Halo: Ghosts of Onyx – extracts
Author: Eric Nylund
Scenes featuring Sangheili point-of-view.
Chapter 22
Major Voro ‘Mantakree drew his needler pistol and fired at the back of Ship Master Tano’s head.
The crystalline spines thucked into the Ship Master’s skull and exploded – spraying blood, brains, and bits of skull over the command console.
The magnitude of his treachery was unprecedented. What Sangheili 1 Major would dare disobey a Ship Master who had led seven glorious campaigns against their enemies? Who would murder his superior officer on the bridge of the one of the fleet’s most renowned cruisers?
[1 Sangheili: the Elite name for their race]
But how could Voro let this continue?
Tano ‘Inanraree had lost his mind, literally and figuratively. And while religious fervor was laudable under most conditions, it was not if it killed the entire crew of the Incorruptible … and destroyed their race.
Voro stepped over the body of his friend and former commanding officer and bolstered his weapon.
The U-shaped bridge seemed somehow smaller now, the blue-white light a little harsher than it had a moment ago, and the holographic consoles appeared covered in icons he couldn’t understand. Voro blinked his nictating membranes and looked with cleared eyes at the bridge officers.
Sangheili from the respected Dn’end Legion – Uruo Losonaee at Operations and Zasses Jeqkogoee at Navigation – stared with maws agape, shocked into inaction. Y’gar Pewtrunoee at the Communications/Sensors station nodded with understanding.
But the bonded Lekgolo 2 pair responsible for security on the Incorruptible tensed; their armored bulks took two thudding steps toward Major Voro. Their spines fanned in anger. One of their duties was to protect the Ship Master, and failing that, they were to enact revenge on his assassin.
[2 Lekgolo: the Elite name for the Hunter race]
In truth, the bonded pair, Paruto Xida Konna and Waruna Xida Yotno, were a mystery to Voro. He had seen them tear enemies in half with their “hands” while in the midst of a mindless blood rage, and afterward pause to recite war poetry. How could any truly understand the Lekgolo? Inside their thick armor swarmed orange worms – a colony gestalt as alien as anything Voro had ever encountered.
More pragmatically, they were indestructible – at least to Voro with his one pistol.
Lekgolo armor could withstand multiple plasma bolts before even warming.
Voro stood tall and unapoiogetic.
The Lekgolo stared at him. Their forms shuddered and the eel colonies pulsed in harmonic unison to produce a subsonic rumble, words that were more felt than actually heard. “A mercy kill,” they said together. “You have done the Ship Master an honor.”
Voro resumed breathing. They were his now to command and to send into battle. As was the Reverence-class cruiser Incorruptible.
“Does anyone else have words about this?” Voro asked his bridge officers.
They looked to one another.
Y’gar, the eldest bridge officer, stepped forward. His sole vanity was his left eye, which had been blinded in combat. He had refused to have the cataract repaired.
“Tano was devout to the end,” Y’gar said. “But his reasoning, in light of recent events, was not sound. This was regrettable, but necessary … Ship Master.”
There it was: Voro was Master now. All the honor his. All the responsibility his as well.
He glanced at Tano, spilling his lifeblood over the command console, and set a hand on his mentor’s shoulder, a parting gesture. “Remove him,” Voro whispered.
Y’gar made a chuffing sound and three Unggoy 3 appeared and carried Tano off the bridge, sponging up the remains as they went.
[3 Unggoy: the Elite name for the Grunt race]
Voro knocked one with a cleaning rag aside. “Let his blood remain there,” he said.
The Unggoy scurried away.
The stain would forever remain on Voro’s soul; it could stay on the deck as well, a reminder of the price he had paid for their survival.
Voro then stared at the central holographic viewer: at the insanity that surrounded the Incorruptible.
The Second Fleet of Homogeneous Clarity was in chaos; more than a hundred ships maneuvered on random vectors, barely avoiding collisions, and in the distance the silver arc of the Forerunner Halo construct – ominous, breathtaking, and the source of this trouble.
It had made Ship Master Tano lose his mind. He belonged to a fringe sect, the Governors of Contrition, who believed all Forerunner creations were sacrosanct. This even applied to the parasitic Flood infestation on Halo. Tano had reasoned that the Forerunners had created a perfect life-form, and it was therefore their duty to protect, even embrace, it.
He had ordered the Incorruptible closer to the Halo ring to allow the disease aboard.
That would never occur while Voro breathed. The Flood was an infection that had to be cleansed. There was nothing remotely “holy” about it.
The Incorruptible shuddered.
“Plasma on the port lateral shield,” Uruo Losonaee said, leaning over his OPS station.
His strained voice betrayed that he had only recently been initiated in combat. “Successfully deflected, but the shield has collapsed.”
The hull reverberated once more.
“Strike on the aft shield,” Uruo said. “It’s holding.”
“One-third power forward,” Voro said. “Roll to present starboard shields.” He turned to Zasses on NAV. “Trace those firing solutions and get me a target!”
“Calculating, sir,” Zasses said. “Solution obtained. Two targets.”
A holographic frigate pair appeared on the deck and sped toward them: the Tenebrous and the Twilight Compunction, commanded by the alpha Jiralhanae 4, Gargantum.
[4 Jiralhanae: the Elite name for the Brute race]
This was Voro’s other problem.
In the confusion caused by the departing Prophets, the Sangheili’s ancient feud with the Jiralhanae had escalated into xenocide.
The frigate pair moved as one, accelerating, their lateral lines warmed, and released a second salvo of plasma that arced toward the Incorruptible.
“Maneuver one two zero by zero seven five,” Voro shouted.
“Coming about,” Zasses answered, and the stars wheeled through the holographic view space. “Sir, that places the carrier Lawgiver between us and them.”
“The Lawgiver has fully generated lateral shields,” Voro growled. “They can take the hit.”
The frigate pair split to miss the carrier in their flight path. The enemy ships, and their plasma torpedoes, became obscured by the bulk of the sleek carrier.
“Heat lines four and seven,” Voro ordered, “and prepare to target the Tenebrous as it emerges from the carrier’s shadow. Divert engine power to the fore energy projector and make ready to fire at full capacity. Estimate targeting solution based on last known trajectory.”
Uruo nodded and made the weapons ready.
The alpha Jiralhanae Ship Master was savage, but he was effective. Voro could not afford to merely wound one of them.
The edges of the Lawgiver’s shield shimmered, dispersing the plasma into fiery wisps – an inconvenience for them … a life-saving maneuver for the Incorruptible.
The Jiralhanae frigate attack pair appeared, one over and one under the carrier.
