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Then, as if some sort of switch had been thrown, the ODST officer’s entire demeanor changed. He said, “At ease,” invited both of his guests to sit down, and proceeded to brief the Master Chief on his upcoming mission. The Covenant had Captain Keyes, recon had confirmed it, and Silva was determined to get him back.
Though their ship had been damaged by thePillar of Autumn during her brief rampage through the system, the Covenant’s Engineers were hard at work making repairs to theTruth and Reconciliation . Now, hovering only a few hundred units off Halo’s surface, the ship had become a sort of de facto headquarters 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 veteran Grunts. There was also a scattering of Engineers, amorphous-looking creatures held aloft by gas bladders, who had a savantlike ability to dismantle, repair, and reassemble any complex technology.
But all of them, regardless of how senior they might be, hurried to get out of the way as Zuka ’Zamamee marched through the halls, closely followed by a reluctant Yayap. Not because of his rank, but because of his appearance and the message it sent. The arrogant tilt of his head, the space-black armor, and the steadyclick-clack of his heels all seemed to radiate confidence and authority.
Still, formidable as ’Zamamee was, no one was allowed onto the command deck without being screened, and no less than six black-clad Elites were waiting when he and his aide stepped off the gravity lift. If these Elites were intimidated 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 of someone who was conferring a favor on a lesser being.
The security officer accepted ’Zamamee’s identity disk and dropped it into a handheld reader. Data appeared and scrolled from right to left. “Place your hand in the slot.”
The second machine took the form of a rectangular black box which stood about five units high. Green light sprayed out of a slot located in the structure’s side.
’Zamamee did as instructed, felt a sudden stab of pain as the machine sampled his tissue, and knew that a computer was busy comparing his DNA with that on file. Not because he might be human, but because politics were rife within 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 fifteen units from now. The Council is running behind schedule, however, so you’ll have to wait. Please hand all personal weapons to me. There’s a waiting room over there—but the Grunt will have to remain outside. You will be called when the Council is ready.”
Though not burdened by his energy rifle, which he had given to Yayap to carry, the Elite did have a plasma pistol, which he surrendered butt first.