第132页

　　The  officer  wasn’t  sure,  but  whatever  it  was  didn’t  have  anything  to  do  with  ego,  with  insubordination,  or  a  desire  for  personal  glory.  Those  were  truths  that  McKay  could  access,  not  because  she  was  a  seasoned  soldier,  but  because  she  was  a  woman,  something  Silva  could  never  aspire  to  be.  But  it  wouldn’t  do  any  good  to  say  that,  so  she  didn’t.
　　Her  voice  was  level.  “So,  where  does  that  leave  us?”
　　“Situation  normal:  We’re  cut  off  and  probably  surrounded.”  The  chair  sighed  as  Silva  leaned  back.  “Like  the  old  saying  goes,  ‘a  good  defense  is  a  good  offense.’  Rather  than  just  sit  around  and  wait  for  the  Covenant  to  attack  again,  let’s  take  the  hurt  to  them.  Nothing  big,  not  yet  anyway,  but  the  kind  of  pinpricks  that  still  draw  blood.”
　　McKay  nodded.  “And  you  want  me  to  come  up  with  some  ideas?”
　　Silva  grinned.  “I  couldn’t  have  said  it  better  myself.”
　　“Yes,  sir,”  McKay  said,  coming  to  her  feet.  “I’ll  have  something  by  morning.”
　　Silva  watched  the  Company  Commander  exit  his  office,  wasted  five  seconds  wishing  he  had  six  more  just  like  her,  and  went  back  to  work.
　　The  Master  Chief  felt  himself  rush  back  together  like  a  puzzle  with  a  million  pieces,  wondered  what  had  happened,  and  where  he  was.  He  felt  disoriented,  nauseated,  and  angry.
　　A  quick  look  around  was  sufficient  to  ascertain  that  the  machine  named  343  Guilty  Spark  had  somehow  transported  him  from  the  swamp  into  the  bowels  of  a  dark,  brooding  structure.  He  saw  the  machine  hovering  high  above,  glowing  a  thin,  ghostly  blue.
　　The  Spartan  raised  his  assault  weapon,  and  fired  half  a  clip  into  it.  The  bullets  were  dead  on,  but  had  no  effect  other  than  to  elicit  a  bemused  response.
　　“That  was  unnecessary,  Reclaimer.  I  suggest  that  you  conserve  your  ammunition  for  the  effort  ahead.”
　　No  less  angry,  but  with  little  choice  but  to  accept  the  situation,  the  Chief  looked  around.  “So  where  am  I?”
　　“The  installation  was  specifically  built  to  study  and  contain  the  Flood,”  the  machine  answered  patiently.  “Their  survival  as  a  race  was  dependent  on  it.  I  am  grateful  to  see  that  some  of  them  survived  to  reproduce.”
　　“  ‘Survived’?  ‘Reproduce’?  What  the  hell  are  you  talking  about?”  the  Chief  demanded.
　　“We  must  collect  the  Index,”  Spark  said,  leaving  the  Spartan’s  questions  unanswered.  “And  time  is  of  the  essence.  Please  follow  me.”
　　The  blue  light  zipped  away  at  that  point,  forcing  the  Chief  to  follow,  or  be  left  behind.  He  checked  both  his  weapons  as  he  walked.  “Speaking  ofyou  ,  who  the  hell  are  you,  and  what’s  your  function?”
　　“Iam  343  Guilty  Spark,”  the  machine  said,  pedantically.  “I  am  the  Monitor,  or  more  precisely,  a  self-repairing  artificial  intelligence  charged  with  maintaining  and  operating  this  facility.  But  you  are  the  Reclaimer—so  you  know  that  already.”
　　The  Master  Chief  didn’t  know  anything  of  the  kind,  but  it  seemed  wise  to  play  along,  so  he  did.  “Yes,  well,  refresh  my  memory  .  .  .  how  long  has  it  been  since  you  were  left  in  charge?”
　　“Exactly  101,217  local  years,”  the  Monitor  replied  cheerfully,  “many  of  which  were  quite  boring.  But  not  anymore!Hee,  hee,  hee.  ”