第107页

　　"I  should  have  never  told  you  to  be  careful,"  she  whispered.  "You're  incapable  of  that.  I  should  have  wished  you  victory.  That's  what  you're  good  at,  John.  Winning."
　　She  initiated  the  Slipspace  generator;  space  distorted,  teased  apart,  and  light  enveloped  the  flagship.
　　CHAPTER  NINETEEN
　　TIME:OATE  ERROR  \  Estimated  0530  hours,  September  23,  2552  (Military  Calendar)\Aboard  captured  Covenant  dropship,  Epsilon  Eridani  system,  en  route  to  surface  of  Reach.
　　The  Master  Chief  stood  on  the  deck  of  the  Covenant  dropship.  He  stood  because  the  crash  seats  had  been  designed  for  Elites  and  Jackals  and  none  of  the  contours  fit  his  human  backbone.  It  didn't  matter—he  preferred  to  stand.
　　They  drifted  through  the  upper  atmosphere  of  Reach,  de?scending  like  a  spider  on  a  thousand-kilometer  thread  of  silk.  They  passed  close  to  a  hundred  other  ships  moving  in  orbital  arcs—Seraph  fighters,  other  dropships,  scavenger  craft  with  grappling  tentacles  that  dragged  sections  of  salvaged  metal.  Dominating  the  skies  were  a  pair  of  three-hundred-meter-long  cruisers.
　　The  cruisers  accelerated  toward  them.
　　The  Chief  moved  up  to  the  cockpit  where  Polaski  and  Haver-son  sat  in  the  seats  they  had  removed  from  the  Pelican  and  welded  in  place.
　　"They're  pinging  us,"  Polaski  whispered.
　　"Nice  and  easy,  Warrant  Officer,"  Lieutenant  Haverson  whis?pered.  "Just  use  the  programmed  response  Cortana  gave  us."
　　"Aye  aye,  Lieutenant,"  Polaski  replied  and  concentrated  on  the  Covenant  scripts  that  scrolled  across  the  display  on  her  left.  "Sending  now."  She  tapped  a  holographic  icon.
　　Sergeant  Johnson  and  Corporal  Locklear  stood  two  meters  behind  the  Chief,  both  of  them  nervous.  Johnson  chewed  his  stub  of  cigar  and  scowled  at  the  incoming  Covenant  warships.
　　174 HALO:  FIRST  STRIKE
　　Locklear's  trigger  finger  twitched,  and  beads  of  sweat  dotted  his  forehead.
　　"Cortana  has  this  stuff  wired  tight,"  Sergeant  Johnson  whis?pered.  "No  worries."
　　"I  got  plenty  of  worries  here,"  Locklear  muttered.  "Man,  I'd  rather  be  in  a  HEV  pod  on  fire  and  out  of  control  than  up  here.  We're  sitting  ducks."
　　"Quiet,"  Lieutenant  Haverson  hissed  at  Locklear.  "Let  the  lady  concentrate."
　　Polaski  kept  one  eye  on  the  communications  screen  and  one  eye  on  the  external  displays  as  the  twin  cruisers  grew  larger,  fill?ing  the  holographic  space  before  her.  Both  her  hands  hovered  over  the  flight  yoke,  not  touching  it,  but  twitching  in  anticipation.
　　Three  Seraph  fighters  burned  out  of  their  orbits  and  took  a  closer  pass.
　　"Is  that  an  attack  vector?"  Lieutenant  Haverson  asked.
　　"I  don't  think  so,"  Polaski  said.  "But  it's  hard  to  tell  with  those  things."
　　Locklear  inhaled  deeply,  and  the  Chief  noticed  that  he  didn't  exhale.  He  set  his  hand  on  the  man's  shoulder  and  pulled  him  aside.  "Relax,  Marine,"  he  whispered.  "That's  an  order,"
　　Locklear  exhaled  and  ran  a  hand  over  his  smoothly  shaven  head.  "Right  ...  right,  Chief."  With  effort,  the  Marine  forced  himself  to  calm  down.
　　A  red  light  flashed  on  the  control  panel.  "Collision  warning,"  Polaski  said  with  the  practiced  nonchalance  all  Navy  pilots  had  in  the  face  of  imminent  death.  She  reached  for  the  yoke.