Mendez had to give Halsey her due. Instead of making a fuss about the puncture in her leg, she just shut her mouth and gathered up the fragments of the cylinder.

It didn't mean he was discovering a new respect for her and that the tension between them would eventually turn to a lasting friendship. That kind of bullshit only happened in the movies. Mendez knew the bottom line was that they both had blood on their hands, and a lot of his wasn't of the decent, rules-of-engagement, soldiering variety.

He had no idea why he didn't feel inclined to keep his opinions to himself any longer. Maybe he was the one whose goddamn frontal lobes weren't doing all the impulse suppression that they should. He watched Kelly, Fred, and Linda close ranks around Halsey and do the Spartan equivalent of fussing over her.

"Any ill effects yet, ma'am?" Linda asked.

Halsey twisted from the waist and hitched up her hem discreetly to take another look. "Well, I think I'll find out pretty soon whether it was injecting me with something or taking a sample. One thing's certain-it won't be doing it again."

Fred picked over the fragments of cylinder in his palm. Mendez felt guilty about walking away from the search for Lucy, but he needed to know what that thing was because all the systems on this artificial planet had to be connected in some way. The Forerunners did seem to have a few godlike qualities, and one was purpose. They didn't create things at random.

"I don't recognize any of the components," Fred said. "But there's a piece of some spongy material here. It's saturated with blood. I think your assessment that it's taking samples is on the nail, Doctor."

Halsey took a closer look at the pieces. "Now if I run a blood test, I'm looking to check how someone is, who someone is, or what someone is. Perhaps it's trying to work out if we're carrying any infection. But if that's the case, it would try to take samples from everybody. What's different about me?"

Mendez didn't say a word. He was trying to recall what the cylinders had been doing from the first time they'd shown up. They seemed to hang around faces. Now this one had taken a blood sample, if Halsey was correct. It had shown most interest in the people who weren't wearing helmets, and then it seemed to want a second opinion on Halsey in particular.

"I think there's a really simple answer, Doctor," Mendez said. "Me and Fred, we had something to eat. You've not eaten anything yet, though, have you?"

Halsey paused for a moment and then shut her eyes. "Glycogen metabolism. Damn it. It's just a first-aid monitor." She did that humorless little I-should-know-better smile. "My guess is that it can detect exhaled ketones. So it checked whether I had blood sugar problems. I'm not sure why the Forerunners would care about that, but scans make sense if you're trying to keep out a pathogen."

"Well, terrific," Mendez said, and strode back down the passage. "We can forget all about it until it bills us. How are we doing, people?"

Tom and Olivia were still working their way back and forth across the controls and the entrance lobby. He could hear the murmur of conversation from deep inside the passage as Mark and Ash examined the flagstone floor. Fred walked up behind him.

"Chief, we need to split up and carry on with the recon. Worst-case scenario is that it takes us weeks to work out where we are and find some structures that make more sense. I suggest we leave Dr. Halsey here with Kelly in case Lucy comes back the same way she went in, and the rest of us can move on."

It was a perfectly sensible command decision. Mendez just nodded. But Fred cocked his head to one side.

"I wouldn't dream of abandoning her, Chief."

"Never thought you would, Lieutenant."

Mendez never needed to see a Spartan's face to work out what was going on in their heads. It was all about the body language-a split-second delay, the set of the shoulders, or a hundred other minute details that helped him gauge their reactions. Mendez watched Fred talking to the rest of the Spartan-IIIs, but didn't spot the slightest hesitation as they broke off from what they were doing to resume the patrol.

I trained 'em right. At least I can say that.

Mendez passed Halsey on the way out of the tower and nodded at Kelly. "If Lucy comes back, then you damn well sit on her if you have to, but don't let her wander off again."

"Understood, Chief." Kelly took off her helmet and adjusted her earpiece. "And just for the record, I'm placing my bets on it being some seriously weird transdimensional crap."

"I bet that's what Einstein said."

