platform still stained with Covenant blood. Wordhad come down from an Elite named Zuka ’Zamamee that a lone human hadkilled two of his brothers a few hours earlier, and was about to attack hisnewly reinforced position, as well. This was something the spined warriorhoped would happen so that he, and his bond brother Ogada Nosa Fasu, couldhave the honor of killing the alien.

So, when Hurru heard the whine of the surface vehicle’s engine, and saw itround the headland, both he and his bond brother were ready. Having receivedthe other Hunter’s characteristic nod, Hurru took up a position directlyoutside the entrance to the complex.If the vehicle was some sort of trick, aruse to lure both guards away from the door long enough for the human toslip inside, it wasn’t going to work.

Fasu, always one to seize the initiative, and something of an artist withthe fuel rod cannon attached to his right arm, waited for the LRV to comewithin range, led the vehicle to ensure that the relatively slow-movingenergy pulse would have an adequate amount of time to reach its destination,and fired a single shot.

The Master Chief saw the yellow-green blob appear in his peripheral vision,and made the decision to turn toward the enemy both to make the ’Hog looksmaller and to give the Corporal an opportunity to fire. But he ran out oftime. The Spartan had just started to spin the wheel when the energy pulseslammed into the side of the Warthog and flipped the vehicle over.

All three of the humans were thrown free. The Master Chief scrambled to hisfeet and looked up-slope in time to see a Hunter drop down from thestructure above, absorb the shock with its massive knees, and move forward.

Both the Corporal and the freckle-faced youngster were back on their feet bythen, but the noncom, who had never seen a Hunter before, much less gonehead-to-head with one, yelled, “Come on, Hosky! Let’s take this bastardout!”

The Spartan yelled, “No! Fall back!” and bent over to retrieve the rocketlauncher. Even as he barked the order, he knew there simply wasn’t time.

Another Spartan might have been able to dodge out of the way in time, butthe Helljumpers didn’t have a prayer.

The distance between the alien and the two Marines had closed by then andthey couldn’t disengage. The Corporal threw a fragmentation grenade, saw itexplode in front of the oncoming monster, and stared in disbelief as thealien kept on coming. The alien charged right through the flying shrapnel,bellowed some sort of war cry, and lowered a gigantic shoulder.

Private Hosky was still firing when the gigantic shield hit him, shatteredhalf the bones in his body, and threw what was left onto the ground. Theprivate remained conscious, however, which meant he was able to lie thereand watch as the Hunter lifted his boot high into the air, and brought itdown on his face.

The Master Chief had the launcher up on his shoulder by then and was justabout to fire when the Corporal screamed something incoherent, dashed intothe line of fire, and blocked his shot. The Chief yelled at her to hit thedeck and was moving sideways in an attempt to get a clear line of fire whenFasu blew a hole the size of a dinner plate through the leatherneck’schest.

The Spartan hit the firing stud, and a rocketwhoosh ed for the Hunter. Withsurprising agility, the massive alien hunched and sidestepped, and therocket skimmed past him. It detonated behind the Hunter, and showered themboth with debris.

The Hunter charged.

The Master Chief stepped back, knew there wouldn’t be time to reload, andthat the next rocket would have to fly straight and true. The surf swirledaround his knees as he backed out into the ocean, fought to maintain hisfooting in the soft sand, and saw the alien fill his sight. Was the targettoo close? There wasn’t time to check. He pulled the trigger, and a secondrocket streaked ahead on a column of smoke and fire.

The Hunter had reached full speed and couldn’t dodge in time. Thecreature’s massive feet dug into the soft ground as it tried to altercourse to avoid the rocket—to no avail. The 102mm shaped charge explodedagainst the very center of the Hunter’s chest armor, blew through historso, and severed his spine. There was a mighty splash as the aliencreature fell face first into the water. A pool of vibrant orange bloodstained the surf around the fallen Hunter.

The Master Chief took a moment to reload the launcher then slogged back uponto the beach. A distant howl of anguish issued from the other alien’sthroat.Serves you right, he thought.You only lost one brother. I lost all ofmine.

He felt a pang of sorrow for the two dead Marines. Heshould have anticipatedthe long-range attack, should have briefed the leathernecks about thepossibility of Hunters, should have reacted more quickly. All of which meantthat it washis fault that the Marines were dead.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Cortana said gently. “Now be careful—there’sanother Hunter up on the platform.”

The words were like a bucket of cold water in the face. “Mental combat,”

that’s how his teacher, Chief Mendez, had referred to it, always stressingthe importance of a cool head.

Slowly, methodically, the Master Chief worked his way up the slope, killingCovenant soldiers with machine precision. The small groups of Grunts wereirrelevant. Thereal challenge waited above.

Hurru heard the firing, knew he was being flanked, and welcomed it. Rage,sorrow, and self-pity all churned around inside him causing him to fire hisfuel rod cannon again and again, as if to obliterate the human by the weightof his barrage.

The human made good use of what cover there was, put his left arm againstthe cliff face, and inched his way forward. The Hunter saw him and attemptedto fire, but the fuel rod cannon hadn’t had time to recharge after the lastshot. That left the human free to fire, which he did. Hurru felt warmrelief.

He was about to join his bond brother.

The rocket was a hair high, hit Hurru in the head, and blew it off. Orangeblood fountained straight up, splashed the alien metal around the Hunter,and splattered his body as it collapsed.

The Spartan paused, switched to his assault weapon, and waited for thefeeling of satisfaction. It never arrived. The Marines were still dead,wouldalways be dead, and nothing would change that. Was it fair that heremained alive? No, it wasn’t. All he could do was accomplish what theywould want him to do. Forge ahead, find the map, and make their deaths countfor something.

With that thought in mind, the Master Chief reentered the complex on foot,made his way through halls still slick with alien blood from his last visit,turned down the ramp, proceeded to the lower level, and passed through thedoor he had worked so hard to open.

The Master Chief moved into the bowels of the structure. From outside, thespires stood several stories high, which was misleading. The interior of thestructure plunged deep below the surface.

He wound down a curving ramp. The air was still and slightly stale, andthick pillars of the first large chamber he moved through made the room feellike a crypt.

He slipped through heavily shadowed rooms, padded down spiral ramps, passingthrough galleries filled with strange forms. The walls and floors were madeof the same burnished, heavily engraved metal that he’d encounteredelsewhere on the ring. He clicked on his light and noticed new patterns inthe metal, like the swirls in marble—as if the material were some kind ofmetal-stone hybrid.

The tomblike silence was shattered by the squalling of several Grunts andJackals. There was opposition,plenty of it, as the human was forced to dealwith dozens of Grunts, Jackals, and Elites. “It’s as if they knew we wereon the way,” Cortana observed. “I think someone is tracking our progress,and has a pretty good idea of where we’re headed.”

“No kidding,” the Master Chief replied dryly as he shot a Grunt andstepped over the body. “I hope we reach the Cartographer before I run outof ammo.”

“We’re close,” the AI assured him, “but be careful. There’s bound to bemore Covenant ahead.”

The Master Chief took Cortana’s counsel to heart. He hoped that he wouldfind a way to bypass whatever the Covenant had in store, but that wasn’t tobe. As the Spartan entered a large room, he saw that two Hunters had beenassigned to patrol the far side of it. He slung his rifle and readied therocket launcher. It was the right weapon for Hunters, no question about that—so long as he didn’t allow either one of the monsters to get too close. Arocket fired under those conditions would killhim if it detonated nearby.

One of the spined aliens spotted the intruder and bellowed a challenge. TheHunter was already in motion when the rocket flashed across the room, struckhim in the right shoulder, and blasted him to hell.

A second Hunter howled and fired his fuel rod cannon. The Chief swore as thewash from a slightly off-target plasma bolt set off the audible alarm, andthe indicator in the upper right hand corner of his HUD morphed to red.

The Spartan turned, hoping to put the second Hunter in his sight, but themassive alien slid behind a wall.

Unable to fire, he backed off. The Hunter lunged forward, and the deadlyrazor-spines raked across his already-weakened shields.

The Chief grunted in pain as the tip of the uppermost spine spiked throughhis armor’s shoulder joint. He felt a sickly tearing as the meat of his armparted beneath the scalpel-sharp limb.

He spun, and the spine wrenched free.

The Master Chief felt a rising sense of frustration as he switched to theassault weapon, backed up a ramp, and used his greater mobility to circlebehind the alien. Then he had it, a brief glimpse of unprotected flesh, andthe opportunity he needed. He put a quick burst into the warrior’s back,spun away, and barely escaped a blast from the plasma pistols of the Jackalsthat had dropped into view and opened fire.

The Master Chief hurled three grenades over a divider. One of them scored adirect hit, sprayed the walls with chunks of alien flesh, and finallybrought the frantic firefight to an end.

Cortana, whose life had been on the line as well, and who had been forced towatch as the Spartan fought for both of them, processed a sense of relief.

Somehow, against all odds, her human host had come through again, but it hadbeen close,very close, and he was still in something akin to shock, his backpressed into a corner, his vital signs badly elevated, his eyes jerking fromone shadow to the next.

The AI hesitated as she processed the dilemma. It was difficult to balancethe need to move ahead and complete the mission with her concern that shemight push the Master Chieftoo hard, and possibly endanger them both.

Cortana’s affection for the human, plus her own desire to survive, made itdifficult for her to arrive at the kind of clear, rational decision that sheexpected of herself.

Then, just as Cortana was about to say something, anything, even if it waswrong, the Chief recovered and took the initiative. “All right,” he said—whether to himself or to Cortana wasn’t exactly clear. “It’s time tofinish this mission.”

Working carefully, so as not to walk into an ambush, the Master Chief leftthe large room, found his way onto a downward slanting ramp. He backed intoa corner and, satisfied that the area was reasonably secure, disengaged theshoulder plates of the MJOLNIR armor.

The wound was ragged, and blood flowed freely. The Chief could ignore thepain, but the blood loss would take its toll and jeopardize the mission. Hemade sure the motion sensor was still active, then slung his weapon.

He dug into his equipment pack and drew out his med kit. The Spartan hadbeen wounded before, and had on several occasions performed first aid oninjured comrades and himself. He quickly cleaned the wound, sprayed astinging puff of bio-foam into the wound, then applied a quick-adhesivedressing.

In minutes, he had suited up, popped a wake-up stim, and moved on.

“Foehammer to ground team: You’ve got two Covenant dropships comingfast!”

The Master Chief stood at the edge of a massive chasm and monitored hisallies’ radio chatter. In the distance, he could barely see the twinklingof the luminescent panels that Halo’s creators had left behind toilluminate these subterranean warrens. Below him, the abyss yawned andappeared to be bottomless.

He recognized the next voice as belonging to Gunnery Sergeant Waller, theHelljumper in charge of their LZ.“Okay, people,” Waller drawled,“we gotcompany coming. Engage enemy forces on sight.”

“It’ll be easier to hold them off frominside the structure,” Cortana putin. “Can you get inside?”

“Negative!”Waller replied.“They’re closing in too fast. We’ll keep ’embusy as long as we can.”

“Give ’em hell, Marine,”the AI said grimly, and broke the connection.

“We’llall be in a tight spot if we don’t get out of here before enemyreinforcements arrive.”

“Roger that,” the Master Chief replied, as he pushed his way down a ramp,through a pair of hatches, and into the gloomy spaces beyond. He marchedover some transparent decking, crossed a footbridge and killed a pair ofGrunts he found there, followed another ramp to the floor below, tossed agrenade into a group of enemies that patrolled the area, and hurried througha likely looking opening. There was a roar of outrage as an Elite fired upat him from the platform below while some Grunts barked and gibbered.

The Spartan used a grenade to grease the entire group and hurried down tosee what they had been guarding. He recognized the Map Room the moment hesaw the opening, and had just stepped inside when another Elite opened up onhim from across the way. A sustained burst from his assault weapon wassufficient to drop the alien’s personal shields, and he put the alien downwith a stroke of his rifle butt.

“There!” Cortana said. “That holo panel should activate the map.”

“Any idea how to activate it?”

“No,” she replied, her tone arch. “You’rethe one with the magic touch.”

The Master Chief took a couple of steps forward and reached a hand towardthe display. He seemed to know instinctively how to activate the panel—italmost seemed hard-wired, like his fight-or-flight response.

He banished the random thought and returned to the mission. He slid hisarmored hand across the panel and a glowing wire-frame map appeared andseemed to float in front of him. “Analyzing,” the AI said. “Halo’sControl Center is”—she highlighted a section of the map in his HUD—“there.Interesting. It looks like some sort of shrine.”

She opened a channel.“Cortana to Captain Keyes.”

There was silence for a moment, followed by Foehammer’s voice.“The Captainhas dropped out of contact, Cortana. His ship may be out of range or may behaving equipment problems.”

“Keep trying,”the AI replied.“Let me know when you reestablish contact.

And then tell him that the Master Chief and I have determined the locationof the Control Center.”

Captain Jacob Keyes tried to ignore the incessantslam-bam beat of theSergeant’s colonial flip music that pounded over the intercom as the pilotlowered the dropship into a swamp. “Everything looks clear—I’m bringingher down.”

The Pelican’s jets whipped the water into a frenzy as the ramp was loweredand the cargo compartment was flooded with thick, humid air. It carried thenauseating stench of rotting vegetation, the foul odor of swamp gas, and theslight metallic tang typical of Halo itself. Somebody said,“Pe-euu,” butwas drowned out by Staff Sergeant Avery Johnson, who shouted, “Go! Go!

Go!” and the Marines jumped down into the calf-deep water.

Somebody said, “Damn!” as water splashed up their legs. Johnson said,“Stow it, Marine,” as Keyes cleared the ramp. Freed from its burden, thedropship fired its jets, powered its way up out of the glutinous air, andstarted to climb.

Keyes consulted a small hand comp. “The structure we’re looking for issupposed to be overthere .”

Johnson eyed the pointing finger and nodded. “Okay, you slackers, you heardthe Captain. Bisenti, take point.”

Private Wallace A. Jenkins was toward the rear, which was almost as bad aspoint, but not quite. The ebony water topped his boots, seeped down throughhis socks, and found his feet. It wasn’t all that cold—for which theMarine was thankful. Like the rest of the team, he knew that the ostensiblepurpose of the mission was to locate and recover a cache of Covenantweapons. Still an important thing to do, even in the wake of LieutenantMcKay’s efforts to raid thePillar of Autumn , and the fact that Alpha Basehad been strengthened as a result.

It was a crap detail, however—especially slogging through this dark, mist-clogged swamp.

Something loomed ahead. Bisenti hoped it was what the Old Man had draggedtheir sorry butts into this swamp for. He hissed the word back to thetopkick. “I see a building, Sarge.”

There was the sound of water splashing as Johnson came forward. “Stayclose, Jenkins. Mendoza, move it up! Wait here for the Captain and hissquad. And get your asses inside.”

Jenkins saw Keyes materialize out of the mist. “Sir!”

Johnson saw Keyes, nodded, and said, “Okay, let’s move!”

Keyes followed the Marines inside. The entire situation was different fromwhat he had expected. Unlike the Covenant, who killed nearly all of thehumans they got their hands on, the Marines continued to take prisoners. Onesuch individual, a rather disillusioned Elite named ’Qualomee, had beeninterrogated for hours. He swore that he’d been part of a group of Covenantsoldiers who had delivered a shipment of arms to the forces guarding thisvery structure.

But there was no sign of a Covenant security team, or the weapons ’Qualomeeclaimed to have delivered, which meant that he had probably been lying.

Something the Captain planned to discuss with the alien upon his return toAlpha Base. In the meantime, Keyes planned to push deeper into the complexand see what he could find. The second squad, under Corporal Lovik, was leftto cover their line of retreat, while the rest of the team continued topress ahead.

Ten minutes had passed when a Marine said, “Whoa! Look at that. Somethingscrambled his insides.”

Johnson looked down at a dead Elite. Other Covenant bodies lay sprawledaround the area as well. Alien blood slicked the walls and floor. Keyesapproached from behind. “What do we have, Sergeant?”

“Looks like a Covenant patrol,” the noncom answered. “Badass Special Opstypes—the ones in the black armor. All KIA.”

Keyes eyed the body and looked up at Bisenti. “Real pretty. Friend ofyours?”

The Marine shook his head. “No, we just met.”

It took another five minutes to reach a large metal door. It was locked andno amount of fooling around with the keypad seemed likely to open it.

“Right,” Keyes said, as he examined the obstacle. “Let’s get this dooropen.”

“I’ll try, sir,” the Tech Specialist, Kappus, replied, “but it lookslike those Covenant worked pretty hard to lock it down.”

“Just do it, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kappus pulled the spoofer out of his pack, attached the box to the door, andpressed a series of keys. Outside of the gentle beeping noises that theblack box made as it tapped into the door’s electronics and ran throughthousands of combinations per second, there was nothing but silence.

The Marines shifted nervously, unwilling to relax. Sweat dripped downKappus’ forehead.

They held position for another few minutes, until Kappus nodded withsatisfaction and opened the door. The Marines drifted inside. Theelectronics expert raised a hand. “Sarge! Listen!”

All of the Marines listened. They heard a soft, liquid, sort of slitherysound. It seemed to come from every direction at once.

Jenkins felt jumpy but it was Mendoza who actually put it into words.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this . . .”

“You’ve always got a bad feeling,” the Sergeant put in, and was about tochew Mendoza out when a message came in over the team freq. It sounded likethe second squad was in some sort of trouble, but Corporal Lovik wasn’tvery coherent, so it was difficult to be sure.

In fact, it almost sounded like screaming.

Keyes responded. “Corporal? Do you copy? Over.”

There was no reply.

Johnson turned to Mendoza. “Get your ass back up to second squad’sposition and find out what the hell is going on.”

“But Sarge—”

“I don’t have time for your lip, soldier! I gave you an order.”

“Whatis that?” Jenkins asked nervously, his eyes darting from one shadowto the next.

“Where’s that coming from, Mendoza?” Sergeant Johnson demanded, thesecond squad momentarily forgotten.

“There!” Mendoza proclaimed, pointing to a clutch of shadows as theMarines heard the muffled sound of metal striking metal.

There was a cry of pain as something landed on Private Riley’s back, drovea needlelike penetrator through his skin, and aimed it down toward hisspine. He dropped his weapon, tried to grab the thing that rode hisshoulders, and thrashed back and forth.

“Hold still! Hold still!” Kappus yelled, grabbing onto one of the bulbouscreatures and trying to pull it off his friend.

Avery Johnson had been in the Corps for most of his adult life, and hadlogged more time humping across the surface of alien planets than any of theother men in the room combined. Along the way, he’d seen a lot of strangestuff—but nothing like what skittered across the metal floor and attacheditself to one of his men.

He saw a dozen white blobs, each maybe half a meter in diameter, andequipped with a cluster of writhing tentacles. They skittered and bobbed ina loose formation, then sprang in his direction. The tentacles propelledthem several meters in a single leap. He fired a short, almost panickedburst. “Let ’em have it!”

Keyes, pistol in hand, fired at one of the creatures. It popped like aballoon, with surprising force. The tiny explosion caused three more toburst into feathery shards, but it seemed as if dozens more took theirplace.

Keyes realized that Private Kappus had been correct. The Covenanthad lockedthe door for a reason, and this was it. But maybe, just maybe, they couldpull back and close the blobs inside again. “Sergeant, we’re surrounded.”

But Johnson’s attention was elsewhere. “God damn it, Jenkins,fire yourweapon !”

Jenkins, his face tight with fear, clutched his assault rifle with white-knuckled hands. It seemed like the little things were boiling from thin air.

“There’s too many!”

The Sarge started to bellow a reply, but it was as if a floodgate had openedsomewhere, as a new wave of the obscene, podlike creatures rolled out of thedarkness to overwhelm the humans. Marines fired in every direction. Manylost their balance as two, three, or even four of the aliens managed to geta grip on them and pull them down.

Jenkins began to back away as fear overwhelmed him.

Keyes threw up his hands with the intention of protecting his face andaccidentally caught one of the monsters. He squeezed and felt the creatureexplode. The little bastards were fragile—but there were so damned many ofthem.Another attacker latched onto his shoulder. The Captain screamed as arazor-sharp tentacle plunged through both his uniform and his skin, wriggledunder the surface of his skin, and tapped his spinal cord. There was anexplosion of pain so intense that he blacked out, only to be brought back toconsciousness by chemicals the thing had injected into his bloodstream.

He tried to yell for help, but couldn’t make a sound. His heart raced ashis extremities grew numb, one by one. His lungs felt heavy.

As Keyes began to lose touch with the rest of his body, something foulentered it, pushing his consciousness down and back even as it claimed mostof his cerebral cortex, polluting his brain with a hunger so base that itwould have made him vomit, had he any possession of his own body.

This hunger was more than a desire for food, for sex, or for power. Thishunger was a vacuum, an endless vortex that consumed every impulse, everythought, every measure of who and what he was.

He tried to scream, but it wouldn’t let him.

The sight of Captain Keyes struggling with this new adversary had frozenPrivate Jenkins in place. When the Captain’s struggles ceased, however, hesnapped into motion. He turned to flee, and felt one of the little beastsslam into his back. Pain knifed into him as the creature inserted itstendrils into his body, then subsided.

His vision clouded, then cleared. He had some sensation that time hadpassed, but he had no way to tell how long he’d been out. Private Jenkins,Wallace A., found himself in a strange half-world.

Due to some fluke, some random toss of the galactic dice, the mind thatinvadedhis body had been severely weakened during the long period ofhibernation, and while strong enough to take over and begin the worknecessary to create a combat form, it lacked the force and clarity requiredto completely dominate its host the way it was supposed to.

Jenkins, helpless to do anything about it, was fully aware of the invadingintelligence as it seized control of his musculature, jerked at his limbslike a child experimenting with a new toy, and marched him around in circleseven as his friends, who no longer had any consciousness at all, werecompletely destroyed. He screamed, and the air left his lungs, but no oneturned to look.
Chapter 7
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!”
Section IV343 Guilty Spark Chapter 8
D+58:36:31 (SPARTAN-117 Mission Clock) /Pelican Echo 419, approaching Covenant arms cache.

Echo 419’s engines roared as the Pelican descended through the darkness andrain into the swamp. The surrounding foliage whipped back and forth inresponse to the sudden turbulence, the water beneath the transport’s metalbelly was pressed flat, and the stench of rotting vegetation flooded theaircraft’s cargo compartment as the ramp splashed into the evil-lookingbrew below.

Foehammer was at the controls and it was her voice that came over the radio.

“The last transmission from the Captain’s ship was fromthis area. When youlocate Captain Keyes, radio in and I’ll come pick you up.”

The Master Chief stepped down off the ramp and immediately found himselfcalf-deep in oily-looking water. “Be sure to bring me a towel.”

The pilot laughed, fed more fuel to the engines, and the ship pushed itselfup out of the swamp. In the three hours since she had plucked the Spartanoff the top of the pyramid, he’d scarfed a quick meal and a couple hours ofsleep. Now, as Foehammer dropped her passenger into the muck, she was gladto be an aviator. Ground-pounders worked too damn hard.

Keyes floated in a vacuum. A gauzy white haze clouded his vision, though hecould occasionally make out images in lightning-fast bursts—a nightmaretableau of misshapen bodies and writhing tentacles. A muted gleam of lightglinted from some highly polished, engraved metal. In the distance, he couldhear a droning buzz. It had an odd, musical quality, like Gregorian chantslowed to a fraction of its normal speed.

He realized with a start that the images were from his own eyes. Theknowledge brought back a flood of memory—of his own body. He struggled, andrealized in mounting horror that he could just barely feel his own arms.

They seemed softer somehow, as if filled with a spongy, thick liquid.

He couldn’t move. His lungs itched, and the effort of breathing hurt.

The strange droning chant suddenly sped into an insect buzz, painfullyechoing through his consciousness. There was something . . . distant,something definitivelyother about the sound.

Without warning, a new image flashed across his mind, like images on a videoscreen.

The sun was setting over the Pacific, and a trio of gulls wheeled overhead.

He smelled salt air, and felt gritty sand between his toes.

He felt a sickening sensation, a feeling of indescribable violation, and thecomforting image vanished. He tried to remember what he was seeing, but thememory faded like smoke. All he could feel now was a sense of loss.

Something had been taken from him . . . butwhat ?

The insistent buzz returned, painfully loud now. He could sense tendrils ofawareness—hungry for data—wriggling through his confused mind likediseased maggots. A host of new images filled him.

. . . the first time he killed another human being, during the riots onCharybdis IX. He smelled blood, and his hands shook as he holstered thepistol. He could feel the heat of the weapon’s barrel . . .

. . . the pride he felt after graduating at the Academy, then a hitch—as ifa bad holorecord was being scrolled back—then a knot in his gut. Fear thathe wouldn’t be able to meet the Academy’s standards . . .

. . . the sickening smell of lilacs and lilies as he stood over hisfather’s coffin . . .

Keyes continued to float, mesmerized by the parade of memories that began topile on him, each one appearing faster than the last. He drifted through thefog. He didn’t notice, or indeed care, that as soon as the bursts of memoryended, they disappeared entirely.

The strangeotherness receded from his awareness, but not entirely. He couldstill sense theother probing him, but he ignored it. The next burst ofmemory passed . . . then another . . . then another . . .

The Chief checked his threat indicator, found nothing of concern, andallowed the swamp to close in around him. “Make friends with yourenvironment.” That’s what Chief Mendez had told him many years ago—andthe advice had served him well. Bylistening to the constant patter of therain,feeling the warm humid air via his vents, andseeing the shapes naturalto the swamp, the Spartan would know what belonged and what didn’t.

Knowledge that could mean the difference between life and death.

Satisfied that he was attuned to the environment around him, and hopeful ofgaining a better vantage point, he climbed a slight rise. The payoff wasimmediate.

