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ERIC NYLUND
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energy coil dim. The Master Chief grabbed it—ducked as an-
other plasma bolt singed over his head. He withdrew to the cover
of the bracing support. He tried to activate the weapon. No luck.
It was dead.
The Engineer snaked a tentacle around the weapon and
tugged it away from John's grasp. It cracked the case and peeled
the housing open. The tip of one of its tentacles split into a hun-
dred needle-fine cilia and swept over the inner workings. A mo-
ment later it reassembled the weapon and handed it, grip first, to
the Master Chief.
The needier hummed with energy, and the glassine quills the
weapon fired glowed a cool purple.
"Thanks," he whispered.
The Engineer chirped.
The Master Chief edged around the brace. He waited, needier
held tightly in his hand, and became completely still. He had all
the time in the world, he told himself. No need to rush. Let the
enemy come to you. All the time—
A Grunt poked its nose over a crate, trying to spot its enemy; it
took a blind shot down the corridor and missed.
The Master Chief remained where he was, raised the needier,
and fired. A flurry of crystal shards propelled down the passage
and impaled the Grunt. It toppled backward, and the shards
detonated.
The Master Chief waited and listened. There was nothing ex-
cept the gentle thrumming of the reactor.
He moved down the corridor, weapon held before him as he
cleared the room. He was careful to watch for the faint rippling
of air that would alert him to the presence of camouflaged Elites.
Nothing.
The Engineer floated behind him, and then accelerated toward
the disengaged power coupling. It hissed and chittered as it
rapidly manipulated a small square block of optical crystal, un-
scrambling the internal circuit pathways.
"Cortana," he said. "I've gotten to the coupling. The Engineer
appears to know what it's doing. You should have power for the
Slipspace generator in a moment."
"It's too late," Cortana told him.