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"Funny that there's no welcoming committee yet," Cortana whispered. "I looked over this ship's personnel roster: three
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thousand Covenant, mostly Engineers. There's a light company of Grunts, and only a hundred Elites."
"Only a hundred?" the Chief muttered.
He waved his team forward toward a heavy door at the back of the launch bay. The air was full of smoke and fire-suppressing mist, which reduced visibility to a dozen meters.
The rattle of assault rifle fire echoed through the bay. The Chief spun to his right and brought his own rifle to bear.
Locklear stood over the twitching corpses of the Engineers. He fired another burst into the fallen aliens.
"Don't waste your ammunition, Corporal," the Sergeant said. "They may be ugly, but they're harmless."
"They're harmless now, Sarge," Locklear replied. He wiped a spatter of alien blood from his cheek and smirked.
The Chief tended to agree with Locklear's threat analysis of the Covenant: When in doubt, kill. Still, he found the young Ma?rine's actions unnecessary... and a little sloppy.
The architecture of the Covenant fighter bay was similar to the interior of the other Covenant ship the Chief had recently been inside, the Truth and Reconciliation. Low indirect lights illumi?nated the dark purple walls. The alien metal appeared to be sten?ciled with odd, faintly luminescent geometric patterns that overlapped each other. The ceiling was vaulted and unneces?sarily high, maybe ten meters. In contrast to a human ship, it was a waste of space.
The Chief spotted a large door at the back of the bay.
The door was a distorted hexagonal shape and large enough that the entire team could enter at the same time—not that he'd ever be foolish enough to take up such a formation in hostile ter?ritory. The door had four sections that, when keyed to open, would silently slide away from the center.
"That will take us to the main corridor," Cortana said. "And from there, to the bridge."
The Chief waved Locklear to the right side of the door, Sergeant Johnson to the left.
"Lieutenant Haverson," he called out, "you're our rear guard. Polaski, hit the door controls. Hand signals from now on."
Haverson tossed an ironic salute to the Chief but tightened his grip on his weapon and scanned the bay.
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Polaski moved forward and crouched by the panel in the mid?dle of the door. She turned her cap around and leaned closer, then looked back to the Chief and gave him a thumbs-up.
He raised his rifle and nodded, giving her the go-ahead to breach the door.
She reached for the controls. Before she touched them, though, the door slid apart.
Standing on the opposite side were five Elites: Two stood shielded by either edge of the door; a third stood centered in the corridor, plasma rifle leveled at the Chief; behind it, the fourth Elite covered the rear of their formation; and one last Elite crouched in front of the door control panel—nose to nose with Polaski.