by Peter David
It leaped at him, and then something flashed over Luther’s shoulder, catching the creature broadside and slamming it backward. It tumbled to the ground, and then lay still.
Luther turned and saw that one of Richards’s marines had come in behind him. The barrel of his weapon was still smoking as he put out a hand. Luther took it, and the man helped him to his feet.
“You okay?” he asked Luther.
Luther managed a nod.
“Try to stay low,” said the marine, “and avoid the—”
“Look out!” Luther screamed.
The marine whirled, but it was too late. The bipedal monster had since clambered to its feet and lunged through the air. Before the marine could bring his rifle around, its jaws clamped onto the man’s upper torso. He tried to shriek but was unable to do so, and he dropped his gun as the creature snapped its jaws left and right and tore the poor man’s head off.
Without hesitation, Luther scooped the fallen weapon up and aimed it at the beast, just as it swung its head toward him, its jaws wide and prepared to rip into him.
“Eat this!” Luther screamed, firing at point-blank range.
The blasts ripped into the creature’s mouth and out the back of its head. The beast fell backward, and this time there was no doubt that the thing was dead.
That was not remotely enough for Luther. His guilt over the abrupt death of the marine was so overwhelming that the thought of trying to hide now became anathema to him.
I never even knew his name.
Howling an indecipherable cry of both mourning and fury, Luther charged into combat.
It was as if his mind was splitting in two. Half of Luther was screaming to run and hide, to not throw himself into a fight. He was no warrior. The Spartans had been training to wield their weapons for who knew how long. And here was Luther, leaping into the fray as if he had any reason to expect that he could survive even seconds in a battle like this.
But the other side of his brain reminded him of what his father had done.
Because his father had never forgotten having to run from Verent, or the attacking Covenant, and he had sworn that he would do whatever he could so that Luther would never have to run from anyone, ever.
Which was why, when Luther had reached his teenage years, his father had taken him with regularity to a nearby shooting range. Luther had received gun training and instruction in marksmanship. He’d hated every moment of it and involuntarily winced each time he’d aimed and fired at the targets. Once his father died, he ceased all visits to gun ranges, resolving never to pick up a weapon again in his life.
Until now.
And, as it turned out, the lessons from his youth were about to serve him well. Because even though he had not practiced in years, everything that he’d learned now came roaring back to him, and he was able to sight the creatures with a calm and expertise that astounded even him.
In studying the monsters on the fly, he was able to discern right away where their weak spots were, and he made every shot count. Each one that he hit immediately fell, after a round or two from the marksman rifle: both the bipeds and the white-furred beasts.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Henry secured behind a boulder as he had just been. Henry was watching him with eyes wide. He clearly couldn’t believe what he was seeing as Luther continued to fire upon the creatures. Henry wasn’t about to join him, but tossed Luther a thumbs-up instead.
Part of Luther was appalled. He was a scientist, after all. He should’ve been interested in studying these creatures and their relationship to the Forerunners, not blowing them apart. And yet the fact was that, in this moment at least, Luther’s instinct was to completely destroy them. One of them had killed a man whose only sin had been rescuing a stranger from being killed himself. All of Luther’s scientific drive and inquiry had briefly vanished—he just wanted to annihilate these hellish things before they could take anyone else’s life.
And in doing so, much to his genuine surprise, Luther Mann had never felt more alive.
He spotted another fallen soldier, a mangled mess of flesh and bones. Part of his mind had shut down by that point, so the grisly scene had little effect—he grabbed the dead man’s handgun and threw it to Henry. His partner caught it, staring at it as if he had never seen a pistol before.
“Make yourself useful!” shouted Luther.
Spartan Holt had no idea how long it was before he realized that Olympia Vale was gone.
He was far too busy fighting the white-furred creatures and the blind bipeds that were alternately attacking one another and the humans and Sangheili.
