Had she burned away half her "life" doing so? More? She stored that thought for later consideration. If she didn't find a way to get the Master Chief and get back to Earth, her operational life span would be even shorter.
She was, however, curious about one thing: She ran a trace on the origin of the copied pathways of the alien AI, and found its replication routine. This copying code was extremely convo- luted; in fact, it took up more than two thirds of the Covenant AI's processor-memory space. It was dark with functions that ran deep to the core. It spread dendritic fingers through the sys- tem, like a cancer that had metastasized throughout the AI's en- tire body.
She did not understand any of it.
But she didn't have to understand the code to use it.
Was it worth the risk of using? Perhaps. If she could mitigate the risk, she'd copy a portion of herself onto an isolated system in Ascendant Justice. She could always erase this subsystem if anything went wrong.
The potential rewards of this operation were great. She might be able to restore herself to full operational capacity—even car- rying the Halo data.
Cortana double- and triple-checked the system she would overwrite: the Covenant software that managed the life support on the lower decks. Since the lower decks were now evacuated and cold, life support was moot. She carefully severed the con- nections from that subsystem to the rest of the ship.
She also rechecked her thinking. This copying software was likely responsible for the Covenant AI's fractured thinking. Her thinking, however, was being squeezed to nothing. There had to be a balance between these two deleterious states.
Cortana initialized the Covenant file-duplication software. It moved, and the entire thing pulsed and reached for her; she im- mediately shut down all contact with her translation suite.
The dark functions touched her code, wrapped around them, pushed against the barriers she had erected.
It happened too fast, but she didn't stop the process. It was far too interesting to stop.
She distantly felt that portion of her mind blur and replicate, assembled line by line into its new location within Ascendant Justice. It felt strange. Not that it was strange she could think in more than one place about more than one thing at the same time—she was used to multiprocessing.
This was different strange—as if she had a glimpse into something wonderful... and infinite.
The replication ceased, and the copying code was once again in- ert and safely stored with the dissected Covenant AI's directory.
Cortana ran her entire system; nothing else had been altered.
She checked the new copied system. It was intact, and, apart from a few slight errors in the software—which she immediately mended—it appeared functional.
She initiated the new system and slaved it with her original system, running them in parallel—one tapping the ONI's English-Covenant lexicon, the other tapping the alien AI's Covenant-English lexicon.
If the alien copying software could duplicate her translation routine, could it duplicate more of her?
No. She squelched that thought. The risk of copying any more "hers" was too great. There were too many unknowns. And this was, after all, the enemy's code. There could be booby traps, waiting to be tripped within the complex algorithms.
Besides, copying herself would do nothing to prevent her mental degradation. Those interconnection errors were already present ... and they always would be, despite the number of copies generated.
She remembered the strange fractured speech patterns of the Covenant AI and wondered how many times it had been copied.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the Covenant transmissions became clear. It was suddenly as if she had a new set of eyes and ears to hear them: Excavation proceeding; new sublayer discovered at six-hundred-meter depth, and Patrol unable to find the Infidels; returning to base, and Minor artifacts discovered; rejoice!
And there was one thing she had missed in her previous analysis of the Covenant communiques, a second signal on the carrier wave: They used the same symbols she had used to find the Halo construct—the symbols that the Master Chief had discovered on the alien artifact on Cote d'Azur.
She hadn't seen the simple dots, bars, squares, and triangles before because the Covenant, naturally, had embellished the clean symbols with their highly decorated calligraphied scripts, and further with their overwrought religious allusions.
Cortana, with her new subsystem and her new translation lexi- con, could, as Dr. Halsey might say, "cut through the crap."
These subcommuniques were orders. They originated from new ships entering the Epsilon Eridani system and were, in turn, accepted and acknowledged by those outbound.
It was an automated mail system that could carry messages from the center of the Covenant Empire to the outer reaches of the galaxy. The Covenant were either too arrogant, or too igno- rant, to properly encrypt these orders.
Still, Cortana realized that the UNSC had not, until just now, discovered their deceptively simple system... so who was more ignorant?
