Kurt stepped onto the raised surface. He scrutinized the hill and counted the finlike towers: there were thirteen. He increased the magnification factor on his faceplate and noted the curved surface of the center formation was indeed a series of staircase rings.
"Reminds me of Dante's Inferno," Mendez said, and offered his hand to Dr. Halsey.
She took his hand and eased onto the ridge. "Dante's hell was a series of descending rings," she said. "These are more representative of—"
The floor shifted.
Kurt instinctively crouched to keep his balance, but there was no need; it had only dropped a few centimeters.
The entire room settled, however, the distortion propagating toward the hill with a subsonic rumble.
"If the core room is in the center," Dr. Halsey said, hastening her pace, "we should hurry."
"Something here, sir," Fred announced over the COM. "You better see for yourself."
Kurt turned toward Fred's and Mark's IFF signals on his heads-up display. They were silhouettes against the glare, 150 meters away.
"Ash, Chief, escort the Doctor to the structure. Keep me posted."
"Roger that, sir," Ash said.
Kurt jogged to Fred and Mark and saw the Spartans standing at the edge of a black hole, a seven-sided smooth patch devoid of Forerunner iconography. A holograph console stood next to it, icons moving.
"Translocation platform," Fred whispered. "Active, if I'm reading these controls right."
"We'll use another pod to block it," Kurt said.
He started to key the COM, but Ash then broke in: "Sir. I've got some height, and I can see… dots on the floor."
" Black dots?" Kurt asked.
"Yes, sir. Counting a dozen—no, make that at least thirty of them scattered in a rough circle."
Kurt's heart sank to the pit of his stomach.
There were too many points of egress to block. They potentially faced an enemy with superior numbers and firepower, and all they'd have was a single semidefensible position.
"26:00" morphed to "25:59" on his countdown timer.
They were close to that core room, a possible treasure trove of Forerunner secrets. With a sizable Covenant force on their trail, it wouldn't be enough to get there first. They had to prevent the enemy from getting there as well.
Kurt balanced the lives of his Spartans against the billions that might be saved… and the choice was regrettably all too clear to him.
Kurt double-clicked the TEAMCOM. "Olivia, Will, Holly grab those pods and get to the top of that hill ASAP. Kelly, set up the last LOTUS mines around the structure. Everyone else, get to the top and unpack everything, load all rifles. Prepare to defend against incoming enemy forces."
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
SEVENTH CYCLE, 265 UNITS (COVENANT BATTLE CALENDAR) \ UNNAMED FORERUNNER CITY; ONYX-SYSTEM: ZETA DORADUS (HUMAN DESIGNATION)
Fleet Master Voro inspected his battalion. They had amassed on the surface of the Forerunner city, over two hundred Sangheili in orderly rows for his review. Dropships and Seraph fighter craft hovered overhead, their landing lights playing over the courtyard, guarding against unexpected Sentinel or demon attacks.
The nearby edifices and paving stones of black-and-white-banded mineral provided a sharp contrast to his soldiers in their primary-colored armors.
He glanced down rows of warriors in blue battle suits, standing at attention, ready to fight and kill and die at his word.
The only grumble among his solders was because they carried Kig-yar shield gauntlets to supplement their armor systems. Many viewed this as a grave dishonor, but Voro had ordered it so. They would take no chances with the human demons, these "Spartans." The Sangheili could not lose this world as they had the first Halo ring.
Voro nodded to the Major Domo Sangheili in their glistening red armor. The Majors caught and held his gaze. They believed in him. He saw it in their unwavering stares.
Their confidence was infectious… and they gave him pause, for it was a dangerous thing for a leader of any rank to believe himself unstoppable.
Still, Voro marveled that he had been given command of the E'Toro, R'Lan, and N'Nono warrior creches whose valor and savagery was legendary. Yet, as skilled as these soldiers were, he would have traded a dozen of them for one infiltrator in a light-bending suit to scout the terrain ahead and report on the demons.
He halted before Paruto and Waruna. The towering Lekgolo pair growled their gratitude at leading the true vanguard.
Voro had been blessed with not one but three Lekgolo pairs. He had never seen a single pair defeated in combat before. And yet, the Spartans had managed to wound Waruna and escape, an insult to the Lekgolo pride that would only be assuaged by grinding the offenders into pulp.
"Make ready final preparation," Voro told his Majors.
The Majors shouted to their squads, who drew their swords and saluted Voro—their raised energy blades made the air waver with their combined heat.
They lowered their salute; grabbed rifles, grenades, pistols, and power cells; and marched across the courtyard, assembling near the banks of matte-black translocation pads.
Suicide Unggoy squads followed, dragging dissembled energy mortar units. Their frenzied squeals annoyed Voro. They would run ahead of the others, attempt to engage the enemy while their fellows set up their shields and mortars… and likely fall before they got a single unit assembled.
They would, however, serve as a necessary distraction while the rest of his combat group found cover and set up.
It was as fine a death as any Unggoy could wish for.
Voro looked up to the stars.
They had survived the Flood and treachery of the Jiralhanae at the second Halo construct, repelled the Sentinel guardians of this world, and emerged victorious even after the human fleet decimated their ships. Many in his ranks whispered Destiny protected them.
That so-called victory against the human fleet, however, had been nothing more than luck. The human Ship Masters had outwitted them—a fact he still had difficultly reconciling. Only the timely arrival of reinforcements from Joyous Exultation had saved them.
Rumors circulated that the reinforcing ships had survived some catastrophe. Voro suspected a surprise attack from the Ji-ralhanae. Whatever the cause, vengeance would have to wait.
They had to win this battle, here and now, and claim the Forerunner technologies that would shift the strategic balance of power in the galaxy. So perhaps it was Destiny after all that had brought them to this world, but it was destiny of their own making.
He strode to the translocation platforms and rechecked the target coordinates. Voro was no priest, and he understood only a fraction of the Forerunner holy script.
The same message had repeated since they found this system.
Holographic icons swarmed over the control surface. Voro read them, shouting the divine passage to his soldiers: "The dark times are upon us… Unsheathe thy swords and smite… The Ark will be your guide… And bless the Reclaimers that may take refuge behind the sharpened edge of the Shield… Wonder beyond awaits."
Two hundred Sangheili roared their approval as if the message had been set here for them, writ eons ago by gods.