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"We won't be linked long," he said and slipped out of his har?ness. He drifted aft, pulled himself down to the floor and opened the Longsword's access hatch. Green lights on the intervening pressure door winked on in succession. He removed the safeties and popped the seal.
46 HALO: FIRST STRIKE
A hand reached up from the other side. John pulled the person through.
The shock only lasted a moment. John's reflexes kicked in— he grabbed a handful of the man's uniform, kicked the hatch shut, and propelled both of them against the hull. With a lightning-quick motion, he drew the newcomer's pistol and aimed it squarely at the man's forehead.
"You were dead," the Chief said. "I saw you die. On Jenkins's mission record. The Flood got you."
The black man smiled a set of perfect white teeth. "The Flood? Hell, Chief, it'll take more than that pack of walking alien horror-show freaks to take out Sergeant A. J. Johnson."
CHAPTER SIX
1710 hours, September 22,2552 (Military Calendar) \ Aboard Longsword fighter, uncharted system, Halo debris field.
The Master Chief held on to the ship's frame with one hand so he wouldn't float away in zero gee. With the other hand he pressed the pistol deeper into Johnson's forehead.
The Sergeant's smile faded, but there was not a trace of fear in his dark eyes. He snorted a laugh. "I get it: You think I'm in?fected. Well, I'm not. This"—he patted his chest—"is one hun?dred percent grade-A Marine... and nothin' else."
The Chief eased his stance but didn't lower the gun. "Explain how that's possible."
"They got us all right, those little mushroom-shaped infec?tious bastards," Johnson said. "They ambushed me, Jenkins, and Keyes." He paused at the Captain's name, then shook his head and went on. "They swarmed all over us. Jenkins and Keyes were taken... but I guess I didn't taste too good."
"The Flood doesn't 'taste' anything," Cortana interjected. "The Infection Forms rewrite a victim's cellular structure and convert him into a Combat Form, then later a Carrier Form—an incubator for more Infection Forms. Based on what we've seen, they cer?tainly don't just decide to pass up a victim."
The Sergeant shrugged. He fished into his pocket, found the remaining stub of a chewed cigar, and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. "Well, I've seen different. They 'passed me up' like I was undercooked spinach at a turkey dinner."
"Cortana," the Chief asked. "Is it possible?"
"It's possible? she carefully replied. "But it's also highly un-
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HALO: FIRST STRIKE
likely." She paused for two heartbeats, and then added, "Accord?ing to the readings from the Sergeant's biomonitors, his story checks out. I can't be one hundred percent positive until he's been cleared in a medical suite, but preliminary findings indi?cate that he is clean of any Flood parasitic infection. He's obvi?ously not a mindless, half-naked alien killing machine."
"All right." The Chief clicked the pistol's safety to "on" then flipped the pistol around and handed it back to the Sergeant, grip first. "But I'm having you checked inside and out the first chance we get. We can't risk letting the Flood infection spread."