There were deployment orders for hundreds of ships: carriers, destroyers, tenders—a massive fleet. They were to meet at select locations, join up, refuel, gather resources, and then orient for the next Slipspace jump.
Cortana knew how to translate these simple symbols into stel- lar coordinates.
There—a jump to the Lambda Serpentis system to gather tri- tium gas for their reactors. And there—another jump to the Hawking system to meet with three dozen carriers and effect a transfer of Seraph fighters. And there— Cortana halted all her processes. She directed her full intellect to check and recheck her translation matrix a hundred times.
There was no error.
The terminating coordinates for the Covenant's impending operation was Sol.
The Covenant were headed to Earth.
SECTION 4
GAMBIT
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
TIME:DATE RECORD ANOMALY\Estimated 0640 hours, September 23,2552 (Military Calendar)\Epsilon Eridani system, tunnel complex below surface of Reach.
John tensed as he watched the thousands of Covenant crowd- ing on the galleries surround him and his team. He didn't dare move; his team was on the wrong end of too much firepower.
They couldn't win this fight.
On the third gallery off the floor of the great room, at the four o'clock position, a Hunter pair roared with anger. They raised their fuel rod cannons and then leveled their weapons—and fired.
Kelly moved before anyone; she was a blur of motion and stepped in front of Dr. Halsey. John and Fred moved to either side of Kelly, while Anton grabbed the Admiral and threw the older man behind them.
The blinding white-hot plasma charges struck the Spartans' shields and splashed over their chests.
John's shield drained completely. The overpressure forced him to take a step backward, and the skin on his forearms blistered.
Then the heat was gone, and he blinked away the black dots that swarmed in his vision. Kelly lay at his feet. Her armor smol- dered and hydrostatic gel boiled from the emergency release vent along her left side.
A thousand more shots rang out from the gallery, and John in- stinctively crouched to cover his fallen comrade. He braced for the inevitable burning energy impact.
Plasma bolts and crystalline needles crisscrossed the galleries overhead, a spiderweb of energy and projectiles. Every shot was directed at the pair of Hunters who had fired upon John and his team.
The Hunter pair raised their shields in unison and ducked be- hind them—the quarter-meter-thick slabs of metal could repel almost any single weapon's fire ... but not this merciless barrage.
These mightiest Covenant soldiers burned, their armor and shields ignited as well, and John caught their outlines for only a split second before they were vaporized.
The section of gallery where they had stood blasted into dust and smoke, and the debris rained onto the floor ... along with dozens of Grunts and Jackals who had been unfortunate enough to be standing too near the pair.
Three heartbeats pounded in John's chest. Neither the humans nor the Covenant hosts in the great room moved.
"What the hell is this?" Sergeant Johnson muttered. "Shouldn't we be dead by now?"
John linked to Kelly's biomonitors; she was in shock, and her suit's heat pumps were strained to the failure point. He had to get her to safety.
From the uppermost gallery a Covenant Elite in golden armor raised its energy sword high into the air and shouted. Translation software in John's helmet whispered half a second later: "Take them—but the next one to fire at the holy light will be skinned alive! Go!"
Dr. Halsey pressed the arm of her glasses tighter against the back of her ear, listening as the built-in translator whispered.
"The crystal," she murmured. "They're after the crystal."
Teams of Elites dropped slithering, plasticine ropes, which glowed a ghostly blue. They rappelled to the floor. A hundred Grunts squealed with excitement and danced from one foot to the other. Jackals followed their Elite leaders on the ropes.
"Polaski!" Admiral Whitcomb shouted into his COM. "Get down here ASAP! We need immediate extraction!"
"Roger that," Polaski replied in her cool never-flinch Navy flier voice.
Fred, Grace, and Anton turned and fired three-round bursts straight up as a team of Elites tried to descend on their position.
The Elites fell, spattering purple blood across the tiled floor.
Dr. Halsey stuffed the alien crystal into her lab coat pocket and knelt next to Kelly. She checked her vitals on the data pad and shook her head. She looked at John, her expression grim.
"She's alive ... barely. She needs help."
"Let's not be rude," Admiral Whitcomb barked. "Welcome our guests, Master Chief!"