Fortunately, it seemed as if the beasts they were battling had had enough. The furred creatures were heading in one direction, while the bipeds were still scrambling about, trying to track down targets and not appreciating being fired at. Holt didn’t know how long the bloody fight had carried on, but the remaining creatures were all now scattering.
What was more surprising was the sight of Luther Mann actually running in pursuit of the beasts, blasting away at them with a rifle. Whereas Henry Lamb, following behind, seemed predictably tentative, Luther was chasing them with wild eyes and guns blazing, and it was becoming evident that the fleeing creatures didn’t want any part of him.
That was when he looked toward Vale to make certain that she was okay, and he was astounded to realize that she simply wasn’t there. His first instinct was to look around for a mass of blood and bone, because surely she’d been torn apart by one of the attacking beasts, but he didn’t see anything. So that much was a relief, at least.
“What’s wrong?”
The voice next to him was momentarily startling. He turned and saw that Usze ‘Taham and Henry Lamb were standing next to him.
“Olympia Vale’s gone,” said Holt.
“Gone?” Lamb said. “Gone where? Where is she?”
“How would I know?”
“You weren’t watching her?”
“No,” said Holt. “I was shooting at creatures that were trying to kill me. As I assume that you were.”
“Have you scanned the area?” asked Usze. “She couldn’t depart from here without leaving tracks in the snow.”
At first Holt didn’t see anything. But there was something strange about the terrain twenty meters to the group’s left. The collection of large evergreen-like trees that were currently there seemed, to him at least, to have shrunken dramatically. How was that possible? He looked down at the snow at his feet and immediately saw the footprints from some of the creatures, but he couldn’t perceive any from—
“There.” Usze was pointing. “Right there.”
He didn’t see what Usze was indicating at first. The Sangheili started across the snowy ground toward the cluster of trees, validating that the Elite’s natural eyesight was a thing to be reckoned with. Upon reaching the tree line, Holt followed Usze’s line of sight at the ground right inside the cluster. He saw a white-furred creature’s tracks leading away from the battle scene, but . . .
Then his eyes narrowed and he saw exactly what Usze was seeing.
There were human tracks next to the ones of the white-furred creature, all evenly paced. There was no hint of struggle.
“That’s her,” Holt said definitively. “That’s definitely her.”
“She walked away alongside one of those beasts?” said Usze.
“So it would appear.”
“Where the hell did she get to?” said Lamb, having quickly found his way over. “We need to follow her.”
“Yes, we do,” agreed Usze.
Now Captain Richards and Spartan Kodiak approached, curious as to what the three of them were talking about. “Where’s Vale?” said Richards.
“Gone,” Holt said.
“Gone where?” said Kodiak.
Holt let out a slow breath. “I don’t know,” he said, obviously restraining himself. “But apparently she departed the area in the company of one of those white, shaggy creatures.”
“
That can’t be right,” said Richards.
“I don’t know about right or wrong; I just know what my eyes are telling me. How the hell do you explain those tracks? And something else: When we first approached this location, the trees off to the left seemed to be much larger. Now they’re . . . well, not anything like they were before.”
“He’s right,” Kodiak said. “The tree line has changed since we arrived.”
“Doctor Lamb,” Richards said, turning to Henry. “Is this explainable?”
“I didn’t notice the trees, but there are records of illusion-generating systems used by the Forerunners: bafflers, concealers, and dazzlers. Never encountered one before, and I don’t know why it’d be used here.”
“Maybe to hide what happened to Vale?” Holt suggested. “Either way, we need to find her.”
Richards stared at the tracks, seeming to assess the situation. “All right,” she said slowly. “You three try and track her down. Once you find her, bring her to the citadel. We’ll mark it on your nav; just keep us on the comm. Kodiak, you stick with me.”
“Uh, Captain,” Lamb interjected, “do you think it’s a good idea for me to be separated from Luther here? I mean, the whole reason I’m here is to help him stop the Halo activation. What if you guys need me?”
