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290
HALO: FIRST STRIKE
Admiral Whitcomb narrowed his eyes and reexamined the
Lieutenant as if seeing him for the first time.
"You'd never survive the Slipspace transition," Cortana told
him. "But..." She tapped her lip with her forefinger, deep in
thought. "There might be another way."
Covenant icons entered the stream of symbols flowing along the
surface of her holographic body. "I discovered a file-duplication
algorithm in the Covenant AI on Ascendant Justice. I success-
fully used it to reproduce my language-translation routines. I
might use it to copy portions of my infiltration programming
into the memory-processing matrix in the Master Chief's
MJOLNIR armor. It won't be a full copy—there are replication
errors and other side effects—but it would give the Spartan team
access to some of my capabilities. Enough, I think, to get them
through the Covenant security barriers."
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 sur-
vived 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 accept-
able. 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."