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He’d seemed to know. Before Rimmer had said anything about infections and coming back. How did he know?

Rimmer: “Henry was the one who sprung me out. There was a . . . one of the guards, she’d been, she wasn’t, but he took her out. Saved me. He’s a good guy, really.” Rimmer couldn’t stop talking, which set Benti’s teeth on edge—thought maybe he’d been imprisoned because he’d talked someone to death. He couldn’t stop touching Henry either, like a frightened puppy, and she was sure she wasn’t imagining the distaste on the Elite’s face at that.

A stairwell branched in the hallway. She didn’t mind at all the sudden convenience of a sign pointing up that indicated engine room access. She crept up, peeking over the lip of the landing, the others crowding at her back.

“They learn,” Rimmer whispered. “They take what you know and learn.”

Something small and pale leapt out of the darkness. She threw herself back only to stop flat against Henry, who pulled her aside with one arm, the other swinging that cricket bat and hitting another ball sac down the length of the hall.

Benti scrambled up, away from the Covenant, with undue haste. He looked at her, lower jaw hinges flexing subtly. You could tell a lot from someone’s eyes. Had to remind herself he wasn’t a “someone.” She could still feel the impression of his hand—not human, not at all human—on her shoulder, knew the hair on the back of her neck was up, and it took all her willpower not to pump his gut full of hot lead.

“Thanks,” she managed, as more Flood bugs came bouncing out of the hall.

It was like a fairground game, shooting ducks. Only, not really.

Funny how you adjusted to the situation, no matter how messed up. She felt relief that these weren’t the great ravening horrors that had chased them through recycling. They weren’t going to slash them open and crush them. They were small, these little infectors. One bullet, one hit, and they would burst.

Just, there were so many of them.

And Rimmer couldn’t shoot for shit.

“Stop!” Benti yelled. “You’re just wasting ammo! Swap, and reload mine.”

Even Clarence switched to his pistol, single shots popping white pods there, there, and there. A good sharpshooter, on top of everything else. Not too many of those in the Marines, not at private level.

“Where are they coming from?” It was like a machine full of half-chewed gumballs had broken all over the floor.

One slipped in close, and Henry smashed it flat.

Benti could’ve sworn the Elite looked a little gleeful.

>Foucault 1559 hours

The video ended, and the loop began again.

Foucault knuckled his eyes, taking the moment to collect his thoughts. After what he had been shown and told, he was inclined to think maybe Rebecca had indeed gone rampant. Found himself hoping that were true, because if forced to choose between the story she had spun and a rampant AI embedded in his ship, the latter seemed the lesser trial.

On the monitor: a wide, high room of unfamiliar architecture, and a ravening horror leapt at the camera, decayed and misshapen and still unfortunately recognizable as a human, UNSC logo just visible on the remains of the uniform. A shotgun blast floored it, but there was another to take its place, and another, and another. In the background, on the floor, a recently killed Marine convulsed, and came back. Footage of what Spartan-117 and the Marines who preceded him had found on Halo.

He picked his words precisely. “We have not been able to defeat the Covenant in nearly three decades, and yet, here we are, returned here for the sole purpose of seeking this out.” He felt tired, more than sleep-deprived. “This greater threat.”

An infected Marine ignored the bullets striking its torso and leapt at a healthy, live, uninfected Marine. Foucault had turned the volume off, but the screams still sounded in his mind.

“I don’t believe it was in the original brief,” Rebecca said. “The ONI agent heading the research project aboard the Mona Lisa seems to have exceeded his parameters. Significantly. And we still don’t know for sure.