Kelly managed a smile. "She strikes me as the unkillable sort."

"Yeah. She's a survivor."

Mendez would always take facts over feelings, but he also had that time-honed instinct that told him when one of his people was in trouble. Lucy was still around somewhere-he just knew it. But if there was such a thing as the worst Spartan to misplace, it was Lucy. The poor kid couldn't yell for help. Yeah, Halsey had gotten it right again. Lucy really shouldn't have been serving on the front line. But what the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn't spare a single Spartan anyway, and the cruelest thing he could have done to Lucy was to separate her from the only family she had left. He wasn't prepared to ship her out to some psychiatric rehabilitation unit where she'd just be injected and analyzed and discussed by a bunch of strangers all pretty much like Halsey, treating her as a fascinating puzzle to be solved. She'd had enough of that garbage by now.

"Do you suppose John's made it?" Kelly asked. It was right out of the blue. That meant it had been on her mind for some time and she couldn't keep it battened down any longer. "And the others."

"Of course he has," Halsey said. She was setting up camp in the entrance lobby, unpacking the contents of her bag and laying out all her electronics. "He was always the luckiest of you all. And the most bloody-minded."

Mendez supposed that was tact in a Halsey kind of way. She hadn't said that John was the very best of the Spartan-IIs and that she'd known he was a natural leader from the first time she met him as a six-year-old. If she'd blurted that out, though, Kelly would have taken it without offense, because Halsey was now the nearest thing she'd ever have to a mom. Kids still loved even the most abusive parent.

And you set their paths. Their expectations. Treat a kid as the chosen one, or as your biggest disappointment, and he'll live up or down to that.

"Problem, Chief?" Halsey asked.

Mendez just took her sidearm from his belt, checked the safety and the clip, and handed it back to her. "You sure you can still use this? If not, Kelly can bring you up to speed."

"I can cope. I did the requalifier a couple of years ago."

"Good." He took out a couple of his ration bars as well. The cylinder must have been worried about her starving, so he'd take that as a warning. "Make each of these last a day. It'll be easier than you think."

Halsey looked him in the eye like a kicked dog, as if she couldn't understand why he was getting more acid with her. He wondered how long she'd spent rehearsing that look until she got the appearance of sincerity just right.

Because I've been here for twenty-odd years churning out more Spartans for the meat-grinder, that's why. I've had a lot of time to think. But it still didn't make me a better person. I went and did it all over again, more or less.

"Thank you, Chief." Halsey went back to examining the broken cylinder. "When we find Lucy, would you like me to check her over?"

Mendez searched for the ulterior motive. "I'll ask her."

He had to jog to catch up with the Spartans. They were already a hundred meters west of the towers, spread out in wedge formation. He could see Fred and Linda scanning the ground as they walked over it, probably taking advantage of the full range of sensors in the Mjolnir helmets. The Spartan-IIIs didn't have most of those extras in their SPI armor and they couldn't even upgrade their kit via software. It made a big difference.

Mendez tapped his radio. "What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Thought we could see some thermal variation," Fred said. "Straight lines. Might be tunnels. You know how the Forerunners love their underground facilities. When we get back to base, slap in a request for ground-penetrating radar for these lids, will you, Chief?"

"You want a soda vending machine too?"

"Got that already. Sort of."

Mendez was now far enough from the towers to look back and get a sense of scale again. He'd assumed Lucy had gone through. She might well have gone down. They were back on open grassland with nothing else in sight except trees and vegetation.

Fred started jogging, pulling ahead of the others. He was definitely following a trail now. Mendez could see him looking down every few meters as he went. And then he broke into a run.

This was always the moment when Mendez fully appreciated just how different a Spartan-II was from a regular soldier and even from the Spartan-IIIs. He'd seen it hundreds, even thousands of times, but it was still sobering to watch a human being in a power-assisted suit accelerate to nearly sixty kilometers an hour and keep going. Mark, Olivia, and Ash hung back to wait for Mendez. Tom carried on, starting to fall behind Linda.