“Fire all lines,” Voro ordered.
The lights on the bridge dimmed as plasma heated and flowed from their lateral banks and arced forward in two bloody streaks across the dark.
“Counter guiding signals detected!” Y’gar shouted. “Attempting to disrupt.”
The plasma blots drifted back and forth and diffused into smears in a signal tug-of-war between them and the Jiralhanae. Voro had not anticipated they had such abilities. Stolen, no doubt … so they wouldn’t know all the system’s intricacies.
“Reprogram to home in on their signal lock,” Voro said.
“Yes,” Y’gar murmured, and his hands moved algorithm blocks over this console. “Lock reestablished on new signal,” he said.
Their plasma smoothed, concentrated – and accelerated.
The Jiralhanae frigate turned into their shot, presenting a smaller target.
A desperate maneuver and not quick enough.
The frigate’s shield heated, dispersing the first bolt of superheated ionized gas. The second strike hit bare hull, melting the shield arrays and sensors, boiling away layers of smooth blue armor-alloy.
“Fire energy projector,” Voro commanded, “dead-center targeting solution.”
“Aye, sir,” Uruo said. “Projector spinning up – firing.”
The bridge lights flickered to ultraviolet backup as all the Incorruptible’s power drained into one lance of destruction. It lit the space around the battle, a cleansing illumination. The Tenebrous appeared frozen in time for a moment … before the energy tore through its hull, blasting internal decks to atoms – amidships, and then the aft plasma coils – shattering the ship into a haze of glowing particles.
The surviving Jiralhanae frigate, the Twilight Compunction, however, was untouched … and it continued toward them.
“Recycling engine power,” Zasses said. “Fifteen seconds until engine back online.”
Fifteen seconds could be a lifetime in a close-quarter space battle.
“Depressurize Seraph launch bay fourteen,” Voro shouted. “Dump plasma from auxiliary coils into the lateral lines.”
“Plasma diverted,” Uruo answered, his face flushing purple. “Emergency depressurization – now.”
A tremble ran through the ship as the bay vented. Propelled by the sudden outgassing of their atmosphere, they turned toward the surviving frigate. The Incorruptible’s lateral lines appeared to heat.
The Twilight Compunction’s engines flared and it turned, maneuvering behind a nearby destroyer for cover.
They were retreating – as they should when presented with superior firepower … even if that power was an illusion.
Voro wondered if the Jiralhanae Ship Master, Gargantum, had been aboard the Tenebrous, or if he had sent it ahead as a decoy.
The carrier, the Lawgiver, turned, and lasers stitched the frigate. Several beams painted its hull, heating the shields – before another destroyer crossed the line of fire.
“Main coil reenergized,” Uruo said.
“New course two seven zero by zero zero zero. Break fleet formation. We cannot fight without destroying our allies as well as our enemies.”
The Incorruptible turned and accelerated to a position three hundred kilometers over the fleet. Several ships fired upon one another, but many just drifted, unsure what action to take. Their leaders, the Prophets, were missing; some said they had left to partake in the Great Journey. Rumors abounded they had actually aligned with the Jiralhanae.
There was, however, an even greater threat.
The holographic arc of Halo appeared on the main viewer. Four destroyers stood near, abeam, and targeted hundreds of smaller craft – Phantoms, Spirits, and even Banshees – that attempted to evacuate the surface of the ring structure. They burned these craft with plasma bombardment and flashes of laser fire … but there were too many trying to escape.
Nothing could be allowed to leave that place. If a single Flood-infected vessel transitioned to Slipspace – their existence would end. The plague would never again be contained.
“Get me a fleetwide COM channel,” he told Y’gar. “Use the Prophets’ own frequencies.”
“Signal acquired,” Y’gar said. “Ready for fleetwide broadcast.”
Voro spoke: “This is Ship Master Voro ‘Mantakree of the Incorruptible to all loyal vessels in the Second Fleet of Homogeneous Clarity.
“Brothers, we must cast out our confusion, and cease falling upon one another. The holy relic is tainted. We must burn the corruption before it takes us all.
“Zasses,” he ordered, “send coordinating target solutions to the fleet.” He motioned over the main holographic viewer, selecting portions of the Halo ring where dozens of Spirits were slipping away. “We must stop them before they make contact with one of those destroyers.”
“Aye, sir. Targeting solutions sent.”
The majority of the fleet, sluggish and disoriented, slowly aligned into a coherent fighting force: plasma arced from a hundred ships, and laser fire weaved lacy patterns on the dark of space.
Under such a destructive salvo of combined fire, the smaller ships burned – leaving only debris and skeletal frames.
“Do not close with the targets,” Voro said over FLEETCOM. “Or the disease will spread." His hands grasped the command console.
To the Lekgolo pair Voro whispered, “Sweep the ship, continuous patrol, until I order otherwise. Report any hull breach no matter how slight. Any deaths. Anything that might be Flood infection.”
The Xida Lekgolos nodded and they lumbered off the bridge, hands flexing in anticipation.
“Uruo,” Voro said, “ready the self-destruct sequence. We must be prepared.”
Uruo nodded, his maw working nervously, but he set plasma coils to detonation mode.
“All ready,” he replied.
“One of the destroyers near the ring is hailing the fleet,” Y’a-gar said. “Rapturous Arc.”
Static crackled and over that a whisper; “This is Ship Master of the Rapturous Arc. We are overwhelmed. Do not allow them to make us their instruments. I will not – ”
The signal terminated.
The Rapturous Arc moved, wheeled toward the stars, and then continued to turn toward the other three destroyers abeam of Halo. It touched one of its brother ships, energy shields shimmered, frequencies matched, and the Flood-infected ship released a swarm of bulbous carrier forms.
Over FLEETCOM Voro said, “Retarget. Burn those ships.”
Voro then ordered Uruo, “Heat lines and target projector.”
“Targeting solutions ready,” Uruo announced.
Voro could take no chance. “Fire,” he said.
Plasma and energy projectors fired from a dozen nearby ships and painted the two vessels. The destroyers’ shields collapsed – decks mushroomed outward from the aft engine compartments – a wave of illumination that flared white, and then cooled to smoky afterimages.
“New targets,” he told Uruo, indicating the other two destroyers near the ring.
“Coordinate targeting solutions throughout the fleet.”
Uruo hesitated only a moment, and then nodded. “Locked and ready. Targeting solutions sent, sir.”
Those last two ships had been too close to their infected counterparts. There was no margin for error here. Not even a single Flood-infected cell could escape.
