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.