Halo: The Flood

by William C. Dietz

  The AI made no reply as the third machine exploded—and the Chief made his way down the hall using the lifeboat bays for cover. Two additional Sentinels appeared, were blown out of the air, and turned into scrap.

  Soon after that they arrived at the end of the corridor, took a right, and spotted an open maintenance hatch. Not ideal, since he didn’t relish the thought of having to negotiate such tight quarters, but there didn’t seem to be any other choice. So he ducked inside, found himself in a maze, and blundered about for a while before spotting a hatch set flush into the deck in front of him. That’s when a group of infection forms swarmed up out of the hole, and the Chief’s question was answered. It appeared that the Floodhad located theAutumn —and already taken up residence there.

  He swore under his breath, backed away, and hosed the Flood with bullets. He eased forward and looked down through the floor hatch. He saw a carrier form, and knew there were bound to be more. He dropped a plasma grenade down through the hole, backed away, and took a certain amount of pleasure in the ensuing explosion.

  The maintenance tunnels didn’t seem to be taking him where he needed to go, so he dropped through the hole, crushed a handful of infection forms, and shot two more. The blood-splattered corridor was messy but well lit. He pried open a wall-mounted locker, and was pleased to find four frag grenades and spare ammo. He quickly stowed them, and moved on.

  Two Sentinels nosed around a corner, opened fire with their lasers, and got what they deserved. “They might have been looking for us,” Cortana observed, “but it’s my guess that they were assigned to Flood control.”

  The theory made sense, but didn’t really help much as the Master Chief was forced to fight the Sentinels, the Flood,and the Covenant, while he made his way through a series of passageways and into the ship’s heavily damaged mess, where a large contingent of Elites and Grunts were waiting to have him for lunch.

  There were a lot of them, too many to handle with the assault weapon alone, so he served up a couple of grenades. One of the Elites was blown to pieces by the overlapping explosions, another lost a leg, and a Grunt was thrown halfway across the room.

  They’d come full circle—he’d blasted Covenant troops apart before the crash landing, and here he was again.The enemy just didn’t learn, he thought.

  There was a survivor, however, a tough Elite who threw a plasma grenade of his own, and missed by a matter of centimeters. The Master Chief ran and was clear of the blast zone by the time the device went off. The Elite charged, took the better part of a full clip, and finally slammed into the deck, dead.

  It was a short distance to the burned-out bridge, where a Covenant security team was on duty. Word had been passed: They knew the human was on his way, and opened fire the moment they saw him.

  Once again the Spartan made use of a grenade to even the odds—then crushed the head of an Elite with his fist. The alien’s head was turned to pulp and its body collapsed like a puppet with no strings. The armor gave him enough strength to flip a Warthog over. Then, just when he thought the battle was done, a Grunt shot him in the back. The audible went off as his armor sought to recharge itself. A second shot, delivered with sufficient speed, would kill him.

  Time seemed to slow as the Master Chief turned toward his right.

  The Grunt, who had been hiding inside an equipment cabinet, froze as the armored alien not only survived what should have been a fatal shot, but turned to face him. They were only an arm’s length away from each other, which meant that the Master Chief could reach out, rip the breather off his assailant’s face, and close the door on him.

  There was a loudclick followed by wild hammering as the Chief made his way forward to the spot where Captain Keyes had issued his orders. Cortana appeared over the control panel in front of him. Everywhere the AI looked she saw burned-out equipment, bloodstained decks, and smashed viewports.

  She shook her head sadly. “I leave home for a few days, and look what happens.”

  Cortana brought a hand up to her semitransparent forehead. “This won’t take long— There, that should give us enough time to make it to the lifeboat, and put some distance between ourselves and Halobefore detonation.”

  The next voice the Chief heard belonged to 343 Guilty Spark. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”

  Cortana groaned. “Oh, hell.”

  The Chief brought his weapon up but saw no sign of the Monitor or his Sentinels. That didn’t prevent the construct from babbling in his ears, though—the AI had tapped into his comm system. “Ridiculous! That you would imbue your warship’s AI with such a wealth of knowledge. Wouldn’t you worry that it might be captured? Or destroyed?”

