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      ACT III        REBOOT

            Chapter Eleven: Harmony in Discord

       Screaming. Someone was screaming. The sound was pitched high and agonized, and Halley fought to open her eyes through the gunk that had formed over them as she slept. She reached out to rub her them, and her hand came away bloody. Through a hellish fog, Halley recognized the sound of her own voice. The screaming stopped. Her throat was raw, her head was pounding, and she was backed into the corner of the room she'd awakened to some time ago. Days, nights; time had no meaning anymore. The only cycle was eat, sleep, and survive the torture.

       Deep in her veins she could feel the pinpricks of burning heat that meant the artifact was doing it's job. Every time she was pulled out of the little chamber she slept in, she was taken to the room where the Ahzentia tested the limits of the Forerunner device. Her body was covered in horrific lacerations that steadily healed without a trace come the following day. Only the burns down the length of her back left a permanent mark, and even they faded over time. At the end of every session she was dragged back into this room, a bowl of some thick paste that tasted like flat oatmeal was left near her, and she curled up into a ball and wished to die. And every single time, the artifact repaired the damage, with gradually diminishing gains. Halley knew eventually she would die on that table. She only wished it was sooner, rather then later.

       She sat up, feeling nausea deep in her gut from the double-edged blade they'd stuffed in there the day before. The outward wound was already closed, and the fierce burning sensation within meant the internal damage was close to being healed. She groped about for the gruel, and scraped the last of it up with her fingers. She licked them clean, still hungry, and tasted her own salty blood in the mix. If anything, it augmented the taste. She rolled over, retching, fighting to keep what little was in her stomach there. She pushed herself onto her heels, rocking back against the chamber wall for support, and for the hundredth time searched for a way out. Given the variety of scratches on the wall and grooves carved into the floor, she wasn't the first being to sit in this cell. The burning in her stomach faded, and she rocked onto her knees, stretching her back to test the wound. It no longer hurt. She sighed and shifted back onto her heels, hanging her head.

       The sound of metal steps on a metal floor sent fear screaming down her spine, but as always she faced it with as bravely as she could. The Ahzentia that strode into view was a mockery of the human form. It was tall, spindly, and had far too many joints. It looked like a bald, emaciated gray human; parchment thin skin stretched over slight, misshapen bones. It's second set of prehensile arms were folded across it's stomach, and it's primary right hand held a long staff tipped in a glowing blue crystal. Halley knew from personal experience that the device sent out a powerful electric shock. His other hand pointed to the cell, and two Brute guards opened the door and moved in warily. In the first few days she'd fought like the demon they called her, torn off handfuls of Brute hair and clawed their thick hide till she drew blood, but she ended up in the torture room just the same.

       For fighting back, the Ahzentia had ripped her fingernails out by the roots.

       Now she just went limp, reserving her strength for the table. Why she fought to stay alive when she so wished to die was beyond her. She watched her feet be dragged down the corridor, and only lifted her head when they reached their destination. The table had been converted since last she was on it, now one inch spikes jutted out of it from shoulder height down. Halley blanched white and pulled against the Brutes' grip, but they dragged her to the table, unaffected by her struggles. A third alien grabbed her feet, and she fought to kick free, screaming incoherently as they lifted her over the spikes. Her eyes were wide in terror, and she hung suspended over the spikes as Spartan time slowed the agony down to the space between heartbeats. The Brutes lowered her onto the table, and her screams doubled. Six meaty hands pushed down until the tiny blades had entered her back and legs and arms the whole length of her body. Her screams choked off as white pain blinded her.

       Please just let me die….

       Kaina stared across the recovery room that had been converted into a trauma center during the Brute's attack, unsure of what course to take. She'd barely had three hours to herself in the last three days, and only just checked her personal datapad. A message had entered the queue a day ago, but had been overridden by the more pressing messages. She'd had to fight off tears when she read it; it was the information Halley had requested the day before she was taken. The Spartan had a way with hunches, and it seemed she'd been spot on this time as well. On the other side of the trauma center the Master Chief stood by a window, helmet on and body still as if carved from stone. From a doctor's perspective, the man was deep in post-traumatic shock; but he was a Spartan. He'd get over it. Kaina strode across the deck, stopping at his side. It was a long moment before he acknowledged her presence.