"Well," Ash said, "if we haven't got wheels, that's one sure way to cover some ground, isn't it?" He put his hand on Mendez's shoulder. "Maybe it was just an animal Lucy heard down there, Chief. Real rabbit hole stuff."

"Let's hope. Rabbits are good eating."

Mendez kept walking, wondering why he'd coped with all the crap he'd done for Halsey, and all the other crap that he couldn't blame on her at all, but found it hard to accept one Spartan-III going missing out of all the hundreds who'd been killed. The Threes were cheap and disposable, intended for suicide missions that were beneath a Spartan-II and beyond an ODST. He'd accepted that, to his everlasting shame.

Why now? Why was he losing his detachment now?

Because she can't scream. Because I put her in that position. Because it's the straw that'll break this camel's back.

"Now that's more like it." Fred's voice came over the radio and steered Mendez away from the brink. "We've definitely been out of town."

"Transmit an image, Lieutenant. It's going to take us a while to catch you up."

Mark seemed to be getting something in his HUD. "He's found buildings." He stopped and took off his helmet, offering it to Mendez. "You want to take a look, Chief?"

Mendez tilted the helmet and glanced at the image that now filled the HUD, a cluster of silver-gray, almost featureless multistories in the same architectural style as the towers.

"No signs of life, but let's not take that for granted," Fred said. "Check it out."

Mendez allowed himself a little relief. This was, as Fred had said, much more like it. A bunker had to have shelters, kitchens, an infirmary-all the trappings of normal life. Now they at least had a base to operate from. It was another problem that was going to be solved.

Hang in there, Lucy. We'll put the pieces together and work out where you are.

There was every chance they'd be here for a long time. And if Halsey was right, then they might be the last sentient life left in the galaxy. No amount of luck could save John from a Halo Array firing.

Or save her own daughter, either.

Halsey had taken an awfully big gamble to save just three of her Spartans. He understood. Now it was his turn to atone.

"It's times like this that I miss the Pelican," Fred said. "Better find a high observation point."

An aerial view of the complex would have been useful. For once, it was a toss-up between working their way through town and assessing the layout, or just clearing the place building by building. Mendez trudged on, realizing just how much ground a Spartan could cover at speed. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back as he tried to keep up a respectable pace, but he wasn't a Spartan and he wasn't twenty any longer. He resisted the temptation to break into a jog.

I'm sixty. They're twenty, thirty, even forty-odd years younger. And genetically enhanced. I've got a right to be the last across the line.

Mark kept up with him, either to keep him company or spare his embarassment. He was a nice kid. "You could do with a night's sleep," he said. "We all could."

"Won't make me any younger or faster," Mendez grunted.

"Don't give me that old man BS, Chief."

It was the doors that kept Mendez going at a brisk walk. He caught a glimpse of them up ahead in the elegant buildings, the first truly recognizable ones that he'd seen here-doors meant to be walked through, complete with ornate lintels and frames. He approached the nearest one, alert for more of whatever Lucy had gone chasing. The Spartans were already there, waiting as if they thought it was discourteous to start this without him.

Fred gestured to Linda and the others to stack either side of the first door. He nodded at Mendez.

"Okay, Chief," he said. "In we go."

CHAPTER.

NINE.

PEACE TREATIES AREN'T BROKERED BETWEEN COUNTRIES OR NEGOTIATED BETWEEN WORLDS. THEY HAPPEN BECAUSE TWO INDIVIDUALS CAN TALK TO ONE ANOTHER. I CAN DO BUSINESS WITH THE ARBITER. AND I BELIEVE HE CAN DO BUSINESS WITH ME.

(ADMIRAL LORD HOOD, CINCFLEET).

MAINTENANCE AREA, UNSC PORT STANLEY, ON STATION IN SANGHELIOS SPACE: FEBRUARY 2553.

