Assuming that Cortana and the Master Chief were able to complete their mission, they would take one of the Autumn’s remaining lifeboats and rendezvous with the Truth and Reconciliation out in space. Annoying though she sometimes was, the officer knew Cortana would be able to pilot the alien vessel, 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. An event he had already planned for, right down to what he would wear, and a short but moving speech for the media.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Wellsley chose that moment to intrude on the officer’s reverie. The AI, who rode in an armored matrix slung from Silva’s shoulder, was characteristically unapologetic. “Lieutenant McKay called 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 in good shape.”
“I have every confidence in the Lieutenant,” the AI replied plainly.
The implication was obvious. While Wellsley had faith in McKay, the AI had concerns where the Lieutenant’s superior was concerned. Silva sighed. Had the artificial intelligence been human, the officer would have put him in his place long ago. But Wellsley wasn’t human, couldn’t be manipulated in the same fashion that flesh-and-blood subordinates could, and like the human on whom he had modeled himself, tended to speak his mind. “All right,” the Major said reluctantly, “what’s the problem?”
“The ‘problem,’” Wellsley began, “is the Flood. If the plan is successful, and we manage to take the Truth and Reconciliation, there will almost certainly be Flood forms on board. In fact, based on what Cortana and I have been able to piece together, that’s the only reason the vessel remains where it is. All of the necessary repairs have been made, and Covenant forces are trying to sterilize the ship’s interior prior to lifting off.”
“Which answers your question,” Silva said, struggling to contain his impatience. “By the time we take over, most of the Flood will be dead. Once underway, I will dispatch hunter-killer teams to find the survivors. With the exception of a few specimens which I will place under heavy guard, the rest will be ejected into space. There, are you satisfied?”
“No,” Wellsley replied firmly. “Were a carrier form to escape onto Earth’s surface, the entire planet could fall. This threat is as dangerous as, if not more so than, the Covenant. Cortana and I agree – no Flood form can be allowed to leave this system.”
Silva took a quick look around to make sure no one was close enough to hear him and let the anger enter his voice. “Both you and Cortana have a tendency to forget one very important fact – I’m in command here and you are not. And I defy you to find anywhere in my orders that identifies a threat to Earth bigger than the goddamned Covenant!
“Your role is to provide advice. Mine is to make decisions. It’s my belief that we could find better ways to combat the Flood if our scientists had live specimens with which to work. More than that, our people need to see this new enemy, know how dangerous they are, and believe that they can be conquered.”
Wellsley considered taking the debate one step further, by pointing out that Silva’s ambitions might well have clouded his judgment, but knew it would be 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 a ready room for the ship’s Longsword, Pelican, and shuttle pilots. Now, with no modifications other than the installation of some crude sleeping accommodations, a back table with some food on it, and crates of supplies, the room functioned as an unofficial HQ for Covenant forces stationed aboard the Pillar of Autumn.
The command staff, or what was left of it, sat slumped in the uncomfortably alien chairs, many too tired to move, and stared up at their leader. His name was ’Ontomee, and he was confused, frustrated, and secretly frightened. The situation aboard the Autumn had deteriorated dramatically. In spite of all the efforts to stop them, Flood forms continued to trickle into the ship.
The disgusting filth had even managed to seize control of the ship’s engineering spaces before a new enemy, one which was inimical to Covenant and Flood form alike, sent an army of flying robots into the ship and took control of the Engine Room.
Now, as if to prove that ’Ontomee was truly cursed, still another threat had arrived on the scene, and he was reluctant to share the news with the already exhausted Elites arrayed in front of him.
“So,” ’Ontomee began lamely, “it seems that a human crashed a Banshee into the side of the ship, and is now on board.”
A veteran named ’Kasamee frowned. “‘A human’? As in, a single human? With respect, Excellency, one human more or less will hardly make a difference.”
’Ontomee swallowed. “Yes, well, normally I would agree with you, except that this 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, which had responsibility for the command and control deck.”
Unnoticed by those in front of him, the seemingly lethargic officer known as Huki ’Umamee started to look interested. He sat up straighter, and began to pay close attention. Having chosen a seat in the last row, ’Zamamee found it difficult to hear. The discussion continued.
“One human accomplished all that?” ’Kasamee demanded incredulously. “That hardly seems possible.”
“Yes,” ’Ontomee agreed, “but he did. Not only that, but having accomplished whatever he entered the control area to do, he left, and is somewhere else on board this ship.” The Elite scanned the faces in front of him. “Who has the skill and courage required to find the alien and kill him?”
The response came with gratifying speed. “I do,” ’Zamamee said, now on his feet.
’Ontomee peered into the harsh human lights. “Who is that?”
“ ’Umamee,” the Elite lied.
“Ah, yes,” ’Ontomee replied gratefully. “A commando... Just the sort of person we need to rid ourselves of this two-legged vermin. The mission is yours. Keep me informed.
“Now, turning our attention to these new airborne mechanisms...”
Later, as the meeting ended, ’Kasamee went looking for the volunteer, fully intending to compliment the younger officer on his initiative. But, like the human the Elite was supposed to find, the Elite officer had disappeared.
Having fought his way clear of the bridge, the Master Chief made his way through 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 kept running into jammed hatches, locked doors, and other obstacles that kept him from taking a direct route.
After he moved through a large, dark room strewn with weapons, the Chief heard the sounds of combat coming from the area beyond a closed hatch. He paused, heard the noises die away, and slipped out into the corridor. Bodies lay all about as he slid along a bulkhead, saw some spikes sticking up over a cargo module, and felt his blood run cold. A Hunter! Or more accurately two Hunters, since they traveled in pairs.