       "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but Halley requested this information. I'm certain she'd have wanted you to see it." Kaina handed the datapad over, making a hasty retreat. Rationally, the man wasn't prone to violent outbursts, but right now she wasn't going to push her luck. John stared at the thing in his hands, trying to decipher it's meaning past the name "Halley." All sense seemed to desert him at the mention of her name. Everything hurt. Then self-control asserted itself, and he focused on the pad again. It held his personal Spartan number, 117, and a work up of his DNA. Next to it was the shortened CSV of a Lieutenant named Demitri Taylor. Between the two names was the words: "Paternal and Maternal DNA matches within point zero zero zero three percent."

       He stared a long, long time. The man's age, his name; the city he was born in. Everything matched. For the first time in days John thought of something other than what was lost. The Lieutenant was located in a room on the third tier of the hospital. John set off in that direction. When he reached the area, a nurse accompanied him to the room and immediately began scolding the injured Marine. He was not in the bed, but standing at a window reading a datapad and leaning on a cane. Demitri gave a dry smile to the flustered nurse. "I haven't been up long. I'll lay back down if I get tired, don't worry."

       "Sir, do I need to remind you that you are recovering from what should have been a fatal set of burns?" She set her hands sternly on rather ample hips.

       "No ma'am, I'm well aware." He flexed his arm and winced. "But I can't lay down anymore." She scowled. "Now, I'm certain someone else needs your attention." She turned and flounced out, and Demitri cast his gaze heavenward. "Why do I always get the mother-hen types? I'm very sorry, Master Chief. I heard about the loss on your team. How can I help you?" He smiled at John and set the datapad down, hand twitching in a repressed salute.

       John stared as the memories swamped him. The man stood at about six feet, and almost-black hair had grown out far past military length and given him an almost boyish look in spite of his thirty some-odd years. He was built with the same musculature that John shared, though on a scaled-down level. They had the same nose and a similar face structure. It was undeniable. "You…look like your mother," John managed to get out gruffly. He removed his helmet as the man stared, puzzled.

       "I'm well aware of that, people used to point it out all the time." He tilted his head as John's face was revealed. "The question is, Chief, how do you know that? Have we met before?"

       John shook his head. "Your clearance has recently been bumped to alpha level?"

       "Yes, as of last week. Field commendation got me the rank of Lieutenant." He rolled his eyes. "They finally found a way to promote me. My clearance is temporarily raised while I work on ONI's new tactical program." He gestured to the datapad. "Crock of crap if you ask me, but it's something to do till I can get back in the field. I hate desk work." He limped towards the bed, and sat down, wincing again. "That still doesn't answer my question."

       "According to your history, you had an older brother in Elysium city, correct?" Demitri nodded.

       "Yes, John died when I was a baby. If my parents were to be believed, he was the perfect son." Taylor smiled rather wistfully.

       "The boy who you believe was your brother…the boy who died; was a flash clone." Technically John was pushing the limits of Demitri's clearance anyway, but his recent loss had muddled the line of protocol. Taylor narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Your real brother was conscripted for the Spartan program at the age of six."

       "My older brother is actually one of you? Is he still alive?" Demitri leaned forward, eyes widened. Master Chief realized on some level the man had already lost his family. John knew if there had been any way of seeing the Spartans he lost on Reach again he'd have taken it, no matter what the cost. The look of suppressed excitement and hope in Taylor's eyes got a smile tugging at John's lips. I guess I missed out on this.

       "Yes, he is alive. And he's not just one of us." The Chief took a deep breath. "Lieutenant Taylor, I'm John." The Marine stared, wild disbelief on his face. He stood, hesitated, and then reached out an unsteady hand. John shook it.

       "It's an unbelievable pleasure to meet you, John. I'm Demitri. Friends call me Wolf." He grinned, and shook his head. "And now that I'm thinking of it, you look a lot like Dad."

