Kurt stepped onto the raised surface. He scrutinized the hill and counted the finlike towers: there were thirteen. He increased the magnification factor on his faceplate and noted the curved surface of the center formation was indeed a series of staircase rings.

"Reminds me of Dante's Inferno," Mendez said, and offered his hand to Dr. Halsey.

She took his hand and eased onto the ridge. "Dante's hell was a series of descending rings," she said. "These are more representative of—"

The floor shifted.

Kurt instinctively crouched to keep his balance, but there was no need; it had only dropped a few centimeters.

The entire room settled, however, the distortion propagating toward the hill with a subsonic rumble.

"If the core room is in the center," Dr. Halsey said, hastening her pace, "we should hurry."

"Something here, sir," Fred announced over the COM. "You better see for yourself."

Kurt turned toward Fred's and Mark's IFF signals on his heads-up display. They were silhouettes against the glare, 150 meters away.

"Ash, Chief, escort the Doctor to the structure. Keep me posted."

"Roger that, sir," Ash said.

Kurt jogged to Fred and Mark and saw the Spartans standing at the edge of a black hole, a seven-sided smooth patch devoid of Forerunner iconography. A holograph console stood next to it, icons moving.

"Translocation platform," Fred whispered. "Active, if I'm reading these controls right."

"We'll use another pod to block it," Kurt said.

He started to key the COM, but Ash then broke in: "Sir. I've got some height, and I can see… dots on the floor."

" Black dots?" Kurt asked.

"Yes, sir. Counting a dozen—no, make that at least thirty of them scattered in a rough circle."

Kurt's heart sank to the pit of his stomach.

There were too many points of egress to block. They potentially faced an enemy with superior numbers and firepower, and all they'd have was a single semidefensible position.

"26:00" morphed to "25:59" on his countdown timer.

They were close to that core room, a possible treasure trove of Forerunner secrets. With a sizable Covenant force on their trail, it wouldn't be enough to get there first. They had to prevent the enemy from getting there as well.

Kurt balanced the lives of his Spartans against the billions that might be saved… and the choice was regrettably all too clear to him.

Kurt double-clicked the TEAMCOM. "Olivia, Will, Holly grab those pods and get to the top of that hill ASAP. Kelly, set up the last LOTUS mines around the structure. Everyone else, get to the top and unpack everything, load all rifles. Prepare to defend against incoming enemy forces."

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

SEVENTH CYCLE, 265 UNITS (COVENANT BATTLE CALENDAR) \ UNNAMED FORERUNNER CITY; ONYX-SYSTEM: ZETA DORADUS (HUMAN DESIGNATION)

Fleet Master Voro inspected his battalion. They had amassed on the surface of the Forerunner city, over two hundred Sangheili in orderly rows for his review. Dropships and Seraph fighter craft hovered overhead, their landing lights playing over the courtyard, guarding against unexpected Sentinel or demon attacks.

The nearby edifices and paving stones of black-and-white-banded mineral provided a sharp contrast to his soldiers in their primary-colored armors.

He glanced down rows of warriors in blue battle suits, standing at attention, ready to fight and kill and die at his word.

The only grumble among his solders was because they carried Kig-yar shield gauntlets to supplement their armor systems. Many viewed this as a grave dishonor, but Voro had ordered it so. They would take no chances with the human demons, these "Spartans." The Sangheili could not lose this world as they had the first Halo ring.

Voro nodded to the Major Domo Sangheili in their glistening red armor. The Majors caught and held his gaze. They believed in him. He saw it in their unwavering stares.

Their confidence was infectious… and they gave him pause, for it was a dangerous thing for a leader of any rank to believe himself unstoppable.

Still, Voro marveled that he had been given command of the E'Toro, R'Lan, and N'Nono warrior creches whose valor and savagery was legendary. Yet, as skilled as these soldiers were, he would have traded a dozen of them for one infiltrator in a light-bending suit to scout the terrain ahead and report on the demons.

He halted before Paruto and Waruna. The towering Lekgolo pair growled their gratitude at leading the true vanguard.

Voro had been blessed with not one but three Lekgolo pairs. He had never seen a single pair defeated in combat before. And yet, the Spartans had managed to wound Waruna and escape, an insult to the Lekgolo pride that would only be assuaged by grinding the offenders into pulp.

