Halo_ Evolutions - Essential Tales of the Halo Universe - Eric Nylund [135]
A voice from the bridge: “Commander, picking up a detonation within the transport. Slipspace splinters. I think the slipspace engine has been ruptured. We need to withdraw before it goes completely.”
When he didn’t respond: “Sir, we need to withdraw to a safe distance.”
“No. Not yet.”
“Sir—”
He felt old. Tired.
But still.
“No. We stay.” He was aware of the attention of the bridge crew on him, on the monitors, waiting, their own fate in the balance. “We stay until the last second. We don’t abandon our own.”
Until we have to.
>Benti 1616 hours
In the aftermath of throwing the grenade, Benti thought she’d heard Foucault on the intercom saying good luck. Had he? Really?
Those words echoed in Benti’s ears. In her bones. In her feet pounding the corridor floor. She’d always defended the commander when the others were poking fun at him in the mess. All she had to show for it now was “good luck, so long, nice knowing you.” She felt sick to her stomach.
“The important thing,” she said, panting, the sound of pursuit on their heels, “is the pods. At least we have somewhere to run to.” Her legs were tired, were heavy, but she couldn’t stop, had to keep going; knowing what was behind them, didn’t even want to stop.
Rimmer clung to Henry’s arm as he ran, like a child to a parent. The hand on Henry’s arm was white-knuckled with strain, fingernails digging. “They did that to us. To us. I mean—we were never meant to—how could they—” Even out of breath he didn’t stop talking. “I’m not even on death row.” Henry growled and shook his arm, but Rimmer didn’t let go, didn’t shut up. “I only sold stolen goods. That was all. I never—”
Benti tossed a look over her shoulder. Clarence behind her, stone-faced and focused, unflinching at the walls groaning beside him and at the rumble and explosion they left behind.
“What way—?” Intersections and junctions flashing by. She had no map, but now there was no useful map of the ship. Just keep your head down and cross your fingers. Lots of graffiti scrawled in blood now. Some of it by prisoners before they’d become part of the Flood, some of it after, all of it unreadable at that pace.
Henry looked at Benti expectantly, loping alongside with ease. He could have left them all behind, but hadn’t. She couldn’t help thinking of him as a big dog, forgetting the intelligence and awareness in those eyes.
The Elite dipped his head, and said something. A question.
Given the circumstances, there were only a few things he could’ve been saying.
Benti slowed a moment, took the rifle from Rimmer and put it in Henry’s waiting hands.
“Hey, what are you—”
His hands were almost too big. He could barely fit a finger to the trigger. Nodded at her, lower jaws quivering, but kept his cricket bat.
“You’re a lousy shot,” she answered Rimmer. “Keep moving!”
Clarence drew up beside her as she sped up again, and the look he gave her made her glad, suddenly, that she had Henry at her back.
>Lopez 1620 hours
“Is this a hull?”
“No, sir!”
Lopez pulled her last grenade and tossed it down the hall at a cluster of forms shifting in the darkness. In her mind, the forms were Rebecca and Foucault.
“Place is gonna get trashed anyway—”
The explosion blew out the rest of her words.
>Benti 1620 hours
The unmistakable sound of grenade detonation reverberated through the dying ship, the floor shivering beneath Benti’s feet, distinct from the rumbles of the disintegrating engine. The sarge, she thought. Had to be. Remembering the others might be alive added a sudden spring to her step. They weren’t the only ones left. If they could just get to Mama Lopez, everything would be okay. She knew it, had to at least make herself believe it.
A figure lumbered out of a room and she ripped a short burst through it, taking out the knees while Clarence, in sync, shot out the chest, and Henry clubbed it with his bat as they fled past. They had no time to be more thorough. They dropped