  Cortana frowned. “He’s in my data arrays—a local tap.”

  Though nowhere near the bridge, the Monitorwas on board, and flitted from one control panel to the next, sucking information out of Cortana’s nonsentient subprocessors with the ease of someone vacuuming a set of drapes. “You can’t imagine how exciting this is! To have a record of all our lost time. Oh, how I will enjoy every moment of categorization. To think that you would destroy this installation, as well as this record . . . I amshocked . Almost too shocked for words.”

  “He stopped the self-destruct sequence,” Cortana warned. “Why do you continue to fight us, Reclaimer?” Spark demanded. “You cannot win! Give us the construct—and I will endeavor to make your death relatively painless and—”

  The rest of 343 Guilty Spark’s words were chopped off as if someone had thrown a switch. “At least I still have control over the comm channels,” Cortana said.

  “Where is he?” the Chief asked. “I’m detecting taps throughout the ship,” Cortana replied. “Sentinels most likely. As for the Monitor—he’sin Engineering. He must be trying to take the core off-line. Even if I could get the countdown restarted . . . I don’t know what to do.”

  The Spartan stared at the hologram in surprise. This was a first—and it made her seem more human somehow. “How much firepower would you need to crack one of the engine shields?”

  “Not much,” Cortana replied, “a well-placed grenade perhaps. But why?” He produced a grenade, tossed the device into the air, and caught it again. The AI’s eyes widened and she nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” The Spartan turned and started to leave. “Chief!” Cortana said. “Sentinels!” In unison, the machines attacked.

  Major Silva stood at what amounted to parade rest, feet spread, hands clasped behind his back, as he looked out over the landing pads while the men and women under his command made final preparations for the assault on the Covenant shipTruth and Reconciliation .

  Fifteen Banshees, all scrounged from different sites across Halo’s embattled surface, sat waiting for the order to launch.

  Pelicans, three of the four that the humans had left, squatted ramps down as heavily loaded Marines filed aboard. Each of the surviving 236 leathernecks was armed with weapons appropriate to the mission at hand. No long-range stuff, like rocket launchers or sniper rifles, just assault weapons, shotguns, and grenades, all of which were lethal within enclosed spaces, and would be effective against both the Covenant and the Flood.

  Naval personnel, and there were seventy-six of them, were armed with Covenant plasma rifles and pistols, which, thanks to their light weight, and the fact that there was no need to tote additional ammo, left the swabbies free to carry tools, food, and medical supplies. They had orders to avoid combat, if possible—and concentrate on running the ship. Some, a group of sixteen individuals, had skills considered to be so critical that each one had been given two Marine bodyguards.

  Assuming that Cortana and the Master Chief were able to complete their mission, they would take one of theAutumn ’s remaining lifeboats and rendezvous with theTruth and Reconciliation out in space. Annoying though she sometimes was, the officer knew Cortana would be able to pilot the alien vessel, and get them home.

  Failing that, Silva hoped that Wellsley, with help from the Naval personnel, would be able to take th
e cruiser through Slipspace and back to Earth. An event he had already planned for, right down to what he would wear, and a short but moving speech for the media.

  As if summoned by his thoughts, Wellsley chose that moment to intrude on the officer’s reverie. The AI, who rode in an armored matrix slung from Silva’s shoulder, was characteristically unapologetic. “Lieutenant McKay called in, Major. Force One is in place.”

  Silva nodded, remembered that Wellsley couldn’t actually see him, and said, “Good. Now, if they can lay low for the next couple of hours, we’ll be in good shape.”

  “I have every confidence in theLieutenant ,” the AI replied plainly.

  The implication was obvious. While Wellsley had faith in McKay, the AI had concerns where the Lieutenant’s superior was concerned. Silva sighed. Had the artificial intelligence been human, the officer would have put him in his place long ago. But Wellsleywasn’t human, couldn’t be manipulated in the same fashion that flesh-and-blood subordinates could, and like the human on whom he had modeled himself, tended to speak his mind. “All right,” the Major said reluctantly, “what’s the problem?”