The Pelican had gone in less than sixty meters from the spot where Echo 419had dropped him off—but the surrounding foliage was so thick Foehammer hadbeen unable to see the crash site from the air.

The Chief moved in to inspect the wreckage. Judging from appearances, andthe fact that there weren’t many bodies lying around, the ship had crashedduring takeoff, rather than on landing. The impression was confirmed when hediscovered that while they were dressed in fatigues, all of the casualtieswore Naval insignia.

That suggested that the dropship had landed successfully, discharged all ofits Marine passengers, and was in the process of lifting off when amechanical failure or enemy fire had brought the aircraft down.

Satisfied that he had a basic understanding of what had taken place, theChief was about to leave when he spotted a shotgun lying next to one of thebodies, decided it might come in handy, and slipped the sling over his rightshoulder.

He followed a trail of bootprints away from the Pelican and toward the glowof portable work lights—the same kind of lights he’d seen in the areaaround theTruth and Reconciliation . The aliens were certainly industrious,especially when it came to stealing everything that wasn’t nailed down.

As if to confirm his theory regarding Covenant activity in the area, itwasn’t long before the Spartan came across asecond wreck, a Covenantdropship this time, bows down in the swamp muck. Aside from swarms ofmothlike insects and the distant chirp of swamp birds, there were no signsof life.

Cargo containers were scattered all around the crash site, which raised aninteresting question. When the transport nosed in, were the aliens trying todeliver something, weapons perhaps, or taking material away? There was noway to be certain.

Whatever the case, there was a strong likelihood that Keyes had beenattracted to the lights, just as he had, followed them to the crash site,and continued from there.

With that in mind, he swung past a tree that stood on thick, spiderlikeroots, followed a trail up over a rise, and spotted a lone Jackal. Withouthesitation, he snapped the assault rifle to his shoulder and brought thealien down with a burst.

He crouched, waiting for the inevitable counterattack—which never came.

Curious. Given the lights, the crash site, and the scattering of cargomodules, he would have expected to run into more opposition.

Alot more.

So where were they? It didn’t make sense. Just one more mystery to add tohis growing supply.

The rain pattered against the surface of his armor, and swamp water sloshedaround his boots as the Master Chief pushed his way through some foliage andsuddenly came under fire. For one brief moment it seemed as if his latestquestion had been answered, that Covenant forceswere still in the area, butthe opposition soon proved to be little more than a couple of haplessJackals, who, upon hearing the sound of gunfire, had come to investigate. Asusual they came in low, crouching behind their shields, so it was almostimpossible to score a hit from directly in front of them.

He shifted position, found a better angle, and fired. One Jackal went down,but the other rolled, and that made it nearly impossible to hit him. TheSpartan held his fire, waited for the alien to come to a stop, and cut himdown.

He worked his way up the side of a steep slope, and Chief spotted a Shadesited on top of the ridge. It commanded both slopes, or would have, hadsomeone been at the controls. He paused at the top of the ridge andconsidered his options. He could jump on the Shade, hose the ravine below,and thereby let everyone know that he had arrived, or slip down the slope,and try to infiltrate the area more quietly.

The Chief settled on the second option, started down the slope in front ofhim, and was soon wrapped in mist and moist vegetation. Not toosurprisingly, some red dots appeared on the Spartan’s threat indicator.

Rather than go around the enemy, and expose his six, the Master Chiefdecided to seek them out. He slung the MA5B and drew out the shotgun—bettersuited for close-up work. He pumped the slide, flicked off the safety, andmoved on.

Broad variegated leaves caressed his shoulders, vines tugged at the barrelof the shotgun, and the thick half-rotten humus of the jungle floor gave wayunder the Chief’s boots as he made his way forward.

The Grunt perhaps heard a slight rustling, debated whether to fire, and wasstill in the process of thinking it over when the butt of the shotgundescended on his head. There was a solidthump! as the alien went down,followed by two more, as more methane breathers rushed to investigate.

Satisfied with his progress so far, the Spartan paused to listen. There wasthe gentle patter of rain on wide, welcoming leaves, and the constant soundof his own breathing, but nothing more.

Confident that the immediate perimeter was clear, the Master Chief turnedhis attention to the Forerunner complex that loomed off to his right. Unlikethe graceful spires of other installations, this one appeared squat andvaguely arachnid.

He crept down onto the flat area immediately in front of it. He decided thatthe entrance reminded him of a capital A, except that the top was flat, andwas bracketed by a pair of powerful floodlights.

Wasthis what Keyes had been looking for? Something caught his eye—a pair oftwelve-gauge shotgun shells, and a carelessly discarded protein bar wrapper,tossed near the entrance.

He must be getting closer.

Once through the door he came across a half dozen Covenant bodies lying in apool of commingled blood. Struck once again by the absence of seriousopposition, the Master Chief knelt just beyond the perimeter established bythe blood, and peered at the bodies.

Had the Marines killed them? No, judging from the nature of their wounds itappeared as if the aliens had been hosed withplasma fire. Friendly fireperhaps? Humans armed with Covenant weapons? Maybe, but neither explanationreally seemed to fit.

Perplexed, he stood, took a long, slow look around, and pushed deeper intothe complex. In contrast with the swamp outside, where theconstantdrip ,drip,dripof the rain served to provide a constant flow ofsound, it was almost completely silent within the embrace of the thickwalls. The sudden sound of machinery startled him, and he spun and broughtthe shotgun to bear.

Summoned by some unknown mechanism, a lift surfaced right in front of him.

With nowhere else to go, the Master Chief stepped aboard.

As the platform carried him downward a group of overlapping red blobsappeared on his threat indicator, and the Spartan knew he was about to havecompany. There was a screech of tortured metal as the lift came to a stop,but rather than rush him as he expected them to, the blobs remainedstationary.

They had heard the lift many times before, the Chief reasoned, and figuredit was loaded with a group of their friends. That suggested Covenant,stupidCovenant.

His favorite kind, in fact—apart from the dead kind.

Careful to avoid the sort of noise that might give him away, he completed afull circuit of the dimly lit room, and discovered that the blobs wereactually Grunts and Jackals, all of whom were clustered around a hatch.

The Chief suppressed a grin, slung the shotgun, and unlimbered the assaultrifle.

Their punishment for not guarding the lift consisted of a grenade, followedby forty-nine rounds of automatic fire, and a series of shorter bursts tofinish them off.

The hatch opened onto a large four- or five-story-high room. The MasterChief found himself on a platform along with a couple of unsuspectingJackals. He immediately killed them, heard a reaction from the floor below,and moved to the right. A quick peek revealed a group of seven or eightCovenant, milling around as if waiting for instructions.

The noncom dropped an M9 HE-DP calling card into their midst, took a stepback to avoid getting hit by the resulting fragments, and heard a loudwham!

as the grenade detonated. There were screams, followed by wild firing. TheSpartan waited for the volume of fire to drop off and moved forward again. Aseries of short controlled bursts was sufficient to silence the lastCovenant soldiers.

He jumped down off the platform to check the surrounding area.

Still looking for clues as to where Keyes might have gone, the Master Chiefconducted a quick sweep of the room. It wasn’t long before he picked upsome plasma grenades, circled a cargo container, and came across the bodies.

Two Marines, both killed by plasma fire, their weapons missing.

He cursed under his breath. The fact that both dog tags had been takensuggested that Keyes and his team had run into the Covenant just as he had,taken casualties, and pushed on.

Certain he was on the right trail, the Spartan crossed the troughlikedepression that split the room in two, and was forced to step over andaround a scattering of Covenant corpses as he approached the hatch. Oncethrough the opening he negotiated his way through a series of rooms, allempty, but painted with Covenant blood.

Finally, just as he was beginning to wonder if he should turn back, heentered a room and found himself face-to-face with a fear-crazed Marine. Hiseyes jerked from side to side, as if seeking something hidden within theshadows, and his mouth was twisted into a horrible grimace. There was nosign of the soldier’s assault weapon, but he had a pistol, which he firedat a shadow in the corner. “Stay back! Stay back! You’re not turning meinto one of those things!”

The Master Chief raised a hand, palm out. “Put the weapon down,Marine . . . we’re on the same side.”

But the Marine wasn’t having any of that, and pressed his back against thesolidity of the wall. “Get away from me! Don’t touch me, you freak! I’lldie first!”

The pistol discharged. The Spartan felt the impact as the 12.7mm slug rockedhim back onto his heels, and decided that enough was enough.

Before the Marine had time to react, the Chief snatched the M6D out of hishand. “I’ll take that,” he growled. The Marine leaped to his feet, butthe Chief planted his feet and gently but firmly shoved the soldier back tothe floor.

“Now,” he said, “where is Captain Keyes, and the rest of your unit?”

The private turned fierce, his features contorted, spittle flying from hislips. “Find your own hiding place!” he screamed. “The monsters areeverywhere! God, I can still hear them! Justleave me alone .”

“Whatmonsters?” the Spartan asked gently. “The Covenant?”

“No!Not the Covenant.Them! ”

That was all the Spartan could get from the crazed Marine. “The surface isback that way,” the Master Chief said, pointing toward the door. “Isuggest that you reload this weapon, quit wasting ammo, and head topside.

Once you get there hunker down and wait for help. There’ll be a dust-offlater on. Do you read me?”

The Private accepted the weapon, but continued to blather. A moment later hecurled into a fetal ball, whimpered, then fell silent. The man would nevermake it out alone.

One thing was clear from the Marine’s ramblings. Assuming that Keyes andhis troops were still alive, they were in a heap of trouble. That left theChief with little choice; hehad to put the greatest number of lives first.

The young soldier had clearly been through the wringer—but he’d have towait for help until the Master Chief completed his mission.

Slowly, reluctantly, he turned to investigate the rest of the room. Theremains of a badly shattered ramp led up over a small fire toward thewalkway on the level above. He felt heat wash around him as he stepped overa dead Elite, took comfort from the fact that the body had been riddled withbullets, and made his way up onto a circular gallery. From there, the MasterChief proceeded through a series of doorways and mysteriously empty rooms,until he arrived at the top of a ramp where a dead Marine and a large poolof blood caused him to pause.

He had long ago learned to trust his instincts—and they nagged at him now.

Something feltwrong . It was quiet, with only a hollow booming sound todisturb the otherwise perfect silence. He was close to something, hecouldfeel it, but what?

The Chief descended the ramp. He arrived on the level spot at the bottom,and saw the hatch to his left. Weapon at the ready, he cautiously approachedthe metal barrier.

The door sensed his presence, slid open, and dumped a dead Marine into hisarms.

The Spartan felt his pulse quicken, as he bent slightly to catch the bodybefore it crashed into the ground. He held the MA5B one-handed and coveredthe room beyond as best he could, searching for a target. Nothing.

He stepped forward, then spun on his heel and pointed the gun back the wayhe’d come.

Damn it, it felt like eyes bored into the back of his head. Someone waswatching him. He backed into the room, and the door slid shut.

He lowered the body to the ground, then stepped away. The toe of his boothit some empty shell casings which rolled away. That’s when he realizedthat there werethousands of empties—so many that they very nearly carpetedthe floor.

He noticed a Marine helmet, and bent to pick it up. A name had beenstenciled across the side. JENKINS.

A vid cam was attached, the kind worn by the typical combat team so theycould critique the mission when they returned to base, feed data to theghouls in Intelligence, and on occasions like this one, provideinvestigators with information regarding the circumstances surrounding theirdeaths.

The Spartan removed the camera’s memory chip, slotted the device into oneof the receptacles on his own helmet, and watched the playback via a windowon his HUD.

The picture was standard quality—which meant pretty awful. The night-visionsetting was active, so everything was a sickly green, punctuated by whiteflares as the camera panned across a light source.

The picture bounced and jostled, and intermittent spots of static marred theimage. It was pretty routine stuff at first, starting with the moment thedoomed dropship touched down, followed by the trek through the swamp, andtheir arrival in front of the A-shaped structure.

He spooled ahead, and the video became more ominous after that, startingwith the dead Elite, and growing even more uncomfortable as the team openedthe final door and went inside. Not justany door, but the same door throughwhich the Master Chief had passed only minutes before, only to have a deadMarine fall into his arms.

He was tempted to kill the video, back his way through the hatch, and scrubthe mission, but he forced himself to continue watching as one of theMarines said something about a “. . . bad feeling.” A badly garbled radiotransmission came in, odd rustling noises were heard, a hatch gave way, andhundreds of fleshy balls rolled, danced, and hopped into the room.

That was when the screaming started, when the Master Chief heard Keyes saythat they were “surrounded,” and saw the picture jerk as something hitJenkins from behind, and the video snapped to black.

For the first time since parting company with the AI back in the ControlRoom, he wished that Cortana were with him. First, because she mightunderstand what the hell was going on, but also because he had come to relyon her company, and suddenly felt very much alone.

However, even as one aspect of the Spartan’s mind sought comfort, anotherpart had directed his body to back toward the hatch, and was waiting to hearthe telltale sound as it opened. But the doordidn’t open, something whichthe Master Chief knew meant trouble. It caused a rock to form at the bottomof his gut.

As he stood there, gripped by a growing sense of dread, he saw a flash ofwhite from the corner of his eye. He turned to face it, and that was when hesaw one, then five, twenty, fifty of the fleshy blobs dribble into the room,pirouette on their tentacles, and dance his way. His motion sensor painted asudden blob of movement—speeding closer by the second.

The Spartan fired at the ugly-looking creatures. Those which were closestpopped like air-filled balloons, but there were more,many more, and theyrolled toward him over the floor and walls. The Spartan opened up inearnest, the obscene-looking predators threw themselves forward, and thebattle was joined.

It was dark outside. Only one mission had been scheduled for that particularnight, and it had returned to the butte at 02:36 arbitrary. That meant theNavy personnel assigned to the Control Center didn’t have much to do, andwere busy playing a round of cards when the wall-mounted speakers burpedstatic, and a desperate voice was heard.“This is Charlie 2-1-7, repeat 217,to any UNSC forces . . . Does anyone copy? Over.”

Com Tech First Class Mary Murphy glanced at the other two members of herwatch and frowned. “Has either one of you had previous contact with Charlie217?”

The techs looked at each other and shook their heads. “I’ll check withWellsley,” Cho said, as he turned toward a jury-rigged monitor.

Murphy nodded and keyed the boom-style mike that extended in front of herlips. “This is UNSC Combat Base Alpha. Over.”

“Thank God!”the voice said fervently.“We took a hit after clearing theAutumn,put down in the boonies, and managed to make some repairs. I’ve gotwounded on board—and request immediate clearance to land.”

Wellsley, who had been busy fighting a simulation of the battle of Marathon,materialized on Cho’s screen. As usual, the image that he chose to presentwas that of a stern-looking man with longish hair, a prominent nose, and ahigh-collared coat. “Yes?”

“We have a Pelican, call sign Charlie 217, requesting an emergency landing.

None of us have dealt with him before.”

The AI took a fraction of a second to check the myriad of data stored withinhis considerable memory and gave a curt nod. “There was a unit designatedas Charlie 217 on board theAutumn . Not having heard from 217 since weabandoned ship, and not having received any information to the contrary, Iassumed the ship was lost. Ask the pilot to provide his name, rank, andserial number.”

Murphy heard and nodded. “Sorry, Charlie, but we need some informationbefore we can clear you in. Please provide name, rank and serial number.

Over.”

The voice that came back sounded increasingly frustrated.“This is FirstLieutenant Rick Hale, serial number 876-544-321. Give me a break, I needclearance now .Over. ”

Wellsley nodded. “The data matches . . . but how would Hale know that AlphaBase even existed?”

“He could have picked up our radio traffic,” Cho offered.

“Maybe,” the AI agreed, “but let’s play it safe. I recommend you bringthe base to full alert, notify the Major, and send the reaction force to PadThree. You’ll need the crash team, the emergency medical team, and somepeople from Intel all on deck. Hale should be debriefedbefore he’s allowedto mix with base personnel.”

The third tech, a Third Class Petty Officer named Pauley, slapped the alarmbutton, and put out the necessary calls.

“Roger that,” Murphy said into her mike. “You are cleared for Pad Three,repeat, Pad Three, which will be illuminated two minutes from now. A medicalteam will meet your ship. Safe all weapons and cut power the moment youtouch down. Over.”

“No problem,”Hale replied gratefully. Then, a few moments later,“I seeyour lights. We’re coming in. Over.”

The pilot keyed his mike off and turned to his copilot. Bathed in the greenglow produced by the ship’s instrument panel, the Elite looked all the morealien. “So,” the human inquired, “how did I do?”

“Extremely well,” Special Operations Officer Zuka ’Zamamee said frombehind the pilot’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

And with that ’Zamamee dropped what looked like a circle of green lightover Hale’s head, pulled the handles in opposite directions, and buried thewire in the pilot’s throat. The human’s eyes bulged, his hands plucked atthe garrote, and his feet beat a tattoo against the control pedals.

The Elite who occupied the copilot’s position had already taken control ofthe Pelican and, thanks to hours of practice, could fly the dropshipextremely well.

’Zamamee waited until the kicking had stopped, released the wire, andsmelled something foul. That’s when the Elite realized that Hale had soiledhimself. He gave a grunt of disgust, and returned to the Pelican’s cargocompartment. It was crammed with heavily armed Elites, trained forinfiltration. They carried camouflage generators, along with their weapons.

Their job was to take as many landing pads as possible, and hold them untilsix dropships loaded with Grunts, Jackals, and more Elites could land on themesa.

The troops saw the officer appear and looked expectant.

“Proceed,” ’Zamamee said. “Youknow what to do. Turn on the stealthgenerators, check your weapons, and remember this moment. Becausethisbattle,this victory, will be woven into your family’s battle poem, and sungby generations to come.

“The Prophets have blessed this mission, have blessedyou , and want everysoldier to know that those who transcend the physical will be welcomed intoparadise. Good luck.”

A blur of lights appeared out of the darkness, the dropship shed altitude,and the warriors murmured their final benedictions.

Like most AIs, Wellsley had a pronounced tendency to spend more timethinking about what hedidn’t have rather than what he did, and sensors wereat the very top of his list. The sad truth was that while McKay and hercompany had recovered a wealth of supplies from theAutumn , there had beeninsufficient time to strip the ship of the electronics that would have giventhe AI a real-time, all-weather picture of the surrounding air space. Thatmeant he was totally reliant on the data provided by remote ground sensorswhich the patrols had planted here and there around the butte’s ten-kilometer perimeter.

All of the feeds had been clear during the initial radio contact withCharlie 217, but now, as the Pelican flared in to land, the package inSector Six started to deliver data. It claimed that six heavy-duty heatsignatures had just passed overhead, that whatever produced them was fairlyloud, and that they were inbound at a speed of approximately 350 kph.

Wellsley reacted with the kind of speed that only a computer is capable of—but the response was too late to prevent Charlie 217 from putting down. Evenas the AI made a series of strongly worded recommendations to his humansuperiors, the Pelican’s skids made contact with Pad 3’s surface, thirtynearly invisible Elites thundered down the ramp, and the men and women ofAlpha Base soon found themselves fighting for their lives.

One level down, locked into a room with three other Grunts, Yayap heard thedistant moan of an alarm, and thought he knew why. ’Zamamee had beencorrect: The human who wore the strange armor, and was believed to beresponsible for more than a thousand Covenant casualties,did frequent thisplace. Yayap knew that because he hadseen the soldier more than six unitsbefore, triggered the transmitter hidden inside his breathing apparatus, andthereby set the raid in motion.

That was thegood news. The bad news was that ’Zamamee’s quarry might verywell have left the base during the intervening period of time. If so, andthe mission was categorized as a failure, the Grunt had little doubt as towho would receive the blame. But there was nothing Yayap could do but gripthe crudely welded bars with his hands, listen to the distant sounds ofbattle, and hope for the best.

At this point, “the best” would likely be a quick, painless death.

All the members of the crash team, half the medics, and a third of thereaction team were already dead by the time McKay had rolled out of herrack, scrambled into her clothes, and grabbed her personal weapons. Shefollowed the crowd up to the landing area to find that a pitched battle wasunderway.

Energy bolts seemed to stutter out of nowhere, plasma grenades materializedout of thin air, and throats were slit by invisible knives. The landingparty had been contained, but just barely, and threatened to break outacross the neighboring pads.

Silva was there, naked from the waist up, shouting orders as he fired shortbursts from an assault weapon. “Flood Pad Three with fuel! But keep itinside the containment area. Do it now!”

It was a strange order, and civilians would have balked, but the soldiersreacted with unquestioning obedience and a Naval rating ran toward the Pad 3refueling station. He flipped the safety out of the way, and grabbed hold ofthe nozzle.

The air seemed to shimmer in the floodlit area off to the sailor’s right,and Silva fired a full clip into what looked like empty air. A commandoElite screamed, seemed to strobe on and off as his camo generator took adirect hit, and folded at the waist.

Undeterred, and unaware of his close call with death, the rating turned,gave the handgrip a healthy squeeze, and sent a steady stream of liquid outonto the surface of Pad 3. A Covenant work crew had been forced to build acurb around the area during the days immediately after the butte had beentaken. The purpose of the barrier was to contain fuel spills, and it workedwell, as the high-octane fuel crept in around the Pelican’s skids and wetthe area beyond.

“Get back!” Silva shouted, and rolled a fragmentation grenade in underCharlie 217’s belly. There was an explosion followed by a loudwhump! as thefuel went up and the rating shut off the hose.

The general effect was to turn those Elites who remained on the pad intoshimmering torches—screaming, dancing torches. The response was immediateas the Marines opened fire, put the commandos down, and were then forced toturn their efforts to fire fighting. Charlie 217 was fully involved by thattime, and shuddered as the fuel in one of her tanks blew.

But there were other Pelicans to protect and while some had lifted off,others remained on their pads.

Silva turned to McKay. “Show time,” the Major said, as Wellsley spoke intohis ear. “This was little more than a warm-up, no pun intended. Therealassault force is only five minutes out. Six Covenant dropships, if Wellsleyhas it right. They can’t land here, so they’ll put down out on the mesasomewhere. I’ll handle the pads—you take the mesa.”

McKay nodded, said, “Yes, sir,” and spotted Sergeant Lister and waved himover. The noncom had a squad of her Marines in tow. “Round up the rest ofmy company, tell them to dig in up-spin of the landing pads, and get readyto handle an attack from the mesa. Let’s give the bastards a warmreception.”

Lister tossed a glance at the raging fires and grinned at McKay’sunintentional pun. “Yes, ma’am!” he said and trotted away.

Elsewhere, out along the butte’s irregularly shaped rim, the commandeeredShade emplacements opened fire. Pulses of bright blue energy probed thesurrounding blackness, found the first ship, and cut the night into slices.

’Zamamee and a file of five commando Elites had already cleared the landingpad by the time the humans flooded Pad 3 with fuel. In fact, the Eliteofficer wasn’t even on the surface of the Forerunner installation duringthe ensuing inferno—he and his commandos were already one level down,moving from room to room, slaughtering every human they could find. Therehad been no sign of the one enemy soldier they wanted most, but it was earlyyet, and he could be around the next corner.

Murphy had just taken the safeties off the 50mm MLA autocannons, anddelegated control to Wellsley, when she felt something brush her shoulder.

The petty officer started to turn, saw blood spray, and realized that itbelonged to her. An Elite produced a deep throaty chuckle as both Cho andPauley met similar fates. The Control Room was neutralized.

But Wellsley witnessed the murders via the camera mounted over the mainvideo monitor, killed the lights, and notified Silva. Within a matter ofminutes six three-person fire teams, all equipped with heat-sensitive night-vision goggles, were busy working their way down through the mazelikecomplex. The Covenant’s camo generators didn’t block heat, theyactuallygenerated it, and that put both sides on an even footing.

In the meantime, thanks to a dead officer’s personal initiative, Wellsleyhad a 50mm surprise waiting for the incoming dropships. Though effectiveagainst Banshees, the Shades lacked the power necessary to knock a dropshipout of the sky, something the Covenant had clearly known in advance.

But, just as an Elite couldn’t withstand fifty rounds of 7.62mm armor-piercing ammo, the enemy transports proved vulnerable to the 50mm highexplosive shells that suddenly blasted their way. Not only that, but thefifties were computer-controlled—which was to sayWellsley controlled, whichmeant that nearly every round went exactly where it was supposed to.

Control had been delegated too late for the AI to nail the first dropship,but the second was right where he wanted it to be. It exploded as a dozenrounds of HE went off inside the fuselage. Ironically, the compartments thatheld the troops preserved most of their lives so they could die when theaircraft hit the foot of the butte.

But there were only two of the guns, one to the west, and one to the east,which meant that the surviving transports were safely through the easternMLA’s field of fire before the AI could fire on them. Still, thedestruction of that single ship had reduced the assault force by one sixth,which struck Wellsley as an acceptable result.

Machine-generated death stabbed the top of the mesa as the Covenantdropships made use of their plasma cannons to strafe the landing zone. Afire team was caught out in the open and cut to shreds even as a barrage ofshoulder-fired rockets lashed up to meet the incoming transports. There werehits, some of which inflicted casualties, but none of the enemy aircraft wasdestroyed.

Then, hovering like obscene insects, the U-shaped dropships turned down-ring, and spilled troops out their side slots, scattering them like evilseeds across the top of the mesa. McKay did the mental math. Five remainingtransports, times roughly thirty troops each, equaled an assault force ofabout one hundred and fifty troops.

“Hit ’em!” Lister shouted. “Kill the bastards before they can land!”

The response was a steadycrack! crack! crack! as the company’s snipersopened fire, and Elites, Grunts, and Jackals alike tumbled to the grounddead.

But there were plenty left—and McKay steeled herself against the comingassault.