"Make ready final preparation," Voro told his Majors.

The Majors shouted to their squads, who drew their swords and saluted Voro—their raised energy blades made the air waver with their combined heat.

They lowered their salute; grabbed rifles, grenades, pistols, and power cells; and marched across the courtyard, assembling near the banks of matte-black translocation pads.

Suicide Unggoy squads followed, dragging dissembled energy mortar units. Their frenzied squeals annoyed Voro. They would run ahead of the others, attempt to engage the enemy while their fellows set up their shields and mortars… and likely fall before they got a single unit assembled.

They would, however, serve as a necessary distraction while the rest of his combat group found cover and set up.

It was as fine a death as any Unggoy could wish for.

Voro looked up to the stars.

They had survived the Flood and treachery of the Jiralhanae at the second Halo construct, repelled the Sentinel guardians of this world, and emerged victorious even after the human fleet decimated their ships. Many in his ranks whispered Destiny protected them.

That so-called victory against the human fleet, however, had been nothing more than luck. The human Ship Masters had outwitted them—a fact he still had difficultly reconciling. Only the timely arrival of reinforcements from Joyous Exultation had saved them.

Rumors circulated that the reinforcing ships had survived some catastrophe. Voro suspected a surprise attack from the Ji-ralhanae. Whatever the cause, vengeance would have to wait.

They had to win this battle, here and now, and claim the Forerunner technologies that would shift the strategic balance of power in the galaxy. So perhaps it was Destiny after all that had brought them to this world, but it was destiny of their own making.

He strode to the translocation platforms and rechecked the target coordinates. Voro was no priest, and he understood only a fraction of the Forerunner holy script.

The same message had repeated since they found this system.

Holographic icons swarmed over the control surface. Voro read them, shouting the divine passage to his soldiers: "The dark times are upon us… Unsheathe thy swords and smite… The Ark will be your guide… And bless the Reclaimers that may take refuge behind the sharpened edge of the Shield… Wonder beyond awaits."

Two hundred Sangheili roared their approval as if the message had been set here for them, writ eons ago by gods.

In truth, the nuances of this message's meaning were lost upon Voro. He had discerned, though, the center of this world was where the "Reclaimers" were to assemble: a place that held technological wonders and weapons beyond measure.

Their task was clear: stop the human demons from getting there first.

He motioned to the suicide Unggoy squads.

The small creatures crowded upon the platforms.

Voro input the translocation command and sent the first wave into battle.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

2140 HOURS, NOVEMBER 3, 2552 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \ ZETA DORADUS SYSTEM \ UNDETERMINED LOCATION IN THE FORERUNNER CONSTRUCT KNOWN AS ONYX-CORE- ROOM ANTECHAMBER

The crack of Linda's sniper rifle was uncharacteristically quiet. The sound dissipated into the vast room.

Two hundred meters from her perch a Grunt cried out. It fell, killed by the head shot. A jet of methane from its breathing apparatus ignited and spewed fire.

That was five. The creatures had appeared on translocation pads, chittering like a dozen cockroaches, lugging parts of an energy shield unit. They had looked confused, running in random directions… until downed by Linda.

Without shifting from her flat position or removing her gaze from the Oracle scope, Linda dropped her magazine and inserted a new one. Lying next to her in a precise row were five magazines, all she had left.

Kurt surveyed his team. They'd taken the only logical, defensible position in the room: atop the artificial hill of concentric rings.

The top of the structure was crowned with a meter-wide ledge and thirteen finlike towers that provided ample cover. The Spartans and Mendez took posts on either side of three of these towers.

Kelly had placed their last LOTUS antitank mines at the base of the hill, enough explosive force to penetrate the ultradense armor of an M808 Scorpion Main Battle Tank.

His team had height, clean lines of fire, and yet Kurt knew they were entirely vulnerable surrounded by so many translocation pads.

Inside the ring of towers, a series of additional concentric circles fell steeply into the middle of the structure. In the exact center was a hole three meters wide, glowing with a brilliant blue-white heatless illumination.

