The ensuing explosion threw bits of charred metal around the smoke-filled compartment.
One down, and three to go, the Spartan told himself as the Sentinels fired, and the laser beams hit his chest.
Thanks to the lightning-fast and extremely well coordinated nature of the attack, the humans controlled more than eighty percent of the Truth and Reconciliation, and were preparing to lift off. Those compartments not under human control could be dealt with later on. There hadn’t been any contact with Cortana for a while – and Silva intended to play it safe. If Halo was about to blow, he wanted to be far away when the event took place.
The cruiser’s Control Room was a scene of frantic activity as Wellsley wrestled with the ship’s nonsentient nav comp, Naval personnel struggled to familiarize themselves with all manner of alien control systems, and Silva gloated over his latest coup. The attack had been so fast, so successful, that his Helljumpers had captured a being who referred to himself as a “Prophet,” and claimed to be an important member of the Covenant’s ruling class. Now, safely locked away, the alien was slated to become yet another element in Silva’s triumphant return to Earth. The officer smiled as the ship’s gravity locks were released, the hull swayed slightly in response, and the final preflight check began.
Many decks below, McKay felt someone touch her arm. “Lieutenant? Do you have a moment?”
Though not in the same chain of command, Lieutenant Commander Gail Purdy outranked the Helljumper, which was why McKay responded by saying, “Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?”
Purdy was an Engineering officer, and one of those sixteen individuals who rated bodyguards, both of whom had their backs to the officer and were facing out. She was middle-aged and stout, with ginger-colored hair. Her eyes were serious and locked with McKay’s.
“Step over here. I’d like to show you something.”
McKay followed the other officer over to a large tube that served to bridge the one-meter gap between one blocky-looking installation and the next. Jenkins, who had no choice but to go wherever his Marine guards went, was forced to follow.
“See that?” the Naval officer inquired, pointing at the tube.
“Yes, ma’am,” McKay answered, mystified as to what such a structure could possibly have to do with her.
“That’s an access point for the fiber-optic pathway that links the Control Room to the engines,” the Engineer explained. “If someone were to sever that connection, the power plants would run wild. There may be a bypass somewhere – but we haven’t found it. Given the fact that twenty percent of the ship remains under Covenant control I suggest that you post a guard on this piece of equipment until all of the Covenant are under lock and key.”
Purdy’s suggestion had the force of an order, and McKay said, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of it.”
The Naval officer nodded as the deck tilted and forced both women to grab onto the fiber channel. Two people were thrown to the deck. Purdy grinned. “Pretty sloppy, huh? Captain Keyes would have a fit!”
Silva wasn’t worried about the finer points of ship handling as the final loads of UNSC personnel were deposited in the shuttle bay, the Pelicans were secured, the outer doors were closed, and the Truth and Reconciliation struggled to break the grip that Halo had on her hull.
No, Silva was satisfied merely to get clear of the surface, to feel the deck vibrate as the cruiser’s engines struggled to push countless tons of deadweight up through the ring world’s gravity well, to the point where the ship would break free.
Spurred into action by the vibration, or perhaps just tired of waiting, the Flood chose that moment to attack the Engine Room. A vent popped open, an avalanche of infection forms poured out and came under immediate fire.
Jenkins went berserk, and jerked on his chains, gibbering incoherently as the Marine guards struggled to bring him under control.
The battle lasted for less than a minute before all of the Flood forms were killed, the vent was sealed, and the cover welded into place. But the attack served to illustrate the concerns that McKay already had. The Flood were like an extremely deadly virus – and it was naïve to believe that they could be controlled by anything short of extermination. The Marine used her status as XO to get through to Silva, gave a report on the attack, and finished by saying, “It’s clear that the ship is still infected, sir. I suggest that we put down and sterilize every square centimeter prior to lifting again.”
“Negative, Lieutenant,” Silva replied grimly. “I have reason to believe that Halo is going to blow, and soon. Besides, I want some specimens, so see what you can do to capture some of the ugly bastards.”
“The Lieutenant is correct,” Wellsley put in dispassionately. “The risk is too great. I urge you to reconsider.”
“My decision is final,” Silva growled. “Now, return to your duties, and that’s an order.”
McKay broke the connection. The military incorporated many virtues, in her mind at least, one of the most important of which was duty. Duty not just to the Corps, but to the billions of people on Earth, to whom she was ultimately responsible. Now, faced with the conflict between military discipline, the glue that held everything together, and duty, the purpose of it all, what was she supposed to do?
The answer, strangely enough, came from Jenkins, who, having been privy to her end of the conversation, jerked at his chain. The action took one of the guards by surprise. He fell as Jenkins lunged in the direction of the fiber-optic connection, and was still trying to regain his feet when the combat form ran out of slack, and came up short. Seconds later the Marines had Jenkins back under control.
Having failed to do what he knew was right, and with his chains stretched tight, Jenkins looked imploringly into McKay’s eyes.
McKay realized that the decision lay in her hands, and that although it was horrible almost beyond comprehension, it was simple as well. So simple that even the grotesquely ravaged Jenkins knew where his duty lay.
Slowly, deliberately, the Marine crossed the deck to the point where the guard stood, told him to take a break, took one last look around, and triggered a grenade. Jenkins, still unable to speak, managed to mouth the words “thank you.”
Silva was too many decks removed to feel the explosion, or to hear the muffled thump, but was able to witness the results firsthand. Someone yelled, “The controls are gone!” The deck tilted as the Truth and Reconciliation did a nose-over, and Wellsley made one last comment.
“You taught her well, Major. Of that you can be proud.”
Then the bow struck, a series of explosions rippled the length of the hull, and the ship, as well as all of those aboard her, ceased to exist.
“You’re sure?” ’Zamamee demanded, his voice slightly distorted by both the radio and an increasing amount of static.
Yayap wasn’t sure of anything, other than the fact that the reports flowing in around him were increasingly negative, as Covenant forces came under heavy fire from both the Flood and the Sentinels. Something had caused a rock to form down in the Grunt’s abdomen – and made him feel slightly nauseated.
But it would never do to say that, not to someone like ’Zamamee, so he lied instead. “Yes, Excellency. Based on the reports, and looking at the schematics here in the Communications Center, it looks like the human will have little choice but to exit via hatch E-117, make his way to lift V-1269, and go up to a Class Seven service corridor that runs along the ship’s spine.”
“Good work, Yayap,” the Elite said. “We’re on our way.”
For reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of, and in spite of his many failings, the Grunt felt a strange sense of affection for the Elite. “Be careful, Excellency. The human is extremely dangerous.”