The lights had gone off for reasons that the Grunt could only guess at, afactor which added to the fear he felt. Unable to do anything more, Yayaplistened to the muffled sounds of battle, and wondered which side to rootfor. He didn’t like being a prisoner but was starting to wonder if hewouldn’t be better off with the humans. For a while at least, until—A blob of light appeared, slid down the opposite wall, crossed the floor,and found its way into the cell. “Yayap? Are you in there?”

There were other lights now, and the Grunt saw the air shimmer in front ofhim. It was ’Zamamee! Much to Yayap’s amazement, the Elite had kept hisword and actually come looking for him. Realizing that the breathingapparatus made it difficult for others to tell his kind apart, the Gruntpushed his face up against the bars.

“Yes, Excellency, I am here.”

“Good,” the Elite said. “Now stand back so we can blow the door.”

All of the Grunts in the cell retreated to the back of the room while one ofthe commandos attached a charge to the door lock, backed away, and made useof a remote to trigger it. There was a small flash of light, followed by asubduedbang! as the explosive was detonated. Hinges squeaked as Yayap pushedthe gate out of the way.

“Now,” ’Zamamee said eagerly, “lead us to the human. We’ve been throughmost of the complex, but haven’t run into him yet.”

So,Yayap thought to himself,the only reason you came looking for me was tofind the human. I should have known. “Of course, Excellency,” the Gruntreplied, surprised by his own smoothness. “The aliens captured some of ourBanshees. The human was assigned to guard them.”

Yayap expected ’Zamamee to challenge the claim, to ask how he knew, but theElite took him at his word. “Very well,” ’Zamamee replied. “Where arethe aircraft kept?”

“Up on the mesa,” Yayap answered truthfully, “west of the landing pads.”

“We will lead the way,” the Elite said importantly, “but stay close. Itwould be easy to become lost.”

“Yes, Excellency,” the Grunt replied, “whatever you say.”

Unable to land on or near the pads as originally planned, Field Master’Putumee had been forced to drop his assault team on the area up-spin ofthe Forerunner complex. That meant that his troops would have to advanceacross open ground, with very little cover, and without benefit of heavyweapons to clear the way.

The wily field officer had a trick up his sleeve, however. Rather thanrelease the dropships, he ordered them to remain over the LZ, and strafe theground ahead of his steadily advancing troops. It wasn’t what thetransports had been designed for, and the pilots didn’t like it, but sowhat? ’Putumee, who saw all aviators as little more than glorifiedchauffeurs, wasn’t especially interested in how they felt.

So, the U-shaped dropships drifted down toward the human fortifications,plasma cannons probing the ground below, while volleys of rockets lashedupward, exploding harmlessly against their flanks.

The field officer, who advanced along with the second rank of troops, wavedhis Jackals forward as the humans were forced to pull out of their firingpits, and withdraw to their next line of defense.

’Putumee paused next to one of the now empty pits and looked into it.

Something about the excavation bothered him, but what? Then he had it. Therectangular hole wastoo neat,too even, to have been dug during the last halfunit. What other preparations had the aliens made, the officer wondered?

The answer came in a heartbeat. McKay said, “Fire!” and the Scorpion’sgunner complied. The tank lurched under the officer’s feet as the shellleft the main gun and the hull started to vibrate as the machine gun openedup. The explosion, about six hundred meters downrange, erased an entire fileof Grunts. The other MBT, one of two which Silva had ordered his battalionto bring topside, fired two seconds later. That round killed an Elite, twoJackals, and a Hunter.

Marines cheered and McKay smiled. Though doubtful that the Covenant wouldtry to put troops on the mesa, the Major was a careful man, which was why heordered the Helljumpers to dig firing pits up-ring of the installation, andcreate bunkers for the tanks.

Now, firing with their barrels nearly parallel to the ground, the MBTs werein the process of turning the area in front of them into a moonscape as eachshell threw half a ton of soil up into the air, and carved craters out ofthe plateau.

Unbeknownst to McKay, or any other human, for that matter, the third shellto roar down range blew Field Master ’Putumee in half. The assaultcontinued, but more slowly now, as lower-ranked Elites assumed command, andtried to rally their troops.

Though pursuing his own sub-mission, ’Zamamee had been monitoring thecommand net, and knew that the assault had stalled. It was only a matter oftime before the dropships would be ordered to swoop in, pick up those whocould crawl, walk, or run to them, and leave for safer climes.

That meant that he should be pulling out, looking for a way to slip throughthe human lines, but the session with the Prophet continued to haunt him.

His best chance, no, hisonly chance, was to find the human and kill him. Hewould keep his head, all would be forgiven, and who knew? A lot of Eliteshad been killed—so there might be a promotion in the offing.

Thus reassured, he drove ahead.

The commandos were up on the first level by then, just approaching a door tothe outside, when one of three waiting Marines saw a line of green blobsstart to pass the alcove in which he was hiding, and opened fire.

There was complete pandemonium as the humans ran through clip after clip ofammunition, Grunts were blown off their feet, Elites fired in everydirection, and soon started to fall.

’Zamamee felt his plasma rifle cycle open as it attempted to cool itself,and knew he was about to die, when a plasma grenade sailed in among thehumans and locked onto a human soldier’s arm. He yelled, “No!” but it wasalready too late, and the explosion slaughtered the entire fire team.

Yayap, who had appropriated both the grenade and a pistol from one of thedead commandos, tugged on ’Zamamee’s combat harness. “This way,Excellency. . . . Follow me!”

The Elite did. The Grunt led the officer out through a door, down a walkway,and onto the platform where ten Banshees stood in an orderly row. There wereno guards. ’Zamamee looked around. “Where is he?”

Yayap shrugged. “I have no idea, Excellency.”

’Zamamee felt a mixture of anger, fear, and hopelessness as a dropshippassed over his head and disappeared down-spin. The entire effort had been afailure.

“So,” he said harshly, “you lied to me. Why?”

“Becauseyou know how to fly one of these things,” the Grunt answeredsimply, “andI don’t.”

The Elite’s eyes seemed to glow as if lit from within. “I should shoot youand leave your body for the humans to throw off the cliff.”

“You cantry ,” Yayap said as he pointed the plasma pistol at hissuperior’s head, “but I wouldn’t advise it.” It took all the courage theGrunt could muster to point his weapon at an Elite—and his hand shook inresponse to the fear he felt. But not much, not enough so that an energybolt would miss, and ’Zamamee knew it.

The Elite nodded. Moments later, a heavily loaded Banshee wobbled off theground, slipped over the edge of the butte, and immediately began to losealtitude. A Shade gunner caught a glimpse of it, and sent three bursts ofplasma racing after the assault craft, but the Banshee was soon out ofrange.

The battle for Alpha Base was over.

The Spartan fired into what seemed like a tidal wave of tentacled horrors,backed away, and resolved to keep moving. He was vulnerable, in particularfrom behind, but the armor would help, especially since the monsters likedto jump on people.

What happened next wasn’t clear, but could make Marines scream, and putthem out of action in a relatively short period of time. Ammo would be aconcern, he knew that, so rather than fire wildly, he forced himself to aim,trying to pop as many of the things as he could.

They came at him in twos, threes, and fours, flew into fleshy bits as thebullets ripped them apart and seemed to melt away. The problem was thatthere were hundreds of the little bastards, maybethousands , which made itdifficult to keep up as they flooded in his direction.

There were strategies, though, things the Chief could do to help even theodds, and they made all the difference. The first was to run, firing as hewent, stretching their ragged formation thin, forcing them to skitter fromone end of the room to the other. They were numerous and determined, but notparticularly bright.

The second was to watch for breakouts, concentrations of the creatures wherea well-thrown grenade could destroy hundreds of them all at once.

And the third was to switch back and forth between the assault weapon andthe shotgun, thereby maintaining a constant rate of fire, only pausing toreload when there was a momentary lull in the fighting.

These strategies suddenly became even more critical as somethingnew leapedout of the darkness. A mass of tattered flesh and swinging limbs lashed athis head. During the first moments of the attack the Chief wondered if acorpse had somehow fallen on him from above, but soon learned the truth, asmore of the horribly misshapen creatures appeared and hurled themselvesforward. Not just ran, butvaulted high into the air, as if hoping to crushhim under their weight.

The creatures were roughly humanoid, hunchbacked figures that lookedpartially rotted. Their limbs seemed to be stretched to the breaking point.

Clusters of tentacles protruded from ragged holes in the skin.

They were susceptible to bullets, however, something for which the Chief wasthankful, although it often took fifteen or twenty rounds to put one downfor good. Strangely, even the live ones looked like they were dead, which onreflection the Master Chief was starting to believe they were. That wouldexplain why some of the ugly sons of bitches had a marked resemblance toCovenant Elites, or to what an Elite would look like if you killed him,buried the body, and dug it up two weeks later.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, two of the reanimated Elitesbarged in through the hatch, and were promptly put down. That provided theChief with an opportunity to escape.

There were more of the two-legged freaks right on his tail, though, alongwith a jumble of the tumbling, leaping swarms of spherical creatures, and itwas necessary to scrub the entire lot of them with auto fire before he coulddisengage and slip through a door.

The Spartan found himself on the upper gallery of a large, well-lit room. Itwas packed with the bipedal, misshapen creatures, but none seemed to beaware of him. He intended to keep it that way, and slid silently along theright-hand wall to a hatch.

A short journey brought the Chief to a similar space where what looked likefull-fledged battle was underway between Covenant troops and the newhostiles.

The Spartan briefly considered engaging the targets—there was certainly noshortage of them. He held his fire instead, and lingered behind a fallencargo module. After a hellish battle, the combatants had annihilated oneanother, which left him free to cross the bridge that led to the far endback along the walkway, and exit via the side door.

Another of the hunchbacked creatures dropped from above and slammed intohim. The Spartan staggered back, dipped, and hurled the monster back overhis shoulder. It crunched into the wall and left a trail of mottled gray-green, viscous fluid as it slid to the floor.

The Master Chief turned to continue on, when his motion sensor flickered red—illuminating a contact right behind him. He spun and was startled to seethe crumpled, badly damaged creature struggle to its feet. Its left armdangled uselessly and brittle bone protruded from its pale, gangrenousflesh.

The thing’s right arm was still functional, however. A twisting column oftentacles burst from the creature’s right wrist and he could hear the bonesinside break as they forced its right hand roughly aside.

The tentacle flashed out, cracked like a whip and hurled the Master Chief tothe floor. His shields were almost completely drained from the single blow.

He rolled into a crouch and opened fire. The 7.62mm armor-piercing roundsnearly cut the monster in half. He kicked the fallen hostile, put two in itschest.This time, the damn thing should stay dead, he thought.

He moved farther along the hallway. Two Marines lay where they had fallen,proving that at least some of the second squad had managed to get this far,which opened the possibility that more had escaped as well.

The Master Chief checked, discovered that they still wore their dog tags,and took them. He crept through the wide galleries and narrow corridors,past humming machinery and entered a dark, gloomy vault. His motion trackerflashed crimson warnings—he was in Hostile Central.

Another of the misshapen bipedal hostiles shambled by, and he recognized theshape of the creature’s head—the long, angular snout of an Elite facedhim. What held his fire was where the head was located.

The alien’s skull was canted at a sickening angle, as if the bones of itsneck had been softened or liquefied. It hung limply down the creature’sback, lifeless—like a limb that needed amputation.

It was as if something had rewritten the Elite, reshaped it from the insideout. The Spartan felt an unaccustomed emotion: a trill of fear. An image ofhelplessness—of screaming at a looming threat, powerless—flashed throughhis mind, a snapshot of his cryo-addled dreams aboard thePillar of Autumn .

No way is that going to happen to me,he thought.No way .

The beast shuffled by, and moved out of sight.

He took a deep breath, exhaled, then burst from his position and charged forthe center of the room. He battered aside the shambling beasts, and crusheda handful of the small spherical creatures beneath his boots. His shotgunboomed and thick, green blood splashed the floor.

He reached his objective: a large lift platform, identical to the one he’dridden down into this hellhole. He reached for the activation panel, andhoped that he’d find the up button.

One of the hostiles leaped high in the air and landed next to him.

The Chief dropped to one knee, shoved the barrel of the shotgun into thecreature’s belly and fired. The beast flipped end over end, and fell backinto a clot of the smaller, round hostiles.

He dove for the activation panel, and stabbed at the controls.

The elevator platform dropped like a rock, so far down and so fast that hisears popped.

Where the hell was Cortana when you needed her?Always telling him to “gothrough that door,” “cross that bridge,” or “climb that pyramid.”

Annoying at times, but reassuring as well.

The basement, if that’s what it was, had all the charm of a crypt. Apassageway took him into another large space where he had to fight his wayacross the floor to a door and the tunnel-like corridor beyond. That’s whenthe Spartan came face-to-face with something he hadn’t seen before andwould have preferred never to see again: one of the combative, bipedalbeasts—this one a horribly mutatedhuman . Though the creature was distortedby whatever had ravaged his body, the Chief recognized him nonetheless.

It was Private Manuel Mendoza, the soldier that Sergeant Johnson loved toyell at, and one of the Marines who had been with Keyes when he disappearedinto this nightmare.

Though twisted by what had been done to him, the Private’s face stillretained a trace of humanity, and it was that which caused the Master Chiefto remove this finger from the shotgun’s trigger, and try to make contact.

“Mendoza, come on, let’s get the hell out of here. I know they didsomething to you but the medics can fix it.”

The reanimated Marine, now possessed of superhuman strength, struck theChief with such force that it nearly knocked him off his feet, and triggeredthe suit’s alarm. Mendoza—or rather, thething that had once been Mendoza—waved a whiplike tentacle and lashed out again. The Spartan staggeredbackward, pulled the trigger, and was subsequently forced to pull it againas the twelve-gauge buckshot tore what had been Mendoza apart.

The results were both spectacular and disgusting. As the corpselike horrorcame apart, the Chief saw that one of the small, spherical creatures hadtaken up residence inside the soldier’s chest cavity, and seemed to haveextended its tentacles into other parts of what had been Mendoza’s body.

Athird shotgun blast served to destroy it as well.

Was that how these things worked? The little round pod-things infected theirhosts, and mutated the victim into some kind of combat form. He consideredthe possibility that this was some kind of new Covenant bio-weapon, anddiscarded it. The first of these combat forms he’d seen had once beenElites.

Whatever these damned things were, they were lethal to humans and Covenantalike.

He quickly fed shells into his shotgun, then moved on. The Spartan moved asfast as he could—at a dead run. He charged into another room, scrambled uponto the gallery above, blew an Elite form right out of his boots, andducked through a waiting door.

The area on the other side was more of a challenge. The Chief had the secondfloor to himself, but an army of the freaks owned the floor below, andthat’s where he needed to go.

Height conferred advantages. Some well-placed grenades, followed by a jumpfrom the walkway, and sixty seconds of close-quarters action were sufficientto see him through. Still, it was a tremendous relief to pass through acompletely uncontested space, and into a compartment where he found anewdevelopment to cope with.

In addition to their battering attacks, the creatures had acquired bothhuman and Covenant weapons from their victims, and these combat forms wereeven more dangerous as a result. The combat forms weren’t the smartest foeshe’d ever encountered, but they weren’t mindless automatons, either—theycould operate machines and fire weapons.

Bullets pinged from the metal walls, plasma fire stuttered through the air,and a grenade detonated as the Master Chief cleared the area, discovered aplace where some Marines had staged a last stand on top of a cargocontainer. He paused to recover their dog tags, scavenged some ammo, andkept on going.

Something nagged at him, but what was it? Something he’d forgotten?

It came to him all at once: He had nearly forgotten his own name.

Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Service number 01928-19912-JK.

The droning chant that had lurked at the edge of his awareness buzzed moreloudly, and he felt some kind of pressure—some sense of anger.

Why was he angry?

No, somethingelse was angry . . . because he’d remembered his own name?

Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Service number 01928-19912-JK.

Where was he? How did he get here? He struggled to find the memory.

He remembered parts of it now. There was a dark, alien room, hordes of someterrifying enemy, gunfire, then a stabbing pain . . .

They must have captured him. That was it. This might be some new trick bythe enemy. He’d give them nothing. He struggled to remember who the enemywas.

He repeated the mantra in his head: Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Service number01928-19912-JK.

The buzzing pressure increased. He resisted, though he was unsure why.

Something about the drone frightened him. The sense of invasion deepened.

Is this a Covenant trick?he wondered. He tried to scream, “It won’t work.

I’ll never lead you to Earth,” but couldn’t make his mouth work,couldn’t feel his own body.

As the thought of his home planet echoed through Keyes’ consciousness, thetone and tenor of the drone changed, as if pleased. He—Keyes, Jacob.

Captain. Service number 01928-19912-JK—was startled when new images playedacross his mind.

He realized, too late, that something was sifting through his mind, like agrave robber looting a tomb. He had never felt so powerless, so afraid . . .

His fear vanished in a flood of emotion as he felt the warmth of the firstwoman he’d ever kissed . . .

He tried to scream as the memory was ripped from him and discarded.

Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Service number 01928-19912-JK.

As each of the fragments of his past played out and was sucked into thevoid, he could feel the invader enveloping him like an ocean of evil. But,like the pieces of flotsam that remain after a ship has gone down, randompieces of himself remained, a sort of makeshift raft to which he couldmomentarily cling.

The image of a smiling woman, a ball spiraling through the air, a crowdedstreet, a man with half his face blown away, tickets to a show he couldn’tremember, the gentle sound of wind chimes, and the smell of newly bakedbread.

But the sea was too rough, waves crashed down on the raft, and broke itapart. Swells lifted Keyes up, others pushed him down, and the finaldarkness beckoned. But then, just as the ocean was about to consume him,Keyes became aware of the one thing the creature that raped his mindcouldn’t consume: the CNI transponder’s carrier wave.

He reached for it like a drowning man, clutched the lifeline with all hismight, and refused to let go. For here, deep within his watery grave, was athread that led back to what he had been.

Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Service number 01928-19912-JK.

The Master Chief fired the last of his shotgun rounds into the collapsedhulk of a combat form. It twitched and lay still.

After winding through the confusion of subterranean chambers and passagewaysfor what seemed like hours, he’d finally found a lift to the surface. Hecarefully tapped the activation panel—worried for a moment that this liftwould also drop him deeper into the facility—and felt the lift lurch into arapid ascent.

As the lift climbed, Foehammer’s worried voice crackled from his commsystem.

“This is Echo 419. Chief, is that you? I lost your signal when youdisappeared inside the structure. What’s going on down there? I’m trackingmovement all over the place.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” the Master Chief replied, hisvoice grim, “and believe me: you don’t want to know. Be advised: CaptainKeyes is missing, and is most likely KIA. Over.”

“Roger that,”the pilot replied.“I’m sorry to hear it, over.”

The lift jerked to a halt, the Spartan stepped off, and found himselfsurrounded by Marines. Not the shambling combat forms he’d spent the lasteternity fighting, but normal, unchanged human beings. “Good to see you,Chief,” a Corporal said.

The Chief cut the soldier off. “There’s no time for that, Marine.

Report.”

The young Marine gulped, then started talking. “After we lost contact weheaded for the RV point, and thesethings , they ambushed us. Sir: Advise weget thehell out of here, ASAP.”

“That’s command thinking, Corporal,” the Chief replied. “Let’s go.”

It was a short walk up the ramp and into the rain. Strangely, and much tohis surprise, it felt good to enter the stinking swamp.Very good indeed.
Chapter 9
D+60:33:54 (Flight Officer Captain Rawley Mission Clock) /Pelican Echo 419, above Covenant arms cache.

“There’s a large tower a few hundred meters from your current position.

Find a way above the fog and foliage canopy and I can move in and pick youup,” Rawley said. Her eyes were glued to her scopes as SPARTAN-117 took thelead and the Marines left the ancient complex and entered the fetid embraceof the swamp. The rain and some kind of interference from the structureplayed hell with the Pelican’s detection gear, but she was damned if shewas going to lose this team now. She had a reputation to maintain, afterall.

“Roger that,”the Chief replied,“we’re on our way.”

She kept the Pelican circling, her eyes peeled for trouble. There was noimmediate threat. That made her even more nervous. Ever since they’d madeit down to the surface of the ring, trouble always seemed to strike withoutwarning.

For the hundredth time since lifting off from Alpha Base, she cursed thelack of ammunition for the Pelicans.

Knowing the dropship was somewhere above the mist, and eager to get the hellout, the Marines forged ahead. The Spartan cautioned them to slow down, tokeep their eyes peeled, but it wasn’t long before he found himself backtoward the middle of the pack.

The tower Foehammer had mentioned appeared up ahead. The base of the columnwas circular, with half-rounded supports that protruded from the sides,probably for stability. Farther up, extending out from the column itself,were winglike platforms. Their purpose wasn’t clear, but the same could besaid for the entire structure. The top of the shaft was lost in the mist.

The Master Chief paused to look around, heard one of the leathernecks yell“Contact!” quickly followed by the staccato rip of an assault weapon firedon full automatic. A host of red dots had appeared on the Spartan’s threatindicator. He saw a dozen of the spherical infection forms bounce out of themist and knew that any possibility of containing the creatures undergroundhad been lost.

The Pelican’s sensors suddenly painted dozens—correction, hundreds—of newcontacts on the ground. Rawley cursed and wheeled the Pelican around,expecting ground fire.

No fire was directed at the dropship. “What the hell?” she muttered.

First, the contacts appeared out of nowhere, charged into the open, butdidn’t shoot at the air cover? Maybe the Covenant were getting stupid aswell as ugly.

She hit the radio to warn the troops and winced as the muffled pop ofautomatic weapons fire burst from her headset. “Heads up, ground team!”

she yelled. “Multiple contacts on the ground—they’re right on top ofyou!”

The radio squealed, then static filled her speakers. The interferenceworsened. She thumped the radio controls with a gloved fist. “Damn it!”

she yelled.

“Uh, boss,” Frye said. “You better take a look at this.”

She glanced back at her copilot, followed his gaze, and her own eyeswidened. “Okay,” she said, “any idea what the hellthat is?”

The Chief fired short bursts from his assault weapon, popped dozens of thealien pods, and turned to confront a combat form. It was armed with a plasmapistol but chose to throw itself forward rather than fire. The Chief’sautomatic weapon was actually touching the creature when he pulled thetrigger. The ex-Elite’s chest opened like an obscene flower and theinfection form hidden within exploded into fleshy pieces.

He heard a burst of static in his comm system. Interference whined as theMJOLNIR’s powerful communications gear tried to scrub the signal, to noavail. It sounded like Foehammer, but he couldn’t be sure.

It hovered in front of the Pelican’s cockpit for a moment, and lightstabbed Rawley’s eyes. It was made from some kind of silvery metal, roughlycylindrical but with angular edges. Winglike, squarish fins shifted and slidlike rudders as the device bobbed in the air. It—whateverit was—shone abright light into the cockpit, then turned away and dropped altitude. Belowher, she could see dozens of the things flying in a loose line. In seconds,they dropped below the tree line and out of sight.

“Frye,” she said, her mouth suddenly dry, “tell Chief Cullen to work thecomm system and punch me a hole in this interference. I need to talk to theground teamnow .”

The tide of hostiles fell back into the ankle-deep water and regrouped. Adozen exotic-looking cylindrical machines drifted out of the trees to floatover the clearing. The nearest Marine yelled, “What are they?” and wasabout to shoot at them when the Chief raised a cautionary hand. “Hold on,Marine . . . let’s see what they do.”

What happened next was both unexpected and gratifying. Each machine produceda beam of energy, speared one of the hostiles, and burned it down.

Some of the combat forms took exception to this treatment, and attempted toreturn fire, but were soon put out of action by the combined efforts of theMarines and their newfound allies.

Despite the help, the Marines didn’t fare well. There were just too many ofthe hostile creatures around. The squad dwindled until a pair of PFCsremained, then one, then finally the last of the Marines fell beneath acluster of the little infectious bastards.

As the newcomers overhead rained crimson laser fire on a cluster of thecombat forms, the Chief slogged through the swamp toward the tower. Highground—and the possibility of signaling Foehammer for evac—drew him on.

He climbed a supporting strut and pulled himself onto one of the odd,leaflike terraces that ringed the tower. He had a good field of fire, and hefired a burst into a combat form that strayed too close.

He tried the radio again, but was rewarded with more static.

The Spartan heard what sounded like someone humming and turned to discoverthatanother machine had approached him from behind. Where the othernewcomers were cylindrical in design, with angular, winglike cowlings, thisconstruct was rounded, almost spherical. It had a single, glowing blue eye,a wraparound housing, and a cheerfully businesslike manner.

“Greetings! I am the Monitor of installation zero-four. I am 343 GuiltySpark. Someone has released the Flood. My function is to prevent it fromleaving this installation. I require your assistance. Come this way.”

The voice sounded artificial. This “343 Guilty Spark” was some kind ofartificial construct, the Spartan realized. From above the little machine,he could see Foehammer’s Pelican moving into position.

“Hold on,” the Chief replied, trying to sound friendly. “The Flood? Thosethings down there are called ‘Flood’?”

“Of course,” 343 Guilty Spark replied, a note of confusion in itssynthesized voice. “What an odd question. We have no time for this,Reclaimer.”

Reclaimer?The Chief wondered. He was about to ask what the little machinemeant by that, but his words never came. Rings of pulsating gold lighttraveled the length of his body, he felt light-headed, and saw an explosionof white light.

Rawley had just gotten the Pelican into position for a run on the tower, andcould see the distinctive bulk of the Spartan standing on the structure. Sheeased the throttle forward, and the Pelican slid ahead, and nosed toward thestructure. She glanced up just in time to see the Spartan disappear in acolumn of gold light.

“Chief!”Foehammer said.“I lost your signal! Where did you go? Chief!

Chief!”

The Spartan had vanished, and there was very little the pilot could doexcept pick up the Marines, and hope for the best.