“Sir,” Y’gar said, and stood straighter, “targeted destroyers have dissipated their shields.”
Voro nodded, nearly overcome with the nobility of his brother Ship Masters.
“Send the order fleetwide,” he whispered. “Fire all lines and lasers. Discharge projectors.”
Plasma lines heated, detached, and swarmed off the hull of the Incorruptible and the Second Fleet. Energy projectors fired and peeled off the ships’ armor in a flash. Lasers peppered their boiling hulls, and air vented, sending it into a tumble. Plasma bolts impacted, squirting through the holes, and igniting the vessels.
“Another round,” Voro commanded. “Burn them to ashes.”
More plasma impacted and the doomed vessels spun toward the Halo structure, captured by its gravity. It would be their pyre.
“Back the Incorruptible off,” Voro ordered. “Thirty thousand kilometers.”
Over INTERSHIPCOM Voro linked to the Xida Lekgolo pair. “Report.”
Paruto spoke: “No breaches detected. All ship personal accounted for. No taint exists.”
Voro exhaled. There might yet be hope they could survive.
“Detecting the Twilight Compunction, sir,” Y’gar said, “and two other Jiralhanae frigates on an intercept course. Their lateral lines are hot.”
The crisis was not yet over but already they returned to the old hatreds. Voro scrutinized the fleet and saw others turning and firing on ships they had only moments ago fought side by side with.
“Make ready to transition to Slipspace,” Voro ordered.
“With respect, sir,” Y’gar whispered. “We are leaving the battle?”
“To stay here and fight until we are all dead is madness. Everything had changed. We will heed the summons of Imperial Admiral Xytan ‘Jar Wattinree. We must warn them what has happened … the Jiralhanae, the Flood.”
“Slipspace matrix energized,” Zasses said. He shook his head, confused. “Anomalies detected in dimension YED-4, sir … cause undetermined.”
“Can we safely transition?” Voro asked.
“Unknown, sir.”
Slipstream space dimensions didn’t exhibit “anomalies.” Was this something caused by the holy ring? There was no time to investigate. They’d have to risk it.
“Set course and execute transition,” Voro told him. “Salia system, outpost world Joyous Exultation.”
Chapter 25
Ship Master Voro clutched the rail of his command platform and shouted, “Now! All thrusters answer new course one eight zero by zero zero zero. Divert engine and shield power to the forward energy projector.”
“Answering new course,” Zasses said.
The Incorruptible spun about – its momentum continued to carry it forward – but now they faced the pursuing frigate pair.
Uruo at his Operation station called out, “Projector hot, sir. Target solution ready.”
“On my word.”
Voro hesitated and listened to three beats of his hearts – one for faith, one for family, and the last for honor – the ritual mediation of the Mendicant.
The leading frigate fired lasers.
“Armor sections Prime One and Ventral Three severely damaged,” Y’gar announced with utter calm.
“Stand by,” Voro said.
He felt his junior officers’ eyes upon him. They were wondering perhaps, as he was, if he had gone mad.
“Let them come closer for the kill,” Voro said. “We have but one shot. Wait … Wait ….”
Both frigates, the Twilight Compunction and the Revenant, filled and blurred the edges of the holographic viewers, their lateral lines powering.
A single, normal energy-projector shot could not by itself destroy a Covenant ship of war. It would obliterate shields, but it had to be followed by a plasma bolt to damage or disable.
This was a tactic neutralized by the skillful maneuvers employed by a Jiralhanae frigate pair. They would shift to take alternate plasma hits efficiently, giving the pair an alternating energy shield. They could then combine firepower. If they made no mistakes, they were more than a match for the Incorruptible.
This was the standard Covenant tactical thinking. Recent events, however, had shaken what Voro had considered “standard” behavior. This would be a gamble, but in Voro’s estimation, their only winning option.
“Now,” Voro spat. “Fire!”
The overcharged energy projector sent a shudder through the Incorruptible.
All their power – shields, engines, Slipspace capacitor reserves – channeled into a single burst from the projector.
The darkness of interstellar space parted.
The shields of the Revenant boiled and popped. The hull peeled away, bubbling, as the beam penetrated through and through. The frigate was cut in half diagonally, ventral fore to dorsal aft – until it severed the starboard plasma line. Fire blazed along her surface and reached the main coils. The ship’s aft section detonated and her mid and fore sections tumbled away aflame and spewing smoke.
“All weapons systems inactive,” Uruo reported, as he stared at the destruction.
“No power to maneuver,” Zasses said nervously. “Thrusters on standby.”
The other Jiralhanae frigate veered away and continued to turn, presenting the flare of engine cones as it ran. After seeing the obliteration of its sister ship, the Twilight Compunction had no desire to face them alone.
As Voro had hoped: The Jiralhanae were quick to act without thinking. They were savage, yes, but not suicidal.
He counted his blessings that the Jiralhanae Ship Master had not taken the time to thoroughly scan the Incorruptible to assess her battle worthiness.
“Repairs underway,” Y’gar announced. “All crews on task. Estimate seventy cycles until plasma lines ready.”
“Direct repairs to the coils and Slipspace capacitors,” Voro ordered.
“A brilliant tactical maneuver, sir,” Zasses said, and bowed his head.
Voro grunted.
Brilliant? Desperate was closer to the truth. But Voro would never voice his feelings on this matter before his crew. Unvoiced, however, a mixture of shame and disgust rose in the back of his throat. He had risked everything to win. Perhaps this was how Tano felt? The lives of his brothers in his hands on every mission? Voro felt unworthy to lead.
He scrutinized the central viewer. The Jiralhanae frigate had headed toward the third ship in its battle group, the one that had turned to engage Bloodied Spirit.
They had intercepted the enemy’s transmissions and seen the humans manning Bloodied Spirit. A disturbing revelation.
“Zasses,” Voro growled. “You tracked the Spirit as it jumped?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, and rechecked his console. “Only one stellar system on that vector.”
Voro gritted his teeth and flexed his hands. Then at least Bloodied Spirit could be hunted and destroyed. “Make ready to jump. We must warn our brethren … of everything.”
Chapter 27
SEVENTH CYCLE, 49 UNITS (COVENANT BATTLE CALENDAR) / ABOARD FLEET CARRIER SUBLIME TRANSCENDENCE, IN ORBIT ABOVE JOYOUS EXULTATION, SYSTEM SALIA
The Unggoy Kwassass knew his place aboard the Covenant supercarrier Sublime Transcendence. He was to be trod upon under the boots of its glorious Sangheili officers. He was to clean, scrub, wait in the shadows for orders, and never speak unless spoken to.
