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154
HALO: FIRST STRIKE
had the skill and luck to survive Halo—qualities the Master
Chief knew they'd need if they were ever going to get back.
"Exiting Slipspace," Cortana announced, "in three ... two ...
one."
According to the Master Chief's mission clock, it had only
been eight minutes since Cortana had told him their ETA was
nineteen minutes. Was there more to the time-dilation effect
than she realized?
The bridge lights dimmed, and blackness filled the arc of dis-
plays along the wall. Stars winked into existence, and at three
o'clock blazed the warm yellow orb of Epsilon Eridani.
"We are seven hundred thousand kilometers from the system
center," Cortana told them. "I wanted to jump in close enough to
see what's going on—but far enough away so we would have
time to recharge and reenter Slipspace if there's any trouble.
Picking up signals now. Covenant signals. Lots of them. Trans-
lating ... stand by."
Haverson tapped one of the screens and magnified the image.
"My God," he whispered.
A planet appeared on the screen. He sucked in his breath as he
saw a world smoldering from pole to equator. Fires raged over
its surface, and a hurricane of black spiraled through the
atmosphere.
The Master Chief felt as if the ship had suddenly decelerated.
His hands clenched.
He'd sent the majority of his team down there—and had con-
sidered it the "easier" mission. He'd gotten his Spartans killed,
he was sure of it.
Had they at least died fighting? Or were they burned from an
orbiting Covenant ship, helpless?
"Are we in the right place?" Locklear murmured. "That's
Reach?" He removed his cap, crushed it in his hand, and whis-
pered, "Poor bastards."
The other displays showed Covenant warships orbiting the
planet, as well as dozens of smaller craft and one large structure
that seemed to be a central docking station.
"What is this?" the Master Chief asked, stepping closer. He
tapped the center display, pushing the limits of its resolution and
magnifying a portion of the surface near the midlatitudes.