Halo_ First Strike - Eric S. Nylund [132]
Admiral Whitcomb sighed deeply. He stood, went to the bar, and then returned to the table carrying a bottle of whiskey and three intact crystal tumblers. "I assume you Spartans won't join me in a drink?"
"No, sir," John replied, answering for his team. "Thank you, sir."
The Admiral set a glass before Haverson, the Sergeant, and himself. But before he poured, he set the bottle down and shook his head as if a drink were suddenly the last thing he wanted. "You realize, Chief, that you and your team will be on your own? That my first, my only priority, must be to get to Earth?"
"My team is willing to accept the risk," the Chief said.
"The risk?" the Admiral whispered. "It's a one-way ticket, son. But if you're willing to do it, if you can slow the Covenant assault on Earth, then, hell, it might be worth the trade."
The Chief had no reply to this. He and his Spartans had survived against impossible odds before. Yet the Admiral was right: There seemed to be something final about this mission ... something that told John he wouldn't make it. That was acceptable. The cause more than justified the sacrifice of four when measured against billions of lives on Earth.
Admiral Whitcomb stood and said, "Very well, Master Chief. Mission request approved."
The Master Chief parked the groaning overloaded robotic dolly next to the side hatch of the Covenant dropship. The dolly held four tons of carbon-molybdenum steel I-beams.
Will unloaded the cargo and hauled it inside, where Fred and the Sergeant cross-braced and welded the beams in place.
This was the final reinforcement to the dropship. The interior of the craft was so cramped that two armored Spartans could barely pass one another.
They had welded layers of lead, boron fibers, and Titanium-A hull plates they had removed from the Gettysburg. According to Cortana's calculations, this was the only way to give them better than fifty-fifty odds of emerging from a Slipspace transition with an intact ship.
Admiral Whitcomb monitored the display of a computer repair cart, then looked up and said, "Cortana is ready for you, Chief." He waved him over.
The Chief marched to the cart and let the Admiral hook up the interface to the base of his neck. "This should feel just like a normal download," he said.
Chilled mercury filled John's mind just like it always did when Cortana entered and fused with his thoughts. This presence, however, warmed too quickly, as if it were just thin ice melting against his body's heat. It was like a recollection of Cortana inside his head—not the real thing.
"Initializing MJOLNIR armor systems check and subroutine unpacking protocols," Cortana's voice whispered. At the same time, the real Cortana also spoke over the COM: "Don't listen to her. She's only half the woman she used to be."
"As long as you only copied the good parts," the Chief replied.
"I'm all good," Cortana replied tersely. "Just don't get too used to a passenger you can order around."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"Systems check complete," the copied Cortana whispered.
"All systems are functional."
Linda approached the opposite side of the Covenant dropship; a robot dolly followed stacked with rifles, Lotus antitank mines, explosives, and crates of ammunition. She angled the dolly and led it up the loading ramp until it butted against the hull.
Fred emerged from inside, and Linda handed him an armful of submachine guns. The Master Chief detected a slight limp to her stride and an almost imperceptible awkwardness to her usual fluid motions. He opened a private COM channel to Linda. "What's your