Among his other duties Kwassass was also responsible for the maintenance of storage subdeck K. The mining gear that had exacted the human fortress world Reach had been stored on subdeck K. Diggers, earthen conveyors, portable microenergy projectors, plasma fuel cells all sat in orderly rows.
He had been ordered to repair and refit everything, a gargantuan task that would take six months and the entire K-deck tribe. It was a crushing responsibility … but also a tremendous opportunity.
Kwassass waddled along the dim corridors of subdeck K, admiring its cavernlike expanses and the warmth of the place. Even after seven years of service to the Covenant he could not help marveling at their copious wealth of heat. After freezing every day of his childhood, watching his family one by one succumb to the blue death, heat was something he never took for granted.
He spotted a group of laborers playing a game with rocks, jumping them over one another on a grid scratched upon the floor. They laughed and gambled for tiny tanks of compressed organics and audio crystals.
Kwassass joined them, lost a few cartridges of formaldehyde, won a file of old BBC, and then wished them well and moved along on his morning patrol. Today it would be best to keep up appearances.
He meandered toward Storage Sector Three, making sure no one noticed.
Kwassass had overheard one Sangheili speak of pods of benzene that required disposal in that sector. Lovely lung gold! He sighed, reliving the pleasure of his last inhale of the sacred aromatic.
He slowed his place, though; Storage Sector Three was a shadowy realm where only Huragok 5 ventured, as it was full of active plasma conducts.
[5 Huragok: the Forerunner name for the Engineer race]
The tentacled podlike Huragok never spoke to his kind. Sometimes they fixed things for them … but just as often they took things apart and left them that way. He had learned it was best to avoid them, as the Sangheili valued their services.
Kwassass ventured into the dim section of the ship.
Only the glow from the occasional plasma coil provided an eerie blue light, and the shadows were full of the floating Huragok that whispered to one another in ultrasonic chitters.
Tonight they seemed to move with a greater purpose, floating in pods of three farther into the storage sector.
He followed one of these pods and emerged in a round chamber, lit by an overhead heat exchanger that dripped fluorescing green coolant. A machine towered in the chamber. It was five times his squat height, and it would take thirty Unggoy to circumscribe its curved surface. Dozens of Huragok clustered about the thing, their tentacles gently probing its surface in reverence.
The device was bare silver metal, which was a rare thing in Covenant alloys. Kwassass was drawn to the shiny material. He wanted to touch it, take it with him.
There were alien pictograms on the side and he ran his hand over them. Although his tribe had been trained to listen and transcribe alien transmissions as part of their duties, they were forbidden to read.
There were four pictograms. The first was three connected lines. The second was a hollow dot. The third was an angle of two lines. The last icon was the same angle inverted with a line horizontal midway between them.
… N … O … V … A.
Many of the Huragok clustered on the far side, and Kwassass gently pushed through them to see what was so interesting.
A black box lay on the deck.
The Huragok had obliviously removed a panel from the cylinder: a tangle of wires and cabling stretched from a cavity in the cylinder to this box.
Inside the box were flashing red, blue, and green lights and many buttons.
He knelt and touched a button.
A sound came from the box: a curious series of slurps, pops, and deep rumbles that made Kwassass giggle. A rare alien transition. Treasure indeed. He could perhaps trade this for a rare ASTHEWORLDTURNS he had heard was on M deck.
The noise stopped, so he touched the button, and the noise repeated to his delight.
He strained to decipher the sounds. Like all human transmission he understood many of the words, but very little of what it actually meant. This voice had a twangy accent.
He listened again, straining to understand …
“ … I am Vice Admiral Danforth Whitcomb, temporarily in command of the UNSC military base Reach. To the Covenant uglies that might be listening, you have a few seconds to pray to your dammed heathen gods ….”
“We have been betrayed by those we trusted most,” thundered the Imperial Admiral and Regent Command of the Combined Fleet of Righteous Purpose, Xytan ‘Jar Wattinree. He shook both fists as he spoke. “We have been betrayed by our Prophets.”
The Sangheili stood over three and half meters tall and wore silver armor covered with the gold Forerunner glyphs of Sacred Mystery. In the center of the oration chamber aboard the super-carrier Sublime Transcendence, Xytan’s image was holographically magnified so he towered thirty meters before them, and image replications made his face present in four directions simultaneously to the crowd.
Xytan appeared no less than a god.
Ship Master Voro stood at attention and watched the legendary commander. He had never been defeated in battle. He had never failed at any task, no matter what the challenge.
He was never wrong.
The Imperial Admiral’s only flaw was that he had been so revered, some said even more so than any Prophet. For the sin he had been exiled to the fringe worlds of the vast Covenant Empire.
This had happened before; the former Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice had never returned from the “glorious mission” the Prophets sent him on.
Xytan had summoned all the factions of the Sangheili to Joyous Exultation. He was, in Voro’s opinion, their best chance for survival.
Voro was one of thirty representative Ship Masters who had been called from the two hundred vessels in orbit to hear these words.
“I, like all of you, believed in our leaders and their holy Covenant,” Xytan continued, his voice resonating off the silver stadium dome overhead. “How could we have been so willing to believe a Covenant of lies!”
Xytan paused and looked out among them. The thirty Ship Masters and their guards seemed to be swallowed by the empty space in the chamber, designed for a capacity crowd of three thousand.
No one dared speak.
“They have called for the destruction of all Sangheili. They have aligned themselves with the barbaric Jiralhanae,” Xytan said. He hung his head and his four jaws opened slack for a moment, and then he looked up, a new determination burning in his eyes. “The Great Schism is upon us. The unbreakable Covenant Writ of Union has been split asunder. This is the end of the Ninth, and final, Age.”
A grumble echoed within the oration chamber. These words were the grossest sacrilege.
Today, however, they could be the truth.
Xytan held up a hand and the dissent quelled.
“You must now decide to surrender to fate – or resist and strive to persist. Myself, I choose to fight.” He outstretched both hands to his audience. “I call upon you all to join me. Let the old ways fade and battle by my side. Together we can forge a new, better union – a new Covenant among the stars.”
The Sangheili Ship Masters roared their approval.
It was an inspired oration, but the Prophets had used words to trick them all before, too. Ship Master Tano had let words, and their more dangerous by-product, beliefs, cloud his reason.
Words alone would not help them. Voro crossed his arms over his chest.
Amazingly, Xytan saw this gesture and turned to face him, locking gazes.
“You disagree. Ship Master?”
A tomblike silence smothered the stadium. Voro felt all eyes upon him.