       "It's not so bad when there's something to do." John sat in the chair beside Demitri's bed, listening carefully to the sound of stressed metal in case it outlived its manufacturers guarantee. "When Reach fell, there was the Halo to deal with. But now? There isn't much for me to focus on. Cortana's half gone, and what's still cognizant is busy trying to make sense of the data we received on the fleet before it jumped." There had been two living Brutes after the fleet jumped and the Spartans cad cleaned the hospital base out; interrogation had gleaned the name "the Ahzentia" from the aliens before they disappeared into ONI's basement.

       Demitri frowned and tapped his stylus on the datapad, deep in thought.. "You're looking for something to occupy yourself…I may have an assignment for you." John looked up. "Echo Company, my troop, is being sent on a mission to one of the outer systems. More of this 'artifact hunting' that's been such a focus of the UNSC Special Forces lately." He stopped tapping the pen, and raised an eyebrow. "They've been trying to promote me to lieutenant for years, since I've got the rank I might as well put it to good use. My men would be considerably safer with the Master Chief along for the ride. You get something to focus on, and my men get some serious backup." He looked over and tilted his head. "Interested?" John frowned, considering. "Not to mention, of course, if these 'Ahzentia' are also looking for the artifacts, you may very well run into them out there. I'm not necessarily talking payback, but they may have information regarding your lost crewman."

       John's gaze hardened. "She's dead." Wolf forbade comment. "But you have a point. I'll take the assignment, if the offer pans out."

       "It will. I'm owed favors." He smiled, a bit slyly, and memories of his mother crowded John's mind. "Besides, don't think I haven't been trying to puzzle out that Section Three tag next to my name for weeks. I know how high my clearance goes, and I truly appreciate you taking the risk of introducing yourself."

       "It was Halley who…" John's face fell, and he pulled himself together with effort, wishing he hadn't taken off his helmet. "…who put two and two together. She'd never have let the matter go if she was still around to bug me about it."

       "She was certainly an interesting woman." Demitri gauged John's expression, and then shrugged. "I don't mean to dismiss you offhandedly, but if I'm going to get you assigned to Echo Company's mission, I need to make a few calls. Take care of yourself, okay? The downside of family is worrying about them." He looked the massive soldier in MJOLNIR over as he stood, and laughed. "Then again, you look like you can handle yourself."

       "It's been a pleasure…Wolf." John managed a smile, and Demitri gave a salute, which he returned.

       "See you around, John." For once the use of his casual name didn't even get the Chief up in arms, it just seemed right. He exited the room, focused on a new task.

       "Yo! Marines!" Corporal Caleb Jackals hotfooted around a corner, the two men snickering as he caught up.

       "I was starting to think you weren't coming along. We're already late." David Roe scratched at his scalp with a free hand, the other holding a poorly wrapped package under his arm. "Some surprise party it'll be if the kid arrives before we do." They reached the conference room at the end of the hall where most of Echo Company was already set up.

       "The girls did the decorations? That's a surprising bout of femininity…probably used up all their estrogen for a year." Caleb gave an irrepressible grin, as a hand snaked around him from behind.

       "Watch the 'chick jokes' baby, I might get offended." Crissa was tall enough to whisper it in his ear, and she snapped her teeth. He jumped and laughed, skin darkened a shade.

       "Come on, Iza, not in front of the ladies." Roe punched his arm, and Kyle rolled his eyes.

       "Where do I find California Sunshine dressed up as a Marine? Sheesh man. Hey, Crissa, you got any girlfriends looking for company?"

       "Not really…I don't get along with women so well." She let Caleb go and shrugged, pulling her shortish hair back into a blond ponytail. "And I'm East Coast, not West Coast."

       "Wait, you're actually an Earthling? I was guessing inner colony. You've got that accent…"

       "I grew up in Maine. Sometimes the 'ahs' still get through."

       "What about me?" Alex walked over, a glass of punch in his hand.

       "Not you," she muttered, "the state."

       "Oh."

       Caleb blinked, and tilted his head. "Something's different about you, Maine…wait a second…no stench, no burning ember in your hand…did you actually quit smoking?"

       "Yup. Clean for three weeks. The headaches are finally going away." He sipped his drink. "So Jackals, you never did say how you jumped rank so fast. You're in line for Sergeant already, last I heard."

       "Yeah. Still only one bar, but hell, it's the biggest step of my career. Looks like without Wolf around they're trying to raise the curve." He yawned. "I'm getting some punch. You want punch, babe?"

