Rather than leave such a potent enemy guarding his six, the Master Chief climbed up to the first level, ducked around the wall that separated one side of the pyramid from the next, and took a peek. Sure enough, there was Hunter number two, gazing down-slope, unaware of the fact that his bond brother 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 the structure.
The Chief worked his way farther up, zigzagging back and forth across the front of the massive pyramid while an extremely determined Banshee pilot tried to bag him from above, and all manner of Grunts, Jackals, and Elites emerged 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-suffering shield system to recharge. He stepped over the fallen body of a Grunt, and loaded his last clip into the assault rifle.
A huge door fronted the top level. There was no way to tell what waited on the other side, but it wasn’t likely to be friendly – a series of motion sensor 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 his heel, and ran.
It was about twenty meters back to the Shade, and the Chief covered the distance in seconds. Once at the controls he swiveled the barrel around just in 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 aliens died.
Dismounting once again, the Spartan entered a large, hangarlike space, took the time required to deal with stragglers, and activated the next set of doors.
“Scanning,” Cortana said. “Covenant forces in the area have been eliminated. Nicely done. Let’s move on to Halo’s Control Center.”
He made his way through the doors and out onto an immense platform. A gleaming reflective bridge, apparently without supports, extended over a vast emptiness and ended in a circular walkway. In the center of this walkway was a moving holographic model of the Threshold system: a giant transparent image of the gas giant overhead, the small gray moon Basis in orbit around it, and suspended between the two, the tiny shining ring of Halo itself.
Outside of the walkway, stretching almost to the edges of the enormous space, 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 over it of the dangers attendant to the power they were about to encounter. Or so it seemed to the Master Chief.
“This is it... Halo’s Control Center,” Cortana said as the Master Chief approached a large panel. It was covered with glyphs, all of which glowed as if lit from within, and went together to form what looked like a piece 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 herself into the alien computer station. A moment later, she appeared – giant-sized – over the control panel. Data scrolled across her body, energy seemed to radiate out of her holographic skin, and her features were alight with pleasure.
Her “skin” shifted from blue to purple, to red, then cycled back as she gazed 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 of information – so much, so fast. It’s glorious!”
“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 it against 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. Something much more important. The Covenant were right, this ring–”
She paused, and her eyes moved back and forth as she scanned the tidal wave of 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, as if 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 being referred to as a “barbarian,” and was about to cut her down to size when she spoke again. Plainly alarmed, her voice had a hesitant quality. “No, that can’t be... Oh, those Covenant fools, they must have known, there must have been signs.”
The Chief frowned. “Slow down. You’re losing me.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “The Covenant found something, buried in this ring, something horrible. 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 looking for, 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 and they focused on the Spartan like twin lasers. “I have to remain here. Get out, find Keyes, stop him. Before it’s too late!”
SECTION IV
343 GUILTY SPARK
CHAPTER EIGHT
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 and rain into the swamp. The surrounding foliage whipped back and forth in response to the sudden turbulence, the water beneath the transport’s metal belly was pressed flat, and the stench of rotting vegetation flooded the aircraft’s cargo compartment as the ramp splashed into the evil-looking brew 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 from this area. When you locate Captain Keyes, radio in and I’ll come pick you up.”
The Master Chief stepped down off the ramp and immediately found himself calf-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 itself up out of the swamp. In the three hours since she had plucked the Spartan off the top of the pyramid, he’d scarfed a quick meal and a couple hours of sleep. Now, as Foehammer dropped her passenger into the muck, she was glad to be an aviator. Ground-pounders worked too damn hard.
Keyes floated in a vacuum. A gauzy white haze clouded his vision, though he could occasionally make out images in lightning-fast bursts – a nightmare tableau of misshapen bodies and writhing tentacles. A muted gleam of light glinted from some highly polished, engraved metal. In the distance, he could hear a droning buzz. It had an odd, musical quality, like Gregorian chant slowed to a fraction of its normal speed.
He realized with a start that the images were from his own eyes. The knowledge brought back a flood of memory – of his own body. He struggled, and realized in mounting horror that he could just barely feel his own arms. They seemed softer somehow, as if filled with a spongy, thick liquid.