“Speak, then, hero of the battle for the Second Ring of the Gods, and de facto commander of the Second Fleet of Homogeneous Clarity.” Xytan waved him forward and offered him the center pulpit, an unprecedented and generous step for one so high.
It stunned Voro to hear such honorifics attached to his name. Xytan knew what had happened? Who he was? Of course, his intelligence network was legion. And what better way to silence questions than with compliments?
Voro, however, had not survived treachery and war and the sundering of an Age to be silenced now. He willed himself to step forward. The urge to supplicate before Xytan was overwhelming, but he resisted.
It took all of Voro’s strength to cross that distance with all watching.
He stepped upon the center stage and his image appeared holographically magnified, a titan towering over the crowd.
“I agree with what you say,” Voro declared. “We must destroy the Jiralhanae, unquestioningly, and all who ally with them. But victory may mean nothing if the disease upon the holy ring escapes. It must be cleansed from the galaxy if we are to survive.”
A murmur of assent passed through his fellows.
Xytan nodded as well, and then made a slight gesture with his hand, indicating Voro step down.
He gave a short bow to the Imperial Admiral and withdrew. Voro made it to his seat without betraying how he shook inside, without revealing to the others how stunned he was that he had survived.
Xytan reappeared upon the stage.
“Your words are Wisdom, Ship Master Voro. Which is why I have summoned Jiralhanae Alpha leadership under a banner of truce to this world.”
An outcry rose from the gathered Ship Masters.
“I have no illusions that they come with false offers of peace,” Xytan said. “So we shall stage our own ambush – here, where we are strong. After we have dealt a decapitating blow to the Jiralhanae Alpha Tribes, we will be free to eradicate the infection that threatens to spread from the most holy ring.
“As for how to accomplish this,” Xytan said, “I call upon Oracle Master Parala Ahrmonro to report on a new opportunity.”
Xytan’s image flickered off and an elderly Sangheili appeared in the center of the stadium. Parala had long ago been counsel to the Prophet of Regret. Bent with age, a fierce intellect nonetheless shone in his milky eyes.
“We have most disturbing intelligence,” Parala said with distaste. “The humans have wreaked havoc with their demons, destroying the first-discovered sacred ring construct. They were at the second ring as well, and have apparently discovered yet another world of Forerunner design. They must not be underestimated.”
While this galled Voro, he had seen for himself the human-captured Bloodied Spirit, and reluctantly attempted to accept the Oracle Master’s words as truth.
“Here,” Parala said, “is an intercepted and translated human Slipspace transmission.”
Human voices screeched through the stadium air. A translation overlaid the offensive human words and Voro listened as the incidents upon the second Halo relic were reported.
“Parasitic infestation known as the Flood has contaminated this construct … attempting to escape … unknown coordinating intelligence … Suggest FLEETCOM Novabomb the Delta Halo ….”
Then alien icons appeared in the air, resolving into proper words: “SEND ELITE STRIKE TEAM TO RECOVER TECHNOLOGICAL ASSETS FROM ONYX. SEND SPARTANS.”
An embedded string of celestial coordinates streamed alongside these words.
A collective murmer of outrage came from the Ship Masters.
Voro strained to isolate the human word for demons from their objectionable speech …
Spartans. It heated his blood to a boil.
Xytan’s image returned to the stage. “This heresy cannot be ignored for reasons dogmatic and strategic. We will go to this world. Onyx, to protect and secure the holy artifacts. They will be of incalculable value in our impending struggles.”
Xytan extended his titanic holographic hand to Voro. “You, Ship Master Voro ‘Mantakree, are now Fleet Master Voro Nar ‘Mantakree. Lead your newly assembled battle group to this world. Destroy the demons and deny them their prize at all costs.”
Voro fell to one knee.
“It shall be as you say,” he said. “My task is holy. My blood pure. I shall not fail.”
Secretly Voro wondered if these honors had been bestowed upon him to removed him and his “wise words” from Xytan’s chorus of unanimous ascent. So be it. He would accomplish his task. He would return glorious.
Kwassass punched the button in the black box and listened to the human voice. He was close to understanding what it meant. A threat. To him. All Covenant. A promise of retribution.
The sound distorted, slowed, and stopped. The box was out of power.
One of the Huragok watching gave an ultrasonic cry that shot through Kwassass’s skull.
The creature charged him, tentacles flailing, and grasped at his box. It wrenched it from Kwassass’s grasp.
Other Huragok charged and tried to take the box from their fellow.
Did they understand what the human said? Did they understand the danger?
There were more Huragok around him than he had realized. The shadows rippled with their buoyant bodies, each with six glassy black eyes firmly fixed upon the human voice box.
The Huragok rushed the box back to the Great Cylinder, to the panel where the box had been removed. There were multicolored wires inside that matched those in the box.
Huragok twisted these wires together. Tiny sparks danced. Red symbols flickered upon a display in the box, and the device spoke once more.
True to their nature, Huragok were just as likely to fix something broken as they were likely to take apart something that worked perfectly.
A dozen Huragok pressed closer around the device, all squirming tentacles and glistening eager eyes.
The voice from the box started again – now loud and clear:
“This is the prototype Nova bomb, nine fusion warheads encased in lithium triteride armor. When detonated it compresses its fusionable material to neutron star density, boosting the thermonuclear yield a hundredfold. I am Vice Admiral Danforth Whitcomb, temporarily in command of the UNSC military base Reach. To the Covenant uglies that might be listening, you have a few seconds to pray to your dammed heathen gods. You all have a nice day in hell.”
Kwassass pushed his way through the throng of Huragok. He had to get to the thing. Pull those wires.
There was a flash of the most beautiful light, and more glorious heat than he’d ever –
A battle group of eighteen destroyers, two cruisers, and one carrier collected in high orbit over Joyous Exultation, and drew in a spherical formation about their flagship, the Incorruptible.
They shimmered blue-white and vanished into Slipspace.
A heartbeat later Vice Admiral Whitcomb’s ploy of slipping the UNSC prototype Nova bomb into Covenant supplies had finally paid off: a star ignited between Joyous Exultation and its moon.
Every ship not protected on the dark side of the planet boiled and vaporized in an instant. The atmosphere of the planet wavered as helical spirals of luminescent particles lit both north and south poles, making curtains of blue and green ripple over the globe. As the thermonuclear pressure wave spread and butted against the thermosphere, it heated the air orange, compressed it, until it touched the ground and scorched a quarter of the world. The tiny nearby moon Malhiem cracked and shattered into a billion rocky fragments and clouds of dust.