“Do you really want to know, Doctor Lamb? Because I have to operate as though one of you is not going to make it. If you stay with us and this team gets wiped out, how the hell will we stop the activation sequence? By splitting you up, I’m increasing the chances that at least one of you will survive. And, to be honest, given what we’ve encountered so far, I don’t want anyone on this op moving around without a specialist at hand. There’s no telling what they might run into that’ll require your expertise. Understood?”
Slowly Henry nodded. “Yes, Captain.”
She turned to Holt with a serious look in her eye. “We’ve got radios; use them. And make it quick.”
“Yes, Captain,” said Holt.
Richards nodded and then, with Kodiak in tow, headed off toward N’tho.
“All right,” said Holt. “Let’s go.”
Captain Richards and Kodiak strode up to N’tho. “Olympia Vale is gone,” she said briskly. “Holt, Usze, and Lamb are going to find her.”
“Was it possible she was killed?” asked N’tho.
Richards couldn’t help but notice that N’tho sounded rather indifferent to the concept. “No body here, unless she was dragged off during the fighting. I doubt it. Those creatures weren’t particularly discreet, but I think we would have seen some signs of a kill.”
“A valid point. All right, then.” N’tho nodded toward their distant destination. “We had best get moving.”
“Hold it,” said Richards. She was studying the area. Her face was visibly saddened for a moment as she looked at the bodies scattered about the landscape. Of the ten marines whom she had brought with her, she had lost three to the claws or teeth of the creatures that had assaulted them. “Gonzalez, Turot, Kapalos,” she said to those behind her, “we don’t leave soldiers behind. Even dead soldiers. Gather the bodies and return them to the Sangheili vessel and wait there for further instructions.” That would leave her with four marines; it would have to be enough. She turned to the remaining soldiers, glancing at their IDs: TANGREDI, O’SHEA, STEIN, and CALDER. In some respects, they seemed interchangeable; yet she knew that each of them had their own story, their own reason for joining the Corps. She would have liked to know them, but was aware that she simply could not afford to think of these men as individuals. Then she turned back to N’tho. “All right. Let’s go.”
N’tho once again took the lead, which made sense since he had the longest stride. Spartan Kodiak fell in right behind him, and the rest of the crew followed, with the two Elites at the rear.
Richards was keeping a wary eye on Kodiak. She didn’t believe for a moment that he would suddenly launch another attack on N’tho. There was far too much at stake, and besides, it was one thing to give in to temptation during sparring.
Not sparring. A duel to the death.
She couldn’t get that reality out of her head, and so she continued to regard the Spartan with suspicion, even though she kept trying to tell herself that it wasn’t necessary. She wondered for a moment if any of the earlier Spartan classes had similar issues, but couldn’t recall a single time any had ever broken rank to settle a personal vendetta, or even took anything in combat personally to begin with. These new Spartans were certainly different.
They continued walking across the snowy expanse. The wind was becoming stiffer, the snow blowing briskly into their faces. “The climate is changing faster than your estimates indicated, Doctor Mann,” N’tho muttered.
It was not a statement that provided her with any sort of positive feeling.
Her soldiers were closing in behind her and around her, and she quickly realized they were surrounding her, shielding her from the buffeting of the snow with their own bodies. She wanted to tell them that wasn’t necessary—that she was capable of enduring the Ark’s surface with the same determination. But they were doing exactly what they were supposed to do, and she had no business overriding their instinct to protect her.
What she also noticed was the obvious damage to the Ark’s surface. The closer they drew to the core, the more pronounced the destruction seemed. Rather than snow-covered trees, she saw burned husks, areas with large black gashes across the ground, and exposed struts and beams composed of a strange alien alloy.