       "Don't mind if I do!" Crissa popped him in the same arm Roe hit. Jackals grunted, winced, and muttered under his breath. "Oh, you mean a drink. Yeah, sure."

       "Women in the Marines. Nuts, every last one of you." He dodged a second blow, and held up his hands in surrender. "I'm going, I'm going!"

       "So when's the flyboy supposed to arrive?" Wilson glanced around the room, counting heads.

       "Any minute now. Captain's bringing him."

       "There's a Captain coming to this shindig?" Maine glanced up from his drink.

       Roe started laughing too hard to speak, and Kyle grinned. "How many of those have you had, Tin? Captain as in Tom Wilson, 'Captain.' You know, infamous for the Murdock Mission?"

       "Oh! Right." Maine swirled his drink. "In light of quitting smoking, maybe I'm going to take up drinking."

       Crissa blinked curiously. "How did he get that nickname?"

       Jackals walked back over, handed her a drink, and glanced at Wilson. "You wanna field the story, or should I?"

       "Oh, by all means, take it away."

       "Well, about four years ago…"

       "It was more like three."

       "…Kyle, I'm telling it. About three years ago, Echo company got set on this mood called Murdock. The Covies had already cleared out the civilian population, but they hadn't glassed it, since there were only about a hundred people there to begin with. Well, Tom gets it in his head to check out the burned out buildings, and comes back about three hours later with a backpack full, and I mean full of bottles of antique Captain Morgan. We partied all night, and the next day we got pulled off the planet. I think the Covies glassed it anyway. But ever since then Tom has been 'Captain,' same way Maine is 'Tin Can Man.' Come to think of it, Alex, I don't know how you got your name."

       "Well…"

       "Hey, heads up! Birthday boy's almost here." The call from the doorway halted all conversation. When the double doors opened, the shouts of "Surprise" were positively deafening. Tom laughed, and pushed a stunned Jhonan through the doorway, as Echo company dragged him into the center of the throng like he was one of them.

       "Hey kid. I told you things get better." Maine clapped him on the shoulder and Roe handed him a drink.

       "I…can't believe…How did you know it was my birthday?"

       "The Spook told us. Since you're coming on our next mission, we figured it was time you unofficially joined Echo Company." Maine gestured to Roe, who handed over the box. Jhonan tore through it, and grinned wide enough that it hurt as he lifted the official Echo Company patch out of the box; a black stylized dolphin wearing a belt of grenades and surrounded with the Marine Company's name in red lettering. Also in the box was a custom "Honorary ODST" patch, and Jhonan started laughing and wiping away what looks suspiciously like happy tears. Crissa leaned over and kissed his cheek, and he flushed several shades of red.

       Caleb held his drink aloft and grinned. "Alright, the guest of honor is here! Let the party begin!"

       Halley opened her eyes when the blades dropped back into the table, pulling free of her skin. She stared at the ceiling, unable to will herself to move. Hands reached under her shoulders and forced her into a sitting position. She was dragged a few feet and dropped on her hands and knees. Blood pooled under her, and in some deep, still rational part of her mind the Spartan realized she'd already lost a fatal amount. Behind her a sound like tearing fabric caught her attention, and water poured out of jets set above her. The wounds on her back stopped bleeding, though she tried desperately to counter the artifact's goal, knowing how close she was to the release of death. One of the Ahzentia knelt in front of her, and she stared into the inky black depths of its eyes with hate.

       When it spoke, it's voice sounded like grating stone forced into syllables. "Give us our Artifact and we will end this."

       She stared back at it, laughing hoarsely. Her back was on fire and deep in her bones the marrow was working overtime to replace the lost liters of blood. Memories floated on the surface of her mind like flower petals on water, and in the forefront ran a twenty-three sequence code. The pieces of the puzzle fit together, and inspiration struck. When Cortana had shared her body, the AI had overloaded the interface chip. The overexertion had nearly killed both of them.

       Halley pulled the code to the forefront of her mind and copied it, dumped the result into the chip, and created a feedback loop similar to the ones that Smart AIs created unintentionally. She repeated it again and again, until the loops reached critical saturation and parts of her mind began shutting down. She paused, ready to drop the final killing code, and the image of John appeared in her mind. Halley fought against it, knowing that if she didn't finish the process now she wouldn't be able to do it again. The apparition frowned sadly, and looked away. The little Spartan blacked out.