The overpressure force subsided, and three-hundred-kilometer-per-hour winds swept over Joyous Exultation, obliterating cities and whipping tidal waves over its coastlines. The Covenant Schism – the shattering of its client races for a thousand years, and the genesis of their end – had truly begun.
Chapter 31
SEVENTH CYCLE, 193 UNITS (COVENANT BATTLE CALENDAR) \ ABOARD CRUISER, INCORRUPTIBLE, IN ORBIT ABOVE PLANET ONYX-SYSTEM: ZETA DORADUS (HUMAN DESIGNATION)
Fleet Master Voro stepped up to the command console on the bridge of the Incorruptible. His crew snapped to attention at his presence.
All was perfect. He controlled a fleet of the finest ships on what might be the most important mission for his people … and this would be his crowning moment: contact with the Forerunner guardians of this world.
“Ship Master Qunu,” he said over ship-to-ship COM, “report.”
On the central holographic display, Qunu’s destroyer, the Far Sight Lost, continued to accelerate from the safety of the fleet’s defensive sphere formation. It plunged into a high orbit over the world the humans had called “Onyx”; this word had no meaning for their translation Oracle.
“Fleet Master,” Qunu replied, “moving into the proscribed vector of supplication.”
A thousand tiny craft crested over the planet’s northern magnetic pole and moved toward the Far Sight Lost on attack vectors.
“Honor light your way,” Voro told Quno.
Quno finished the time-old Sangheili maxim: “Our blood will forge a thousand generations.”
Voro had considered initiating contact himself, but decided the honor should go to Qunu, whose knowledge of the ancient ritual responses from the Fire and Repentance Codices of the First Age was unmatched.
On Y’gar’s sensor station a schematic of one of the Forerunner vessels appeared: three unconnected cylinders and a sphere.
“Power signatures detected, sir,” Y’gar reported, his one good eye staring at the patterns. “Energy shields and offensive-system waveforms present.”
Voro considered this: The power outputs from these tiny ships were insufficient to penetrate their shields … but there were so many.
“Spin up the fore energy projector,” Voro ordered.
Uruo hesitated a heartbeat, and then moved his hands over the controls. “Fore energy projector charging, sir.”
The shimmering of power readings of the Forerunner vessels reflected Voro’s gaze.
During their Slipspace journey, Voro had made clear to his Ship Masters that they had to be willing to set aside their beliefs. Others had been blinded by the glory of the Ring of the Gods, and subsequently destroyed by the human and the Flood infestations. They must be prepared for anything.
“Alert the fleet to make weapons ready,” Voro ordered Y’gar.
“Aye, sir.”
Voro wanted to believe the Forerunners had left this world to deliver them in their hour of greatest need … his instincts, however, told him not to trust anything but Sangheili blood.
“Far Sight Lost broadcasting on an open channel,” Y’gar said, and put it on bridge audio.
“ … let us cast arms aside,” Ship Master Qunu began the ritual greeting. “ … And like discard our wrath. Thou, in faith, will keep us safe. Whilst we find the path.”
The thousands of the tiny craft drifted in the central holographic display like a cloud of dust. They formed octahedral geometries, solidifying into crystals of gold and ruby in the dark of space, surrounding the Far Sight Lost.
“Incoming transmission,” Y’gar said. Both his eyes, sighted and blind, were wide with wonder. “On the Prophet’s channel, sir.”
A flat voice, intoning perfectly the ancient dialect, rumbled over the bridge: “Rescue phase concluded. Threat analysis phase concluded. Reclaimant request for Shield World access … denied. Initiating outer defense program.”
“Energy spikes detected,” Y’gar said. “Frequencies shifting to resonate suites.” He looked up. “They’re combining fire, sir.”
“Fleetwide channel,” Voro shouted. “All Ship Masters make ready to fire. Link targeting control through the Incorruptible.”
Uruo monitored his console as the ships in their fleet linked into a single spiderweb network of firepower. “Fleet fire control is now yours, sir,” he told Voro.
“Target laser and energy projectors on these cluster formations,” Voro said.
Uruo smoothed his hands over the network, double-checking the numbers, and then said, “Target solutions calculated, sir. On your order.”
A thousand tiny eyes blazed within the alien formations. Energy beams collimated into lances of golden light that painted the hull of the Far Sight Lost.
The ship did not have its shields up. Beams sliced through armor and decks, piercing through and through, blasting cones of vaporized alloy into space.
Voro quenched his rage and studied the carnage. Some advantage had to be gleaned from this tragedy.
Individually the tiny craft could do no harm. Together, however, they were more than a match for the Far Sight Lost. Their octahedral structures shimmered with energy shields. Voro assumed their defensive strength multiplied when combined as well.
“Release weapons interlink safety locks,” Voro ordered, and raised his hand.
He prayed for the soul of Ship Master Qunu, who had revealed for them a new enemy.
Penetrated by a dozen beams, the ventral decks of the Far Sight Lost exploded. The ship rolled over like a great beast in its death throes. The weapons cut through the aft section. The plasma core breached, and three plumes of blue fire erupted from the hull – heating the aft quarter of the vessel red-, yellow-, and then white-hot – before the vessel detonated.
The crystalline geometry of the alien formations rippled and their shields flared.
“Now!” Voro commanded. “All laser and projectors fire.”
All ships under his command launched a barrage, and the deep night of space lit with crisscrossing lines of illumination. Hundreds of lasers painted the weakened alien shields and made them sputter with static. Ten microseconds later, energy-projector capacitors discharged and blasts of holy white radiation impacted the formations, overloaded the distressed shields, and scattered their coherence.
Stripped of their protection, the tiny drone ships erupted into streams of superheated particles. Their central eyes blazed white-hot as if their fury alone could protect them. Explosions chained through the octahedral assembly.
Lasers and projectors shut down and the space plunged again into darkness.
Voro blinked.
Within the holographic display the thousands of alien ships were scattered, most now cooling blobs of metal, tumbling disconnected rods and spheres. Those that had survived moved sluggishly as they attempted to realign for another attack.
“Eighty-three percent of the vessels destroyed,” Y’gar said.
Over fleetwide COM Voro said, “All ships break and attack. Annihilate the survivors with plasma charges before they regroup.”
The fleet accelerated to attack speed, burning all before them. The smaller alien craft were defenseless before this onslaught.
Ship Master Qunu had been a hero. He had demonstrated for them all that the old ways of devout placation had no place in this new Age. The Sangeili would forge their own way, with their own blood, if need be.
“Contact the Absolution,” Voro told Y’gar. “Have them make ready for a Slipspace transition in atmosphere. They will scout the northern polar region where these drones came from and determine if there are high-value targets our sensors have overlooked.”
