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The Master Chief sighed and relaxed a little. There was an?other reason for choosing Reach, one he didn't reveal to the Lieutenant. He knew the odds of anyone surviving on the sur?face were remote. Astronomical, in fact ... because once the Covenant decided to glass a planet, they did so with amazing thoroughness. But he had to see it. It was the only way he could accept that his teammates were dead.
A wash of static covered the Chief, first along his spine and then wrapping about his torso. There was an audible pop, and sparks crackled along the length of his MJOLNIR armor.
The Engineer released its grasp on him and cluttered with excitement.
Diagnostic routines scrolled upon the Chief's heads-up dis?play. In the upper right corner the shield recharge bar flickered red and slowly filled.
"They work," the Master Chief said. John was relieved to have his shields back. He wouldn't forget what it was like to fight without them, though. It had been a wake-up call: not to become dependent upon technology. It was also a reminder that most battles were won or lost in his head, before he engaged any enemy.
"Impressive little creatures," Haverson remarked. He scruti?nized the Covenant Engineer as it floated toward the wall of dis?plays and began tinkering with one. "I wonder how the Covenant caste system—"
"Sir!" Sergeant Johnson's voice blasted over the COM, break?ing with static. "You've got to get down to the Pelican ASAP. You and the Chief."
"Are you under fire?" the Chief asked.
"Negative," he replied. "It's one of the cryotubes you recovered."
"What about it, Sergeant?" Haverson snapped.
"Chief, there's a Spartan in it."
CHAPTER TEN
1852 hours, September 22,2552 (Military Calendar) \ Captured Covenant flagship, in Slipspace, location unknown.
After the Chief had left to investigate the cryopod, Haverson made certain that the bridge doors locked. He turned and walked over to the Covenant Engineer who'd repaired the Master Chief's armor.
"Fascinating creatures," he murmured. He drew his sidearm and pointed it at the back of its head.
Two of the Engineer's six eyes locked onto the muzzle of the weapon. A tentacle reached for it, split into fine probing threads, and touched the blue-gray metal.
Cortana asked, "What are you—"
Haverson shot the Engineer. The round tore through its head and spattered gore across the display the alien had been repairing.
"Haverson!" Cortana cried.
The other Engineer turned and squealed—then a blinking light on the broken display captured its attention and it returned to its work, oblivious.
Haverson knelt by the dead Engineer and holstered his gun. "I had no other choice," he whispered. He touched the creature's odd, slick skin. Its color faded from a faint pink to a cold gray.
He dragged it to the escape hatch, opened it, and placed the body in the corridor. He paused, and went back to fold its tenta?cles over its body. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve it."
"Why was that necessary?" Cortana demanded.