Halo_ Evolutions - Essential Tales of the Halo Universe - Eric Nylund [38]
If he gave away his position now, it would all be for naught. Think.
He looked to the heavens for some kind of inspiration, seeing instead the spiderweb of conduits and pipes hanging feet below the ceiling proper. Space was a premium on a Destroyer, and that meant sharing headroom with plasma conduits, air-conditioning, electrical cabling, and a myriad of power and life support systems, like a steel gray circulatory system.
He took the ugly surgical blade from his belt and put it between his teeth, its cruel edge facing outward, and quietly hauled himself into the piping, with agility that belied his bulk, and vanished silently into the dark.
When the second Grunt heard the weird choking sound from his partner and turned, he had just enough time to see the looming human’s eyes glint in the darkness before the blade sliced through his own neck, almost decapitating him. His breathing apparatus hissed a mist of cold methane into the equally frigid air. The smell of Grunt blood mingled with the gas to create a rank, coppery smell like an olfactory pastiche of human blood. Baird lowered the Grunt gently and quietly to the floor, like a sleeping baby.
But Baird was shaking now. The exertions were taking their toll. No pain yet, but God knew how much internal trauma he’d suffered, and how long he had left.
He looked at the doors to the bridge. Their solidity and silence seemed to mock him. The bioluminescent blood from the fallen Grunts, blue and steady, cast almost as much illumination as the emergency lights, but that light was already fading, losing what potency it had. Like himself, he supposed. And the plan formed in his mind, just like that. It wouldn’t work, he thought, but it didn’t matter. All bets were off.
Baird breathed deeply. Got control of his shakes. He wiped blood from his hands on the pants of his uniform, smoothed the stubble of his close-cropped hair, palmed the door security pad, and strode confidently into the bridge as he were the captain himself.
SEVEN
___________
The scene before him was bizarre. Perhaps a dozen Grunts, several Jackals, and two Elites stood intently watching two hovering gray armored blimps, perhaps four feet long, as they trailed their tentacles over the bridge computer terminal. Engineers, he supposed.
At the sound of his entrance one of the Grunts turned, almost bored-looking, and then shrieked an unintelligible warning as it saw who, or rather, what, he was.
Baird threw down the Carbine, put his hands up, palms facing outward, and yelled as loud as he could: “I CAN GIVE YOU THE EARTH COORDINATES!”
The Jackals either didn’t care, or more likely, didn’t understand a word, and leveled their Carbines at his head. Only a thunderous roar from an Elite stopped them from perforating his skull.
The Elite stood eight feet tall. In the comparatively bright light of the bridge, Baird saw the dark gray, almost black, armor. He’d faced countless Elites in combat, but this one was like nothing he’d seen before. The Elite’s saurian face was largely hidden by an impressively decorated helmet. Whatever ranking it was, it looked important.
It was the same one who’d stuck an energy sword through him at the medbay. And he knew instantly that the Elite recognized him too. It was staring at the burned flesh and fabric at Baird’s abdomen. Then it looked at Baird’s face. Baird had no idea what the Elite was thinking but hoped he recognized confusion, at least.
“I can give you the Earth coordinates!” he yelled again, glancing at the circle of gun-wielding aliens now forming around him. “All I ask is that you let me go, let me take a lifeboat. Let me live.”
The Elite tilted his head and glanced at the Engineers. One of them rotated slowly, like an airship, its weird spiderlike eyes glinting inscrutably. It made a chirping sound, a trill warble. The Elite nodded and barked something back at the Engineer.