“Absolution hailed, sir,” Y’gar replied. “Orders relayed.” He paused listening, then said, “The Absolution is yours to command, Fleet Master.”
Voro nodded, indicating they go.
The space surrounding the sleek destroyer shimmered as their Slipspace capacitors discharged.
“Something on the planet surface, sir,” Y’gar said, and he bent closer, concentrating. “Energy anomaly in the northern polar region.”
He waved his hand over his controls and the central viewer split, half filling with a view of the planet’s ice caps, zooming closer to reveal a wind-whipped landscape of snow dunes. A kilometer off the ground, the air shimmered in the exact same pattern as the Absolution’s Slipspace transition matrix.
“That should not be happening,” Uruo remarked, and took a step closer to the image, intrigued. “A Slipspace matrix only appears upon a ship’s exit. The Absolution has yet to transition.”
“Hail the Absolution,” Voro said. “Abort the jump.”
Y’gar shook his head. “Slipspace matrix interfering with our signal, sir.”
“Move to intercept,” Voro ordered.
The Incorruptible tilted and accelerated toward the destroyer as it edged toward its Slipspace field.
The view in the holographic display shifted. Above the north pole three new octahedral formations of alien ships materialized in the glow of the Slipstream exit field.
“They can jump?” Voro whispered.
That made no sense. If they had such a capacity then why hadn’t they jumped into combat with the Far Sight Lost? Or for that matter jumped to avoid destruction from the rest of the battle group?
Voro turned to Y’gar, who understood Slipstream space better than any of his officers. “Explain,” he demanded.
Y’gar straightened. “Sir, a Slipspace transition requires more power than ships that size can generate. I can only guess that they are somehow tapping into the Absolution’s Slipspace field.”
“Energy spikes,” Uruo said. “Northern polar region.”
The alien ships fired, hundreds of beams bounced within their linked geometry, combining and focused though their energy shields – directed into the center of the wrapping Slipspace.
The Absolution vanished from high orbit –
– reappeared in the center of the aliens’ field of fire.
The hull of the destroyer superheated to white – flash vaporized, flowering into a ball of ultraviolet fire.
The alien vessels comprising the octahedral formations deformed from the overpressure wave. They then flew away on random trajectories from the cloud of smoke, which was all that remained of the Absolution.
Voro watched stunned and then he regained his wits.
“Scan the surface of the planet,” Voro told Y’gar. “And recheck the sensor log for anomalies just before those ships appeared.” He opened the fleetwide channel. “No vessels to initiate a Slipspace transition without my explicit order.”
His Ship Masters sent their acknowledgments, and twenty-one personal insignia lit his console.
“Energy signature detected,” Y’gar said. “In our logs before the enemy ships appeared, scanners detected a burst of extremely low-frequency energy … a transmission from this location.”
On the central viewer a ring of mountains snapped into focus. There was motion along the rim. Voro zoomed in and saw one rod-and-sphere drone dart back into the shadows. Transmission? Coordinating orders perhaps? Or a central location where these drones had something worth protecting?
“That is our target,” he said. Voro activated FLEETCOM. “All ships to OVERARCH attack pattern and prepare for orbital descent. Charge lateral lines to full capacity.”
The Incorruptible took position on the starboard wing of the coalescing wing formation and led the battle group into the planet’s atmosphere.
Beneath them, air heated and rolled off their hulls in waves of convective fire.
Voro watched as the clouds in the upper atmosphere parted before their combined bow wake … and lamented over the holes in their formation. Two ships lost. The fault was his. How could any continue to follow his orders after such errors?
Yet Voro felt their confidence. Perhaps that was delusion, but they had followed him unquestioningly into battle. They knew that what happened here could determine the fate of all Sangheili. They had to succeed, even if it cost their lives.
They swooped over the surface of the planet, over twilight-shrouded jungles, undulating plains of grass, and shadow-filled canyons. Flocks of birds and herd animals scattered before their ominous presence.
No more alien craft rose to challenge them. Where were the hundreds they had seen at the northern pole? In reserve? Lurking in ambush?
“Come to dead slow,” Voro commanded over FLEETCOM. “Maintain battle conditions.”
As the fleet crossed the crater summit, a collection of drones appeared on the inner rim spewing earth and stone into the air.
Three of his destroyers opened fire and left nothing but a surface of crackling glass.
As the greater body of the fleet crossed into the crater, the light from their heated lateral lines illuminated the dark interior, revealing giant arches and pillars, steps that circled faceted silver domes. It was a city of magnificent proportions. The shapes were instinctively recognized by Voro from Holy Scriptures. Every line and curve, every symbol had been burned into his soul.
This was a Forerunner city. Intact. Sacred. Untouched. It was what every member of the Covenant had dreamed of finding … if not in this life, then the next.
Would it be so easy to claim their prize? The technological and theological treasures were close enough to touch. Voro’s joints weakened and he wanted to drop and bow before the glory of it all.
He stopped, ashamed. Such religious stupor would only blind him to the dangers.
Voro must not bow to the Forerunner ghosts. He must be the sole authority here.
He turned to the Lekgolo pair who ever remained at his back on the bridge.
“Prepare for battle,” he told them.
Although the Lekgolo could not smile, Voro sensed their “faces” flex in pleasure, a dozen eels squirmed and coiled over one another.
They growled their assent, rose, saluted, and thundered off the bridge.
Voro ran his hand over the command console. Ship Master Tano’s blood still stained the edges, tingeing the holographic emitters blue. He lamented that his old mentor had not survived to witness this moment.
“Alien vessels accelerating from the surface,” Uruo announced. “Two dozen. Pair formation. On attack vectors.”
“Destroy the craft,” Voro said over FLEETCOM, “and only the craft. Use lasers, pinpoint targeting.”
Tiny explosions lit the night as the drones were obliterated.
He activated the SHIPCOM. “Paruto, Waruna, during the ground assault take pains to minimize collateral damage.”
There was a double-growl response, and then Paruto asked, “What target. Fleet Master?”
Voro surveyed the vast city. A complete search would take weeks.
“Pulse the Greeting of Ancients for a signal response,” he told Y’gar.
“Aye, Fleet Master.” He broadcast the Covenant’s universal handshake sequence, and waited then for a response.
It was only a dream that any Forerunner were left to answer the call.
“Something ….” Y’gar leaned closer to examine the wavering reply signal.
Voro moved to his station.
“It’s one of ours,” Voro declared. “Send it to the ship’s Oracle for pattern match.”