"Perimeter fire," the Master Chief ordered. "Keep it tight.
Dispersion pattern Delta. Go!"
The Spartans simultaneously stepped into a semicircle, as- sault rifles pointed outward. In unison they thumbed their weap- ons' safeties and opened fire. Right behind them Locklear, Johnson, Haverson, and the Admiral took up position inside the circle. They primed and threw grenades.
John paused and turned his attention to Kelly. He hauled her limp body off the floor and draped her over his shoulder.
The Covenant forces hit the ground and edged closer, but they didn't return fire. Dozens of Elites dropped as armor-piercing rounds peppered their armor and frag grenades detonated with thunderous force. The Jackals who followed their masters on the ropes landed in the middle of the carnage, maneuvered in front of the Elites, and overlapped energy shields. It was typical Elite bravado—they had to be the first into the battle ... even if that meant they'd die for that honor.
The Chief had no problem satisfying their honor. He slapped a fresh clip into his rifle and continued firing.
Jackals and Elites cautiously advanced on the firing Spartans.
A second line of Jackals angled their personal energy shields over their heads to prevent any grenades from being tossed into their midst.
Polaski's dropship descended from the hole in the ceiling, spun about, and eased to a stop a meter above the cracked blue-tiled floor. Both side hatches of the craft hissed open.
John handed Kelly to Fred as he leapt on board; he helped Dr.
Halsey and the Admiral inside next. Locklear and the other Spartans jumped into the second hatch. Sergeant Johnson and the Master Chief were last to board—just as their feet touched the ramp and they grabbed on to the rungs, Polaski accelerated off the deck.
The Master Chief watched the Covenant as the dropship climbed. There were thousands of them—on the floor, clinging to the walls, overflowing the galleries. They looked like a swarm of angry ants.
The hatch sealed and the Master Chief moved forward, toward the cockpit. As he passed through the compartment, he saw Kelly. She was slumped over; thin trails of smoke curled from the holes in her armor.
He helped Dr. Halsey strap Kelly down. Halsey's eyes locked onto the wounded Spartan's erratic vitals as they squiggled across her data pad. She set the elongated crystal next to Kelly... but it didn't lie flat. It defied gravity, floating—one sharp, slender end pointed at the surface.
"How very odd," Halsey whispered.
John had to agree; it was unusual. Almost as odd as being un- der the guns of a thousand angry Covenant soldiers—yet none of them had fired a shot.
"Take care of her," he told Dr. Halsey, then he stood and made his way to the cockpit.
Polaski hunched over the controls. She pushed the Covenant dropship into a hyperbolic ascent and entered the hole in the ceiling of the great room. The Master Chief grabbed hold of the walls and braced himself.
The dropship, however, slowed and pitched forward so it was once again horizontal.
"Problem," Polaski announced and rapidly tapped the controls.
"Big problem."
The purple light of the grav beam in the hole darkened; it seemed to fade from view... but it also began to hurt to look at.
"They're pushing us back," Admiral Whitcomb said. "Li, crawl topside and launch a couple of Jackhammers up this pipe."
"Yes, sir," Li replied—eager to return to the fight. He nodded at John, grabbed a Jackhammer rocket launcher, and moved to the hatch.
The Admiral frowned and shook his head. "No way a rocket will make it up a kilometer of this tunnel. Gotta try anyway."
The dropship stopped rising, bobbed in place a moment, and slowly sank back down through the tunnel.
Li opened the side hatch. The intense purple light from the grav beam flooded the interior of the ship.
Dr. Halsey inhaled sharply, and the Master Chief turned to see what had startled her.
For a moment he thought the crystal she had brought with her had shattered. But it hadn't broken, not exactly. The top half of the slender shard had split along its facets and opened like a flower blossom. The sapphire petals undulated, and as the ultraviolet light of the grav beam fell upon them, the crystal opened wider. The facets twirled and spun in a complex geo- metric dance. The crystal seemed to reshape itself, and it pulsed a cool green.
The light inside the ship cleared—all traces of the purple tint seemed to recede like a tide.
The dropship lurched upward.