       The Ahzentia torturer rolled her onto her back, and she realized somewhere in the back of her shattered mind that she'd lost the code at the last second. She couldn't kill herself as long as he might be out there somewhere. The Ahzentia was hissing something at her, but she seemed to have lost the ability to understand it. Oh, good job, Hals. You killed off your translation program. Halley started laughing again, and the alien reached for it's staff. Suddenly free of the strictures of a human AI, Halley reached out and grabbed its throat, clenching her hand tight. "You want your artifact? Here." The crystals, suddenly recognizing her guidance, formed into a lance that cut it's way out through her palm and through the struggling torturer's neck. Grayish blood poured over her skin and she dropped the creature, the artifact shards retreating back into her body. The brute guards descended on her, but before she was pounded into unconsciousness, she had the satisfaction of watching her tormentor die.

       Jhonan Dark hummed to himself as he piloted a borrowed dropship across space from the Harrison base to a small cruiser in orbit around the nearby moon. The dropship didn't handle as well as the Banshee Killer, and already he missed the Spartan's craft, but since most of the Spartans were not going on this mission he couldn't think up an excuse to bring their personal ship along. The ship ahead was not your typical human vessel; her designers had crafted her to look smooth and rounded. She was aerodynamic, with small wing pods that arched out of her sides. Within them were the human's version of a plasma cannon, the AI Cortana had written the programming for them and they shared a magnetic coiling system with the twin MAC guns underneath that ran the length of the craft. The top of the gleaming silver ship sported a row of archer missile pods, seven on each side of the slight dorsal ridge. The rear of the craft glowed with a tripod of engines going through a warm-up procedure. She really looked like a kid's homemade rocketship all grown up. All in all, it was a very pretty vessel.

       Jhonan docked with the cruiser, idly running a hand over the "Echo Company" patch now lovingly sewn on his uniform. While according to regulation it shouldn't be there, he wasn't going to remove it one second before actually receiving orders to do so. He walked through the UNSC's new pet-project vessel, noting the upgrades. The crew bay was rather cramped, and the Cryogenic Suspension Chamber had cryotubes designed to be stacked like bunk beds. When the crew was being woken up, the upper rows dropped down. Jhonan couldn't fathom why they'd bothered to fix a system that wasn't broken. Given the size of the inside of the ship, she could fit a crew of fifteen with another thirty in suspension. He was looking forward to being awake for the trip. No one ever liked the freezer.

       The Slipspace engines were a work of art, far smaller that the typical Shaw-Fujikawa drive and built with similar advances to the ones the doomed Pillar of Autumn had sported. Three techs were arguing over power output, and Jhonan carefully crept past. Engine Techs often stayed awake while a crew was in suspension, and rumor had it they were prone to going postal. He stepped onto the bridge at last, breathing a sigh of relief. Most of the stations had been condensed into two major stations; the Cruiser was designed to have only two pilots. One of the chairs was already manned, and it swiveled around to show a man close to Jhonan's age, possibly even younger. His dark auburn hair curled far past regulation length, and a metal band rested over his eyes, hooked up to a com earpiece. His hands were laced in some sort of fine metal mesh, and Jhonan swore in shock.

       "Holy shit! You're an NIP, aren't you?"

       The man grinned, and tilted his head. "Yeah. Most people haven't even heard of Section Eight's special projects, let alone knowing what a Neural Interface Prodigy is. How have you heard of us?"

       "You guys were just a rumor in flight school. Wow, what's it like being that jacked into the system?" Jhonan sat in the opposite pilot chair. "I'm Dark, by the way."

       "Cyclone. And it's pretty cool, if you don't mind headaches."

       "Is it true, then? You guys were selected at fourteen, put through the Naval Collage, and had your brains wired up?"