  “The ‘problem,’ ” Wellsley began, “is the Flood. If the plan is successful, and we manage to take theTruth and Reconciliation , there will almost certainly be Flood forms on board. In fact, based on what Cortana and I have been able to piece together, that’s the only reason the vessel remains where it is. All of the necessary repairs have been made, and Covenant forces are trying to sterilize the ship’s interior prior to lifting off.”

  “Which answers your question,” Silva said, struggling to contain his impatience. “By the time we take over, most of the Flood will be dead. Once underway, I will dispatch hunter-killer teams to find the survivors. With the exception of a few specimens which I will place under heavy guard, the rest will be ejected into space. There, are you satisfied?”

  “No,”Wellsley replied firmly. “Were a carrier form to escape onto Earth’s surface, the entire planet could fall. This threat is as dangerous as, if not more so than, the Covenant. Cortana and I agree—no Flood form can be allowed to leave this system.”

  Silva took a quick look around to make sure no one was close enough to hear him and let the anger enter his voice. “Both you and Cortana have a tendency to forget one very important fact—I’min command here and you arenot . And I defy you to find anywhere in my orders that identifies a threat to Earthbigger than the goddamned Covenant!

  “Your role is to provide advice. Mine is to make decisions. It’s my belief that we could find better ways to combat the Flood if our scientists had live specimens with which to work. More than that, our people need tosee this new enemy,know how dangerous they are, andbelieve that they can be conquered.”

  Wellsley considered taking the debate one step further, by pointing out that Silva’s ambitions might well have clouded his judgment, but knew it would be a waste of time. “That’s your final decision?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Then God help you,” the AI replied gravely, “because if your plan fails, no one else will have the power to do so.”

  The compartment, a space untouched by the fighting, had once served as a ready room for the ship’s Longsword, Pelican, and shuttle pilots. Now, with no modifications other than the installation of some crude sleeping accommodations, a back table with some food on it, and crates of supplies, the room functioned as an unofficial HQ for Covenant forces stationed aboard thePillar of Autumn .

  The command staff, or what was left of it, sat slumped in the uncomfortably alien chairs, many too tired to move, and stared up at their leader. His name was ’Ontomee, and he was confused, frustrated, and secretly frightened. The situation aboard theAutumn had deteriorated dramatically. In spite of all the efforts to stop them, Flood forms continued to trickle into the ship.

  The disgusting filth had even managed to seize control of the ship’s engineering spaces before anew enemy, one which was inimical to Covenant and Flood form alike, sent an army of flying robots into the ship and took control of the Engine Room.

  Now, as if to prove that ’Ontomee was truly cursed, stillanother threat had arrived on the scene, and he was reluctant to share the news with the already exhausted Elites arrayed in front of him.

  “So,” ’Ontomee began lamely, “it seems that a human crashed a Banshee into the side of the ship, and is now on board.”

  A veteran named ’Kasamee frowned. “ ‘Ahuman’? As in, asingle human? With respect, Excellency, one human more or less will hardly make a difference.”

  ’Ontomee swallowed. “Yes, well, normally I would agree with you, except thatthis human is somewhat unusual. First, because he wears special armor, second, because it appears that he’s on some sort of mission, and third, because he singlehandedly killed every member of Security Team Three, which had responsibility for the command and control deck.”

  Unnoticed by those in front of him, the seemingly lethargic officer known as Huki ’Umamee started to look interested. He sat up straighter, and began to pay close attention. Having chosen a seat in the last row, ’Zamamee found it difficult to hear. The discussion continued.

  “Onehuman accomplished all that?” ’Kasamee demanded incredulously. “That hardly seems possible.”

  “Yes,” ’Ontomee agreed, “but he did. Not only that, but having accomplished whatever he entered the control area to do, he left, and is somewhere else on board this ship.” The Elite scanned the faces in front of him. “Who has the skill and courage required to find the alien and kill him?”