Like the rest of the battalion’s officers, McKay had worked long into thenight supervising efforts to restore the butte’s badly mauled defenses,ensure that the wounded received what care was available, and restoresomething like normal operations.

Finally, at about 0300, Silva ordered her below, pointing out that someonehad to be in command at 0830, and it wasn’t going to be him.

With traces of adrenaline still in her bloodstream, and images of battlestill flickering through her brain, the Company Commander found itimpossible to sleep. Instead she tossed, turned, and stared at the ceilinguntil approximately 0430 when she finally drifted off.

At 0730, with only three hours of sleep, McKay paused to collect a mug ofinstant coffee from the improvised mess hall before climbing a flight ofbloodstained stairs to arrive on top of the mesa. The wreckage of what hadbeen Charlie 217 had been cleared away during the night, but a large patchof scorched metal marked the spot where the fuel had been set ablaze.

The officer paused to look at it, wondered what happened to the human pilot,and continued her tour. The entire surface of Halo had been declared acombat zone, which meant it was inappropriate for the enlisted ranks tosalute their superiors lest they identify them to enemy snipers. But therewere other ways to signal respect, and as McKay made her way past thelanding pads and out onto the battlefield beyond, it seemed as if all theMarines wanted to greet her.

“Morning, ma’am.”

“How’s it going, Lieutenant? Hope you got some sleep.”

“Hey, skipper, guess we showed them, huh?”

McKay replied to them all and continued on her way. Just the fact that shewas there, strolling through the plasma-blackened defenses with a cup ofcoffee in her hand, served to reassure the troops.

“Look,” one of them said as she walked past, “there’s the Loot. Cool asice, man. Did you see her last night? Standing on that tank? It was likenothin’ could touch her.” The other Marine didn’t say anything, justnodded in agreement, and went back to digging a firing pit.

Somehow, without consciously thinking about it, McKay’s feet carried herback to the Scorpions and the point from which her particular battle hadbeen fought. The Covenant knew about the metal behemoths now, which was whyboth machines were being dug out and run up onto solid ground.

The officer wondered what Silva planned to do with them, and sipped the lastof her coffee before wandering onto the plateau beyond. Covenant POWs, allchained together at the ankles, were busy digging graves. One section formembers of their armed forces, and one for the humans. It was a soberingsight, as were the rows of tarp-covered bodies, and all for what?

For Earth, she told herself, and the billions who would go unburied if theCovenant found them.

There was a lot to do—the morning passed quickly. Major Silva was back onduty by 1300 hours and sent a runner to find McKay. As she entered hisoffice she saw that he was sitting behind his makeshift desk, working at acomputer. He looked up and pointed to a chair salvaged from a lifeboat.

“Take a load off, Lieutenant. Nice job out there. I should take naps moreoften! How are you feeling?”

McKay dropped into the chair, felt it adjust to fit her body, and shrugged.

“I’m tired, sir, but otherwise fine.”

“Good,” Silva said, bringing his fingers together into a steeple.

“Because there’s plenty of work to do. We’ll have to drive everyone hard—and that includes ourselves.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“So,” Silva continued, “I know you’ve been busy, but did you get achance to read the report Wellsley put together?”

A crate of small but powerful wireless computers like the one sitting on theMajor’s desk had been recovered from theAutumn but McKay had yet to turnhers on. “I’m afraid not, sir. Sorry.”

Silva nodded. “Well, based on information acquired during routinedebriefings, our digital friend believes that the raid was both less andmore than we assumed.”

McKay allowed her eyebrows to rise. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that rather than the real estate itself, the Covies were aftersomething, or more preciselysomeone they thought they would find here.”

“Captain Keyes?”

“No,” the other officer replied, “Wellsley doesn’t think so, and neitherdo I. A group of their stealth Elites were able to penetrate the lowerlevels of the complex. They killed everyone they came into contact with, orthought they did, but one tech played dead, and another was knockedunconscious. They were in different rooms but both told the same story. Oncein the room, and having gained control of it, one of those commando Elites—the bastards in the black combat suits—would momentarily reveal himself. Hespoke passable standard—and asked both groups the same question. ‘Where isthe human with the special armor?’ ”

“They were after the Spartan,” McKay said thoughtfully.

“Exactly.”

“So, whereis the Chief?”

“That,”Silva replied, “is a very good question. Where indeed? He wentlooking for Keyes, surfaced in the middle of a swamp, told Foehammer thatthe Captain was probably dead, and disappeared a few minutes later.”

“Think he’s dead?” McKay inquired.

“I don’t know,” Silva replied grimly, “although it wouldn’t make toomuch difference if he were. No, I suspect that he and Cortana are out thereplaying games.”

With Keyes out of the picture once more, Silva had reassumed command, andMcKay could understand his frustration. The Master Chief was an asset, orwould have been if he were around, but now, out freelancing somewhere, theSpartan was starting to look like a liability. Especially given how many ofSilva’s troops had died in order to defend a man who wasn’t even there.

Yes, McKay could understand the Major’s frustration, but couldn’tsympathize with it. Not after seeing the Chief in that very room, his skinunnaturally white after too much time spent in his armor, his eyes filledwith—what? Pain? Suffering? A sort of wary distrust?

The officer wasn’t sure, but whatever it was didn’t have anything to dowith ego, with insubordination, or a desire for personal glory. Those weretruths that McKay could access, not because she was a seasoned soldier, butbecause she was a woman, something Silva could never aspire to be. But itwouldn’t do any good to say that, so she didn’t.

Her voice was level. “So, where does that leave us?”

“Situation normal: We’re cut off and probably surrounded.” The chairsighed as Silva leaned back. “Like the old saying goes, ‘a good defense isa good offense.’ Rather than just sit around and wait for the Covenant toattack again, let’s take the hurt to them. Nothing big, not yet anyway, butthe kind of pinpricks that still draw blood.”

McKay nodded. “And you want me to come up with some ideas?”

Silva grinned. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Yes, sir,” McKay said, coming to her feet. “I’ll have something bymorning.”

Silva watched the Company Commander exit his office, wasted five secondswishing he had six more just like her, and went back to work.

The Master Chief felt himself rush back together like a puzzle with amillion pieces, wondered what had happened, and where he was. He feltdisoriented, nauseated, and angry.

A quick look around was sufficient to ascertain that the machine named 343Guilty Spark had somehow transported him from the swamp into the bowels of adark, brooding structure. He saw the machine hovering high above, glowing athin, ghostly blue.

The Spartan raised his assault weapon, and fired half a clip into it. Thebullets were dead on, but had no effect other than to elicit a bemusedresponse.

“That was unnecessary, Reclaimer. I suggest that you conserve yourammunition for the effort ahead.”

No less angry, but with little choice but to accept the situation, the Chieflooked around. “So where am I?”

“The installation was specifically built to study and contain the Flood,”

the machine answered patiently. “Their survival as a race was dependent onit. I am grateful to see that some of them survived to reproduce.”

“ ‘Survived’? ‘Reproduce’? What the hell are you talking about?” theChief demanded.

“We must collect the Index,” Spark said, leaving the Spartan’s questionsunanswered. “And time is of the essence. Please follow me.”

The blue light zipped away at that point, forcing the Chief to follow, or beleft behind. He checked both his weapons as he walked. “Speaking ofyou ,who the hell are you, and what’s your function?”

“Iam 343 Guilty Spark,” the machine said, pedantically. “I am theMonitor, or more precisely, a self-repairing artificial intelligence chargedwith maintaining and operating this facility. But you are the Reclaimer—soyou know that already.”

The Master Chief didn’t know anything of the kind, but it seemed wise toplay along, so he did. “Yes, well, refresh my memory . . . how long has itbeen since you were left in charge?”

“Exactly 101,217 local years,” the Monitor replied cheerfully, “many ofwhich were quite boring. But not anymore!Hee, hee, hee. ”

The Spartan was taken aback by the sudden giggle from the small machine. Heknew that the AIs humans used could, over time, develop personalitiespolitely described as “quirky.” 343 Guilty Spark had been here for tens ofthousands of years.

It was quite possible that the little AI was insane.

The Monitor chattered on, nattering about “effecting repairs to substationnine” and other non sequiturs.

His dialogue was interrupted as a variety of Flood forms bounced, waddled,and leaped out of the surrounding darkness. Suddenly the Chief was fightingfor his life again, moving back and forth to stretch the enemy out, blastinganything that moved.

That was when he first identified anew Flood form. They were large misshapenthings that would explode when fired upon, spewing up to a dozen infectionforms in every direction, thereby multiplying the number of targets that theshooter had to track and kill.

Finally, like water turned off at a tap, the assault came to an end, and theChief had a chance to reload his weapons.

The Monitor hovered nearby, all the while humming to himself, andoccasionally giggling. “There’s no time to dawdle! We have work to do.”

“What kind of work?” the Chief inquired as he stuffed the final shell intothe shotgun and hurried to follow.

“This is the Library,” the machine explained, hovering so the human couldcatch up. “The energy field above us contains the Index. We must get upthere.”

The Spartan was about to ask, “Index? What Index?” when a combat formlurched out of an alcove and opened fire. The Chief fired in return, saw thecreature fall, and saw it jump back up again. The next burst took theFlood’s left leg off.

“That should slow you down,” he said as he turned to deal with a new hordeof shambling, leaping hostiles. A steady stream of brass arced away from theChief’s assault weapon as he worked the mob over, felt something strike himfrom behind, and spun around to discover that the one-legged combat form hadlimped back into the fight.

The Spartan blew the creature’s head off this time, sidestepped to evade acharging carrier form, and shot the bulbous monster in the back. There wasan explosion of green mist mixed with balloonlike infection forms and piecesof wet flesh. The next ten seconds were spent popping pods.

After that the Monitor took off again and the noncom had little choice butto follow. He soon arrived in front of a huge metal door. Built to containthe Flood perhaps? Maybe, but far from effective, since the slimy bastardsseemed to be leaking out of every nook and cranny.

The Monitor hovered over the human’s head. “The security doors are lockedautomatically. I will go access the override to open them. I am a genius,”

the Monitor said matter-of-factly.“Hee, hee, hee.”

“A pain in the ass is more like it,” the Master Chief said to no one inparticular as a red blob appeared on his threat indicator, quickly joined bya half dozen more.

Then, as part of what would become a familiar pattern, combat forms leapedfifteen meters through the air, only to shrivel as the 7.62mm slugs torethem apart. Carrier forms waddled up like old friends, came apart like wetcardboard, and spewed pods in every direction. Infection forms danced ondelicate legs, dodging this way and that, each hoping to claim the human asits very own.

But the Chief had other ideas. He killed the last of them just as the doubledoors started to part, and followed the monitor through. “Please followclosely,” 343 Guilty Spark admonished. “This portal is the first of ten.”

The Chief replied as he followed the AI past a row of huge blue screens.

“Moredoors. I can hardly wait.”

343 Guilty Spark appeared immune to sarcasm as it babbled about the first-class research facilities that surrounded them—and blithely led its humancompanion into still another ambush. And so it went, as the Chief worked hisway through Flood-infested galleries, subfloor maintenance tunnels, andmoregalleries, before rounding a corner to confront yet another group ofmonstrosities.

The Spartan had help this time, as a dozen of the hunter-killer machineshe’d seen in the swamp appeared in the air above the scene, and attackedthe Flood forms congregated below.

“These Sentinels will assist you, Reclaimer,” the Monitor trilled. Lasershissed and sizzled as the robots struck their opponents down, and havingdone so, moved in to sterilize what remained.

The Spartan watched in fascination as the machines took care of the heavylifting. He lent a helping hand when that seemed appropriate, and started togag when the air that came through his filters grew thick with the stench ofcooked flesh.

As the Spartan fought his way through the facility, the Monitor, who floatedabove it all, offered commentary. “These Sentinels will supplement yourcombat systems. But I suggest you upgrade to at least a Class Twelve CombatSkin. Your current model only scans as a Class Two—which is unsuited forthis kind of work.”

If there’s a battle suit six times as powerful as MJOLNIR armor,hethought,I’ll be first in line to try it on.

He jumped to avoid an attack from one of the Flood combat forms, pressed theshotgun muzzle into its back, and blew a foot-wide hole through thecreature.

Finally, after the hardworking Sentinels had reduced the Flood to littlemore than a lumpy paste, the Spartan made his way through the carnage andout onto a circular platform. It was enormous, easily large enough to handlea Scorpion, and in reasonably good repair.

Machinery hummed, bands of white light pulsated down from somewhere above,and the lift carried the human upward. Maybe things would be better upabove, maybe the Flood hadn’t reached that level yet, he thought. Hedidn’t hold out much hope, however. So far, nothingelse had gone right onthis mission.

Deep within the recesses of Halo, Flood specimens were confined tofacilitate future study, and to prevent them from escaping. Aware of theextreme danger the Flood posed, and their capacity to multiply exponentiallyas well as take over even advanced life forms, the ancient ones constructedthe walls of their prison with great care, and trained their guards well.

With nothing to feed upon, and nowhere to go, the Flood lay dormant for morethan a hundred thousand years.

Then the intruders came, broke the prison open, and nourished the Flood withtheir bodies. With a way to escape, and food to sustain it, the tendrils ofthe malevolent growth slithered through the maze of tunnels and passagewaysthat lay below Halo’s skin, and gathered wherever there was a potentialroute to the surface.

One such location was in a chamber located beneath a tall butte, wherelittle more than a metal grating prevented the Flood from bursting out ofits underground lair and shooting to the surface. Unbeknownst to the men andwomen of Alpha Base, they had anew enemy—and it lived directly below theirfeet.

The lift jerked to a halt. The Master Chief made his way through a narrowpassageway into the gallery beyond. The Flood attacked immediately, but withno threat at his back, he was free to retreat into the corridor from whichhe had just come, which forced the mob of monstrosities to come at himthrough the same narrow channel. Before long, the bodies of the fallen Floodbegan to accumulate.

He paused, waiting for another wave of attackers, then shoved aside a pileof the dead and moved into the next section of the complex. They gave underhis feet, made gurgling sounds, and vented foul-smelling gas. The Chief wasgrateful when his boots were back on solid ground again.

The Sentinels reappeared shortly thereafter and led the Spartan past a rowof huge blue screens. “So, where were you bastards a few minutes ago?” thehuman inquired. But if the robots heard him, they made no reply as theyglided, circled, and bobbed through the hallway ahead.

“Flood activity has caused a failure in a drone control system. I mustreset the backup units,” 343 Guilty Spark said. “Please continue on—Iwill rejoin you when I have completed my task.”

The Monitor had left him on his own before—and each absence coincided witha fresh wave of Flood attackers. “Hold on,” the human protested, “let’sdiscuss this—” but it was too late. 343 Guilty Spark had already dartedthrough an aperture in the wall and disappeared down some kind of travelconduit.

Sure enough, no sooner had the Monitor left than a lumpy-looking carrierform waddled out into the light, spotted its prey, and hurried to greet it.

The Spartan shot the Flood form, but let the Sentinels clean up theresulting mess, while he conserved his ammo.

A fresh onslaught of Flood came out of the woodwork, and the Spartan adopteda more cautious strategy: He allowed the sentry robots to mop them up. Atfirst, the defense machines mowed through a wave of the podlike infectionforms with little difficulty. Then more of the hostiles appeared, thenmore ,then still more. Soon, the Chief was forced to fall back. He crushed one ofthe pods with his foot, smashed another out of the air with the butt of hisassault rifle, and killed a dozen more with a trio of quick AR bursts.

The Monitor drifted back into the chamber, spun as if surveying the carnage,and made an odd, metallic clicking that sounded very much like a cluck ofdisapproval. “The Sentinels can use their weapons to manage the Flood for ashort time, Reclaimer. Speed is of the essence.”

“Then let’s go,” the Master Chief growled.

The Monitor made no reply, but scooted ahead. The small construct led theSpartan deeper into the Library’s gloomy halls. They passed through anumber of large open gates prior to arriving in front of one that wasclosed. The Chief paused for a moment, expecting that 343 Guilty Spark mightopen it for him, but the Monitor had disappeared. Again.

The hell with it,he thought. The little machine was rapidly draining hisreserves of patience.

Determined to move ahead with or without the services of his on-again, off-again guide, the Chief retraced his steps to the point where a steeplysloping ramp emerged from below, followed it downward, and soon foundhimself in a maintenance corridor packed with Flood.

But the narrow confines of the passageway again made it that much easier tokill the parasitic life forms, and five minutes later the human walked up aramp on the other side of the metal door to find that the Monitor was there,humming to himself.

“Oh, hello! I’m a genius.”

“Right. And I’m a Vice Admiral.”

The Monitor darted ahead, leading him across a circular depression toanother enormous door. Machinery whirred, and the Chief was forced to pauseas the doors started to part. Then he heard a clank, followed by a groan, asthe movement stopped.

“Please wait here,” Spark said, and promptly vanished.

Just as the Master Chief pulled a fresh clip and rammed it home, dozens ofred dots appeared on his threat indicator. He stood with his back to thedoor as what looked like a platoon of Flood forms prepared to rush him.

Rather than simply open up on them, and risk the possibility that they mightroll him under, the Chief threw a grenade into their midst, and half hisopponents went up in a single blast. It took a few minutes plus a fewhundred rounds of ammo to put the rest of them down, but the Spartan managedto do so.

That was when the machinery restarted, the doors opened, and the Monitorreappeared, humming to itself. “I am a genius!”

He had moved through the new chamber—a high, vaulted gallery, dimly litwith pools of gold-yellow light. For the first time since Spark had draggedhim here, he had a moment of respite. Ever since entering the Library, theSpartan’s head had been on a swivel. Wave after wave of hostile creatureshad attacked him from all sides.

He popped a stim-pack, downed a nutrient supplement, and gathered up hisweapon. Time to move out.

As he proceeded deeper into the Library, he found a corpse—a human one. Hestooped to examine the body.

It wasn’t pretty. The Marine’s body was so mangled that even the Floodcouldn’t make use of him. He lay at the center of a large bloodstainwreathed by spent brass.

“Ah,” 343 Guilty Spark said, peering down over the Spartan’s shoulder.

“Theother Reclaimer. His combat skin proved even less suitable thanyours.”

The soldier looked up over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Is this a test, Reclaimer?” the Monitor seemed genuinely puzzled. “Ifound him wandering through a structure on the other side of the ring, andbrought him to the same point whereyou started.”

The Chief looked down at the body and marveled at the fact that anyone couldmake it that far. Even with his physical augmentation, and the advantages ofhis armor, the Spartan was reaching the end of his endurance.

He checked, found the leatherneck’s dog tags, and read the name. MOBUTO,MARVIN, STAFFSERGEANT,followed by a service number.

The Chief put the tags away. “I didn’t know you, Sarge, but I sure as hellwish I had. You must have been one hard-core son of a bitch.”

It wasn’t much as eulogies go, but he hoped that, had Sergeant MarvinMobuto been there to hear it, he would have approved.

A good trap requires good bait, which was why McKay had one of the Pelicanspick up Charlie 217’s burned-out remains and drop them into the ambush siteduring the hours of darkness. It took three trips to transport a sufficientamount of wreckage, followed by hours of backbreaking effort to spread thepieces around in a realistic way, then position her troops in the rocksabove.

Finally, just as the sun speared the area with early morning light,everything was ready. A phony distress call went out, and a speciallyprepared fire was lit deep within the wreckage. Scattered around the “crashsite” were some “volunteers”—the bodies of comrades killed on the buttehad been laid out where they could be seen from the air.

As half of the first platoon tried to get some sleep, the rest kept watch.

McKay used her glasses to scan the area. The fake crash site was locatedbetween a low, flat-topped rise and a rocky hillside, covered with a jumbleof large boulders. The wreckage, complete with a trickle of smoke, lookedquite realistic.

Wellsley believed that having first dismissed the Marines and Navalpersonnel as little more than a nuisance, the enemy had since been forced tochange their minds, and had started to take them more seriously. That meantmonitoring human radio traffic, conducting regular recon flights, and allthe other activities of modern warfare.

Assuming the AI was correct, the aliens would pick up the distress call,backtrack to the source, and send a team to check the situation out. Thatwas the plan, at any rate, and McKay didn’t see any reason why it wouldn’twork.

The sun inched higher in the sky, and down among the rocks the temperaturerose. The Marines took advantage of any bit of shade that they could find,though McKay was privately pleased that the customary bitching about theheat was kept to a minimum.

Thirty minutes into the wait McKay heard a sound like the whine of amosquito and started to quarter the sky with her binoculars. It wasn’t longbefore she spotted a speck coming down-spin. Very quickly, the speck grewinto a Banshee. She keyed her mike.

“Red One to squad three—it’s show time.”

The officer didn’t dare say more lest any Covenant eavesdroppers growsuspicious. She didn’thave to say much more, though. Her Marines knew whatto do.

As the enemy aircraft came closer, members of the third squad, some of whomwere made up to look as if they were injured, hurried out into the open,shaded their eyes as if watching for an incoming Pelican, pantomimedsurprise as they spotted the Banshee, fired a volley of shots at it, thenran for the safety of the rocks.

The pilot sent a series of plasma bolts racing after them, circled the crashsite twice, and flew off in the direction from which he had come. McKaywatched it go. The hook had been set, the fish was on the line, and it wouldbe her job to reel it in.

Half a klick away from the phony crash site, another Marine, or whathad beena Marine, emerged from a subsurface air shaft, and felt the sun hit hishorribly ravaged face. Well, nothis face, because ever since the infectionform had inserted its penetrator into his spine, Private Wallace A. Jenkinshad been sharing his physical form with something he thought of as “theother.” A strange being that didn’t have any thoughts, none that the humancould access, at any rate, and seemed unaware of the fact that its hoststill retained some cognitive and possibly motor functions.

That awareness was entirely unique to him insofar as the leatherneck couldtell, because in spite of the fact that some of the bodies in the group hadonce belonged to his squad mates, repeated attempts to communicate with themhad failed.

Now, as the untidy collection of infection forms, carrier forms, and combatforms emerged to bounce, waddle, and walk across Halo’s surface, Jenkinsknew that wherever the column was headed it was for one purpose: to find andsubsume sentient life. He could dimly sense the other’s yawning, icyhunger.

Hisgoal, however, was considerably different. After it had been convertedinto a combat form, his body was still capable of handling a weapon. Some ofthe other forms had them—and that’s what Jenkins wanted more thananything. An M6D would be perfect, but an energy weapon could do the job, aswould any grenade. Not for use on the Covenant, or the Flood, butonhimself . Or what had been him. That’s why he’d been careful to concealthe full extent of his awareness from the other. So he had a chance ofdestroying the body in which he had been imprisoned and escape the horror ofeach waking moment.

The Flood came to a hill and, following one of the carrier forms, soonstarted to climb. The other, with Jenkins in tow, tagged along behind.

McKay knew the trap was going to work when one of the U-shaped dropshipsappeared, circled the phony crash site, and settled in for a landing. Oncefree of the ship the Elites, Jackals, and Grunts would be easy meat for theMarines hidden in the rocks and the snipers stationed on top of the flat-topped hill.

But war is full of surprises, and when the Covenant ship took off again,McKay found herself looking at everything she had expected to seeplus acouple of Hunters. The mean-looking bastards would be hard to kill and couldrip the platoon to shreds.

The officer swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat, keyedher mike, and whispered some instructions. “Red One to all snipers androcket jockeys. Put everything you have on the Hunters. Do itnow . Over.”

It was hard to say who killed the Hunters, given the sudden barrage ofbullets and rockets that came their way, but McKay didn’t care, so long asthe walking tanks weredead . . . which they definitely were. That was thegood news.

The bad news was that the dropship returned, hosed the boulders with plasmafire, and forced the Helljumpers to duck or lose their heads.

Encouraged by the air support, the Covenant ground troops rushed to enterthe jumble of rocks, eager to find some cover, and kill the treacheroushumans. They were forced to pay a price, however, as the snipers on the hillpicked off five of the alien soldiers before the dropship moved in to exactits revenge.

The Marines were forced to dive deep as the enemy aircraft marched a doubleline of plasma bolts across the top of the tiny mesa, killing two of thesnipers and wounding a third.

Things soon started to get ugly on the rock-strewn hillside as both humansand Covenant hunted one another between the huge, weather-smoothed boulders.

Energy bolts flew and assault weapons chattered, as both sides took part ina deadly game of hide-and-seek. This wasnot what McKay had envisioned, andshe was looking for a way to disengage, when a wave of new hostiles enteredthe fight.

A torrent of the bizarre creatures attackedboth groups from the other sideof the hill. McKay had a glimpse of corpse-flesh, twisted and mangledbodies, and swarms of tiny little spheres that bounced, leaped, and climbedover the rocks.

The first problem was that while the Covenant forces seemed familiar withthe creatures, the Helljumpers weren’t, and three members of the secondsquad had already gone down under the combined weight of multiple forms, andone member of the third had been slaughtered by a grotesque biped, beforeMcKay understood the extent of the danger.

Even as the officer fought her way uphill through the maze of boulders theradio calls continued to boom through her earpiece.

“What the hell is that thing?”

“Fire! Fire! Fire!”

“Get it off me!”

The radio traffic tripled and the command freq turned into such a confusionof screams, requests for orders, and pleas for extraction, that the Marinesmight as well have spoken in tongues.

McKay cursed. No way. No way were thesethings going to break them. No way.

She rounded a boulder, saw a Grunt running downhill with two of thespherical creatures clinging to its back. The Grunt squealed and spun andshe got her first close look at the creatures. A sustained burst from theassault weapon brought all three of them down.

As the Marine worked her way farther uphill, she soon discovered that thenew enemy tookother forms as well. McKay killed a two-legged form, saw aprivate put half a clip into a lumpy-looking monster, and watched in disgustas the dying creature spewed evenmore grotesqueries out into the world.