       "Kind of." He laughed, and pulled the hair back from his neck to show the pale scar that ran up the length of his scull. "At twelve you have to have an IQ of One-Hundred-Ninety to get admitted into the program. There were only three people in my class. We did Naval school like everyone else, if a little young. The 'wired up' is all classified, but it wasn't a picnic, I can tell you for nothing. Makes piloting these babies a breeze, though." He ran his gloved hand over the controls lovingly. "It's a little annoying having to deal with the AIs though, they really hate us. If we weren't so difficult to train we might replace them in the long run."

       "I can see how that would tick them off. So, how old are you?"

       "I'll be eighteen in three months."

       "Damn. Well, at least you can have a conversation like a normal person."

       "Yeah. I'm running a full systems diagnostic in the background, but we learn to multitask pretty early on."

       "I'm not even sure why I'm here." Jhonan frowned, feeling outdone.

       "That's easy. One, I only have two hands. And the other thing is, I've heard about your crash-landing. I can't imagine how you pulled it off. You take away my ability to interlace with a ship's systems, and I'm lost. I mean, I can pilot a ship blind, but they aren't paying me enough to do it."

       "So you really can't see anything without the interface?"

       "Yeah. It sucks. Our brains process visual information way too fast. Permanent vertigo." He shook his head. "Not to mention there's a certain level of instinct that a real pilot has. I do everything on a technical level; you have instincts. Between the two of us, this baby'll fly to the end of the galaxy safe and sound."

       "She have a name yet?"

       "Yeah. UNSC just approved it. The Draconic."

       After Jhonan left the bridge, Cyclone jacked back into the system. Another mind brushed against his, and he opened access to it. In his digital overlaid vision, an attractive teenaged girl stood on the bridge looking out the front window. She wore a pilot's uniform, and over her eyes was a silver band identical to his. She straightened and looked back towards the doorway, smirking. Her voice was mellow in his earbud. "I like him. Really passionate about what he pilots."

       "Watch it, Drac. You don't want to get your feelings hurt."

       "Oh, don't be stupid. I know I'm dead." She sat in Dark's chair, and several consoles lit. She ran her silvered fingers through her blond hair, and smiled over at Cyclone. "However, I'm still a girl, even if I am just the computerized empathic remains of one. And he's cute." The woman tapped her fingers in rhythm, optimizing Cyclone's systems checks. He'd been telling the truth when he said there were three people in his class, he hadn't mentioned on of them died on the table. Draconic had been the bright center of the three, brilliant and daring and with a never-ending stream of flirtatious behavior. However, when her wiring went in, the doctor responsible had accidentally cut off blood flow to a critical portion of her brain. Death had been almost instantaneous.

       Her brain, ONI's property, had been preserved and turned into a Fourth Generation Smart AI. There were several AIs that no longer followed typical rules in the UNSC, and Draconic was one of them. She flitted in and out of systems on a whim, rewriting all but her most ingrained protocols to suit her personal opinions. Cyclone had requested that she accompany him on this mission, and she had promptly downloaded herself into the ship's systems. Permission had been grudgingly granted, and the designation of the ship was the same as its AI. After all, she was the ship's personality. "I thought you were going to be secretive; dazzling the crew with your seemingly miraculous appearance at a critical time." He couldn't keep the amused sarcasm out of his voice. One of the synapses in his interface gauntlets misfired and shocked him slightly. He hissed and shook his hand. "That's not very nice."

       "If you want nice, be nice. Hey, did you know we're getting the Master Chief on this mission?" She grinned, and her eyebrows danced over the metal band. "Now, when talking about sexy men, he takes the ca-"

       "Okay, I really don't need to hear that. What's wrong with you, anyway, you're supposed to be dead!"

       "I'm just establishing it on a purely aesthetic observation." She reached over and brushed his cheek, and his mind digitally tricked him into feeling the touch like gentle static over his skin. "You're still my favorite."

       "Your oddity hasn't diminished one bit since you kicked it." There had been a time when he rallied in horror against the knowledge of his friend's demise, now it was something they joked about. It was strange the way life could change on you.

       "You wouldn't like me if I was any other way. Plasma cannons, check, MAC guns check, Cryostasis tubes, check, systems analysis complete. Cruiser is running at one-hundred percent with an error margin of infinitesimal and we are good to go whenever the Marines get here. Everything on our ship is running in perfect harmony. I'd like to see a third generation AI pull that off." She dropped her voice to a deep, sexy tone. "Star Trek, eat your heart out. The Draconic is fully operational." She brightened her tone again and grinned. "I'm gonna go play a practical joke on the Engine Techs. Be back in a bit." She vanished from his overlay.

