In addition to their battering attacks, the creatures had acquired both human and Covenant weapons from their victims, and these combat forms were even more dangerous as a result. The combat forms weren’t the smartest foes he’d ever encountered, but they weren’t mindless automatons, either – they could 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 a place where some Marines had staged a last stand on top of a cargo container. He paused to recover their dog tags, scavenged some ammo, and kept 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 more loudly, and he felt some kind of pressure – some sense of anger.
Why was he angry?
No, something else 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 some terrifying enemy, gunfire, then a stabbing pain...
They must have captured him. That was it. This might be some new trick by the enemy. He’d give them nothing. He struggled to remember who the enemy was.
He repeated the mantra in his head: Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Service number 01928-19912-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, the tone and tenor of the drone changed, as if pleased. He – Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Service number 01928-19912-JK – was startled when new images played across his mind.
He realized, too late, that something was sifting through his mind, like a grave 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 first woman 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 the void, 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, random pieces of himself remained, a sort of makeshift raft to which he could momentarily cling.
The image of a smiling woman, a ball spiraling through the air, a crowded street, a man with half his face blown away, tickets to a show he couldn’t remember, the gentle sound of wind chimes, and the smell of newly baked bread.
But the sea was too rough, waves crashed down on the raft, and broke it apart. Swells lifted Keyes up, others pushed him down, and the final darkness beckoned. But then, just as the ocean was about to consume him, Keyes became aware of the one thing the creature that raped his mind couldn’t consume: the CNI transponder’s carrier wave.
He reached for it like a drowning man, clutched the lifeline with all his might, and refused to let go. For here, deep within his watery grave, was a thread 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 collapsed hulk of a combat form. It twitched and lay still.
After winding through the confusion of subterranean chambers and passageways for what seemed like hours, he’d finally found a lift to the surface. He carefully tapped the activation panel – worried for a moment that this lift would also drop him deeper into the facility – and felt the lift lurch into a rapid ascent.
As the lift climbed, Foehammer’s worried voice crackled from his comm system.
“This is Echo 419. Chief, is that you? I lost your signal when you disappeared inside the structure. What’s going on down there? I’m tracking movement all over the place.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” the Master Chief replied, his voice grim, “and believe me: you don’t want to know. Be advised: Captain Keyes 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 himself surrounded by Marines. Not the shambling combat forms he’d spent the last eternity 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 we headed for the RV point, and these things, they ambushed us. Sir: Advise we get the hell 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 to his surprise, it felt good to enter the stinking swamp. Very good indeed.
CHAPTER NINE
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 you up,” Rawley said. Her eyes were glued to her scopes as SPARTAN-117 took the lead and the Marines left the ancient complex and entered the fetid embrace of the swamp. The rain and some kind of interference from the structure played hell with the Pelican’s detection gear, but she was damned if she was going to lose this team now. She had a reputation to maintain, after all.
“Roger that,” the Chief replied, “we’re on our way.”
She kept the Pelican circling, her eyes peeled for trouble. There was no immediate threat. That made her even more nervous. Ever since they’d made it down to the surface of the ring, trouble always seemed to strike without warning.
For the hundredth time since lifting off from Alpha Base, she cursed the lack of ammunition for the Pelicans.
Knowing the dropship was somewhere above the mist, and eager to get the hell out, the Marines forged ahead. The Spartan cautioned them to slow down, to keep their eyes peeled, but it wasn’t long before he found himself back toward the middle of the pack.
The tower Foehammer had mentioned appeared up ahead. The base of the column was 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 be said 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 fired on full automatic. A host of red dots had appeared on the Spartan’s threat indicator. He saw a dozen of the spherical infection forms bounce out of the mist and knew that any possibility of containing the creatures underground had been lost.
The Pelican’s sensors suddenly painted dozens – correction, hundreds – of new contacts on the ground. Rawley cursed and wheeled the Pelican around, expecting ground fire.