“Yes, sir,” Y’gar replied. “Ship ID … DX class.”
“A dropship? Identify the parent ship registry.”
Y’gar summoned the reference and his jaws dropped open in shock. “Bloodied Spirit,” he whispered.
Voro narrowed his eyes at the wavering response signals. This came from the ship stolen by the human demons. They had beaten them here? Survived the Forerunners’ defenses and infiltrated holy grounds? Anger boiled within him and clouded his mind, but he collected his rage … saved it.
“Triangulate the signal,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir. There.”
The image shifted in the central viewer. A silver dome wavered into semi-solidity. The apex of the structure faceted into seven planes, and on each, an arch opened to the interior … arches large enough for dropships to pass through.
Voro returned to his command console. “Paruto, Waruna, we have a target. Muster the reserves from every ship in the fleet.”
Paruto and Waruna replied simultaneously with a subsonic rumble of acknowledgment.
“You will, however, wait,” Voro told him.
There was silence over the COM.
“Wait” was a word one dared not speak to a Lekgolo pair on the verge of battle.
“You shall wait for me to join you,” Voro said. “For I shall lead this assault.”
Chapter 38
SEVENTH CYCLE, 265 UNITS (COVENANT BATTLE CALENDAR) \ UNNAMED FORERUNNER CITY; ONYX-SYSTEM: ZETA DORADUS (HUMAN DESIGNATION)
Fleet Master Voro inspected his battalion. They had amassed on the surface of the Forerunner city, over two hundred Sangheili in orderly rows for his review. Dropships and Seraph fighter craft hovered overhead, their landing lights playing over the courtyard, guarding against unexpected Sentinel or demon attacks.
The nearby edifices and paving stones of black-and-white-banded mineral provided a sharp contrast to his soldiers in their primary-colored armors.
He glanced down rows of warriors in blue battle suits, standing at attention, ready to fight and kill and die at his word.
The only grumble among his solders was because they carried Kig-Yar shield gauntlets to supplement their armor systems. Many viewed this as a grave dishonor, but Voro had ordered it so. They would take no chances with the human demons, these “Spartans.” The Sangheili could not lose this world as they had the first Halo ring.
Voro nodded to the Major Domo Sangheili in their glistening red armor. The Majors caught and held his gaze. They believed in him. He saw it in their unwavering stares.
Their confidence was infectious … and they gave him pause, for it was a dangerous thing for a leader of any rank to believe himself unstoppable.
Still, Voro marveled that he had been given command of the E’Toro, R’Lan, and N’Nono warrior creches whose valor and savagery was legendary. Yet, as skilled as these soldiers were, he would have traded a dozen of them for one infiltrator in a light-bending suit to scout the terrain ahead and report on the demons.
He halted before Paruto and Waruna. The towering Lekgolo pair growled their gratitude at leading the true vanguard.
Voro had been blessed with not one but three Lekgolo pairs. He had never seen a single pair defeated in combat before. And yet, the Spartans had managed to wound Waruna and escape, an insult to the Lekgolo pride that would only be assuaged by grinding the offenders into pulp.
“Make ready final preparation,” Voro told his Majors.
The Majors shouted to their squads, who drew their swords and saluted Voro – their raised energy blades made the air waver with their combined heat.
They lowered their salute; grabbed rifles, grenades, pistols, and power cells; and marched across the courtyard, assembling near the banks of matte-black translocation pads. Suicide Unggoy squads followed, dragging dissembled energy mortar units. Their frenzied squeals annoyed Voro. They would run ahead of the others, attempt to engage the enemy while their fellows set up their shields and mortars … and likely fall before they got a single unit assembled.
They would, however, serve as a necessary distraction while the rest of his combat group found cover and set up.
It was as fine a death as any Unggoy could wish for.
Voro looked up to the stars.
They had survived the Flood and treachery of the Jiralhanae at the second Halo construct, repelled the Sentinel guardians of this world, and emerged victorious even after the human fleet decimated their ships. Many in his ranks whispered Destiny protected them.
That so-called victory against the human fleet, however, had been nothing more than luck. The human Ship Masters had outwitted them – a fact he still had difficultly reconciling. Only the timely arrival of reinforcements from Joyous Exultation had saved them.
Rumors circulated that the reinforcing ships had survived some catastrophe. Voro suspected a surprise attack from the Jiralhanae. Whatever the cause, vengeance would have to wait.
They had to win this battle, here and now, and claim the Forerunner technologies that would shift the strategic balance of power in the galaxy. So perhaps it was Destiny after all that had brought them to this world, but it was destiny of their own making.
He strode to the translocation platforms and rechecked the target coordinates. Voro was no priest, and he understood only a fraction of the Forerunner holy script.
The same message had repeated since they found this system.
Holographic icons swarmed over the control surface. Voro read them, shouting the divine passage to his soldiers: “The dark times are upon us … Unsheathe thy swords and smite … The Ark will be your guide … And bless the Reclaimers that may take refuge behind the sharpened edge of the Shield … Wonder beyond awaits.”
Two hundred Sangheili roared their approval as if the message had been set here for them, writ eons ago by gods.
In truth, the nuances of this message’s meaning were lost upon Voro. He had discerned, though, the center of this world was where the “Reclaimers” were to assemble: a place that held technological wonders and weapons beyond measure.
Their task was clear: stop the human demons from getting there first.
He motioned to the suicide Unggoy squads.
The small creatures crowded upon the platforms.
Voro input the translocation command and sent the first wave into battle.
Chapter 39
[…]
An Elite in golden armor strode toward them, gracing Kurt with a glance that was part disdain … and part respect.
It jabbered orders at the Hunters and the others. Kurt’s translation software deciphered part of this: “Damage not the center. Engineers with the Slipspace field shunts … Reopen the silver gate. Glory is ours!”
A roar of thunderous triumph burst from the gathered Covenant.
Kurt struggled to rise. There was more pain than he’d ever felt, and his legs had turned to wet sand. His vision tunneled … but he got to his feet … and raised both hands into a fighting stance.
“You haven’t won,” Kurt said. “You’ve still got me to get through.”
The Ship Master assessed Kurt and nodded, perhaps understanding him, perhaps not. It gazed upon Kurt as an equal. A fellow warrior.
[…]
The Fleet Master Elite snarled at Kurt, and the translation filtered through his helmet’s speaker: “One last fight, demon. You will die and we shall reopen the silver path.”
“Die?” Kurt laughed. “Didn’t you know?” he told the Elite. “ … Spartans never die.”
Kurt turned his gauntlet face-up and pressed the detonator.
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