That was the moment when the third form emerged from between a couple ofboulders, saw the human, and launched itself into the air.

Jenkins had the same view that the others did, spotted the Lieutenant, andhoped she was a good shot. This was better than suicide—this was . . .

But it wasn’t meant to be.

McKay tracked the incoming body, sidestepped, and used the butt of herweapon to clip the side of the creature’s head. It landed in a heap,flailed around, and was just about to jump up when the Lieutenant pounced onit. “Give me a hand!” she shouted. “I want this one alive!”

It took four Marines to subdue the creature, get restraints on both itswrists and ankles, and finally bring it under control. Even at that, one ofthe Helljumpers suffered a black eye, another wound up with a broken arm,and a third bled from a ragged bite wound on his arm.

The ensuing battle lasted for a full fifteen minutes, an eternity in combat,with both humans and Covenant forces taking time out from their battle withone another to concentrate on the new enemy. The moment the last bulbousform was popped, however, they were back at it again, tracking one anotherthrough the maze in a contest of life and death, no quarter asked and nonegiven.

McKay radioed for assistance, and with help from the Reaction Force, plustwo Pelicans and four captured Banshees, she was able to drive the Covenantdropship away and kill those ground troops who weren’t willing tosurrender.

Then, on McKay’s orders, the Helljumpers combed the area for reasonablyintact specimens of thenew enemy which could be taken back to Alpha Base foranalysis.

Finally, after the bodies were recovered, Jenkins was the only specimen thatwas still alive. In spite of the way that he jerked, bucked, and tried tobite his captors they threw him onto the Pelican, roped him to the D-ringsrecessed into the deck, and delivered a few kicks for good measure.

With fully half of her Marines making the return trip in body bags, McKaysat through the seemingly endless journey to Alpha Base. Tears cut tracksdown through the grime on the Helljumper’s face to wet the deck between herboots. The Covenant had been bad enough—but now there was an even worseenemy to fight. Now, for the first time since the landing on Halo, McKayfelt nothing but despair.

The Spartan left Sergeant Mobuto’s body behind and approached one of thelarge metal doors, pleased to see that it was open. He crouched and passedthrough. 343 Guilty Spark disappeared on one of his mysterious errands a fewmoments later, and, like clockwork, the Flood came out to play.

He was ready for them. The Flood swept into the room—dozens of the bulbousinfection forms scuttling along the walls and floor, with another half dozenof the combat forms in tow.

They paused, as if in confusion. One of the combat forms looked up—and theSpartan dropped from the pillar he’d shimmied up. His metal boots pulpedthe creature’s face. Assault rifle fire raked the leading edge of thecluster of infection forms. The pods detonated in a chain-reaction string.

Thatgot their attention , he thought. The Chief turned and ran. He jumped uponto a raised platform as he fought, disengaged, and fought again. Finally,as the last body fell, both the Monitor and the Sentinels reappeared.

The Spartan looked at them in disgust as he reloaded his weapons, scroungedammo off the Flood combat forms, and followed 343 Guilty Spark out onto alift that was identical to the last one he’d been on.

The platform carried the human up to a still higher level, where he got off,paused to let the Sentinels soften up the Flood welcome wagon that waitedout in the hall, then emerged to lend a hand. There was a loudboom! as oneof the combat forms leaped from an archway and landed right on top of aSentinel. Its whip-tendril flailed at the hovering robot’s back and wasrewarded with a series of sparks and a gout of flame. A moment later, theSentinel exploded, and the Flood and the wrecked drone crashed into thefloor in a ball of flesh, bone, and metal. The resulting shower of shrapnelcut three Flood forms down and wounded a score of others.

The Spartan took another out with a burst from his assault weapon and theother robots moved in to fry the remains.

Once that contingent of freaks had been dealt with, the Chief followed theMonitor down a hall lined with blue screens, through an area that wasinfested with Flood, and out onto a lift that looked different from the lastone he’d been on. Geometric patterns split the floor into puzzlelikeshapes, a series of raised panels stood guard around a column of translucentblue light, and the whole thing seemed to glow.

The Master Chief stepped on board, felt a slight jerk as ancient machineryreacted to his presence, and saw the walls start to rise. He was headed downthis time—and hoped that his journey was near an end. Without hesitation,he slammed fresh ammo into his weapon; it seemed as if he emerged into ahuge cluster of Flood every time he traveled on a lift.

The lift made hollow, rumbling sounds, fell a long way, and stopped with areverberating thud.

343 Guilty Spark hovered over his shoulder as the Spartan stepped off thelift and approached a pedestal. “You may now retrieve the Index,” theMonitor said. The artifact glowed lime green; it was shaped like the letterT. It slowly rose from the top of the cylindrical tube in which it had beenkept for so many millennia. A series of metal blocks that encircled thedevice rotated and spun, releasing their protective grip on the Index.

The Spartan took hold of the device, and pulled it up and out of its tubularsheath. He held it up to examine the glowing artifact—and was startled whena gray beam lanced from Spark. The Index was yanked from his hand anddisappeared inside a storage chamber in the Monitor’s body.

“What the hell are you doing?” the Spartan demanded.

“As you know, Reclaimer,” Spark said, as if addressing an errant child,“protocol requires thatI take possession of the Index for transport.”

343 Guilty Spark swooped and dived, then floated in place. “Your biologicalform renders you vulnerable to infection. The Index must not fall into thehands of the Flood before we reach the Control Room and activate theinstallation.

“The Flood is spreading! We must hurry.”

The Master Chief was about to reply when he saw the bands of pulsating lightflowing down around his body, knew he was about to be teleported, and againfelt light-headed.

It wanted something,Keyes realized. The memories that replayed like anendless library of video clips were being sifted for something. The buzzingpresence in his mind sought . . .what?

He grasped at the thought, and pushed back against the wall of resistancethe other that burrowed through his consciousness had erected. He brushed upagainst it and it almost slipped away . . .

Then he had it—escape. Whatever this thing was, it wantedoff the ring. Ithungered, and there was a perfect feeding ground to be found.

The other plunged a barbed-wire tendril into his mind and ripped forth animage of a lunar Earthrise, which blurred into images of cattle in aslaughterhouse. He felt the other’s tendrils eagerly grasp at the image ofEarth.Where? It thundered.Tell.

The pressure increased and battered through Keyes’ resistance, and indesperation he summoned up a new memory. The alien presence seemed startledat the image of Keyes and a childhood friend kicking a soccer ball on avibrant green field.

The pressure eased as the hungry other examined the memory.

Keyes felt a stab of regret. He knew what he had to do now.

He dragged all he remembered of Earth—its location, his ability to find it,its defenses—and shoved them down, as deep as he could.

Keyes felt the gaping sense of loss as the memory of the soccer field wasripped away and discarded forever. He quickly summoned up another—the tasteof a favorite meal. He began to feed his memories to the invading presencein his mind, one scrap at a time.

Of all the battles he’d ever fought, this one was the toughest—and themost important.

The Chief rematerialized back on the walkway which seemed to float over theblack abyss below—the Control Room. He saw the replica of Halo which archedabove, the globe that floated at the center of the walkway, and the controlpanel where he had last seen Cortana. Was she still there?

343 Guilty Spark hovered above his head. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing.”

“Splendid. Shall we?”

The Spartan made his way forward. The control board was long and curved ateither end. An endless light show played across the surface of the panel asvarious aspects of the ring world’s extremely complicated electronic andmechanical machinery fed a constant flow of data to the display, all ofwhich appeared as a mosaic of constantly morphing glyphs and symbols.

Here, if one knew how to read it, were the equivalents of the ring world’spulse, respirations, and brain waves. Reports that provided information onthe rate of spin, the atmosphere, the weather, the highly complex biosphere,the machinery that kept all of it running, plus the activities of thecreatures around whom the world had been formed: the Flood. It was awesometo look at—and even more awesome to consider.

343 Guilty Spark hovered above the control panel and looked down on thehuman who stood in front of him. There was something supercilious about thetone of the construct’s voice. “My role in this particular endeavor hascome to an end. Protocol does not allow units from my classification toperform a task as important as the reunification of the Index with theCore.”

The Monitor zipped around to hover at the Master Chief’s side. “That finalstep is reserved foryou , Reclaimer.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” the Chief asked. Spark kept silent.

The Spartan shrugged, accepted the Index, and gazed at the panel in front ofhim. One likely-looking slot pulsed the same glowing green that shone fromthe Index. He slid it home. The T-shaped device fit perfectly.

The control panel shivered as if stabbed, the displays flared as if inresponse to an overload, and an electronic groan was heard. 343 Guilty Sparktilted slightly as if to look at the control board.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Spark chirped.

There was a sudden shimmer of light as Cortana’s holographic figureappeared and continued to grow until she towered over the control panel. Hereyes were bright pink, data scrolled across her body, and the Chief knew shewas pissed. “Oh, really?” she said. She gestured, and the Monitor fell outof the air and hit the deck with a clank.

The Spartan looked up at her. “Cortana—”

The AI stood with hands on hips. “I spent hours cooped in here watching youtoady about helping that . . .thing get set to slit our throats.”

The Chief turned toward the Monitor and back. “Hold on now. He’s afriend.”

Cortana brought a hand up to her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh, I didn’trealize. He’s yourpal , is he? Yourchum ? Do you have any idea what thatbastard almost made you do?”

“Yes,” the Spartan said patiently. “Activate Halo’s defenses and destroythe Flood. Which is why we brought the Index to the Control Center.”

Cortana’s image plucked the Index out of its slot and held it out in frontof her. “You meanthis ?”

Now reanimated, 343 Guilty Spark hovered just off the floor. He was furious.

“A construct in the core? That is absolutely unacceptable!”

Cortana’s eyes glowed as she bent forward. “Piss off.”

The Monitor darted higher. “What impertinence! I shall purge you at once.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Cortana inquired as she waved the Index,then added the data contained within it to her memory.

“How dare you!” Spark exclaimed. “I’ll—”

“Do what?” Cortana demanded. “I have the Index.You can float andsputter.”

The Master Chief held both hands up. One held the assault rifle. “Enough!

The Flood is spreading. If we activate Halo’s defenses we can wipe themout.”

Cortana looked down on the human with an expression of pity. “You have noidea how this ring works, do you? Why the Forerunners built it?”

She leaned forward, her face grim. “Halo doesn’t kill Flood—it killstheirfood . Human, Covenant, whatever. You’re all equally edible. The onlyway to stop the Flood is to starve them to death. And that’s exactly whatHalo is designed to do. Wipe the galaxy clean ofall sentient life. Youdon’t believe me?” the AI finished. “Askhim !” and she pointed to 343Guilty Spark.

The ramifications of what Cortana said hit home, and he gripped his MA5Btightly. He rounded on the Monitor. “Is it true?”

Spark bobbed slightly. “Of course,” the construct said directly. Then,sounding more like his officious self again, “This installation has amaximum effective radius of twenty-five thousand light years, but once theothers follow suit, this galaxy will be quite devoid of life, or at leastany life with sufficient biomass to sustain the Flood.

“But you already knew this,” the AI continued contritely. The littledevice sounded genuinely puzzled. “I mean, howcouldn’t you?”

Cortana glowered at the Chief. “Left out that little detail, did he?”

“We followed outbreak containment procedure to the letter,” the Monitorsaid defensively. “You were with me each step of the way as we managed theprocess.”

“Chief,” Cortana interrupted, “I’m picking up movement—”

“Why would you hesitate to do what you’ve already done?” 343 Guilty Sparkdemanded.

“We need to go,” Cortana insisted. “Rightnow !”

“Last time you asked me: if it were my choice, would I do it?” the Monitorcontinued, as a flock of Sentinels arrayed themselves behind him. “Havinghad considerable time to ponder your query, my answer has not changed. Thereis no choice. We must activate the ring.”

“Get. Us. Out. Of. Here,” Cortana said, her eyes tracking the Sentinels.

“If you are unwilling to help—I will simply find another,” Spark saidconversationally. “Still, I must have the Index. Give your construct to meor I will be forced to take it from you.”

The Spartan looked up at Spark and the machines arrayed in the air behindhim. The assault weapon came up ready to fire. “That’s not going tohappen.”

“So be it,” the Monitor said wearily. Then, in a comment directed to theSentinels, he added: “Save his head. Dispose of the rest.”
Section V Two Betrayals
D+68:03:27 (SPARTAN-117 Mission Clock) /Halo Control Room.

The vast platform that extended out over the Control Room’s black abyssfelt small and confining as the Master Chief was attacked from everydirection at once. Ruby red energy beams sizzled, and the smell of ozonefilled the air as the airborne Sentinels circled, searching for a chink inhis armor. All they needed was one good hit, a chance to put him down, andthey would be able not only to take his head, but the Index as well.

Cortana’s intrusion skills had become much less conventional since thelanding on Halo. He had been surprised when she’d used his suit comm as ade facto modem to broadcast her way into the Control Room computers. He wasalso unprepared for her sudden return. After so much time in the ring’smassive systems, she felt somehow larger. He pondered her unusual behavior—her shortness, the flare of temper.

There was no time to consider Cortana’s “mental state.” There was still amission to achieve: protect Cortana, and keep Spark the hell away from theIndex. For his part the Spartan wove back and forth, conscious of the factthat the walkway had no rails, and how easy it would be to fall off theedge. That made hitting his targets a great deal more difficult. Still, hehad seen the Flood bring Sentinels down, and figured that if the combatforms could do it, so could he. He decided to tackle the lowest machinesfirst.

He was careful to get a good lead on each target. The assault riflestuttered, and the nearest target exploded. He switched to the shotgun andfired methodically. He pumped a new round into the chamber, and fired again.

Thanks to the broad pattern provided by each shell, the pump gun soon proveditself to be an extremely effective weapon against the Sentinels.

One of the machines exploded, another hit the deck with a loud clang, and athird trailed smoke as it spiraled into the darkness below.

The battle became somewhat easier after that, as there was less and lessincoming fire, and he was able to knock three more robots out of the air inquick succession.

He started to move, reloading as he went. One especially persistent machinetook advantage of the interlude to score three hits on his back, whichtriggered the audible alarm, and pushed his shield to the very edge.

With only four shells in his weapon, the Chief turned, blew the robot out ofthe air, and spun to nail another. Then, weapon raised, he turned in acircle, searching for more targets. There weren’t any.

“So,” he said as he lowered the shotgun and pushed more shells into thereceiver, “don’t tell me—let me guess. You have a plan.”

“Yes,” Cortana replied unabashedly, “I do. We can’t let the Monitoractivate Halo. We have to stop him—we have to destroy Halo.”

The Spartan nodded and flexed his stiff shoulders. “And how do we dothat?”

“According to my analysis of the available data I believe the best courseof action is somewhat risky.”

Naturally,the Chief thought.

“An explosion of sufficient size,” Cortana explained, “will helpdestabilize the ring—and will cut through a number of primary systems. Weneed to trigger a detonation on a large scale, however. A starship’s fusionreactors going critical would do the job.

“I’m going to find out where thePillar of Autumn went down. If the ship’sfusion reactors are still relatively intact, we can usethem to destroyHalo.”

“Is thatall ?” the Spartan inquired dryly. “Sounds like a walk in thepark. By the way, it’s nice to have you back.”

“It’s nice tobe back,” Cortana said, and he knew she meant it. Althoughthere were any number of “natural” bio-sentients that she thought of asfriends, the bond the AI shared with the Spartan was unique. So long as theyshared the same armor they would share the same fate. Ifhe died thenshedied. Relationships don’t get any more interdependent than that, somethingthat struck Cortana as both wonderful and frightening.

His boots made a hollow sound as he approached the gigantic blast doors andhit the switch. They parted to reveal a battle in progress between a groupof Sentinels and Covenant ground troops. Red lasers split the air intojagged shapes as robots burned a Jackal down. The contest was far from onesided, however, as one of the machines exploded and showered the Covenantwith bits of hot metal.

The room was a long rectangular affair with a strangely corrugated floor.

Standing at one end of the space, and well out of harm’s way, the Spartanwas content to watch and let the two groups whittle each other down.

However, when the last robot crashed, leaving two Elites still on theirfeet, the Master Chief knew he’d have to take them on.

The Covenant spotted the human, knew he’d have to come to them, and stoodwaiting. The Chief took advantage of what little bit of cover there was andmade his way down the length of the room. With only half a clip of ammo leftin his assault rifle, he had little choice but to tackle them with theshotgun—far from ideal at this range.

He fired a couple of rounds just to get their attention, waited for theElites to charge, and lobbed a plasma grenade into the gap between them. Theexplosion killed one soldier and wounded the other. A single blast from theshotgun was sufficient to finish the job. Striding though the carnage, heexchanged the assault weapon for a plasma rifle.

From there it was a short journey through an empty room and out onto the toplevel of the pyramid. It was dark, and a fresh layer of snow had fallensince the time when the noncom had battled his way up to the Control Roomfrom the valley below.

There were guards, but all of them had their backs to the hatch, and didn’tbother to turn until the doors were halfway open. That was when they saw thehuman, did a series of double takes, and started to respond. But the Chiefwas ready and used the energy weapon to hose them down. The Elites jerkedand fell, quickly followed by several Jackals and Grunts.

Then, just as suddenly as the violence had started, it was over. Snowswirled around the sole figure who remained standing, began the long,painstaking job of covering each body with a shroud of white, and fosteredan illusion of peace.

Cortana took advantage of the momentary pause to update the Spartanregarding her plan. “We need to buy some time in case the Monitor or hisSentinels find a way to activate Halo’s final weapon without the Index.

“The machines in these canyons are Halo’s primary firing mechanisms. Theyconsist of three phase pulse generators that amplify Halo’s signal andallow it to fire deep into space. If we damage or destroy the generators,the Monitor will need to repair them before Halo can be used. That shouldbuy us some time. I’m marking the location of the nearest pulse generatorwith a nav point. We need to move and neutralize the device.”

“Roger that,” the Chief said, as he made his way down the first ramp tothe platform below. Once again the element of surprise worked in his favor.

He killed two Elites, caught a couple of Jackals as they tried to run, andnailed a Grunt as it appeared from below.

The wind whistled around the side of the pyramid. The Spartan left a trailof large bootprints as he made his way down to the point where the ramp metthe next level walkway, crossed to the other side of the structure, and raninto a pair of Elites as they hit the top of the up ramp and rounded thecorner.

There wasn’t enough time to do anything but fire, and keep on firing, in anattempt to overwhelm the Covenant armor. It wouldn’t have worked had thealiens been farther away, but the fact that the plasma pulses were poundingthem in close made all the difference. The first Elite made a horriblegurgling sound as he fell and the second got a shot off but lost half of hisface. He brought his hands up to the hole, made a gruesome discovery, andwas just about to scream when an energy bolt took his life.

Then, as the Spartan prepared to descend into the valley below, Cortanasaid, “Wait, we should commandeer one of those Banshees. We’ll need it toreach the pulse generator in time.” Like many of the AI’s suggestions,this was easier said than done, but the Chief was in favor of speed, andfiled the possibility away.

Now, as he came down off the pyramid, he saw lots of Covenant, but no Flood,and felt a strange sense of relief. The Covenant were tough, but heunderstood them, and that lessened his apprehension.

The alien plasma rifle lacked the precision offered by an M6D pistol or asniper’s rifle, but the Chief did the best he could to pick off some of theCovenant below. Still, he had only nailed three of the aliens when hisefforts attracted the attention of a Wraith tank, along withmore troops.

There was nothing he could do except retreat back uphill.

The Wraith, which continued to hurl plasma bombs up-slope, actually helpedby preventing other Covenant forces from charging after him. That advantagewouldn’t last long, though, which meant that he had to find some additionalfire power, and find it fast.

Even though there was no sign of the Flood at the moment, some of theirhalf-frozen bodies lay scattered about, suggesting that there had been asignificant battle within the last couple of hours. He knew the Floodcarried weapons acquired from dead victims, so the Chief ran from corpse tocorpse, looking for what he required. For a while it seemed hopeless as heuncovered a series of M6Ds, energy pistols, combat knives, and other gear—anything and everything except what he needed most.

Then, just when he had nearly given up hope, he saw a few inches of olivedrab tubing protruding from under a dead combat form. He rolled the ex-Eliteover, and felt a rising sense of excitement. Was the launcher loaded? If so,he was in luck.

A quick check revealed that the weaponwas loaded, and as if to prove thatluck comes in threes, the Spartan found two reloads only a few meters away.

Armed with the launcher, he was ready to go to work. The Wraith representedthe most significant threat, so he decided to deal with that first. It tooktime to make his way back across the face of the pyramid to a point where hecould get a clear shot, but he did. The monster was dangerously close as heput a pair of rockets into the mortar tank, and watched it explode.

He ejected the spent rocket tubes, slammed a reload home, and shifted hisaim. Two more rockets lanced ahead, and detonated in clusters of Covenantsoldiers. He fell back and slung the rocket launcher; he had a limitedsupply of rockets, and once they were gone, he had no choice but to go downonto the valley floor and finish the job the hard way.

He crept up on the pair of Elites who stood guard near a Banshee. They wentdown from deadly, spine-cracking blows and he stepped past their fallencorpses. He examined the Banshee’s controls while Cortana pulled up filesthe tech boys in Intel had prepared based on examinations of captured craft.

He boarded the single-seat aircraft, and activated its power plant. Hewondered why the aliens hadn’t used the ship against him, was thankful thatthey hadn’t, and eyed the instrument panel. The Master Chief had neverflown one of the attack ships before, but was qualified to fly most of theUNSC’s atmospheric and spacegoing ships so, between his own experience andthe tech files Cortana provided, he found the controls relatively easy tounderstand. The takeoff was a bit wobbly, but it wasn’t long before theflight began to smooth out, and the Banshee started to climb.

It was dark, and snow continued to fall, which meant that visibility waspoor. He kept a close eye on both the nav point Cortana had projected ontohis HUD and the instrument panel. The design was different, but an alienturn and bank indicator still looked like what it was, and helped the humanmaintain his orientation.

The attack ship made good speed, and the valleys were quite close together,so it wasn’t long before the Spartan spotted the well-lit platform whichjutted out from the face of the cliff, as well as the enemy fire whichlashed up to greet him. The word was out, it seemed—and the Covenantdidn’t want any visitors.

Rather than put down under fire, he decided to carry out a couple ofstrafing runs first. He swooped low and used the Banshee’s plasma and fuelrod cannons to sweep the platform clear of sentries before decelerating forwhat he hoped would be an unopposed landing.

The Banshee crunched into the platform, bounced once, then ground to a halt.

The Chief dismounted, passed through a hatch, and entered the tunnel beyond.

“We need to interrupt the pulse generator’s energy stream,” Cortanainformed him. “I have adjusted your shield system so that it will deliveran EMP burst and disrupt the generator . . . but you’ll have to walk intothe beam to trigger it.”

The Master Chief paused just shy of the next hatch. “I’ll have todowhat ?”

“You’ll have to walkinto the beam to trigger it,” the AI repeated matterof-factly. “The EMP blast should neutralize the generator.”

“Should?”the Chief demanded. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours,”Cortana replied firmly. “We’re in this together—remember?”

“Yeah,I remember,” the Spartan growled. “But you’re not the one with thebruises.”

The AI chose to remain silent as the Chief passed through a hatch, paused tosee if anyone would attempt to cancel his ticket, and followed the navindicator to the chamber located at the center of the room.

Once he was there the pulse generator was impossible to miss. It was sointensely white that his visor automatically darkened in order to protecthis eyes. Not only that, but the Chief could feel the air crackle around himas he approached the delta-shaped guide structures, and prepared to step inbetween them. “I have to walk into that thing?” the Chief inquireddoubtfully. “Isn’t there some easier way to commit suicide?”

“You’ll be fine,” Cortana replied soothingly. “I’m almost sure of it.”

The Spartan took note of the “almost,” clenched his teeth, and pushedhimself into the blindingly intense light. The response was nearlyinstantaneous. There was something akin to an explosion, the light startedto pulsate, and the floor shook in response. The Chief hurried to disengage,felt a bit of suction, but managed to pull free. As he did so he noticedthat his shields had been drained. His skin felt sunburned.

“The pulse generator’s central core is off-line,” Cortana said. “Welldone.”

Another squadron of Sentinels arrived. They swooped into the cramped pulse-generator chamber like vultures, fanned out, and seared the area with ruby-red energy beams. Not only did the Monitor take exception to the damage—hewas after the Index too.

But the Chief knew how to deal with the mechanical killers, and proceeded tododge their lasers as he destroyed one after another. Finally, the air thickwith the stench of ozone, he was free to withdraw. He went back through thesame tunnel to the platform where the Banshee waited.

“The second pulse generator is located in an adjacent canyon,” Cortanaannounced easily. “Move out and I’ll mark the nav point when we getcloser.”

The Master Chief sent the Banshee into a wide bank, and toward the nextobjective.

Minus the refrigeration required to preserve them, the bodies laid out onthe metal tables had already started to decay, and the stench forced Silvato breathe through his mouth as he entered the makeshift morgue and waitedfor McKay to begin her presentation.

Six heavily armed Helljumpers were lined up along one wall ready to respondif one or more of the Flood suddenly came back to life. It seemed unlikelygiven the level of damage each corpse had sustained, but the creatures hadproven themselves to be extremely resilient, and had an alarming tendency toreanimate.

McKay, who was still trying to deal with the fact that more than fifteenMarines under her command had lost their lives in a single battle, lookedpale. Silva understood, even sympathized, but couldn’t allow that to show.

There was simply no time for grief, self-doubt, or guilt. The CompanyCommander would have to do whathe did, which was to suck it up and keep ongoing. He nodded coolly.

“Lieutenant?”