Richards’s breath was becoming more pronounced, and she was starting to feel a numbness in her lungs. She glanced around and saw that the four UNSC soldiers appeared to be slowing down as well. Walking was becoming more of an effort, the snow getting thicker around them. It was rising a few centimeters every fifteen minutes—not blizzard levels yet, but it certainly seemed to be on its way.
Richards felt her legs starting to shake, which annoyed the living hell out of her, and she despised her body for threatening to give out. So instead she ignored it, forcing herself forward as the snow hammered down.
“Are you all right?” said N’tho, glancing back.
“I’m fine,” Richards managed to say. “I’m totally—”
The world went sideways.
She hadn’t been expecting any manner of abrupt depression in the snow ahead of her, but the crater was concealed. The damn thing seemed to be about two meters deep and perhaps three meters in diameter. The others had managed to wander past it, but not her. She stumbled forward and both heard and felt her knee snap. She cried out loudly and a profanity escaped her lips. Even though it was against her better judgment, she tried to stand, and instantly pain shot up and down her leg and she collapsed once more.
Spartan Kodiak was immediately next to her, down in the crater with her. “Back-up!” he shouted at the nearest soldier. He reached under Richards’s arms and lifted her out of the hole with no problem. She let out another grunt of pain and the four UNSC soldiers were around her, hauling her upright. Richards tried to put weight on her foot and would have instantly collapsed had Kodiak not been holding her elevated. The soldiers then took over, and Kodiak stepped away.
Richards gritted her teeth. “I’m fine. . . . I’ll be fine. . . .”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kodiak said. “You’ve injured yourself. You need to get back to the ship. And you’re going to need numbers to bring you there.”
“I don’t need—”
“He is correct,” said N’tho. “Clearly you have injured yourself in a manner that precludes your continuing. Furthermore,” and he glanced around, “the snowfall is becoming rather severe. Too much for your soldiers to endure.”
“We can endure anything you can,” Calder said, but Richards saw that he was shivering. The other three were, too. Not that any of them would have admitted to any sort of discomfort. Even the thermal protective gear that they had brought wasn’t cutting it in this section of the Ark, at least not in its current state
.
To her surprise, Richards noticed that the only one who didn’t seem to be reacting to the cold was Luther Mann. He must have been cold, but he didn’t appear to be at all bothered by it. In fact, he was blowing “smoke rings” with his breath, as if idly trying to keep himself occupied. And he had slung the marksman rifle from one of the fallen marines over his shoulders as well. Evidently, he wasn’t as helpless as she had first surmised.
“Captain—” Kodiak began.
She put a hand up to cut him off. “I know,” she said in irritation. “Believe me, I know.” She turned to the men who were supporting her upright and growled tightly, “We’re going back to the ship. We’re not accomplishing anything out here, and we don’t need to freeze to death. And not you, Spartan. You go with Luther and the others and keep me apprised of everything that happens.”
“Yes, Captain,” said Kodiak.
Just for a heartbeat, she wondered if she was doing the right thing, keeping Kodiak and N’tho together, and in a situation where if either one looked at the other the wrong way, another duel to the death could erupt. Granted, the other Sangheili would certainly step in if things went awry, but still . . .
Kodiak didn’t kill N’tho, even though he easily could have. He knew it was wrong and he stopped himself. He can be trusted.
I know he can be trusted.
She wondered if she knew it for sure or if she was just telling herself that.
“Get me out of here,” she said to her men. “And keep it quiet. We don’t need those things coming back.”
They nodded and started hauling her in the opposite direction, falling in, circling Richards just as earlier, working harder to shield her from the increasing heaviness of the snow.
The last thing she saw was N’tho and Kodiak watching her for a moment before turning away, vanishing behind a steadily growing sheaf of white.
“Let us proceed carefully,” said N’tho. “We cannot afford any more losses.”
“By my calculations, we should be about fifteen kilometers away,” Luther said, checking a device he wore on his wrist. “Halfway there. It won’t be easy, though.” He looked up at N’tho. “Does any of this look familiar?”