"What is this, street theater?" Devereaux jerked a wrench at Vaz and Mal in a get-lost gesture. "Beat it. Nothing to see here."

Vaz shoved Mal with his shoulder. "Come on. Leave it."

"You won't even know we're here," Mal said. "We've never seen Spartans put on their frillies before. Go on. How bad can it be?"

Naomi's voice drifted out of the compartment. "It's okay," she said. "It's just armor."

Vaz debated whether to haul Mal away and give Naomi some privacy. Poor woman: she reminded him increasingly of a bear in an illegal circus, a big wild thing that really wasn't meant to be cooped up like that, capable of eventually snapping under the strain and lashing out with a lethal paw. But he had to admit that he was just as curious about the Mjolnir, and he wrestled with his guilt for a full five seconds before giving in and peering around the compartment door.

Devereaux was at a control panel with a diagnostics pad in one hand. She still had the wrench in the other.

"No smartass comments," she said. "She's perimenopausal and I've got PMS."

Mal glanced at the wrench. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Mjolnir wasn't exactly body armor like the kind Vaz was used to. It was more like an APC with legs. Naomi stood partially engulfed in it, up to her waist in titanium plates and surrounded by what Vaz could only describe as a gantry. It projected into the machinery space, a steel scaffold two meters deep and three meters wide, extending right up to the deckhead. It was only when he moved around and stood right in front of it that he could see what it was doing. Like a robot on a vehicle assembly line, it was building the armor around her section by section, slotting the plates into place over her bodysuit with steady but alarming chonk-chonk-chonk trip-hammer noises.

Vaz hadn't worked out what all the long steel tubes were for. All he knew was that he'd never want to be sealed in quite like that. It's like being buried alive. No, canned alive. Armor was fine: he lived in his, like every other ODST. It was all that stood between him and the hereafter most of the time. No, it was the automation that made him squirm, the robotic relentlessness of the assembly process that looked as if it wouldn't stop until it had crushed Naomi like a car in a junkyard compactor.

Vaz looked up at the helmet poised above her head and gave her an awkward half smile. He couldn't tell if she was annoyed or embarrassed, but she looked a little flushed around the neck.

"No good asking Mal to zip you up," he said. Okay, Spartans worked alone, but he was sure she would be happier if she joined the gang. He tried to coax her in. "Not with his hernia. Three hundred kilos?"

"Yes. When I run out of ammo, I can just sit on hinge-heads." Well, at least she'd thawed enough to synchronize her slang with theirs. The chest plate swung across from a robotic arm on her left, so fast that Vaz flinched, expecting it to slam into her and smash bone. The sleeve sections followed. "Don't look so worried. You've missed the awkward part."

"What awkward part?" Mal asked. "And I haven't got a hernia. It's my car keys."

Naomi was now up to her neck in steel-blue titanium and composite. As the helmet began to descend, she reached up and the machine stopped dead to let her take it.

"Good to go, Naomi." Devereaux gave her a thumbs-up. "Go get 'em."

The robot arms swung back. Naomi stepped down from the plinth as easily as Vaz would have done in his tin-can ODST armor, all easy grace, and that was when it struck him just how extraordinary that was.

It's the weight of a quad bike, and she's just striding around in it like it's her fatigues. I know it's power-assisted, but that's still quite something.

"Here," she said. She tipped the helmet upside down and shoved it under Mal's nose. "See that slot at the back? That aligns with my neural interface. Yours is a transponder. Mine's more like a docking station. It's where the AI data chip fits if I'm ever unwise enough to let BB into my brain."

Vaz expected BB to materialize instantly with a witty put-down about claustrophobia in confined spaces, but he obviously wasn't playing today. Mal peered into the helmet with the look of a man who was making a note of all the tech that Spartans had and that ODSTs didn't.

"Once you're sealed in," he said carefully, "you can't just ... you know, step out of it easily when you need to, can you? That rig's got to dismantle it."

"Correct. It's a last resort to do it manually."