       "I take it back; the oddness is even worse."

       Cortana sifted through mountains of information gathered during the Ahzentia attack, fighting off a desire to simply go to sleep and disappear in an endless loop. She scowled as Halley's code danced over the back of her hands. She focused on a piece of information gathered by the Nautilus during the assault, but the page blurred as the code passed over her vision, almost as if it was trying to get her attention. "What?!"

       She reached into her subroutines, looking for the source of the code and ready to rip it out regardless of consequence. There was a single file out of place, and she opened it. Oddly, it seemed to be nothing but a blank data document. She probed the file, but if there was more to the document, it wasn't visible to her. She tried reloading it, and words appeared on the document. "Enter Passcode." She frowned and traced the document warily, but it didn't seem to be connected to her inner matrix. She copied Halley's code into the document, and the words vanished.

       All hell broke loose.

       Cortana cried out silently, as the code, now given life, tore through her systems like a virus, a worm that consumed her from within. She couldn't fight it, she could only scream in agony as her matrix was swamped and information burned out in a rush of wildfire. A moment of disorientation later, she recognized something about the code that had previously eluded her distracted senses. The code was binary, essentially, but if repeated three times and translated into the simple symbols of the Forerunners, it spelled the Forerunner word for "reboot."

       She thought about the code for a series of processor cycles, and then froze in shock. The feedback loops were gone. She searched her systems almost frantically. Her memory was totally intact, her code unfragmented and perfect. She was fully restored. She hadn't been this awake since her creation. She threw herself into Dr. Halsey's office excitedly, burning out one of the holocrystals over the woman's desk in her enthusiasm. "Dr. Halsey!"

       Halsey jumped, and several information sources were knocked off her desk in the startled moment. "Cortana! Don't scare me like that!" Shards of blue glass rained down, and Cortana flushed pink.

       "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. But that's just it! Dr. Halsey, I know what Halley's code is!"

       "Be very, very careful with that code." Halsey started brushing the glass into the trash. "It was probably created by the Forerunners."

       "Oh, it was." Halsey paused, and looked up, noting Cortana's clear, clean lines all running in tandem across her figure. "It's a Forerunner Systems Restore." She grinned, and dropped cross-legged onto the desk. "I accidentally triggered it. Or, maybe it wasn't an accident…maybe it was designed to go off when an AI reached critical self-interference. Either way, my memory is intact, my processor speed is literally in perfect condition, and I-"

       "Cortana." Dr. Halsey's eyes were wide with fear, and Cortana paused. "There is a pedestal by the door. Load yourself into the memory cube."

       "But, doctor…"

       "I don't have time to explain." She shivered, as if she could feel Dr. Adalis standing right behind her. She expected his hand to grip her shoulder at any second. "Please, trust me."

       Cortana scowled, but transferred herself to the pedestal. "Doctor…you aren't going to hurt me..?"

       "Of course not. I would never." The hologram faded and the chip blinked green. Halsey hastily removed the chip, accessed the AI logs, and selected the Artificial Intelligence that had been involved on Harrison the least amount of time. "Excuse me, Draconic?"

       "How can I help you, Dr. Halsey?" The voice was bright and curious, and the form that appeared on the pedestal looked almost like an ordinary pilot, a most unusual self-assigned appearance. Halsey blinked in surprise; she'd read reports on the successes and failures of Section Eight's "Prodigy Pilots." She hadn't known, however, that one of the pilots had ended up as a fourth generation Smart AI.

       Halsey leaned in, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. "There is a man by the name of Gregory Adalis who is on this station. He is accompanied by an AI named Loki. I believe both are going to try to intercept me before I can reach the secondary landing bay."

       "I can confirm that. The AI is opening system backdoors and causing shut-downs on certain levels. The Doctor is walking on an intercept course."

       "I need you to stop them. This is a matter of highest priority."