McKay swallowed in an attempt to counter the nausea she felt. “Sir, yessir. Obviously there’s still a great deal that we don’t know, but based onour observations during the fight, and information obtained from CovenantPOWs, here’s the best intelligence we have. It seems that the Covenant camehere searching for ‘holy relics’—we think that means useful technology—and ran into a life form they refer to as ‘the Flood.’ ” She gestured atthe fallen creatures on the slab. “Thoseare Flood.”

“Charming,” Silva muttered.

“As best we can figure out,” McKay said, “the Flood is a parasitic lifeform which attacks sentient beings, erases their minds, and takes control oftheir bodies. Wellsley believes that Halo was constructed to house them, tokeep them under control, but we have no direct evidence to support that.

Perhaps Cortana or the Chief can confirm our findings when we’re able tomake contact with them again.

“The Flood manifests in various forms starting withthese things,” McKaysaid, using her combat knife to prod a flaccid infection form. “As you cansee, it has tentacles in place of legs, plus a couple of extremely sharppenetrators, which they use to invade the victim’s central nervous systemand take control of it. Eventually they work their way inside the host bodyand take up residence there.”

Silva tried to imagine what that might feel like and felt a shiver run downhis spine. Outwardly he was unchanged. “Please continue.”

McKay said, “Yes, sir,” and moved to the next table. “This is what theCovenant call a ‘combat form.’ As you can see from what remains of itsface, this one was human. We think she was a Navy weapons tech, based on thetattoos still visible on her skin. If you peek through the hole in her chestyou can see the remains of the infection form that deflated itself enough tofit in around her heart and lungs.”

Silva didn’twant to look, but felt he had to, and moved close enough to seethe wrinkled scalp, to which a few isolated clumps of filthy hair stillclung. His eyes catalogued a parade of horrors: the sickly looking skin; thealarmingly blue eyes which still bulged, as if in response to someunimaginable pain; the twisted, toothless mouth; the slightly puckered7.62mm bullet hole through the right cheekbone; the lumpy, penetrator-filledneck; the bony chest, now split down the middle so that the woman’s flatbreasts hung down to either side; the grossly distorted torso, punctured bythree overlapping bullet wounds; the thin, sinewy arms; and the strangelygraceful fingers, one of which still bore a silver ring.

The Major didn’t say anything, but his face must have telegraphed what hefelt, because McKay nodded. “It’s pretty awful, isn’t it, sir? I’ve seendeath before, sir—” she swallowed and shook her head, “—but nothing likethis.

“For what it’s worth Covenant victims don’t look any better. Thisindividual was armed with a pistol, her own probably, but the Flood seem topick up and use any weapon they can lay their hands on. Not only that, butthey pack a very nasty punch, which can be lethal.

“Most combat forms appear to be derived from humans and Elites,” McKaycontinued, as she moved to the last table. “We suspect that Grunts andJackals are deemed too small for first-class combat material, and aretherefore used as a sort of nucleus around which carrier forms can grow.

It’s hard to tell by looking at the puddle of crap on the table in front ofyou, but at one time this thing containedfour of the infection forms you sawearlier, and when it popped the resulting explosion had enough force toknock Sergeant Lister on his can.”

That, or the mental picture that it conveyed, was sufficient to elicitnervous grins from the Helljumpers who lined the back wall. Apparently theyliked the idea of something that could put Lister on his ass.

Silva frowned. “Does Wellsley have scans of this stuff?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Nice job. Have the bodies burned, send these troops up for somefresh air, and report to my office in an hour.”

McKay nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Zuka ’Zamamee lay belly down on the hard-packed dirt and used his monocularto scan thePillar of Autumn . It wasn’t heavily guarded; the Covenant wasstretched too thin for that, but the Council had reinforced the securityforce subsequent to the human raid, and evidence of that was visible in theBanshees, Ghosts, and Wraiths that patrolled the area around the downedship. Yayap, who lay next to the Elite, had no such device and was forced torely on his own vision.

“This plan is insane,” ’Zamamee said out of the side of his mouth. “Ishould have killed you a long time ago.”

“Yes, Excellency,” the Grunt agreed patiently, knowing that the talk wasjust that. The truth was that the officer wasafraid to return to theTruthand Reconciliation , and now had very little choice but to accept Yayap’splan, especially in light of the fact that he had been unable to come upwith one of his own.

“Give it to me one more time,” the Elite demanded, “so I’ll know thatyou won’t make any mistakes.”

Yayap eyed the readout on his wrist. He had two, maybe two and a half unitsof methane left, before his tanks were empty and he would suffocate, aproblem which didn’t seem to trouble the Elite at all. It was tempting topull his pistol, shoot ’Zamamee in the head, and implement the strategy onhis own. But there were advantages to being in company with the warrior—plus a giddy sense of power that went with having threatened the warrior andsurvived. With that in mind Yayap managed to suppress both his panic and arising sense of resentment.

“Of course, Excellency. As you know, simple plans are often best, which iswhy there is a good chance this one will work. On the possibility that theCouncil of Masters is actively looking for Zuka ’Zamamee, you will chooseone of the commandos who died on the human encampment, and assume thatindividual’s identity.

“Then, with me at your side, we will report to the officer in charge ofguarding the alien ship, explain that we were taken prisoner in theaftermath of the raid, but were subsequently able to escape.”

“But what then?” the Elite inquired warily. “What if he submits my DNAfor a match?”

“Why would he do that?” the Grunt countered patiently. “He’sshorthanded, and here, as if presented by the great ones themselves, is acommando Elite. Wouldyou run the risk of having such a find reassigned? No,I think not. Under circumstances such as these you would seize theopportunity to add such a highly capable warrior to your command, and givethanks for the blessing.”

It sounded good, especially the “highly capable warrior” part, so’Zamamee agreed. “Fine. What about later?”

“Later, if thereis a later,” Yayap said wearily, “we will have to come upwith another plan. In the meantime this initiative will assure us of food,water, and methane.”

“All right,” ’Zamamee said, “let’s jump on the Banshee and make ourappearance.”

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” the Grunt inquired tactfully. “Ifwe arrive on a Banshee, the commanding officer might wonder why we were soslow to check in.”

The Elite eyed what looked like a long, hard walk, sighed, and acquiesced.

“Agreed.” A hint of his former arrogance resurfaced. “Butyou will carrymy gear.”

“Of course,” Yayap said, scrambling to his feet. “Was there ever anydoubt?”

The inmate had attempted suicide twice, which was why the interior of hiscell was bare, and under round-the-clock surveillance. The creature that hadonce been Private Wallace A. Jenkins sat on the floor with both wristschained to an eyebolt located just over his head.

The Flood mind, which the human continued to think of as “the other,” hadbeen quiet for a while, but was present nonetheless, and glowered in whatamounted to a cognitive corner, angry but weak. Hinges squealed as the metaldoor swung open. Jenkins turned to look, and saw a male noncom enter theroom followed by a female officer.

The private felt an almost overwhelming sense of shame—and did what hecould to turn away. Earlier, before the guards secured his wrists to thewall, Jenkins had used pantomime to request a mirror. A well-meaningCorporal brought one in, held it up in front of the soldier’s devastatedface, and was frightened when he tried to scream. The initial suicideattempt followed thirty minutes later.

McKay took a look at the prisoner’s dry, parched lips and guessed that hemight be thirsty. She called for some water, accepted a canteen, and startedacross the cell. “With respect, ma’am, I don’t think you should dothat,” the Sergeant said cautiously. “These suckers are incrediblyviolent.”

“Jenkins is a Private in the UNSC Marine Corps,” McKay replied sternly,“and will be referred to as such. And your concern has been noted.”

Then, like a teacher dealing with a recalcitrant child, she held the canteenout where Jenkins could see it. “Look!” she said, sloshing the water backand forth. “Behave yourself and I’ll give you a drink.”

Jenkins tried to warn her, tried to say “No,” but heard himself gabbleinstead. Thus encouraged, McKay unscrewed the canteen’s lid, took threesteps forward, and was just about to lean over when the combat formattacked. Jenkins felt his left arm break as the chain brought it up short—and fought to counter the other’s attempt to grab the officer in a scissorlock.

McKay stepped back just in time to evade the flailing legs.

There was a clacking sound as the guard pumped a shell into the shotgun’sreceiver and prepared to fire. McKay shouted, “No!” and held up her hand.

The noncom obeyed but kept his weapon aimed at the combat form’s head.

“Okay,” McKay said, looking into the creature’s eyes, “have it your way.

But, like it or not, we’re going to have a talk.”

Silva had entered the cell by then and stood behind the Lieutenant. TheSergeant saw the Major nod, and backed into a corner with his weapon stillheld at the ready.

“My name is Silva,” the Major began, “and you already know LieutenantMcKay here. First, let me say that both of us are extremely sorry about whathappened to you, we understand how you feel, and will make sure that youreceive the best medical care that the UNSC has to offer. But first we haveto fight our way off this ring. I think I know how we can do that—but itwill take some time. We need to hold this butte until we’re ready to makeour move. That’s whereyou come in. You know where we are now—and you knowhow the Flood move around. If you had my job, if you had to defend this baseagainst the Flood, where wouldyou focus your efforts?”

The other used his right hand to grab his left, jerked hard, and exposed ashard of broken bone. Then, as if hoping to use that as a knife, the combatform lunged forward. The chains brought the creature up short. Jenkins feltindescribable pain, began to lose consciousness, but fought his way back.

Silva looked at McKay and shrugged. “Well, it was worth a try, but it lookslike he’s too far gone.”

Jenkins half expected the other to lunge forward again, but having shared inthe human’s pain, the alien consciousness chose that moment to retreat. Thehuman surged into the gap, made hooting sounds, and used his good hand topoint at Silva’s right boot.

The officer looked down at his boot, frowned, and was about to say somethingwhen McKay touched his arm. “He isn’t pointing at your boot, sir, he’spointingdown . At the area under the butte.”

Silva felt something cold trickle into his veins. “Is that right, son? TheFlood could be directlybelow us?”

Jenkins nodded emphatically, rolled his eyes, and made inarticulate gaggingsounds.

The Major nodded and came to his feet. “Thank you, Private. We’ll checkthe basement and be back to speak with you some more.”

Jenkins didn’t want to talk, he wanted todie , but nobody cared. The guardsleft, the door clanged shut, and the Marine was left with nothing but abroken arm and the alien inside his head. Somehow, without actually dying,he had been sentenced to hell.

As if to confirm that conclusion the other surged to the fore, yanked at thechains, and beat its feet on the floor. Food had been present, food hadleft, and it remained hungry.

The Master Chief spotted the next way point, put the hijacked Banshee downon a platform, and entered the complex via an unguarded hatch. He heard thebattle before he actually saw it, made his way through the interveningtunnel, and peered through the next door. As had occurred before, theCovenant was busy taking it to the Flood and vice versa, so he gave bothgroups some time to whittle each other down, left the security of thetunnel, and proceeded to tidy up.

Then, eager to replenish his supplies, the Spartan made his ghoulish rounds,and soon was able to equip himself with an assault weapon, a shotgun, andsome plasma grenades. Even though he didn’t like to think about where itcame from, it felt good to dump the Covenant ordnance he’d been saddledwith, and lay his hands on some true-blue UNSC issue for a change.

Pulse generator one had been dealt with, and he was eager to disable numbertwo, then move on to his final objective. He stepped into the beam, saw theflash of light, felt the floor shake, and was in the process of pulling awaywhen the Flood attacked from every direction.

There was no time to think and no time to fight. The only thing he could dowas run. He turned and sprinted for the corridor he’d used to enter thechamber and took two powerful blows from a combat form. He bulled his waybetween two carrier forms and leaped out of the way as they detonated likegrenades. New infection forms spewed from their deflating corpses.

There was barely enough time to turn, hose the closest forms with 7.62mm,and toss a grenade at the group beyond. It went off with a loudwham! , brokeglass, and put three of the monstrosities down.

He was out of ammo by then, knew he lacked the time necessary to reload, andmade the switch to the shotgun instead. The gun blew huge holes through theoncoming mob. He charged through one of them, and ran like hell.

Then, with some pad to work with, the human turned to gun down the pursuers.

The entire battle consumed no more than two minutes but it left the Chiefshaken. Could Cortana detect the slight tremor in his hands as he reloadedboth weapons? Hell, she had unrestricted access to all of his vital signs,so she knew more about what was going on with his body than he did. Still,if the AI was conscious of the way he felt, there was no sign of it in herwords. “Pulse generator deactivated—good work.”

The Chief nodded wordlessly and made his way back through the tunnel to thepoint where the Banshee waited. “ThePillar of Autumn is located twelvehundred kilometers up-spin,” Cortana continued. “Energy readings show herfusion reactors are still powered up! The systems on thePillar of Autumnhave fail-safes even I can’t override without authorization from theCaptain. We’ll have to find him, or his neural implants, to start thefusion core detonation.

“Onetarget remaining. Let’s take care of the final pulse generator.”

A nav indicator appeared on the noncom’s HUD as he lifted off, took firefrom a neighboring installation, and put the attack ship into a steep dive.

The ground came up fast, he pulled out, and guided the alien assault craftthrough a pass and into the canyon beyond. The nav indicator pointed towardthe light that spilled out of a tunnel. The Banshee began to take groundfire, and the Spartan knew his piloting skills were about to be severelytested.

A rocket flashed by as he pushed the Banshee down onto the deck, fired theaircraft’s weapons, and cut power. Flying into the tunnel was bad enough—but flying into it at high speed verged on suicidal.

Once inside the passageway the challenge was to stay off the walls and makethe tight right- and left-hand turns without killing himself. A few secondslater the Spartan saw double blast doors and flared in for a jarringlanding.

He hopped down, made his way over to the control panel, hit the switch, andheard a rumbling sound as the doors started to part. Then there was abang!

as something exploded and the enormous panels came to a sudden stop. Theresulting gap was too small for the Banshee, but sufficient for two carrierforms to scuttle through. The beasts scrambled toward him on short, stubbylegs. The humpbacked bladders that formed their upper torsos pulsed andwriggled as the infection forms within struggled for release.

The Chief blew both monsters away with twin shotgun blasts, and mopped upthe rest of the infection forms with another shot. He paused and reloaded;there were bound to be more of the creatures on the far side of the doors.

Resigned to a fight, he stepped through the crack and paused. There was nosound beyond the gentle roar of machinery, thedrip, drip, drip of water offto his right, and the rasp of his own breathing. The threat indicator wasclear, and there were no enemies in sight, but that didn’t mean much. Notwhere the Flood were concerned. They had a habit of coming out of nowhere.

The cave, if that was the proper word for the huge cavernlike space,featured plenty of places to hide. Enormous pipes emerged from the walls anddived downward, mysterious installations stood like islands on the platformaround him, and there was no way to know what might lurk in the darkcorners. Lights, mounted high above, provided what little illumination therewas.

The human stood on a broad platform that ran the full length of the openarea. A deep chasm separated his platform from what appeared to be anidentical structure on the other side of the canyon. One of two bridges thathad once spanned the gorge was down, leaving only one over which he couldpass—a made-to-order choke point for anyone who wanted to establish anambush.

There wasn’t a hell of a lot of choice, so he marched down to the pointwhere the remaining span was anchored, and started across. He hadn’t gonemore than thirty paces before fifty or sixty infection forms emerged fromhiding and danced out to block the way.

The Spartan held his position, waited for the Flood forms to come a littlecloser, and tossed a fragmentation grenade into the center of the group.

The cavern ate some of the sound, but the explosive device still managed toproduce abang , and the resulting shrapnel laid waste to all but a handfulof the creatures.

There were two survivors, though, both optimists, who continued to bounceforward in spite of the way in which the rest of the group had beenannihilated. A single shotgun blast was sufficient to kill both of them.

He slipped some additional shells into the gun’s magazine tube, took a deepbreath, and moved forward again. He made it about halfway to the other sidebefore a mixed force of combat forms, carrier forms, and infection formsstarted to gather at the far end of the span. Another grenade inflictedcasualties, but they charged him after that, and the Master Chief was forcedto retreat, firing the assault weapon as he did so.

It was nip and tuck for a few seconds as combat forms launched themselvesfifteen meters through the air, carriers charged straight in, and theomnipresent infection forms swarmed through the gaps. Retreating, theSpartan had already reloaded three times before his back hit the wall, andthe last combat form collapsed at his feet, started to rise, and took ablast in the head.

Once again it was time to reload both weapons, step out onto the gore-splattered bridge deck, and attempt another crossing. This one wassuccessful, with only light opposition on the other side, and an opportunityto replenish his ammo.

The next set of blast doors opened flawlessly, allowing the Spartan to entera relatively short section of tunnel that led back to the surface.

Determined to use stealth if at all possible, he slipped out of thepassageway, scrambled up over the snow embankment to his right, and ran intoa group of four Flood. A grenade took care of two—and the assault weaponfinished the rest.

A Banshee swooped in, burned a long line of dashes into the snow, andcontinued up the valley. The Chief was surprised to get off so lightly, butgiven the darkness and all of the confusion, it was possible that the pilothad mistaken him for a combat form. A worthy target, to be sure, but notsomething to turn around for. Particularly not when the valley was full ofcombat forms.

He was careful to hug the face of the cliff and stay within the coverprovided by the boulders and trees that lined the edge of the valley. Theincessant thud of automatic weapons and the whine of plasma weaponstestified to the intensity of a conflict raging off to his left.

Then, just as he was starting to believe that he could slide by withoutfiring a shot, he came up over a slight rise to see that the Covenant andFlood were engaged in hand-to-hand combat within the depression below. Agrenade followed with bursts of fire from the MA5B decimated both groups.

Snow crunched as the human made his way down through the bloodstained snow,past the spot where a trio of greedy infection forms squabbled over awounded Elite, and up another rise to a stand of trees where a combat formand a carrier tried to jump him. Both of the Flood staggered as bursts of7.62mm slugs cut them down, and they flopped onto the snow.

Having broken through the perimeter of the battle, the Master Chief was ableto follow the nav indicator into a second valley where he came upon a groupof dead Marines, loaded up on ammo, and tried to decide whether to stay withthe scatter gun or trade it in for a sniper’s rifle or a rocket launcher.

It would have been nice to have all three, but that many weapons would beunwieldy, not to mention damned heavy. In the end he went with the rifle andshotgun and hoped it was the right decision.

The Spartan checked the Marines for dog tags, discovered that they hadalready been taken by someone else, and took the time required to drag thebodies into a nearby cave in the hope that the infection forms wouldn’tfind them. That seemed like a good place to stash the extra weapons—sothat’s what he did.

Then, having followed the second valley to the point where it opened ontoathird valley, he came across a now-familiar scene. The Covenant werebattling the Flood with everything they had, including Shades, a brace ofGhosts, and two extremely active Wraiths, but the Flood had plenty of bodiesto throw back at them and didn’t hesitate to do so.

What the Chief wanted was the Banshee that was parked at the head of thevalley, but in order to get at the aircraft it would be necessary to cutboth groups down to size. He stayed right, slipped along the cliff face,made use of a thin screen of trees and boulders to hide his movements fromthose out toward the center of the valley. Finally, having passed behind ahouse-sized rock and found a vantage point that allowed him to look out onthe area where the vast majority of the Covenant were congregated, theSpartan unlimbered the S2 AM, selected the 10X setting for the scope, andbegan his bloody work.

In this particular situation he selected the softest targets first, startingwith the Grunts on the Shades, followed by the outlying Jackals, all in hopethat he could inflict a lot of casualties before the Elites took notice andsent the tank to get him.

The problem was that the little world inside the scope was all-consuming—afact that caused him to let down his guard. The first hint he had that aFlood form had come up behind him was when it whacked the Spartan in thehead.

The blow would have killed anyone else, but the armor saved him, and theChief rolled in the direction of the blow. The long-barreled S2 wasn’t wellsuited for close-in combat but that’s what he had in his hands. There wasno time to aim as the Flood form charged, only time to fire, and that’swhat he did.

The slug caught the ex-Elite in the chest. The combat form didn’t evenflinch as the bullet passed through its spongy center of mass. A tiny spurtof gray-green ichor trailed from the entry wound, as the creature swung avicious blow at the Master Chief.

He ducked the attack and dropped the rifle. He dived, tucked into a roll andcame up with his sidearm in his hand. He emptied the clip into the beast.

One round blew its left arm off, and the final round made a foot-wide exitwound in the Flood’s back.

He kicked in the creature’s chest, crushing the infection form within. Hecollected the S2, and frowned. He studied the fallen Flood for a moment, andsaw that the creature’s insides were rapidly liquefying. The velocity ofthe S2’s projectile had passed through the nonvital mass of the creature’schest and just kept going.

Another nasty surprise, courtesy of the Flood.

After a quick look around to make sure that there weren’t anymore surpriseslurking in the vicinity, with his heart still beating like a trip-hammer,the Chief went back to his grisly work. Three more Covenant warriors fellbefore a barrage of fireballs arced high into the air to land all around hisposition. One came so close that just the bleed off it was enough to pushhis shielding into the red and trigger the alarm.

He pulled back, switched to the assault weapon long enough to ice a coupleof overly ambitious Grunts, and switched back to the S2 as he rounded theopposite side of the big boulder. He selected a spot where he could go towork on both the Covenantand the Flood, and settled in.

He wanted to nail the Elites now and, thanks to the powerful 14.5mm armor-piercing rounds, he could drop most of them with a single shot. Combat formswere a different story, so he switched to the pistol. It was less accurate,but did the job. It wasn’t long before more than a dozen bodies were laidout in the snow. But then the word was out. Soon the mortar tank moved intoposition to bombard his new position, and it was necessary to pull back.

The Wraith was a problem, aserious problem, which meant there was only onething the Spartan could do: hike back to the weapons cache and trade therifle for the launcher. It was a major pain in the ass, but he didn’t havemuch choice, so he pulled out.

It took a full half hour to make the round trip between the valley and theweapons cache, so he expected things to have calmed down a bit by the timehe returned. That wasn’t the case, however, which suggested that the Floodhad thrown even more forms into the battle.

The Chief followed his own footprints back to the hiding place next to thebig boulder, put the launcher on his shoulder, and hit the zoom. The Wraith,which was busy hurling bombs down valley, seemed to leap forward. As ifsomehow aware of his presence, the tank spun on its axis, and launched abomb toward the rock.

The Spartan forced himself to ignore the artificial comet, locked onto thetarget, and triggered the rocket. There was an impact and a loudcrump!

followed by smoke—but the Wraith continued to fire nonetheless.

Now, with fireballs exploding all around him, the Master Chief had to take adeep breath, hold the tank at the center of his sight, and pull the triggeragain. The tube jerked, the second missile ran straight and true, and hitwith a loudcraack! The Wraith opened like a red flower, burped pitch-blacksmoke, and nosed into a snowbank.

“Nice shot,” Cortana said admiringly, “but watch the Ghost.”

It was good advice, because although the attack vehicle had held back up tothat point, it came skittering into sight, opened up with its plasmaweapons, and threatened to accomplish what the rest of the Covenant soldiershadn’t.

But the Chief had reloaded by then. The rocket tube was the right weapon forthe job, and a single missile was sufficient to send the attack vehicleflipping end-for-end to finally wind up with its belly in the air and flameslicking at the engine compartment.

With that problem out of the way the Chief came to his feet, slapped a freshload into the launcher, and made a beeline for the Banshee. He was halfwayacross, with nowhere to hide, when a pair of Hunters emerged from a jumbleof boulders.

Now, grateful that he still had some rockets, he had no choice but to stop,drop to one knee, and take them on. The first shot was dead on, hit thealien in the chest, and blew the bastard apart. Another rocket flew over thesecond Hunter’s right shoulder and cut a tree in half. The big alienstarted to lumber across open ground, picking up speed and charging its arm-mounted cannon.

It was a waste of ammo to pepper the front end of a Hunter with 7.62mmrounds, and slow though he was, the alien could still bring him down with ablast from his arm-mounted fuel rod cannon.

So he put his sight onto a target so big he didn’t need to zoom, and letfly.

The Hunter saw the missile coming, tried to deflect it with his shield, andfailed. Seconds later pieces of warm meat showered the area, melted holes inthe snow, and continued to steam.

The Chief ran past without a second look, jumped onto the Banshee, andstrafed the rest of the Covenant forces on his way down the valley. Judgingfrom the way the nav indicator was oriented, the Spartan needed altitude, alot of it, so he put the alien attack ship into a steep climb.

Finally, when the red delta flipped over, and started to point down, he knewhe was high enough. He did a nose-over and caught his first glimpse of theway point below. The surrounding area was dark, and snow continued to fall,but the platform was nicely lit. He lowered the Banshee onto the pad and hadjust bailed out of the pilot’s seat when the Sentinels attacked. “This isthe last one,” Cortana said. “The Monitor will do anything to stop us.”

The Chief blew three of the pesky machines out of the air, backed throughthe hatch, and let the door close on the rest.

“We’re close,” the AI commented. “The generator is up ahead.”

The Chief nodded, stepped out into a room, and felt a laser burn across thefront of his armor. It seemed that the Monitor had posted Sentinelsinsidethe complex, as well. Not only that, but these machines had benefit ofintermittent force fields, which were resistant to automatic weapons fire.

Still, he had a couple of 102mm surprises in store for the electromechanicalenforcers, which he fired into the center of the hovering pack. ThreeSentinels were blown out of the air. A fourth did loops as it tried to riditself of a plasma grenade, failed, and took another machine with it. Thefifth and sixth succumbed to a hail of bullets as their shields recharged,while the seventh slammed into a wall, crashed to the floor, and was busytrying to lift off again when the Chief stomped it to death.

The way was clear at that point and the Spartan was quick to take advantageof it. A few quick strides were sufficient to carry him into the centralchamber where he was free to approach the final pulse generator.

“Final target neutralized,” Cortana said as the noncom stepped back a fewmoments later. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Let’s find a ride and get to the Captain,” the Chief agreed, as heprepared to leave.

