Halo_ Evolutions - Essential Tales of the Halo Universe - Eric Nylund [20]
“If he’s out there, we can find him.”
“No, you won’t,” she said. “He grew up living in the forest. You’ll find him only if he wants to be found. You might as well pull your troops.”
“But—”
She reached across the desk and touched his arm. “Let him go, Franklin,” she said, her voice softening. “He’s no threat to us.”
“He’s an augmented, Spartan-trained insurrectionist sympathizer. How is that not a threat?” he asked.
“He’s no traitor. He’s just a lost soul, looking for a direction. I know him. Trust me.”
“What about—” he started to answer, then thought better of it, stopped. He stood, saluted her, and went out, leaving her to her thoughts.
___________
GONE NOW, she thought.
Was I wrong? she thought. Should I not have given him the choice? Should I not have brought him into the Spartan program in the first place?
She ran a finger slowly through Déjà’s hologram construct, watched the AI clutch her clay tablets closer to her chest and stare at her, puzzled, curious.
Had she been wrong? She sighed. Too late for it to matter either way.
“Penny for your thoughts,” said Déjà.
Dr. Halsey shook her head. Déjà smiled. Then she shrugged and disappeared.
Whether she’d been wrong or right, Dr. Halsey realized, she was committed now. She’d had seventy-five lives to watch out for, seventy-five lives depending on her, seventy-five lives weighing on her conscience. Even if it was down now to less than half that, there were still several dozen Spartans depending on her. Not to mention the weight of all those already dead. The future of millions might depend on them, on how well she’d done her job. Not might, she corrected herself, did.
She straightened her shoulders, shifting under her burden, and went back to work.
STOMPING ON THE HEELS
OF A FUSS
* * *
ERIC RAAB
THE INTENSE stink and splatter from the Brutae’s roar woke Connor Brien instantly—a web of spittle connected the beast’s jagged, bloodstained fangs. The smell of the Brute’s breath was bad enough, but as he tried to wipe the wet off his face, he just set the odor deeper into his mustache, beard, and all over his hands. He convulsed, gagging once before vomiting the last MRE he’d eaten. He kept his eyes on the ground, knowing to avoid eye contact with the gray-haired beast, something he learned from all of his studies before arriving. He’d watched video feeds of humans who dared to stare defiantly at Brutes and were beaten into mush in seconds. Even the slightest eye contact was some form of challenge they could not resist.
His last memory was falling from the tree he’d set up as his surveillance point. He’d been watching a trio of the beasts as they gestured to one another, trying to track a human that they’d let escape from captivity for the fun of hunting him down. He thought he’d be safe up high, but he quickly learned that the Brutes not only had a great sense of smell but they were excellent climbers. He had fallen while panicking, reaching for his tranq dart gun as one of the Brutes climbed quickly toward him. He felt down by his leg and breathed a sigh of relief. Its reassuring bulk was still strapped to his ankle.
He kicked himself for not having his M6, which sat nestled in his pack at his base camp; but then he realized, what good would it do? Another dozen or so Brutes hovered behind the one who treated him to his wake-up shower. Varying in shades of brown and black, tan and gray, each hulking beast seemed more fierce and frightening than the next. They each stood at about nine feet, and though he didn’t dare to look, they all seemed to be casting hungry eyes on his five-foot-five frame. Even if he could take out twelve of them, the thirteenth would rip him to shreds.
He surveyed his surroundings. It was a makeshift camp, all centered around a large Covenant ship. The nearby outpost