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, and shot two more. The blood-splattered corridor was messy but well lit. He pried open a wall-mounted locker, and was pleased to find four frag grenades and spare ammo. He quickly stowed them, and moved on.

Two Sentinels nosed around a corner, opened fire with their lasers, and got what they deserved. “They might have been looking for us,” Cortana observed, “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 was forced to fight the Sentinels, the Flood, and the Covenant, while he made his way through a series of passageways and into the ship’s heavily damaged mess, where a large contingent of Elites and Grunts were waiting to have him for 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 pieces by the overlapping explosions, another lost a leg, and a Grunt was thrown halfway across the room.

They’d come full circle – he’d blasted Covenant troops apart before the crash landing, and here he was again. The enemy just didn’t learn, he thought.

There was a survivor, however, a tough Elite who threw a plasma grenade of his own, and missed by a matter of centimeters. The Master Chief ran and was clear 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 security team 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 crushed the head of an Elite with his fist. The alien’s head was turned to pulp and its body collapsed like a puppet with no strings. The armor gave him enough strength to flip a Warthog over. Then, just when he thought the battle was done, a Grunt shot him in the back. The audible went off as his armor sought to recharge itself. A second shot, delivered with sufficient speed, would kill 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 the armored alien not only survived what should have been a fatal shot, but turned 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 his assailant’s face, and close the door on him.

There was a loud click followed by wild hammering as the Chief made his way forward to the spot where Captain Keyes had issued his orders. Cortana appeared over the control panel in front of him. Everywhere the AI looked she saw burned-out equipment, bloodstained decks, and smashed viewports.

She shook her head sadly. “I leave home for a few days, and look what happens.”

Cortana brought a hand up to her semitransparent forehead. “This won’t take long– There, that should give us enough time to make it to the lifeboat, and put some distance between ourselves and Halo before detonation.”

The next voice the Chief heard belonged to 343 Guilty Spark. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”

Cortana groaned. “Oh, hell.”

The Chief brought his weapon up but saw no sign of the Monitor or his Sentinels. That didn’t prevent the construct from babbling in his ears, though – the AI had tapped into his comm system. “Ridiculous! That you would imbue your warship’s AI with such a wealth of knowledge. Wouldn’t you worry that it might be captured? Or destroyed?”

Cortana frowned. “He’s in my data arrays – a local tap.”

Though nowhere near the bridge, the Monitor was on board, and flitted from one control panel to the next, sucking information out of Cortana’s nonsentient subprocessors with the ease of someone vacuuming a set of drapes. “You can’t imagine how exciting this is! To have a record of all our lost time. Oh, how I will enjoy every moment of categorization. To think that you would destroy this installation, as well as this record... I am shocked. Almost too shocked for words.”

“He stopped the self-destruct sequence,” Cortana warned.

“Why do you continue to fight us, Reclaimer?” Spark demanded. “You cannot win! Give us the construct – and I will endeavor to make your death relatively painless and–”

The rest of 343 Guilty Spark’s words were chopped off as if someone had thrown 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. “Sentinels most likely. As for the Monitor – he’s in Engineering. He must be trying to take the core off-line. Even if I could get the countdown restarted... I don’t know what to do.”

The Spartan stared at the hologram in surprise. This was a first – and it made her seem more human somehow. “How much firepower would you need to crack 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, hands clasped behind his back, as he looked out over the landing pads while the men and women under his command made final preparations for the assault on the Covenant ship Truth and Reconciliation.

Fifteen Banshees, all scrounged from different sites across Halo’s embattled surface, sat waiting for the order to launch.

Pelicans, three of the four that the humans had left, squatted ramps down as heavily loaded Marines filed aboard. Each of the surviving 236 leathernecks was armed with weapons appropriate to the mission at hand. No long-range stuff, like rocket launchers or sniper rifles, just assault weapons, shotguns, and grenades, all of which were lethal within enclosed spaces, and would be effective against both the Covenant and the Flood.

Naval personnel, and there were seventy-six of them, were armed with Covenant plasma rifles and pistols, which, thanks to their light weight, and the fact that there was no need to tote additional ammo, left the swabbies free to carry tools, food, and medical supplies. They had orders to avoid combat, if possible – and concentrate on running the ship. Some, a group of sixteen individuals, had skills considered to be so critical that each one had been given two Marine bodyguards.

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.