“No, that’ll take too long.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“There’s a teleportation grid that runs around Halo. That’s how theMonitor moves about so quickly,” the AI explained. “I learned how to tapinto the grid when I was in the Control Center.”

“So,” the Chief asked, somewhat annoyed, “why didn’t you justteleport usto the pulse generators?”

“I can’t. Unfortunately, each jump requires a rather consequentialexpenditure of energy, and I don’t have access to Halo’s power systems toreroute the energy we need.” She paused, then reluctantly continued.

“There may be another way, however.”

The Spartan frowned and shook his head. “Something tells me I’m not goingto like this.”

“I’m pretty sure I can pull the energy we need from your suitwithoutpermanently damaging your shield system or the armor’s powercells,” Cortana continued. “Needless to say, I think we should only trythis once.”

“Agreed. Tap into the Covenant network and see if you can find him. Ifwe’ve only got one shot at this, we should make it a good one.”

There was a pause as Cortana worked her magic with the intrusion and scansoftware. A moment later, she exclaimed, “I’ve got a good lock on CaptainKeyes’ CNI transponder signal. He’s alive! And the implants are intact!

There’s some interference from the cruiser’s damaged reactor. I’ll bringus in as close as I can.”

“Do it,” the Master Chief growled. “Let’s get this over with.”

No sooner had the Spartan spoken than bands of golden light started toripple down over his armor, the now-familiar feeling of nausea returned, andthe Master Chief seemed to vanish through the floor. Once he was gone only afew motes of amber light remained to mark his passing. Then, after a fewseconds, they too disappeared.
Chapter 11
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.
Section VI The Maw Chapter 12
D+76:18:56 (SPARTAN-117 Mission Clock) /Commandeered Banshee, on approach to thePillar of Autumn .

The Banshee screamed through a narrow valley and out over an arid wasteland.

The assault ship’s shadow raced ahead as if eager to reach thePillar ofAutumn first. The Master Chief felt the slipstream fold in behind theaircraft’s nose and tug at his armor. It felt good to be out of twistingcorridors and cramped compartments if only for a short while.

The first sign of the ship’s presence on the ring world’s surface was thehundred-meter-deep trench theAutumn ’s hull had carved into Halo’s skin.

It started where the cruiser had first touched down, vanished where thevessel had bounced into the air, and reappeared a half klick farther on.

From there the depression ran straight as an arrow to the point where thestarship had finally come to rest with its blunt bow protruding out over theedge of a massive cliff. There were other aircraft in the area as well, allof which belonged to the Covenant, and they had no reason to suspect theincoming Banshee. Not yet, at any rate.

The Spartan, who was eager to make his approach look normal, chose one ofthe many empty lifeboat bays that lined the starship’s starboard side, andbored in. Unfortunately the engine cut out at the last moment, the Bansheehit theAutumn ’s hull, and although the Spartan was able to bail out, thealien fighter fell to the rocks below.Not the low visibility arrival he hadhoped for. Still, given Cortana’s plans for the vessel, his presencewouldn’t remain secret for long anyway.

“We need to get to the bridge,” Cortana said. “From there we can use theCaptain’s neural implants to initiate an overload of the ship’s fusionengines. The explosion should damage enough systems below it to destroy thering.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” the Chief commented as he made his way towardthe tiny air lock. “I don’t know who’s better at blowing things up—youor me.”

The moment he stepped outside he saw a cluster of red dots appear on hismotion detector and knew some nasties were lurking off to his left. The onlyquestion was,which hostiles did he face—the Covenant or the Flood? Given achoice, he’d take the Covenant. Maybe, just maybe, the Flood hadn’tlocated the ship yet.

The passageway ended to the right, which meant he had little choice but toturn left. But, rather than run into the Covenant or the Flood, the Spartancame under attack from a flock of Sentinels.

“Uh-oh,” Cortana said as the noncom opened fire, “it looks like theMonitor knows where we are.”

I wonder if he knows what we’re up to,the Chief mused.

A robot exploded, another hit the deck with a loud clang, and the MasterChief shifted fire to a third. “Yeah, he’s after my head, but it’syouthat he really wants.”

The AI made no reply as the third machine exploded—and the Chief made hisway down the hall using the lifeboat bays for cover. Two additionalSentinels appeared, were blown out of the air, and turned into scrap.

Soon after that they arrived at the end of the corridor, took a right, andspotted an open maintenance hatch. Not ideal, since he didn’t relish thethought of having to negotiate such tight quarters, but there didn’t seemto be any other choice. So he ducked inside, found himself in a maze, andblundered about for a while before spotting a hatch set flush into the deckin front of him. That’s when a group of infection forms swarmed up out ofthe hole, and the Chief’s question was answered. It appeared that theFloodhad located theAutumn —and already taken up residence there.

He swore under his breath, backed away, and hosed the Flood with bullets. Heeased forward and looked down through the floor hatch. He saw a carrierform, and knew there were bound to be more. He dropped a plasma grenade downthrough the hole, backed away, and took a certain amount of pleasure in theensuing explosion.

The maintenance tunnels didn’t seem to be taking him where he needed to go,so he dropped through the hole, crushed a handful of infection forms, andshot two more. The blood-splattered corridor was messy but well lit. Hepried open a wall-mounted locker, and was pleased to find four frag grenadesand spare ammo. He quickly stowed them, and moved on.

Two Sentinels nosed around a corner, opened fire with their lasers, and gotwhat they deserved. “They might have been looking for us,” Cortanaobserved, “but it’s my guess that they were assigned to Flood control.”

The theory made sense, but didn’t really help much as the Master Chief wasforced to fight the Sentinels, the Flood,and the Covenant, while he made hisway through a series of passageways and into the ship’s heavily damagedmess, where a large contingent of Elites and Grunts were waiting to have himfor lunch.

There were a lot of them, too many to handle with the assault weapon alone,so he served up a couple of grenades. One of the Elites was blown to piecesby the overlapping explosions, another lost a leg, and a Grunt was thrownhalfway across the room.

They’d come full circle—he’d blasted Covenant troops apart before thecrash landing, and here he was again.The enemy just didn’t learn, hethought.

There was a survivor, however, a tough Elite who threw a plasma grenade ofhis own, and missed by a matter of centimeters. The Master Chief ran and wasclear of the blast zone by the time the device went off. The Elite charged,took the better part of a full clip, and finally slammed into the deck,dead.

It was a short distance to the burned-out bridge, where a Covenant securityteam was on duty. Word had been passed: They knew the human was on his way,and opened fire the moment they saw him.

Once again the Spartan made use of a grenade to even the odds—then crushedthe head of an Elite with his fist. The alien’s head was turned to pulp andits body collapsed like a puppet with no strings. The armor gave him enoughstrength to flip a Warthog over. Then, just when he thought the battle wasdone, a Grunt shot him in the back. The audible went off as his armor soughtto recharge itself. A second shot, delivered with sufficient speed, wouldkill him.

Time seemed to slow as the Master Chief turned toward his right.

The Grunt, who had been hiding inside an equipment cabinet, froze as thearmored alien not only survived what should have been a fatal shot, butturned to face him. They were only an arm’s length away from each other,which meant that the Master Chief could reach out, rip the breather off hisassailant’s face, and close the door on him.

There was a loudclick followed by wild hammering as the Chief made his wayforward to the spot where Captain Keyes had issued his orders. Cortanaappeared over the control panel in front of him. Everywhere the AI lookedshe saw burned-out equipment, bloodstained decks, and smashed viewports.

She shook her head sadly. “I leave home for a few days, and look whathappens.”

Cortana brought a hand up to her semitransparent forehead. “This won’ttake long— There, that should give us enough time to make it to thelifeboat, and put some distance between ourselves and Halobeforedetonation.”

The next voice the Chief heard belonged to 343 Guilty Spark. “I’m afraidthat’s out of the question.”

Cortana groaned. “Oh, hell.”

The Chief brought his weapon up but saw no sign of the Monitor or hisSentinels. That didn’t prevent the construct from babbling in his ears,though—the AI had tapped into his comm system. “Ridiculous! That you wouldimbue your warship’s AI with such a wealth of knowledge. Wouldn’t youworry that it might be captured? Or destroyed?”

Cortana frowned. “He’s in my data arrays—a local tap.”

Though nowhere near the bridge, the Monitorwas on board, and flitted fromone control panel to the next, sucking information out of Cortana’snonsentient subprocessors with the ease of someone vacuuming a set ofdrapes. “You can’t imagine how exciting this is! To have a record of allour lost time. Oh, how I will enjoy every moment of categorization. To thinkthat you would destroy this installation, as well as this record . . . Iamshocked . Almost too shocked for words.”

“He stopped the self-destruct sequence,” Cortana warned.

“Why do you continue to fight us, Reclaimer?” Spark demanded. “You cannotwin! Give us the construct—and I will endeavor to make your deathrelatively painless and—”

The rest of 343 Guilty Spark’s words were chopped off as if someone hadthrown a switch. “At least I still have control over the comm channels,”

Cortana said.

“Where is he?” the Chief asked.

“I’m detecting taps throughout the ship,” Cortana replied. “Sentinelsmost likely. As for the Monitor—he’sin Engineering. He must be trying totake the core off-line. Even if I could get the countdown restarted . . . Idon’t know what to do.”

The Spartan stared at the hologram in surprise. This was a first—and itmade her seem more human somehow. “How much firepower would you need tocrack one of the engine shields?”

“Not much,” Cortana replied, “a well-placed grenade perhaps. But why?”

He produced a grenade, tossed the device into the air, and caught it again.

The AI’s eyes widened and she nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

The Spartan turned and started to leave.

“Chief!” Cortana said. “Sentinels!”

In unison, the machines attacked.

Major Silva stood at what amounted to parade rest, feet spread, handsclasped behind his back, as he looked out over the landing pads while themen and women under his command made final preparations for the assault onthe Covenant shipTruth and Reconciliation .

Fifteen Banshees, all scrounged from different sites across Halo’sembattled surface, sat waiting for the order to launch.

Pelicans, three of the four that the humans had left, squatted ramps down asheavily loaded Marines filed aboard. Each of the surviving 236 leatherneckswas armed with weapons appropriate to the mission at hand. No long-rangestuff, like rocket launchers or sniper rifles, just assault weapons,shotguns, and grenades, all of which were lethal within enclosed spaces, andwould be effective against both the Covenant and the Flood.

Naval personnel, and there were seventy-six of them, were armed withCovenant plasma rifles and pistols, which, thanks to their light weight, andthe fact that there was no need to tote additional ammo, left the swabbiesfree to carry tools, food, and medical supplies. They had orders to avoidcombat, if possible—and concentrate on running the ship. Some, a group ofsixteen individuals, had skills considered to be so critical that each onehad been given two Marine bodyguards.

Assuming that Cortana and the Master Chief were able to complete theirmission, they would take one of theAutumn ’s remaining lifeboats andrendezvous with theTruth and Reconciliation out in space. Annoying thoughshe sometimes was, the officer knew Cortana would be able to pilot the alienvessel, and get them home.

Failing that, Silva hoped that Wellsley, with help from the Naval personnel,would be able to take the cruiser through Slipspace and back to Earth. Anevent he had already planned for, right down to what he would wear, and ashort but moving speech for the media.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Wellsley chose that moment to intrude on theofficer’s reverie. The AI, who rode in an armored matrix slung fromSilva’s shoulder, was characteristically unapologetic. “Lieutenant McKaycalled in, Major. Force One is in place.”

Silva nodded, remembered that Wellsley couldn’t actually see him, and said,“Good. Now, if they can lay low for the next couple of hours, we’ll be ingood shape.”

“I have every confidence in theLieutenant ,” the AI replied plainly.

The implication was obvious. While Wellsley had faith in McKay, the AI hadconcerns where the Lieutenant’s superior was concerned. Silva sighed. Hadthe artificial intelligence been human, the officer would have put him inhis place long ago. But Wellsleywasn’t human, couldn’t be manipulated inthe same fashion that flesh-and-blood subordinates could, and like the humanon whom he had modeled himself, tended to speak his mind. “All right,” theMajor said reluctantly, “what’s the problem?”

“The ‘problem,’ ” Wellsley began, “is the Flood. If the plan issuccessful, and we manage to take theTruth and Reconciliation , there willalmost certainly be Flood forms on board. In fact, based on what Cortana andI have been able to piece together, that’s the only reason the vesselremains where it is. All of the necessary repairs have been made, andCovenant forces are trying to sterilize the ship’s interior prior tolifting off.”

“Which answers your question,” Silva said, struggling to contain hisimpatience. “By the time we take over, most of the Flood will be dead. Onceunderway, I will dispatch hunter-killer teams to find the survivors. Withthe exception of a few specimens which I will place under heavy guard, therest will be ejected into space. There, are you satisfied?”

“No,”Wellsley replied firmly. “Were a carrier form to escape ontoEarth’s surface, the entire planet could fall. This threat is as dangerousas, if not more so than, the Covenant. Cortana and I agree—no Flood formcan be allowed to leave this system.”

Silva took a quick look around to make sure no one was close enough to hearhim and let the anger enter his voice. “Both you and Cortana have atendency to forget one very important fact—I’min command here and youarenot . And I defy you to find anywhere in my orders that identifies athreat to Earthbigger than the goddamned Covenant!

“Your role is to provide advice. Mine is to make decisions. It’s my beliefthat we could find better ways to combat the Flood if our scientists hadlive specimens with which to work. More than that, our people need toseethis new enemy,know how dangerous they are, andbelieve that they can beconquered.”

Wellsley considered taking the debate one step further, by pointing out thatSilva’s ambitions might well have clouded his judgment, but knew it wouldbe a waste of time. “That’s your final decision?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then God help you,” the AI replied gravely, “because if your plan fails,no one else will have the power to do so.”

The compartment, a space untouched by the fighting, had once served as aready room for the ship’s Longsword, Pelican, and shuttle pilots. Now, withno modifications other than the installation of some crude sleepingaccommodations, a back table with some food on it, and crates of supplies,the room functioned as an unofficial HQ for Covenant forces stationed aboardthePillar of Autumn .

The command staff, or what was left of it, sat slumped in the uncomfortablyalien chairs, many too tired to move, and stared up at their leader. Hisname was ’Ontomee, and he was confused, frustrated, and secretlyfrightened. The situation aboard theAutumn had deteriorated dramatically. Inspite of all the efforts to stop them, Flood forms continued to trickle intothe ship.

The disgusting filth had even managed to seize control of the ship’sengineering spaces before anew enemy, one which was inimical to Covenant andFlood form alike, sent an army of flying robots into the ship and tookcontrol of the Engine Room.

Now, as if to prove that ’Ontomee was truly cursed, stillanother threat hadarrived on the scene, and he was reluctant to share the news with thealready exhausted Elites arrayed in front of him.

“So,” ’Ontomee began lamely, “it seems that a human crashed a Bansheeinto the side of the ship, and is now on board.”

A veteran named ’Kasamee frowned. “ ‘Ahuman’? As in, asingle human? Withrespect, Excellency, one human more or less will hardly make a difference.”

’Ontomee swallowed. “Yes, well, normally I would agree with you, exceptthatthis human is somewhat unusual. First, because he wears special armor,second, because it appears that he’s on some sort of mission, and third,because he singlehandedly killed every member of Security Team Three, whichhad responsibility for the command and control deck.”

Unnoticed by those in front of him, the seemingly lethargic officer known asHuki ’Umamee started to look interested. He sat up straighter, and began topay close attention. Having chosen a seat in the last row, ’Zamamee foundit difficult to hear. The discussion continued.

“Onehuman accomplished all that?” ’Kasamee demanded incredulously. “Thathardly seems possible.”

“Yes,” ’Ontomee agreed, “but he did. Not only that, but havingaccomplished whatever he entered the control area to do, he left, and issomewhere else on board this ship.” The Elite scanned the faces in front ofhim. “Who has the skill and courage required to find the alien and killhim?”

The response came with gratifying speed. “Ido,” ’Zamamee said, now on hisfeet.

’Ontomee peered into the harsh human lights. “Who is that?”

“ ’Umamee,” the Elite lied.

“Ah, yes,” ’Ontomee replied gratefully. “A commando . . . Just the sortof person we need to rid ourselves of this two-legged vermin. The mission isyours. Keep me informed.

“Now, turning our attention to these new airborne mechanisms . . .”

Later, as the meeting ended, ’Kasamee went looking for the volunteer, fullyintending to compliment the younger officer on his initiative. But, like thehuman the Elite was supposed to find, the Elite officer had disappeared.

Having fought his way clear of the bridge, the Master Chief made his waythrough a series of passageways, ran into more Flood and gunned them down.

Cortana figured that they could access the Engine Room via the cryo chamber,and that was where the Chief was headed. The problem was that he keptrunning into jammed hatches, locked doors, and other obstacles that kept himfrom taking a direct route.

After he moved through a large, dark room strewn with weapons, the Chiefheard the sounds of combat coming from the area beyond a closed hatch. Hepaused, heard the noises die away, and slipped out into the corridor. Bodieslay all about as he slid along a bulkhead, saw some spikes sticking up overa cargo module, and felt his blood run cold. A Hunter! Or more accuratelytwoHunters, since they traveled in pairs.

Lacking a rocket launcher, the Chief turned to the only heavy-duty firepower that he had: grenades.

He threw two grenades in quick succession, saw the spined behemoth go down,and heard a roar of outrage as the second Hunter charged.

The Spartan fired just to slow the alien down, backed through the hatch, andgave thanks as the door closed. That gave him two or three seconds that heneeded to plant his feet, pull another grenade, and prepare to throw it.

The hatch opened, the fragmentation grenade flew straight and true, and theexplosion knocked the beast off its feet. The deck shook as the body hit.

The Hunter attempted to rise but fell under a hail of armor-piercingbullets.

The Master Chief gave the corpse a wide berth as he left the room, andpassed back into the hall. As he made his way through the ship’s corridors,he saw blood-splattered bulkheads, bodies sprawled in every imaginableposture of death, blown hatches, sparks flying out of junction boxes, and aseries of small fires, which thanks to a lack of combustible materialsseemed to be fairly well contained.

He heard the sound of automatic weapons’ fire somewhere ahead, and passedthrough another hatch. Inside, a fire burned at the point where two largepipes traversed a maintenance bay. He was close to the cryo chamber, orthought he was, but needed to find a way in.

Hesitant to jump through the flames unless it was absolutely necessary, hetook a right turn instead. The sounds of combat grew louder as the hatchopened onto a large room where a full array of Flood forms were battling aclutch of Sentinels. He paused, shouldered his weapon, and fired. Sentinelscrashed, carrier forms exploded, and everyone fired at one another in a madmelee of crisscrossing energy beams, 7.62mm projectiles, and explodingneedles.

Once the robots had been put out of action, and most of the Flood had beenneutralized, the Chief was able to cross the middle of the room, climb aladder, and gain the catwalk above. From that vantage point he could lookacross into the Maintenance Control Room, where a couple of Sentinels werehard at work trying to zap a group of Flood, none of whom were willing to betoasted without putting up a fight. The combatants were too busy to worryabout stray humans, however, and the noncom took advantage of that to workhis way down the walkway and into the Control Room.

Andthat , as he soon learned, was a big mistake.

It wasn’t too bad at first, or didn’t seem to be, as he destroyed both ofthe Sentinels, and went to work on the Flood. But every time he put one formdown, it seemed as if two more arrived to take its place, soon forcing himonto the defensive.

He retreated into the antechamber adjacent to the Control Room. The humanhad little choice but to place his back against a locked hatch. The largerforms came in twos and threes—while the infection forms came in swarms.

Some of the assaults seemed to be random, but many appeared to becoordinated as one, or two, or three combat forms would hurl themselvesforward, die under the assault weapon’s thundering fire, and fall just asthe Spartan ran out of ammo, andmore carrier forms waddled into the fray.

He slung his AR, drew the shotgun—briefly hoping there would be a lullduring which to reload—and opened fire on the bloated monstrosities beforethe force exerted by their exploding bodies could do him harm.

Then, with newly spawned infection forms flying in every direction it wasclean-up time followed by a desperate effort to reload both weapons beforethenext wave of creatures attempted to roll over him.

He dropped into a pattern of fire and movement. He made his way through theship, closer to the engineering spaces, pausing only to pour fire into knotsof targets of opportunity. Then, he quickly disengaged, reloaded, and ranfarther into the ship.

The noise generated by his own weapons hammered at the Master Chief’s ears,the thick gagging odor of Flood blood clogged his throat, and his mindeventually grew numb from all the killing.

After dispatching a Covenant combat team, he crouched behind a support strutand fed rounds into the shotgun. Without warning, a combat form leaped onhis back and smashed a large wrench into his helmet. His shield dropped awayfrom the force of the blow, which allowed an infection form to land on hisvisor.

Even as he staggered under the impact, and pawed at the form’s slick body,a penetrator punched its way through his neck seal, located his bare skin,and sliced it open.

The Spartan gave a cry of pain, felt the tentacle slide down toward hisspine, and knew it was over.

Though unable to pick up a weapon and kill the infection form directly,Cortana had other resources, and rushed to use them. Careful not to draintoo much power, the AI diverted some energy away from the MJOLNIR armor, andmade use of it to create an electrical discharge. The infection form startedto vibrate as the electricity coursed through it. The Chief jerked as theFlood form’s penetrator delivered a shock to his nervous system, and thepod popped, misting the Spartan’s visor with green blood spray.

The Chief could see well enough to fight, however, and did so, killing thewrench-wielding combat form with a burst of bullets.

“Sorry about that,” Cortana said, as the Spartan cleared the area aroundhim, “but I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

“You did fine,” he replied, pausing to reload. “That was close.”

Another two or three minutes passed before the Flood gave up and he couldtake the moment necessary to remove his helmet, jerk the penetrator out fromunder his skin, and slap a self-adhering antiseptic battle dressing over thewound. It hurt like hell: The Spartan winced as he lowered the helmet backover his head, and sealed his suit.

Then, pausing only to kill a couple of stray infection forms, and stilllooking for a way to gain entry to the cryo chamber, the Chief made his waythrough a number of passageways, into a maze of maintenance tunnels, and outinto a corridor where he spotted a red arrow on the deck along with thewordENGINEERING .

Finally, a break.

No longer concerned with finding a way into cryo, the noncom passed througha hatch and entered the first passageway he’d seen that was well lit, freeof bloodstains, and not littered with corpses. A series of turns brought himto a hatch.

“Engine Room located,” Cortana announced. “We’re here.”

The Spartan heard humming, and knew that 343 Guilty Spark was somewhere inthe vicinity. He had already started to back through the hatch when Cortanasaid, “Alert! The Monitor has disabled all command access. We can’trestart the countdown. The only remaining option will be to detonate theship’s fusion reactors.That should do enough damage to destroy Halo.

“Don’t worry . . . I have access to all of the reactor schematics andprocedures. I’ll walk you through it. First we need to pull back theexhaust coupling. That will expose a shaft that leads to the primary fusiondrive core.”

“Oh, good,” the Spartan replied. “I was afraid it might be complicated.”

The Chief reopened the hatch, stepped out into the Engine Room, and aninfection form flew straight at his faceplate.

The attack on theTruth and Reconciliation came with mind-numbing speed as awing of fifteen Banshees came screaming out of the sun, attacked the nearlyidentical number of Covenant aircraft assigned to fly cover over thecruiser, and knocked half of them out of the sky during the first sixtyseconds of combat.

Then, even as individual dogfights continued, Lieutenant “Cookie” Petersonand his fellow Pelican pilots delivered Silva, Wellsley, and forty-fiveheavily armed Marines into the enemy cruiser’s shuttle bay, where the firstleathernecks off the ramps smothered the Covenant security team in a hail ofbullets, secured all the hatches, and sent a team of fifteen Helljumpersracing for the ship’s Control Room.

Conscious of the fact that occupying the Control Room wouldn’t mean muchunless they owned engineering as well, the humans launched a nearlysimultaneous ground attack. Thanks to the previous effort, in which theMaster Chief and a group of Marines had entered the ship looking for CaptainKeyes, McKay had the benefit of everything learned during that mission,including a detailed description of the gravity lift, video of the interiorcorridors, and operational data which Cortana had siphoned out of theship’s systems.

Not too surprisingly, security around the gravity lift had been tripledsince the previous incursion, which meant that even though McKay and herforce of Helljumpers had been able to creep within meters of the hill onwhich the gravity field was focused, they still had six Hunters, twelveElites, and a mixed bag of Grunts and Jackals to cope with before they couldboard the vessel above.

Having anticipated that problem, McKay had equipped her fifteen-person teamwith eight rocket launchers, all of which were aimed squarely at theHunters.

The Covenant-flown Banshees had just come under attack, and the spinedmonsters were staring up into a nearly cloudless sky, when McKay gave theword: “Now!”

All eight launchers fired one, thentwo rockets, putting a total of sixteenof the shaped charges on the aliens, so that the Hunters never had a chanceto fight as a series of red-orange explosions blew them apart.

Even as gobbets of raw meat continued to rain out of the sky, the launcherswere reloaded, and another flight of rockets was sent on its way.

Three or four of the Elites had been killed during the initial attack, whichmeant that some of the survivors were targeted by as many as two missiles,and simply ceased to exist as the powerful 102mm rounds detonated.

Those who survived the volley, and there weren’t many, fell quickly as therest of the team hurled grenades into the enemy positions, and hosed themwith automatic fire. Total elapsed time: 36 seconds.

A full minute was consumed racing up the hill and greasing the guard at thetop, which meant that 1:36 had passed by the time the murderous humansappeared inside theTruth and Reconciliation , slaughtered the Grunts onguard duty, and deactivated the lift.

