“Calculate the inbound velocity of a Scorpion missile. Factor in my reaction time and the jet’s inbound speed and distance at launch, and tell me the instant I need to move to sidestep and deflect it with my left arm.”
	Cortana paused a heartbeat. “Calculation done. You did say ‘deflect’?”
	“Scorpion missiles have motion-tracking sensors and proximity detonators. I can’t outrun it. And it won’t miss. That leaves us very few options.”
	The SkyHawk dove.
	“Get ready,” Cortana said. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
	“Me, too.”
	Smoke appeared from the jet’s left wingtip and fire and exhaust erupted as a missile streaked toward him.
	The Master Chief saw the missile track back and forth, zeroing in on his coordinates. A shrill tone in his helmet warbled—the missile had a guidance lock on him. He chinned a control and the sound died out. The missile was fast. Faster than he was ten times over.
	“Now!” Cortana said.
	They moved together. He shifted his muscles and the MJOLNIR—augmented by his link to Cortana—moved faster than he’d ever moved before. His leg tensed and pushed him aside; his left arm came up and crossed his chest.
	The head of the missile was the only thing he saw. The air grew still and thickened.
	He continued to move his hand, palm open in a slapping motion—as fast as he could will his flesh to accelerate.
	The tip of the Scorpion missile passed a centimeter from his head.
	He reached out—fingertips brushed the metal casing—
	—and slapped it aside.