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“It’ll be easier to hold them off frominside the structure,” Cortana put in. “Can you get inside?”
“Negative!”Waller replied.“They’re closing in too fast. We’ll keep ’em busy as long as we can.”
“Give ’em hell, Marine,”the AI said grimly, and broke the connection. “We’llall be in a tight spot if we don’t get out of here before enemy reinforcements arrive.”
“Roger that,” the Master Chief replied, as he pushed his way down a ramp, through a pair of hatches, and into the gloomy spaces beyond. He marched over some transparent decking, crossed a footbridge and killed a pair of Grunts he found there, followed another ramp to the floor below, tossed a grenade into a group of enemies that patrolled the area, and hurried through a likely looking opening. There was a roar of outrage as an Elite fired up at him from the platform below while some Grunts barked and gibbered.
The Spartan used a grenade to grease the entire group and hurried down to see what they had been guarding. He recognized the Map Room the moment he saw the opening, and had just stepped inside when another Elite opened up on him from across the way. A sustained burst from his assault weapon was sufficient to drop the alien’s personal shields, and he put the alien down with a stroke of his rifle butt.
“There!” Cortana said. “That holo panel should activate the map.”
“Any idea how to activate it?”
“No,” she replied, her tone arch. “You’rethe one with the magic touch.”
The Master Chief took a couple of steps forward and reached a hand toward the display. He seemed to know instinctively how to activate the panel—it almost seemed hard-wired, like his fight-or-flight response.
He banished the random thought and returned to the mission. He slid his armored hand across the panel and a glowing wire-frame map appeared and seemed to float in front of him. “Analyzing,” the AI said. “Halo’s Control Center is”—she highlighted a section of the map in his HUD—“there.Interesting. It looks like some sort of shrine.”
She opened a channel.“Cortana to Captain Keyes.”
There was silence for a moment, followed by Foehammer’s voice.“The Captain has dropped out of contact, Cortana. His ship may be out of range or may be having equipment problems.”
“Keep trying,”the AI replied.“Let me know when you reestablish contact. And then tell him that the Master Chief and I have determined the location of the Control Center.”
Captain Jacob Keyes tried to ignore the incessantslam-bam beat of the Sergeant’s colonial flip music that pounded over the intercom as the pilot lowered the dropship into a swamp. “Everything looks clear—I’m bringing her down.”
The Pelican’s jets whipped the water into a frenzy as the ramp was lowered and the cargo compartment was flooded with thick, humid air. It carried the nauseating stench of rotting vegetation, the foul odor of swamp gas, and the slight metallic tang typical of Halo itself. Somebody said,“Pe-euu,” but was drowned out by Staff Sergeant Avery Johnson, who shouted, “Go! Go! Go!” and the Marines jumped down into the calf-deep water.