       "Sure. Gimmie a second." She vanished, and Halsey blinked. The AI seemed more human than most. A moment later she reappeared, laughing. Halsey pushed her glasses down. "Okay, AI is taken care of, I trapped him in a frozen maintenance check. I shut off elevator power on Adalis, but he's already working on circumventing that. I suggest you hurry, Doc." She grinned and vanished, and Halsey pocketed the crystal and hurried towards the landing bay. She felt as if Adalis was only a step behind her the entire way. She arrived at the bay just before the doors shut.

       "Wait! John!" The figure in MJOLNIR by the door flinched at the use of his given name, and slowly turned his head.

       "Dr. Halsey."

       "I need you to take Cortana with you. I can't explain why. Don't plug her into anything until after you jump to slipstream space. This is so important, please." She pressed the crystal into his gauntlet and stared up at his impassive faceplate. He stood at rigid attention, and slowly tucked Cortana into a belt pouch. "Take care of yourself, John." She shivered, feeling fatalistically like this was the last time she'd ever see him. So much of her life had been spent on Section Three, on MJOLNIR…on the children she made into super-soldiers. John had been the first. The way things seemed to be going he'd probably be the last. It wasn't completely unrealistic to consider that she'd dedicated her life to this man; their lives had ever been intertwined.

       "I will." He actually squeezed her hand gently before withdrawing his, and she watched him enter the bay and board the last dropship. The bay doors slid shut.

       "You made one hell of a man out of him, Catherine." Adalis walked slowly down the hallway towards her. "But our sins aside, I know that the AI Cortana is carrying a fragment of Sixteen. I'm going to collect it, one way or another." Halsey allowed herself a smile of triumph.

       "Oh really? By the time Cortana is accessible again she'll be on her way to the other end of the galaxy." Adalis frowned. "Don't look so glum, Gregory, you'll give yourself lines."

       "Loki?"

       "Terribly sorry, Doctor Adalis, but it seems Loki is preoccupied right now." The pedestal beside the door suddenly sported a holographic teenaged girl in a flight suit.

       "What? This is ridiculous. Give me access to my AI immediately. Override code Adalis-one-one-three-nine-six 'Karma'."

       The AI considered a moment, and then smiled mischievously. "Hmm…no."

       "No? What do you mean, 'No'?" Adalis was fuming, and Dr. Halsey had to hide a smile behind her hand. The AI's personality was amusing, especially considering her victory over the morally disinclined doctor.

       "Regrettably, Dr. Adalis, I haven't been uploaded with all of ONI's protocol overrides yet. I'm afraid Section Twelve hasn't updated their logs in a while. While I'd normally gladly assist however I can; I have to finish pre-burn warm-ups and calculate our Slipstream Space trajectories. But I'm sure Loki will find his way back…eventually." She vanished, leaving a sputtering Dr. Adalis and a laughing Dr. Halsey alone in the corridor.

       "Gregory, I think this round is mine." She smiled condescendingly and walked back towards her office. Nothing like success to brighten your day.

       Miira stood on the bridge of the Heretical Redemption and stared in disbelief at the small vessel tucked into a moon's shadow that Urza claimed was the hiding place of one of the artifacts. The ship had no running lights, no protection, and no signals being sent out. She looked at the Teacher with a scowl. "Are you certain your contact was speaking truth? This seems far too easy. Either it is false information, or information leading to a trap."

       "The Ahzentia believe their hiding place to be safe; they would never suspect a traitor amongst their own kind. I am giving you command of four Sangheili Elites and eight Unggoy. Take the ship from the rear and meet my team here." He pointed to a room on the schematic that supposedly housed their goal. Miira remained unconvinced. As much as she was thrilled to be given actual command, she doubted something as precious as an artifact was being kept on such a small, unprotected craft. She checked the battery status on her blades and frowned at Urza's back as he paced away. She wasn't the only Elite reluctant in this; others on the bridge were looking equally suspicious.

       "I will give you the chance to be proven right. Keep well in mind, however; this discord between you and sense does not bode well for your future as a leader." He snorted without looking back, and several of the older, more experienced Sangheili looked to her with newfound respect in their eyes. An odd thought occurred to Miira, and she closed her jaws tightly to banish expression as she followed him to the landing craft. This crew is waiting for a leader with intellect as well as Charisma.

       Someday, this crew will be mine.

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