  The response came with gratifying speed. “Ido,” ’Zamamee said, now on his feet.

  ’Ontomee peered into the harsh human lights. “Who is that?”

  “ ’Umamee,” the Elite lied.

  “Ah, yes,” ’Ontomee replied gratefully. “A commando . . . Just the sort of person we need to rid ourselves of this two-legged vermin. The mission is yours. Keep me informed.

  “Now, turning our attention to these new airborne mechanisms . . .”

  Later, as the meeting ended, ’Kasamee went looking for the volunteer, fully intending to compliment the younger officer on his initiative. But, like the human the Elite was supposed to find, the Elite officer had disappeared.

  Having fought his way clear of the bridge, the Master Chief made his way through a series of passageways, ran into more Flood and gunned them down. Cortana figured that they could access the Engine Room via the cryo chamber, and that was where the Chief was headed. The problem was that he kept running into jammed hatches, locked doors, and other obstacles that kept him from taking a direct route.

  After he moved through a large, dark room strewn with weapons, the Chief heard the sounds of combat coming from the area beyond a closed hatch. He paused, heard the noises die away, and slipped out into the corridor. Bodies lay all about as he slid along a bulkhead, saw some spikes sticking up over a cargo module, and felt his blood run cold. A Hunter! Or more accuratelytwo Hunters, since they traveled in pairs.

  Lacking a rocket launcher, the Chief turned to the only heavy-duty fire power that he had: grenades.

  He threw two grenades in quick succession, saw the spined behemoth go down, and heard a roar of outrage as the second Hunter charged.

  The Spartan fired just to slow the alien down, backed through the hatch, and gave thanks as the door closed. That gave him two or three seconds that he needed to plant his feet, pull another grenade, and prepare to throw it.

  The hatch opened, the fragmentation grenade flew straight and true, and the explosion knocked the beast off its feet. The deck shook as the body hit. The Hunter attempted to rise but fell under a hail of armor-piercing bullets.

  The Master Chief gave the corpse a wide berth as he left the room, and passed back into the hall. As he made his way through the ship’s corridors, he saw blood-splattered bulkheads, bodies sprawled in every imaginable posture of death, blown hatches, sparks flying out of junction boxes, and a series of small fires, which thanks to a
lack of combustible materials seemed to be fairly well contained.

  He heard the sound of automatic weapons’ fire somewhere ahead, and passed through another hatch. Inside, a fire burned at the point where two large pipes traversed a maintenance bay. He was close to the cryo chamber, or thought he was, but needed to find a way in.

  Hesitant to jump through the flames unless it was absolutely necessary, he took a right turn instead. The sounds of combat grew louder as the hatch opened onto a large room where a full array of Flood forms were battling a clutch of Sentinels. He paused, shouldered his weapon, and fired. Sentinels crashed, carrier forms exploded, and everyone fired at one another in a mad melee of crisscrossing energy beams, 7.62mm projectiles, and exploding needles.

  Once the robots had been put out of action, and most of the Flood had been neutralized, the Chief was able to cross the middle of the room, climb a ladder, and gain the catwalk above. From that vantage point he could look across into the Maintenance Control Room, where a couple of Sentinels were hard at work trying to zap a group of Flood, none of whom were willing to be toasted without putting up a fight. The combatants were too busy to worry about stray humans, however, and the noncom took advantage of that to work his way down the walkway and into the Control Room.

  Andthat , as he soon learned, was a big mistake.

  It wasn’t too bad at first, or didn’t seem to be, as he destroyed both of the Sentinels, and went to work on the Flood. But every time he put one form down, it seemed as if two more arrived to take its place, soon forcing him onto the defensive.

  He retreated into the antechamber adjacent to the Control Room. The human had little choice but to place his back against a locked hatch. The larger forms came in twos and threes—while the infection forms came in swarms. Some of the assaults seemed to be random, but many appeared to be coordinated as one, or two, or three combat forms would hurl themselves forward, die under the assault weapon’s thundering fire, and fall just as the Spartan ran out of ammo, andmore carrier forms waddled into the fray.