This was ostensibly the "doorway" to the core room they sought. It was open, but in the time they had been here, the rings on the hill's outer and inner slopes had continued to flatten, and the fin towers had tilted and angled inward. The entire structure was closing like the petal of a great flower.

Kurt glanced at his mission timer: 21:22.

Holographic control surfaces shimmered about the edge of the hole, and Dr. Halsey crouched there, laptop open, her tiny mote-of-light AI flitting among the symbols. She hadn't flinched at the sound of the sniper rifle, her full concentration fixed upon the center. Around her Kurt had set the eight sleeper pods for additional cover.

"Compressed Slipspace field," Dr. Halsey whispered to her computer. "Transdimensional crossover confirmed. Impossible in normal three-space, at least larger than the Fermi-Planck limit."

"Action on deck!" Mendez cried.

The translocation pads scattered across the white room flickered with rings of gold. Upon dozens of pads… two hundred Grunts materialized.

They screamed, fired plasma and needier pistols, and charged.

Kurt had never been afraid of these diminutive aliens. But this was different. The cowardly creatures were wild-eyed, and sprinted headlong toward them, clawing at the air.

Their plasma bolts dissipated along their two-hundred-meter-long trajectories, but several needier rounds exploded on the stones near Kurt.

"Hold your fire," he said over TEAMCOM. He scanned the advancing line, and then past them spotted three teams of Grunts setting up energy mortars.

"In back," he said. "Take out the artillery."

Linda fired twice. A trio of Grunts assembling one mortar fell.

Holly and Ash grabbed sniper rifles and picked off the other two Grunt teams before the mortars' energy shields activated.

The charging wave of Grunts surged against the base of the hill, clambering over one another to rush up the steep terraces.

"Mines?" Kelly calmly asked over the COM "Negative," Kurt replied. "Rifles. Everyone—sweep the slopes."

Green acknowledgment lights burned.

They eased out from cover and loosened streams of automatic fire over the target-rich terrain.

The leading Grunts jerked as bullets riddled their bodies. They fell backward onto their fellows, who struggled to maintain their forward momentum. Punctured breathing units spewed methane and blossomed into flame. Many Grunts ignited, tumbled down the stairs, and desperately rolled to extinguish themselves.

The Spartans dropped magazines, inserted fresh ones, and methodically continued shooting.

The Grunts slowed and stopped halfway up the stairs, fell back, dead and alive, still screaming, but now in terror.

The survivors turned and fled—and were cut down.

Heaps of Grunts lay at the foot of the hill. Methane reverse tanks detonated, and burning armor and flesh spiraled up into columns of acrid smoke. Some Grunts attempted to crawl to safety.

"Police the wounded," Kurt ordered. "Single shots."

His team quickly dispatched them.

Then Kurt spotted his mistake: Two hundred fifty meters back, almost lost in the glare of the vast room, stood Elites… now safely behind stationary shield generators.

Kurt increased the magnification on his faceplate. There were three groups equidistantly positioned around the hill—thirty Elites in each.

"Twelve, four, and seven o'clock," Kurt whispered over TEAMCOM. "Trouble."

"We've got three SPNKr missiles left," Linda offered. "I could get a trajectory over those shield units."

Kurt then saw outlines that made his stomach clench, silhouettes that hulked over the smaller Elites. Three Hunter pairs, one in each company.

"Too much firepower," he told Linda. "They'd down them before impact. We'll wait for them to come to us. Stand by."

Above them, the towers leaned in at a 45-degree angle; the depth from the top of the hill to the center was now only six meters. Kurt could actually see the concentric rings settling, centimeter by centimeter.

His countdown timer read "17:51."

Every Spartan had about a dozen magazines for their MA5B and MASK assault rifles, three grenades, sniper rifles—normally enough for nearly any engagement. This, however, would be a lopsided siege against an enemy who was well prepared and, Kurt had to admit it, outthinking them.

He moved down to Dr. Halsey.

"Progress?" he whispered.

Dr. Halsey continued to stare at the white compressed space within the center. It flexed, and revealed a tantalizing glimpse of normal daylight beyond, and then shifted back to glare and distortion.

"There is nothing 1 can do to hasten the closing of this aperture," she murmured. "Are you still set on remaining here until the last possible moment?"