Jenkins was chained between a pair of burly Marines. McKay waved the trioforward. “Let’s go, Marines. We’re supposed to take the Engine Room—solet’s get to work.”

Jenkins, or what remained of Jenkins, could smell the Flood. They werethere, hiding in the ship, and he struggled to tell McKay that. But the onlything that came out was a series of grunts and hoots. The humans had takenthe ship, but they had taken something else as well, something that couldkill every single one of them.

’Zamamee ushered Yayap into the heavily guarded Covenant CommunicationsCenter—and gave the Grunt a moment to look around. The space had oncehoused all of the communications gear associated with thePillar of Autumn’s auxiliary fighters, shuttles, and transports. Human gear had been rippedout to make room for Covenant equipment, but everything else was pretty muchin the same configuration. A team of six com techs were on duty, all withtheir backs to the center of the room, banks of equipment arrayed in frontof them. A constant murmur of conversation could be heard via the overheadspeakers, some of which was punctuated by the sounds of combat, as orderswent out and reports came back in.

“This is where you will sit,” the Elite explained, pointing toward avacant chair. “All you have to do is listen to the incoming traffic, makenote of the reports that pertain to the human, and pass the informationalong to me by radio.

“He has an objective, we can be sure of that, and once we know where he’sgoing, I’ll be there to greet him. I know you would prefer to be in on thekill, but you’re the only individual I can trust to handle mycommunications, so I hope you’ll understand.”

Yayap, who didn’t want to be anywhere near the kill, tried to lookdowncast. “I’ll do my part, Excellency, and take pleasure in the team’ssuccess.”

“That’s the spirit!” ’Zamamee said encouragingly. “I knew I could counton you. Now sit down at the console, put on that headset, and get ready totake some notes. We know he left what the humans refer to as ‘the bridge,’

fought a battle near the Maintenance Control Room, and was last spottedheading toward the Engine Room. We don’t have any personnel in thatcompartment at the moment, but that doesn’t matter, because the realchallenge is to figure out where he’s headednext . You feed the informationto me, I’ll take my combat team to the right place, and the human willenter the trap. The rest will be easy.”

Yayap remembered previous encounters with the human, felt a chill run downhis spine, and took his seat. Something told him that when it came to afinal confrontation between the Elite and the human, it might be manythings, but it wouldn’t be easy.

The Engine Room hatch opened, an infection form went for the Master Chief’sface, and he fired a quarter of a clip into it. A lot more bullets than thetarget required, but the memory of how the penetrator had slipped in underthe surface of his skin was still fresh in his mind, and he wasn’t about toallow any of the pods near his face again, especially with a hole in hisneck seal. A red nav indicator pointed the way toward a ramp at the far endof the enormous room.

He pounded his way up onto a raised platform, ran past banks of controls,and ducked through the hatch that led up to Level Two. He followed apassageway out into an open area, and then up the ramp to Level Three. Nearthe top, a pair of combat forms fell to his well-placed fire. He policed thefallen creatures’ ammo and grenades and kept going.

“Not acceptable, Reclaimer,” 343 Guilty Spark intoned. “Youmust surrenderthe construct.”

The Chief ignored the Monitor, made his way up to Level Three, andencountered a reception party comprised of Flood. He opened fire, took twocombat forms and a carrier down off the top, and backed away in order toreload.

Then, with a fresh clip in place, he opened fire, cut the nearest form offat the knees, tossed a grenade into the crowd behind him. The fragdetonated, and blew them to hell.

Quick bursts of automatic fire were sufficient to finish the survivors andallow the Master Chief to reach the far end of the passageway. A group offorms were waiting there to greet him, but quickly gave way to a determinedassault as he made his way up the blood-slicked steel, and through the hatchat the top of the ramp.

He moved onto the Level Three catwalk and immediately started to take fire.

There was total chaos as the Sentinels fired on the Flood, the Flood shotback, and everyone seemed to want a piece of him. It was important toconcentrate, however, to focus on his mission, so the Spartan made a maddash for the nearest control panel. He hit the control labeledOPEN , heard abeeper go off, followed by the sound of Cortana’s voice.

“Good! Step one complete! We have a straight shot into the fusion reactor.

We need a catalytic explosion to destabilize the magnetic containment fieldsurrounding the fusion cell.”

“Oh,” the petty officer said as he jumped down onto a thick slab ofduracrete, and felt it start to move. “I thought I was supposed to throw agrenade into a hole.”

“That’s what I said.”

The Chief grinned as a brightly lit rectangular slot appeared, and he tosseda grenade in through the opening.

The ensuing explosion threw bits of charred metal around the smoke-filledcompartment.

One down, and three to go,the Spartan told himself as the Sentinels fired,and the laser beams hit his chest.

Thanks to the lightning-fast and extremely well coordinated nature of theattack, the humans controlled more than eighty percent of theTruth andReconciliation , and were preparing to lift off. Those compartments notunder human control could be dealt with later on. There hadn’t been anycontact with Cortana for a while—and Silva intended to play it safe. IfHalo was about to blow, he wanted to befar away when the event took place.

The cruiser’s Control Room was a scene of frantic activity as Wellsleywrestled with the ship’s nonsentient nav comp, Naval personnel struggled tofamiliarize themselves with all manner of alien control systems, and Silvagloated over his latest coup. The attack had been so fast, so successful,that his Helljumpers had captured a being who referred to himself as a“Prophet,” and claimed to be an important member of the Covenant’s rulingclass. Now, safely locked away, the alien was slated to become yet anotherelement in Silva’s triumphant return to Earth. The officer smiled as theship’s gravity locks were released, the hull swayed slightly in response,and the final preflight check began.

Many decks below, McKay felt someone touch her arm. “Lieutenant? Do youhave a moment?”

Though not in the same chain of command, Lieutenant Commander Gail Purdyoutranked the Helljumper, which was why McKay responded by saying, “Yes,ma’am. What can I do for you?”

Purdy was an Engineering officer, and one of those sixteen individuals whorated bodyguards, both of whom had their backs to the officer and werefacing out. She was middle-aged and stout, with ginger-colored hair. Hereyes were serious and locked with McKay’s.

“Step over here. I’d like to show you something.”

McKay followed the other officer over to a large tube that served to bridgethe one-meter gap between one blocky-looking installation and the next.

Jenkins, who had no choice but to go wherever his Marine guards went, wasforced to follow.

“See that?” the Naval officer inquired, pointing at the tube.

“Yes, ma’am,” McKay answered, mystified as to what such a structure couldpossibly have to do with her.

“That’s an access point for the fiber-optic pathway that links the ControlRoom to the engines,” the Engineer explained. “If someone were to severthat connection, the power plants would run wild. There may be a bypasssomewhere—but we haven’t found it. Given the fact that twenty percent ofthe ship remains under Covenant control I suggest that you post a guard onthis piece of equipment until all of the Covenant are under lock and key.”

Purdy’s suggestion had the force of an order, and McKay said, “Yes,ma’am. I’ll take care of it.”

The Naval officer nodded as the deck tilted and forced both women to grabonto the fiber channel. Two people were thrown to the deck. Purdy grinned.

“Pretty sloppy, huh? Captain Keyes would have a fit!”

Silva wasn’t worried about the finer points of ship handling as the finalloads of UNSC personnel were deposited in the shuttle bay, the Pelicans weresecured, the outer doors were closed, and theTruth and Reconciliationstruggled to break the grip that Halo had on her hull.

No, Silva was satisfied merely to get clear of the surface, to feel the deckvibrate as the cruiser’s engines struggled to push countless tons ofdeadweight up through the ring world’s gravity well, to the point where theship would break free.

Spurred into action by the vibration, or perhaps just tired of waiting, theFlood chose that moment to attack the Engine Room. A vent popped open, anavalanche of infection forms poured out and came under immediate fire.

Jenkins went berserk, and jerked on his chains, gibbering incoherently asthe Marine guards struggled to bring him under control.

The battle lasted for less than a minute before all of the Flood forms werekilled, the vent was sealed, and the cover welded into place. But the attackserved to illustrate the concerns that McKay already had. The Flood werelike an extremely deadly virus—and it was na.ve to believe that they couldbe controlled by anything short of extermination. The Marine used her statusas XO to get through to Silva, gave a report on the attack, and finished bysaying, “It’s clear that the ship is still infected, sir. I suggest thatwe put down and sterilize every square centimeter prior to lifting again.”

“Negative,Lieutenant,” Silva replied grimly. “I have reason to believethat Halo is going to blow, and soon. Besides, Iwant some specimens, so seewhat you can do to capture some of the ugly bastards.”

“The Lieutenant is correct,” Wellsley put in dispassionately. “The riskistoo great. I urge you to reconsider.”

“My decision is final,” Silva growled. “Now, return to your duties, andthat’s anorder .”

McKay broke the connection. The military incorporated many virtues, in hermind at least, one of the most important of which was duty. Duty not just tothe Corps, but to the billions of people on Earth, to whom she wasultimately responsible. Now, faced with the conflict between militarydiscipline, the glue that held everything together, and duty, the purpose ofit all, what was she supposed to do?

The answer, strangely enough, came from Jenkins, who, having been privy toher end of the conversation, jerked at his chain. The action took one of theguards by surprise. He fell as Jenkins lunged in the direction of the fiber-optic connection, and was still trying to regain his feet when the combatform ran out of slack, and came up short. Seconds later the Marines hadJenkins back under control.

Having failed to do what he knew was right, and with his chains stretchedtight, Jenkins looked imploringly into McKay’s eyes.

McKay realized that the decision lay in her hands, and that although it washorrible almost beyond comprehension, it was simple as well. So simple thateven the grotesquely ravaged Jenkins knew where his duty lay.

Slowly, deliberately, the Marine crossed the deck to the point where theguard stood, told him to take a break, took one last look around, andtriggered a grenade. Jenkins, still unable to speak, managed to mouth thewords “thank you.”

Silva was too many decks removed to feel the explosion, or to hear themuffled thump, butwas able to witness the results firsthand. Someone yelled,“The controls are gone!” The deck tilted as theTruth and Reconciliationdid a nose-over, and Wellsley made one last comment.

“You taught her well, Major. Ofthat you can be proud.”

Then the bow struck, a series of explosions rippled the length of the hull,and the ship, as well as all of those aboard her, ceased to exist.

“You’re sure?” ’Zamamee demanded, his voice slightly distorted by boththe radio and an increasing amount of static.

Yayap wasn’t sure of anything, other than the fact that the reports flowingin around him were increasingly negative, as Covenant forces came underheavy fire from both the Floodand the Sentinels. Something had caused a rockto form down in the Grunt’s abdomen—and made him feel slightly nauseated.

But it would never do to say that, not to someone like ’Zamamee, so he liedinstead. “Yes, Excellency. Based on the reports, and looking at theschematics here in the Communications Center, it looks like the human willhave little choice but to exit via hatch E-117, make his way to lift V-1269,and go up to a Class Seven service corridor that runs along the ship’sspine.”

“Good work, Yayap,” the Elite said. “We’re on our way.”

For reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of, and in spite of his many failings,the Grunt felt a strange sense of affection for the Elite. “Be careful,Excellency. The human is extremely dangerous.”

“Don’t worry,” ’Zamamee replied, “I have a surprise for our adversary.

A little something that will even the odds. I’ll call you the moment he’sdead.”

Yayap said, “Yes, Excellency,” heard a click, and knew it was the lasttime he would hear the officer’s voice. Not because he believed that’Zamamee was going to die—but because he believedall of them were aboutdie.

That’s why the diminutive alien announced that he was going on a break,left the Communications Center, and never came back.

Shortly thereafter he loaded a day’s worth of food plus a tank of methaneonto a Ghost, steered the vehicle out away from thePillar of Autumn , andimmediately found what he was searching for: a sense of peace. For the firsttime in many, many days Yayap was happy.

As the final grenade went off, the Master Chief felt the shaft he wasstanding on shake in sympathy and Cortana yelled into his ears. “That didit! The engines will go critical. We have fifteen minutes to get off theship! We should move outside and get to the third deck elevator. It willtake us to a Class Seven service corridor that runs the length of the ship.

Hurry!”

The Chief jumped up onto the Level Three platform, blasted a combat form,and turned toward the hatch off to his right. It opened, he passed through,and ran the length of the passageway. A second door opened onto the areadirectly in front of the large service elevator.

The Chief heard machinery whir, figured he had triggered a sensor, andwaited for the lift to arrive. For the first time in hours there was noimmediate threat, no imminent danger, and the Spartan allowed himself torelax fractionally. It was a mistake.

“Chief!” Cortana said. “Get back!”

Thanks to the warning, he was already backing through the hatch when thelift appeared from below, and the Elite, seated in the plasma turret, openedfire.

Special Ops Officer Zuka ’Zamamee fired the Shade. The energy cannon tookup most of the platform, leaving barely enough room for the Grunts who hadhelped the Elite wrestle the weapon aboard. The bolt flared blue, hit thehatch as it started to close, and slagged half the door.

He felt elation as the waves of energy slashed through the air toward histarget. Soon, victory would be complete, and his honor could be restored.

Then he’d deal with the tiresome Grunt, Yayap.

It was going to be a glorious day.

“Damn!” the Chief exclaimed. “Where didthat come from?”

“It looks like someone has been tracking you,” Cortana said grimly. “Now,get ready—I’ll take control of the elevator and cause it to drop. You rolla couple of grenades into the shaft.”

’Zamamee saw the energy bolt hit the hatch, experienced a sense ofexhilaration as the human hurried to escape, and felt the platform jerk to ahalt.

The Elite had just fired again, just blown what remained of the human’scover away, when he heard a clank and the lift started to descend.

“No!”he shouted, sure that one of the Grunts was responsible for thesudden movement, and desperate lest the human escape his clutches. But itwas too late, and there was nothing the smaller aliens could do, as theelevator continued to fall.

Then, even as his target vanished from sight, and ’Zamamee railed at hissubordinates, a couple of grenades tumbled down from above, rattled aroundthe floor, and exploded.

The force of the blast lifted the Elite up and out of his seat, gave him onelast look at his opponent, and let him fall. He hit with a thud, feltsomething snap, and waited for his first glimpse of paradise.

Cortana brought the lift back up. The Master Chief had little choice but tostep onto the gore-splattered platform and let it carry him toward theservice corridor above. Cortana took advantage of the moment to work on theescape plan.

“Cortana to Echo 419, come in Echo 419.”

“Roger, Cortana,”Foehammer said from somewhere above,“I read you five-byfive.”

The Master Chief felt a series of explosions shake the elevator, knew theship was starting to come apart, and looked forward to the moment when hewould be free of it.

“ThePillar of Autumn ’s engines are going critical, Foehammer,” Cortanacontinued. “Request immediate extraction. Be ready to pick us up atexternal access junction four-C as soon as you get my signal.”

“Affirmative. Echo 419 to Cortana—things are getting noisy downthere . . . Is everything okay?”

The elevator shook again as the AI said, “Negative, negative! We have awildcat destabilization of the ship’s fusion core. The engines must havesustained more damage than we thought.”

Then, as the platform jerked to a halt, and a piece of debris fell fromsomewhere up above, the AI spoke to the Spartan. “We have six minutesbefore the fusion drives detonate. We need to evacuatenow ! The explosionwill generate a temperature of almost a hundred million degrees.Don’t behere when it blows!”

That sounded like excellent advice. The Master Chief ran through a hatchinto a bay full of Warthogs, each stowed in its own individual slot. Hechose one that was located near the entry, jumped into the driver’s seat,and was relieved when the vehicle started up.

The countdown timer which Cortana had projected onto the inside surface ofhis HUD was not only running, but runningfast , or so it seemed to the Chiefas he drove out of the bay, hooked a left to avoid a burning ’Hog, andplowed through a mob of Covenant and Flood. An Elite went down, was suckedunder the big off-road tires, and caused the vehicle to buck as it passedover him. The slope ahead was thick with roly-poly infection forms. Theypopped like firecrackers as the human accelerated uphill and plasma boltsraced to catch him from behind. Then, cautious lest he make a mistake andlose valuable time, he took his foot off the accelerator and paused at thetop of the ramp.

A large passageway stretched before him, with walkways to either side, apedestrian bridge in the distance, and a narrow service tunnel directlyahead. A couple of Flood forms were positioned on top of the entrance andfired down at him as he pushed the Warthog forward, and nosed into theopening ahead.

The ramp sloped down, the Spartan braked, and he was soon glad that he hadas something wentboom! and hurled pieces of jagged metal across thepassageway in front of him. The Chief took his foot off the brake, converteda carrier form into paste, and sent the LRV up the opposite slope.

He emerged from the subsurface tunnel, and with a barrier ahead, he swungleft, ran the length of a vertical wall. He saw a narrow ramp, acceleratedup-slope, and jumped a pair of gaps that he never would have tackled had hebeen aware of them. He hit a level stretch, braked reflexively, and wasthankful when the Warthog nose-dived off the end of the causeway and plungedinto another service tunnel.

Now, with a group of Flood ahead, he pushed through them, crushed themonsters under his tires.

“Nice job on that last section,” Cortana said admiringly. “How did youknow about the dive off the end?”

“I didn’t,” the Master Chief said as the LRV lurched up out of the tunneland nosed into another.

“Oh.”

This passage was empty, which allowed the Spartan to pick up speed as heguided the Warthog up into a larger tunnel. The ’Hog caught some air, andhe put the pedal to the metal in an effort to pick up some time.

The large passageway was smooth and clear, but took them out into a hell offlying metal, homicidal Flood, and laser-happy Sentinels, all of whom triedto cancel his ticket while he paused, spotted an elevated ramp off to theleft, and steered for it even as crisscrossing energy beams sizzled acrossthe surface of his armor and explored the interior of the vehicle.

The Spartan fought to control the ’Hog as one tire rode up onto the metalcurb and threatened to pull the entire vehicle off into the chaos below. Itwas difficult, with fire sleeting in from every possible direction, but theChief made the necessary correction, came down off the ramp, hooked a left,and found himself in a huge tunnel with central support pillars that marchedoff into the distance.

Careful to weave back and forth between the pillars in order to improve histime, he rolled through a fight between the Flood and a group of Covenant,took fire from a flock of Sentinels, and gunned the LRV out into anotheropen area with a barrier ahead. A quick glance confirmed that anotherelevated ramp ran down the left side of the enormous passageway, so hesteered for that.

Explosions sent gouts of flame and smoke up through the grating ahead ofhim, and threatened to heave the Warthog off the track.

Once off the ramp, things became a little easier as the Spartan entered alarge tunnel, sped the length of it, braked into an open area, and pushedthe vehicle down into a smaller service tunnel. Infection forms made loudpopping sounds as the tires ate them alive. The engine growled, and theChief nearly lost it as he came out of the tunnel too fast, realized therewas another subsurface passageway ahead, and did a nose-over that caused thefront wheels not only to hit hard but nearly flipped the ’Hog end-for-end.

Only some last-minute braking and a measure of good luck brought the LRVdown right side up and allowed the Master Chief to climb up out of thepassageway and into a maze of pillars.

He swore as he was forced to wind his way between the obstacles whileprecious seconds came off the countdown clock and every alien, freak, androbot with a weapon took potshots at him while he did so. Then came awelcome stretch of straight-level pavement, a quick dip through a servicetunnel, and a ramp into a sizable tunnel as Cortana called for evac.

“Cortana to Echo 419! Requesting extraction now! On the double!”

“Affirmative, Cortana,”the pilot replied, as the Master Chief acceleratedout onto a causeway.

“Wait! Stop!” Cortana insisted. “This is where Foehammer is coming topick us up. Hold position here.”

The Spartan braked, heard a snatch of garbled radio traffic, and saw a UNSCdropship approach from the left. Smoke trailed behind the Pelican and thereason was plain to see. A Banshee had slotted itself in behind thetransport and was trying to hit one of the ship’s engines. There was aflash as the starboard power plant took a hit and burst into flames.

The Chief could imagine Foehammer at the controls, fighting to save hership, eyeing the causeway ahead.

“Pull up! Pull up!” the Spartan shouted, hoping she could pancake in, butit was too late. The Pelican lost altitude, passed under the causeway, andsoon disappeared from sight. The explosion came three seconds later.

Cortana said, “Echo 419!” and, receiving no response, said, “She’sgone.”

The Master Chief remembered the cheerful voice on the radio, the countlesstimes the pilot had saved somebody’s tail, and felt a deep sense of regret.

There was a short pause while the AI tapped into what remained of theship’s systems. “There’s a Longsword docked in launch bay seven. If wemovenow we can make it!”

Rubber screeched as the Chief put his foot to the floor, steered the Warthogthrough a hatch, down a ramp, and into a tunnel. Huge pillars marked thecenter of the passageway and a series of concave gratings caused the LRV towallow before it lurched up onto smooth pavement again. Explosions sentdebris flying from both sides of the tunnel and made it difficult to hearCortana as she said something about “full speed” and some sort of a gap.

He hit the accelerator, but the rest was more a matter of luck rather thanskill. The Master Chief pushed the ’Hog up a ramp, felt the bottom drop outof his stomach as the LRV flew through the air, dropped two or three levels,hit hard, slewed sideways, and came to a stop.

The Chief wrestled with the wheel, brought the front end around, and glancedat the timer. It read: 01:10:20. He stamped on the accelerator. The Warthogshot ahead, raced through a narrow tunnel, then slowed as he spotted thearray of horizontally striped barrels that blocked the road ahead. Not onlythat—but the entire area was swarming with Covenant and Flood. The MasterChief jumped out, hit the ground running, and gunned an Elite who had themisfortune to get in the way.

The fighter was straight ahead, ramp down, waiting for him to come aboard.

Plasma bolts stuttered past his head, explosions hurled debris in everydirection, and then he was there, boots pounding on metal as he entered theship.

The ramp came up just as a mob of Flood arrived, the Longsword shook insympathy as another explosion rocked thePillar of Autumn , and the Spartanstaggered as he made his way forward. Precious seconds were consumed as hedropped into the pilot’s seat, brought the engines on-line, and took thecontrols.

“Here we go.”

The Chief made use of the ship’s belly jets to push the Longsword up offthe deck. He turned the fighter counterclockwise, and hit the throttles. Geeforces pushed him back into his seat as the spacecraft exploded out of itsbay and blasted up through the atmosphere.

Yayap, who had made it to the edge of the foothills by then, heard a seriesof dull thuds and turned in time to see a line of red-orange flowers bloomalong the length of theAutumn ’s much abused hull.

As the cruiser’s fusion drives went critical, a compact sun blossomed onthe surface of Halo. Its thermonuclear sphere carved a five-kilometer craterinto the superdense ring material and sent powerful pressure waves ripplingthroughout the structure. Both up- and down-spin of the explosion, thefireball flattened and sterilized the surface terrain. Within moments, theyellow-white core had consumed all of the available fuel, collapsed uponitself, and winked out.

Still spinning, but unable to withstand the forces exerted on this new weakpoint, the ring structure slowly tore itself apart. Huge chunks of debristumbled end over end out into space, as a five-hundred-kilometer-longsection of the ring world’s hull sliced through an even longer curve ofbrilliantly engineered metal, earth, and water, and produced a cascade ofeerily silent explosions.

There was an insistent beeping sound as the wordsENGINE TEMP CRITICAL flashedon the control panel, and Cortana said, “Shut them down. We’ll need themlater.”

The Master Chief reached up to flick some switches, got up out of his seat,and arrived in front of the viewport in time to see the last intact piece ofHalo’s hull sheared in half by the dreadful slow-motion ballet of flyingmetal.

For some reason he thought of Lieutenant Melissa McKay, her calm green eyes,and the fact that he had never gotten to know her. “Did anyone else makeit?”

“Scanning,” the AI replied. She paused, and he could see scan data scrollacross the main terminal. A moment later, she spoke again, her voiceunusually quiet. “Just dust and echoes. We’re all that’s left.”

The Spartan winced. McKay, Foehammer, Keyes, and all the rest of them. Dead.

Just like the children he’d been raised with—just like a part of himself.

When Cortana spoke it was as if the AI felt that she had to justify what hadtranspired. “We did what wehad to do—for Earth. An entire Covenant armadaobliterated. And theFlood —we had no choice. Halo, it’s finished.”

“No,” the Chief replied, settling in behind the Longsword’s controls.

“The Covenant are still out there, and Earth is at risk. We’re justgetting started.”

The Master Chief saw the yellow-green blob appear in hisperipheral vision, and decided to turn toward the enemy both tomake the ’Hog look smaller and to give the Corporal anopportunity to fire. But he ran out of time. The Spartan had juststarted to spin the wheel when the energy pulse slammed into theside of the Warthog and flipped the vehicle over.

All three of the humans were thrown free. The Master Chiefscrambled to his feet and looked up-slope in time to see a Hunterdrop down from the structure above, absorb the shock with itsmassive knees, and move forward.

Both the Corporal and the freckle-faced youngster were back ontheir feet by then, but the noncom, who had never seen a Hunterbefore, much less gone head-to-head with one, yelled, “Come on,Hosky! Let’s take this bastard out!”

The Spartan yelled, “No! Fall back!” and bent over to retrievethe rocket launcher. Even as he barked the order, he knew theresimply wasn’t time. Another Spartan might have been able tododge in time, but the Helljumpers didn’t have a prayer.

The distance between the alien and the two Marines had closed bythen and they couldn’t disengage. The Corporal threw afragmentation grenade, saw it explode in front of the oncomingmonster, and stared in disbelief as it kept on coming. The aliencharged right through the flying shrapnel, bellowed some sort ofwar cry, and lowered a gigantic shoulder.

Private Hosky was still firing when the gigantic shield hit him,shattered half the bones in his body, and threw what was leftonto the ground. The private remained conscious however, whichmeant he was able to lie there and watch as the Hunter lifted hisboot high into the air, and brought it down on his face.

Halo: The Floodis a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either area product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

The End